[Final Fantasy XII] A Poor Actress
Characters/Pairings: Balthier/Ashe
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers
Notes: 1100 words. Written for my claim at the_sandsea, themes #11. Resist 30. Regal 78. Propriety 90. Pulse 91. Hold on
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII belongs to Square Enix. I own neither the characters nor the settings, nor do I make any profit from my fanfiction, which is purely for my own enjoyment.
Summary: This is not where she expected to find a petitioner.
Ashe stopped dead and dug in her heels. "I will not go in there," she decreed.
"No one's asking you to participate, princess," Balthier drawled, one hand already resting on the doorknob. "Though it wouldn't go amiss if you pretended to be glad to be here with me, as opposed to an unwilling captive."
"Balthier, that is a brothel," she hissed.
"Yes, and our contact for that hunt you so desperately wanted can only be found here." Balthier grinned. "We could always go back and cross our mark off the bill?"
"No." Ashe sighed. "Very well. But you will keep your hands off of me."
"Agreed." Balthier made her a sweeping bow. "Ah, if you could, princess, try to look a touch less regal? Noblewomen generally don't frequent this establishment."
Ashe spluttered. Balthier waited, smirking in that insufferable way he had. She grimaced and bit her tongue. They desperately needed the money from this hunt, and the mark looked easy enough; a day's jaunt into Cerobi should be sufficient. She ground her teeth and pasted a pretty smile onto her face, though she could not quite bring herself to place her hand on Balthier's arm as he invited her to do.
She had expected a raucous tavern festooned with unclothed women, but the interior of the brothel was surprisingly serene. The room was scattered with deeply-cushioned couches upholstered in dark blue and green, and while there certainly were women of every description, they were at least partially clothed. They lounged upon the couches and talked quietly among themselves, looking up to greet the new arrivals with inviting smiles.
"Ah, welcome, young lord." The woman greeting them was certainly in the latter part of middle age, but though no longer in the first blush of beauty, she was still a handsome woman. She bowed to them both, and though she glanced curiously at Ashe, she made no comment. "Are you seeking a room to let?"
"Indeed we are. And perhaps some additional companionship." Balthier winked and handed the woman two thousand gil. Ashe closed her eyes, bit her tongue and counted to fifteen in the Paramina dialect, at which she had never been terribly adept. By the time she remembered the word for "eleven," Balthier had selected a very curvy redhead to join them and more gil had changed hands. She hoped her flush might be taken for modesty rather than rage.
Balthier took her arm once again and, with the prostitute clinging to his other arm, he led the both of them out of the reception area and up a curving staircase. Ashe clenched her fists and thought longingly of Flametongue, left neatly sheathed at their inn because it was considered rude to stride about with weapons of war strapped to one's hip in Archades proper, or so Balthier claimed.
They made their way down a long hallway and into a generously proportioned room. As soon as the door closed behind them, the girl slipped free of Balthier's arm and approached Ashe. "Good day," she said brightly.
"You're Lemira, are you not?" Balthier inquired, gently nudging Ashe out of the way and turning the redhead to face him.
Her expression changed from open and welcoming to wary. "Who's asking?"
"You posted a bill." Balthier held up a scrap of parchment upon which he'd scribbled the crucial information about the mark.
"You're hunters?" Her eyes widened, and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her.
"We are." Balthier leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "Now, what is it you want hunted?"
"There is a creature on the Cerobi Steppe called the Aureaplume, a rare variant of Charybterix, and its feathers are of purest shining gold," Lemira explained. "I want the feathers for a gown. I'll pay you quite well if you can hunt one for me. It's usually seen on sunny days, but it fears the Bandercouerls, and will hide if they are about."
Balthier looked at Ashe and raised his eyebrow. She forced a smile. "We will hunt it for you," she said, and hoped her voice sounded more gracious to the prostitute than it did to her.
"Ah, wonderful!" Lemira clapped her hands. "Thank you ever so much!" She launched herself at Balthier and promptly began raining kisses upon his face. He gently nudged her backward.
"Well, that's our business transaction," Balthier said. "We'll just slip out the back door, then, and you can have a few minutes to yourself before you're wanted again."
Lemira nodded, and Balthier opened the door and checked the hallway twice before gesturing Ashe to precede him out of the room. "Keep your head down, if you can," he murmured as she passed him. "This place has been known to host high government officials who might remember your face from official functions."
Ashe nodded and left the room. Balthier followed her and then turned left, down a different branch of the hallway. She hurried to catch up with him, damning his longer stride.
They had gone about halfway down this hallway when Balthier stopped short, then turned to her and pinned her back against the wall, kissing her quite enthusiastically. Ashe was too shocked for a moment to even react, and when at last her wits thawed and she thought to strike him for his temerity, she found her wrists pinned to the wall behind her. Her pulse pounded in her ears like the message-drums of Dalmasca.
Hurried footsteps passed them by, and she brought the heel of her boot down hard upon Balthier's toes, and twisted her head to bite him. He swore and stepped back, lifting his hand to rub at his abused lip.
"Have a care, Ashe," he snapped.
"I should have a care? You just assaulted me!" she hissed back.
"I was trying to keep your face hidden from the Senator who just walked past us. If this is the thanks I'll have for keeping you out of the hands of the Judge Magisters, then I wash my hands of you, and you can get yourself arrested this minute."
Ashe could only gape at him. He had the gall, the sheer audacity to spin her such a tale?
"Now if you would not mind terribly, perhaps we could continue this discussion elsewhere? We do have a mark to hunt, if you would recall."
Ashe turned on her heel and stormed down the corridor, trying to remember the words to count to one hundred in Rozarrian. Once this mess was done and they no longer needed his assistance, she'd find some way to humiliate him as thoroughly as he had her, and they would see how well he liked it.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers
Notes: 1100 words. Written for my claim at the_sandsea, themes #11. Resist 30. Regal 78. Propriety 90. Pulse 91. Hold on
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII belongs to Square Enix. I own neither the characters nor the settings, nor do I make any profit from my fanfiction, which is purely for my own enjoyment.
Summary: This is not where she expected to find a petitioner.
Ashe stopped dead and dug in her heels. "I will not go in there," she decreed.
"No one's asking you to participate, princess," Balthier drawled, one hand already resting on the doorknob. "Though it wouldn't go amiss if you pretended to be glad to be here with me, as opposed to an unwilling captive."
"Balthier, that is a brothel," she hissed.
"Yes, and our contact for that hunt you so desperately wanted can only be found here." Balthier grinned. "We could always go back and cross our mark off the bill?"
"No." Ashe sighed. "Very well. But you will keep your hands off of me."
"Agreed." Balthier made her a sweeping bow. "Ah, if you could, princess, try to look a touch less regal? Noblewomen generally don't frequent this establishment."
Ashe spluttered. Balthier waited, smirking in that insufferable way he had. She grimaced and bit her tongue. They desperately needed the money from this hunt, and the mark looked easy enough; a day's jaunt into Cerobi should be sufficient. She ground her teeth and pasted a pretty smile onto her face, though she could not quite bring herself to place her hand on Balthier's arm as he invited her to do.
She had expected a raucous tavern festooned with unclothed women, but the interior of the brothel was surprisingly serene. The room was scattered with deeply-cushioned couches upholstered in dark blue and green, and while there certainly were women of every description, they were at least partially clothed. They lounged upon the couches and talked quietly among themselves, looking up to greet the new arrivals with inviting smiles.
"Ah, welcome, young lord." The woman greeting them was certainly in the latter part of middle age, but though no longer in the first blush of beauty, she was still a handsome woman. She bowed to them both, and though she glanced curiously at Ashe, she made no comment. "Are you seeking a room to let?"
"Indeed we are. And perhaps some additional companionship." Balthier winked and handed the woman two thousand gil. Ashe closed her eyes, bit her tongue and counted to fifteen in the Paramina dialect, at which she had never been terribly adept. By the time she remembered the word for "eleven," Balthier had selected a very curvy redhead to join them and more gil had changed hands. She hoped her flush might be taken for modesty rather than rage.
Balthier took her arm once again and, with the prostitute clinging to his other arm, he led the both of them out of the reception area and up a curving staircase. Ashe clenched her fists and thought longingly of Flametongue, left neatly sheathed at their inn because it was considered rude to stride about with weapons of war strapped to one's hip in Archades proper, or so Balthier claimed.
They made their way down a long hallway and into a generously proportioned room. As soon as the door closed behind them, the girl slipped free of Balthier's arm and approached Ashe. "Good day," she said brightly.
"You're Lemira, are you not?" Balthier inquired, gently nudging Ashe out of the way and turning the redhead to face him.
Her expression changed from open and welcoming to wary. "Who's asking?"
"You posted a bill." Balthier held up a scrap of parchment upon which he'd scribbled the crucial information about the mark.
"You're hunters?" Her eyes widened, and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her.
"We are." Balthier leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "Now, what is it you want hunted?"
"There is a creature on the Cerobi Steppe called the Aureaplume, a rare variant of Charybterix, and its feathers are of purest shining gold," Lemira explained. "I want the feathers for a gown. I'll pay you quite well if you can hunt one for me. It's usually seen on sunny days, but it fears the Bandercouerls, and will hide if they are about."
Balthier looked at Ashe and raised his eyebrow. She forced a smile. "We will hunt it for you," she said, and hoped her voice sounded more gracious to the prostitute than it did to her.
"Ah, wonderful!" Lemira clapped her hands. "Thank you ever so much!" She launched herself at Balthier and promptly began raining kisses upon his face. He gently nudged her backward.
"Well, that's our business transaction," Balthier said. "We'll just slip out the back door, then, and you can have a few minutes to yourself before you're wanted again."
Lemira nodded, and Balthier opened the door and checked the hallway twice before gesturing Ashe to precede him out of the room. "Keep your head down, if you can," he murmured as she passed him. "This place has been known to host high government officials who might remember your face from official functions."
Ashe nodded and left the room. Balthier followed her and then turned left, down a different branch of the hallway. She hurried to catch up with him, damning his longer stride.
They had gone about halfway down this hallway when Balthier stopped short, then turned to her and pinned her back against the wall, kissing her quite enthusiastically. Ashe was too shocked for a moment to even react, and when at last her wits thawed and she thought to strike him for his temerity, she found her wrists pinned to the wall behind her. Her pulse pounded in her ears like the message-drums of Dalmasca.
Hurried footsteps passed them by, and she brought the heel of her boot down hard upon Balthier's toes, and twisted her head to bite him. He swore and stepped back, lifting his hand to rub at his abused lip.
"Have a care, Ashe," he snapped.
"I should have a care? You just assaulted me!" she hissed back.
"I was trying to keep your face hidden from the Senator who just walked past us. If this is the thanks I'll have for keeping you out of the hands of the Judge Magisters, then I wash my hands of you, and you can get yourself arrested this minute."
Ashe could only gape at him. He had the gall, the sheer audacity to spin her such a tale?
"Now if you would not mind terribly, perhaps we could continue this discussion elsewhere? We do have a mark to hunt, if you would recall."
Ashe turned on her heel and stormed down the corridor, trying to remember the words to count to one hundred in Rozarrian. Once this mess was done and they no longer needed his assistance, she'd find some way to humiliate him as thoroughly as he had her, and they would see how well he liked it.