"You know," Penelo called from where she was shielded behind a curtain in the dressmaker's shop, "I don't think I liked the sound of that."
"Of what?" Balthier inquired, idly thumbing through the worn pages of a fashion catalogue – the only literature the shop had to offer.
She pitched the timbre of her voice low, reciting in a mocking impression of his Arcadian accent, "We shall see." A pause. "It's something papa used to tell me when I was little."
"Oh?" He abandoned the catalogue and devoted his full attention to the curtain, from which emanated rustling sounds - her old clothing being removed in favor of trying on new. As far as he could recall, this was the first allusion she had ever made to her past before the war. She had been an orphan for years before they had met and yet she had never, to his memory, spoken before of the family she had lost.
"Mm. He'd say it a lot to me, when I was young - we'll see. Whenever I wanted something and he didn't want me to throw a temper tantrum over not getting it, he'd tell me that. And it worked; I'd shut up about it, and he wouldn't have to deal with a bratty kid. And, generally, by a little later I would have forgotten all about it."
He smothered a chuckle behind his hand, amused. "Generally?"
"Generally," she repeated. There was the sound of a shoe slapping against the hard wooden floor, followed by a mild curse, and then at last she continued, "I asked him, once, what we'll see meant, since it seemed like we never did. And do you know what he told me?"
"No, but I'm sure you plan to educate me," he said.
"He said that it didn't mean 'no' now, it meant 'no' later."
He didn't bother to hide his bark of laughter then. "And what did you say to that?"
"Well, I was still very young at the time. I didn't understand what he meant by it. But I guess it was the easiest way for him to deal with me, huh? I had two older brothers; I suppose he'd learned how to manage children by the time I came around." The rustling ceased and the curtain fluttered as the edge was seized in her hand. She threw it back and stepped out of the tiny changing room, a pair of soft leather ankle boots clutched in her free hand. "So, I don't suppose you want to explain why, when I say we ought to part ways, and you tell me we shall see, what I heard was no?"
He didn't, actually. Rather than respond to her query, he canted his head to the side, looked her up and down, and asked, "Is that really what you wish to purchase?"
She glanced down at her nondescript grey pants and blouse. "It's as good as anything else."
It was tragic; it was as if drab and mousy were all she knew. He fought for a neutral expression, certain that any indication of distaste would invoke her ire. "Are you certain you wouldn't prefer something more..." Careful, now. "...colorful?"
Her brows knitted in a frown. "I prefer to remain anonymous wherever possible," she said. "Flashy clothing attracts notice. You might flout convention, Balthier, but believe it or not, most sky pirates prefer to keep their bounties as low as possible, and simple clothing can hide a person in plain sight. It keeps them from being a target for bounty hunters."
"It's not about flouting convention," Balthier sighed. "It's about making a name for oneself, building a reputation, making your mark on the world. There have been thousands of sky pirates, and there will be thousands more. Rather than to be merely one in a faceless crowd, I choose to be known, remembered. It's as close as one can get to immortality."
She made a scathing sound in the back of her throat. "Don't you think saving Ivalice merits its own slice of immortality?"
He waved vaguely, dismissive. "Not in the least, and I'll tell you that it didn't do my reputation any favors, either. We were minor players at best, and history will omit us completely ere long, I'm certain." He braced his hands on the arms of the chair and thrust himself out of the seat. "You can't merely aspire to a bit part in someone else's story, pet. You must make your own."
She dropped into the chair opposite him with a weary sigh, and plopped her old clothes in a pile on the floor, Fran's sandals landing atop them with a wet thump. "I don't need my own story," she grumbled, shoving her left foot into its boot. "I've only just gotten my life back. I just want to keep a low profile and live it." She yanked on the other boot, wincing as it scraped over the bandage.
Before Balthier could respond, the proprietress bustled back into the room with a bag, into which she nudged Penelo's discarded wet clothing and Fran's borrowed sandals with an expression of mild distaste.
"Thought you'd be wearing those out," she said, gesturing to Penelo's new clothing as she handed the bag over. "Though I do have better clothes, miss. I must say, I'd've never taken you for the sort to want something so plain." She clucked disapprovingly, fisting her hands on her hips.
Balthier resisted the urge to cast a patronizing glance in Penelo's direction and instead addressed the proprietress. "I told her she ought to get something brighter. Something in peach, perhaps?"
"Oh, yes, sir," the proprietress said, clasping her hands together in relief. "I'd not want you to get the wrong impression of my shop; those are just what I keep on hand for the, er...less fortunate customers. I've just the thing –"
"That won't be necessary," Penelo said, "I've got what I want." She shoved herself to her feet, collecting the bag as she rose, and tugged open the pouch of gil she'd filched earlier. Before Balthier could get out even a single word of protest, Penelo stared him down, raised her eyebrows, and said, "Did you want dinner or not? Because you're about to talk yourself right out of it."
He was certain that the bite in her voice was intended to be intimidating, but it served only to amuse him instead. Making a show of acquiescence, he heaved a beleaguered sigh and said, "If you're determined to be difficult, settle your bill, and let's be off."
She rolled her eyes in exasperation as she poured coins from the pouch into her hand and counted out the appropriate amount of gil into the proprietress' waiting palm.
As she tucked the coins into her apron pocket, the proprietress addressed Balthier: "If you should succeed in changing her mind, sir, I've some lovely silks just in from Archadia. I'm quick with the stitching, and I employ several seamstresses. It wouldn't take more than a few hours to whip up something more fitting."
"Ah, well, there's the rub," Balthier said. "She's not as malleable as once she was, and so whether or not we return is entirely up to her." He cradled his chin in his hand, and, after a moment's pause, drawled in a long-suffering tone, "More's the pity."
"If I should change my mind," Penelo said to the proprietress in as sweet a voice as she could manage, "I will certainly return." She cast a poisonous glare over her shoulder at Balthier. "Without company."
Balthier smothered a snicker with his palm, rising to his feet. "Darling, you can't be trusted alone in a seamstress' shop. You've a propensity for the bland. I couldn't bear to let you return only to see you choose something equally drab." He stifled a grin as a hot tide of color seeped into her cheeks. Her fingers fairly creaked with strain as she flexed them, no doubt imagining wrapping them around his throat and squeezing the life out of him.
"I see you and your manners have long since parted company," she snapped.
He lifted his brows in mock innocence. "There was a time when you would have told me that honesty was a virtue."
"I don't think I was ever so self-righteous," she huffed in annoyance. Then, in a low voice, "I can only wonder what sins Fran has committed that would deserve being saddled with you for a partner."
He shrugged, not overly concerned with her venomous tone. "I could ask the same for you with Vaan."
She blinked in surprise, likely not having expected such a blasé response. Her lips firmed and then pursed as she vacillated between exasperation and unwilling laughter. After a moment of wrestling with herself, she seemed to come to the conclusion that he was more incorrigible than irritating, and shook her head with a wry smile.
"Dinner," she said at last, in a darkling tone. "I don't have the energy to kill you now, so it'll have to wait until after."
And somehow, he found that he was not entirely certain that she was jesting.
The Promenade, Valentia's citycenter's main thoroughfare, was a wide, winding avenue that began at the gates of Oreil palace and ended at the public waystones used to transport the populace into the hanging gardens. It was paved perfectly smooth in deference to the thick flow of cabs and more or less constant foot traffic, and boasted filigreed street signs and massive gaslamps set ablaze from the very moment that dusk settled over the city.
Much to Penelo's chagrin, this was clearly the territory of the nobility, and so her clothing that had been chosen entirely for being unremarkable now made her very remarkable indeed. Amidst the teeming throngs of elegantly-dressed people, she felt like a drab little wren surrounded by so many peacocks.
As if he had sensed her discomfort, Balthier leaned towards her and said, sotto voce, "I did try."
She gritted her teeth and muttered something terribly unkind beneath her breath, and he snickered, even though he couldn't possibly have heard. Skirting the wide halo of light from a nearby lamp the better to linger in the shadows and avoid notice, she grumbled, "I really don't think I can afford anything in this part of town."
He chuckled. "Not to worry; we won't be eating here. There's better to be found at more reasonable prices elsewhere in the city. These places–" he made a grand, sweeping gesture to the rows of restaurants lining either side of the streets, each packed with well-dressed patrons, "–cater to the gentry almost exclusively. I doubt we'd even gain admittance."
She halted in her tracks, arrested with confusion. "What are we doing here, then?"
"I thought you would appreciate a tour of the city," he said mildly. "You did mention the hanging gardens, and–"
"Stop. Just…stop." Her breath hissed through her teeth as she pressed her hand to her forehead, massaging away the frown lines that had creased her brow. "How does Fran manage to not kill you every time you open your mouth?"
"Practice, I expect. Coupled with years of experience." He caught her elbow in a firm grip, directing her out of the flow of traffic and off to the side of the street. "But surely you can see now that blending in isn't as simple as looking common. It's a matter of looking as though you belong wherever you may be."
She made a sound of latent fury in the back of her throat. "Balthier, I swear if you don't –"
A meaty hand seized her by the shoulder, cutting her diatribe off abruptly as she found herself shoved forward, colliding with Balthier's shoulder. Her fury instantly redirected, she whirled around to find herself facing a portly man who was bedecked in a velvet coat adorned with an overabundance of precious gems. In the flickering lamplight, the gems burned with brilliant inner fire. But their scintillating sparkle failed to atone for the sour, drooping face of their wearer. His receding hairline, poorly masked by what was clearly a wig, only accentuated the beady eyes deep-set beneath a heavy brow and surrounded by folds of excess skin. And he scowled at her, his thin lips carving deep grooves into his florid cheeks.
He wiped his sweaty palm upon his coat, sneering as if the mere act of touching Penelo had contaminated it, looking past her to direct his attention to Balthier. "You've got some nerve, bringing your doxy here," he said. "Her kind belongs in Lower Market. I'll not have my daughters subjected to her ilk on these streets."
With a pudgy hand that was overladen with glistening rings, he gestured behind him to two ladies of indeterminate age, both as rotund as their father, and just as gaudily dressed. They tittered behind their hands, looking Penelo up and down as if they had never encountered a creature like her before.
In her peripheral vision, Penelo caught Balthier stiffening as if he himself had been so insulted. He lurched forward, clearly prepared to do violence, until Penelo pressed a staying hand to his chest.
"No," she said in a seething tone, "Let me."
She had, after all, spent the last three years brawling with criminals and thugs. This ostentatious gentleman didn't present much of a threat, given that she had both youth and vitality as an advantage.
Balthier collected himself and shrugged as if it made no difference to him. He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear, "See if you can't liberate some of those jewels, won't you?" And with his free hand, he pressed a small knife into her palm. Then, with a grand gesture, he waved her on to do as she would.
Secreting the knife from view, Penelo advanced on the man, who shrank back as if he had used up all of his courage on his initial confrontation. Probably he was used to being immediately obeyed by subservient lackeys and servants, and had no idea how to respond to those who weren't so cowed by his taunts.
"I am sick unto death," she snarled, "of self-righteous bastards, thinking they have the right to command me." A step forward; a corresponding flinch. "I have been called worse by better men, but I'll be damned if I accept such treatment from you."
The two girls let out terrified squawks as Penelo closed the distance between herself and their father, who had gone sickly pale, his ruddy cheeks providing the only color in his face. She seized the lapels of his coat, dragging him towards her with no small amount of effort.
"Y-you c-can't…" he choked through chattering teeth. "The guards…"
"You'll be dead the moment you scream," Penelo assured him blithely. Covertly, she palmed the knife, and with a swift snick she sliced clean through the threads anchoring them to the coat, and three precious jewels in their gold settings slipped free of their moorings and dropped down her sleeve, where they lodged right up against her elbow. "Consider this a lesson in courtesy."
With her free hand, she snatched the wig from his head, revealing a shiny pate that clung bitterly to the last few strands of hair it possessed. The girls gasped in horror as Penelo tossed the wig into the street, where it was immediately trampled by oblivious passersby.
Penelo drew back her fist, and the man threw up his arms, cringing away from the expected blow, trembling violently. Another swift slice of the knife yielded yet more jewels that trickled down her sleeve. In mere seconds, the man's bejeweled coat was almost entirely divested of its gems – and he had never noticed a thing.
As the expected blow had failed to fall, eventually the man struggled with layers of fat and excess skin to crack open one eye. Penelo patted his cheek condescendingly, a humiliating mockery of his cowardice. Behind her, she heard Balthier disguise a chuckle with a cough.
"I would suggest that you return to your home immediately and consider yourself fortunate to escape with your life," Penelo said in a low, threatening voice. "Against my better judgment, I've decided to be merciful. I can't promise it will last, should I happen to see your face again."
His double chin wobbled as he nodded rapidly, heaving a sigh of relief.
"And consider this your warning – you are not above reproach. I would recommend keeping your hands – and your opinions – to yourself until they are requested. Not all will be as kind and forgiving as I."
"M-my apologies, miss," he squeaked. "I meant no disrespect."
Of course he had, but she allowed him his falsehood and released his lapels.
The very moment he was freed from her grasp, he skittered back far faster than she would have thought possible for someone of his size. His daughters immediately fluttered to him, crooning soothing words to him.
As Penelo turned away, Balthier fell into step beside her. "Beautifully done," he said.
She shrugged. "I really have been called worse. Water off a duck's back at this point." She shook her right arm, hearing the stones wash against one another, and grinned. "Got a small fortune off of him for my trouble."
"Perfect. Now you can afford some proper clothing and dinner."
In the distance there was a horrified gasp, followed by a strident voice that cried, "Oh, Papa! Your beautiful coat!"
Time to make a swift escape. Penelo seized Balthier's arm and said, "Run."
Twenty minutes later, having successfully escaped anyone that might've been in pursuit, Penelo found herself seated across from Balthier in a quaint little tavern secluded down a side street in a primarily residential district. Without even asking what they desired, the owner had plunked down two mugs of hot cider from which fragrant steam rose in delicate whorls. The sweetly floral scent tickled her nose. Balthier had been correct; it seemed everything was flavored with roses.
Penelo had been patiently waiting for a menu, right up until the time food arrived at their table, delivered by a plump, friendly-looking waitress.
She looked down at the soup contained within a bowl made of bread and topped with a healthy layer of cheese that had been set before her, and said, "Thank you, but I didn't…"
"Oh, you don't order here," the waitress laughed. "The owner chooses, and he always knows just what you need."
Penelo found herself the tiniest bit jealous of Balthier, who had found himself judged worthy of a thick slice of steak.
He merely gestured with his fork, and said, "Give it a go. He's never been wrong in my experience."
Heaving a sigh, Penelo picked up her spoon and dipped it into the soup, scraping a bit of the bread off the interior of the bowl, and popped it into her mouth. Onion soup – caramelized onions in a rich broth that crackled with pepper and hints of rosemary, balanced by mellow cheese and soft white bread into which slivers of dried rose petals had been mixed. Balthier's steak no longer held its appeal; perhaps the soup hadn't been what she had wanted, but it had been precisely what she had needed.
Balthier reached for his own spoon, ostensibly to filch a taste of her soup. She clenched her fork in her fist and made a stabbing motion.
"Point taken." He carefully set the spoon back on the table, as if leery of making any sudden movements that she might interpret as aggressive toward her meal.
Satisfied, she subsided and set back into devouring her meal. "How is Fran doing, these days?" He had promised to share what she'd missed these past few years.
"Well enough," he said. "Ivalice is calmer, now, and so she feels less of a temptation to interfere in hume affairs in general. She contents herself with mine these days." She harangued him like a meddlesome mother, really.
"And the others?"
"Larsa remains well. He is still young, but since peace was brokered between Archades and Rabanastre, he continues to look to the queen for guidance. I think they work well together; they are stronger as allies than they would have been apart. With her majesty's prudence and the weight of Archades' formidable army, betwixt the both of them, they are a force to be reckoned with." He broke off a crust of bread and slathered it with honey-sweetened butter. "There has been talk, lately, of her majesty marrying again."
Penelo's head snapped up. "Larsa?"
Balthier choked on his roll. "Dear gods, no." Despite their friendship, he could not imagine a more mismatched pair. "Some nobleman from Landis, I believe. Last year, Larsa managed to convince his ministers to surrender Landis back to its people. The people who fled the heavy hand of the empire have returned to their homeland once more, and it's rumored that Ashe intends to marry one of them."
"Pity," Penelo said, a frown twisting her lips as she scraped the last of the soup from the bowl. "I would have hoped…well, she and Basch always seemed so close."
"Basch is still in Larsa's employ. They've been apart for five years now; I can't imagine that would be conducive to forging a relationship." Women, it seemed, were all the same – constantly reading deeper into things than they ought, ever searching for romance. He would not have suspected it of Penelo, considering that an ill-suited romance was what had brought her to this point.
"I know," she sighed, draining the dregs of her cider. "And there's the fact that he's still living as his brother, and surely it wouldn't be looked well upon that he's a prominent figure in Larsa's court."
"True," Balthier said. "There is still some lingering anti-Archadian sentiment amongst Dalmascans – though who could blame them? Guiding the fledgling emperor is one thing; marrying a key player in his retinue would be quite another. No doubt the Dalmascans would rather ally with the Archadian Empire through treaties rather than marriage."
The waitress returned with two slices of cheesecake drizzled with a rich red syrup, which she set before them along with a tray containing the bill. Penelo fished out the pouch of coins as she carved out a bite, counting out enough to cover the bill as well as a generous tip. The cheesecake was dense and sweet, drenched in an aromatic syrup brewed from rose petals. Of course.
"You've become quite adept at thievery," Balthier remarked, after the waitress had collected her payment. "How many jewels did you manage to make off with?"
"Haven't had an opportunity to count," she said. "Will it cause a stir if I bring them out in here?"
"Not at all." He took a bite of his own dessert, barely stifling a beleaguered sigh when he discovered the rose syrup himself. "You might call this place a haven, of sorts, for, ah…those on the wrong side of the law. Which is not to say," he said firmly, "that it welcomes the sort of dishonorable louts to which you have become accustomed of late. More like…gentlemen thieves and the like. Beyond these walls, anyone is fair game. Within them, everything is sacrosanct."
Having just stolen a fortune in gems, it would have been hypocritical of her to mock the idea of 'gentlemen thieves,' and so she took him at his word and plucked out the handful of ill-gotten jewels and spread them out on the table between them. They glittered coldly in the light of the overhead lamps, but, true to Balthier's claim, they attracted no attention from other patrons.
"Hmm." Balthier studied the gems with a practiced eye, separating them out into two piles. "The fool got what he deserved. Thieves frequent even the upper class districts; he was practically begging to be robbed. You must've all but cleaned him out with this haul."
There was a note of pride in his voice, and she felt her cheeks heating at his approval. Not that she required it – but it had been so long since she had had anyone to even offer it. "I'll have to find a fence, but this should keep me for a while." She reached out to swipe the gems off the table, but he snatched at her wrist.
"Not so fast," he said. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, there." He released her wrist and gestured to the small pile – only three stones. "These are real. Two pearls and an opal. On the other hand –" He swept his hand to the right, passing it over the larger pile of stones, "–these are paste. Admittedly good paste, but paste nonetheless."
"Paste?" She blinked, baffled.
"Very pretty, very shiny, mostly worthless bits of glass." He smiled benevolently. "That's not to say they won't fetch a decent price, but it won't be nearly as much as you might have expected. A generous fence will pay at most ten percent of an item's true value. All told, you're due perhaps five hundred gil."
"So little?" Her face crumpled into a frown, disappointed she'd gone to such trouble for such a meager payoff.
"Come, now, consider the greater good – you've spared the whole of Valentia the unenviable fate of having to witness that ghastly man outfitted in such a garish coat." He passed a hand over his mouth, stifling a snicker.
She slouched in her chair with a sigh. "Yes, but…I was hoping to have funds to travel with."
He shrugged. "You can still travel. Currently I find myself at loose ends, absent a partner. With Fran otherwise occupied whipping Vaan into shape, hopefully molding him into some semblance of a proper pirate, there is an empty room aboard the Strahl."
She chuckled. "Yes; I'm exactly the sort you need for a partner."
"Do you know, I think you rather are."
The amusement fled from her face, banished by the fact that he seemed to actually be serious. "That's ridiculous. I can't."
"Oh? Have you some better opportunity to pursue with your newly-acquired freedom?" He rested his elbows on the table before him, tenting his fingers.
Penelo had the most peculiar sensation that he was conducting an interview of sorts. "No, it's just…I'm years out of practice."
"And yet, you've retained enough ability to relieve a man of the gems sewn on his coat right beneath his nose, with him none the wiser. And that's to say nothing of your heist in the market earlier; I can't recall the last time I've seen such sleight-of-hand." The corners of his lips quirked upwards just a bit, amused by the memory.
"Well, yes," she said, "Pick-pocketing patrons paid off a good deal of my debt. But –"
"You fight well," he interrupted. "But only when necessary. You're not rash and reckless; you don't escalate to violence if there's no need for it."
"I would think that would be common sense," she said.
"You would be surprised," he replied grimly. "Regardless, you have the makings of a good pirate. With a bit of educating, you could be legendary." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "I've come across some information – what could very well be the find of a lifetime. But I'll require someone I can trust along for the ride. And with Fran otherwise engaged…"
Oh. He didn't want to have to waste time interviewing for a temporary partner – and they'd traveled together before, so he already knew she was trustworthy. All evening, he'd been studying her, assessing her value. And he was right – she didn't have anything more pressing to attend to.
"What do you say? It's sure to be a very lucrative opportunity. Certainly enough for you to be an independent woman of means."
"I suppose I do owe it to you," she said. "For rescuing me and all. I suppose I could accompany you – on a temporary basis – at least until Fran's done with Vaan."
And Balthier decided it would be best not to mention that, considering Vaan's lack of discipline and Fran's strict standards, it might be quite a long temporary partnership indeed.