[Final Fantasy XII/Final Fantasy VI Crossover] The Invaluable Art of Knowing When To Fold (1)
Pairing: Balthier/Celes, Locke/Celes referenced
Rating: PG, this installment
Warnings: Spoilers for Balthier's backstory.
Notes: This crossover places characters from FF6 into Ivalice as though they have always been there; personalities remain intact, although backstories may have altered.
Wordcount: 3200
Summary: One of the most valuable lessons a young sky pirate will ever learn is when it is wisest to simply cut his losses and walk away.
Beta: first_seventhe
For the fifth time in the last quarter hour, Balthier checked the Strahl's sensors and viewscreens for any sign of pursuit. None was apparent. He let out a long sigh of relief and checked his flight path. The Tchita Uplands were spread out beneath him in a motley patchwork of brown stone and green grass. He nudged the controls just slightly to turn the Strahl to the east. The best place to hide a liberated ship would be Balfonheim, where few asked any questions and the Imperial presence was negligible at best.
Then, too, he had heard that the Hunt boards at Balfonheim were among the most extensive in Ivalice, second only to Phon - which was far too close to Archades for his liking - and a hunt was just the thing to begin making his name.
He ran appreciative hands over the gleaming consoles before him and smiled. The weight of his past had fallen away like the hundredweight of steel armour he had left in a jumble in his judge quarters. No longer would he be Dr. Cid's son, with all the expectations that entailed. Balthier the sky pirate had no family, no past, no expectations to live up to save only his own.
"Well, then, let us see what we can do about making a name for ourselves, shall we?" he asked the Strahl. He took the contented hum of the engines as assent, and tapped the throttle for more power. He would be in Balfonheim by midafternoon.
~*~
The busiest times in Balfonheim port were sunrise and sunset, as ships set out for and returned from strikes set for midnight. Things were quieter at midafternoon. It was no trouble at all to slip the Strahl neatly into a docking bay, and toss a few hundred Gil at the portmaster on his way past. Balthier took a moment to resettle the lace of his cuffs and straighten his new velvet vest - just the thing for a pirate - before stepping out of the aerodrome and into the bustle of Balfonheim's streets.
He was no gawking provincial, but the sheer range of humes and other races that he saw astounded him. He saw seeq of all colours, and more bangaa than he had seen in any one place in his entire life. He had, of course, seen the other races on various expeditions the Akademy had mandated, but never so many at once (save of course for Moogles, whose technical prowess made them invaluable even in high-flying Archades.)
He nearly walked into a wall when he caught a glimpse of a Viera - and one only barely clad at that, in the merest hints of leather armour - and cursed himself for his clumsiness. He wanted to appear as a dashing pirate, not some bucolic bumpkin.
"Hey, get out of the way," a bangaa growled behind him, and Balthier hastily dodged out of the way as a half-dozen bangaa barreled past him, each with enormous sacks balanced upon their shoulders. Unfortunately, that brought him into rather closer contact than he would have preferred with a murky, reeking puddle just off the cobblestoned street. He shook his foot to dislodge the strings of algae from his boot, taking care not to contaminate his trousers.
It seemed there were some dangers to Balfonheim he had not considered when planning his departure from the stifling life of a judge.
He shouldered Altair and set his chin at a determined angle, striding down the edge of the street as if he had every right to be there, which right he was doubting more and more at every moment. The street was crowded with all manner of people, and if he had thought the society parties of Upper Archades drenched in a rainbow of eye-catching colours, he had thought wrongly. Balfonheim boasted a wider array still, though its inhabitants were rather less careful about ensuring that the colours they wore complemented each other.
He saw a sign painted with a cresting wave, and the clumsy lettering beneath further specified that the establishment was known as the Whitecap Inn. He glanced through the open door and saw a very excited crowd, and more importantly, a hunt board.
Those within the inn did not appear to have relinquished their weaponry at the door as was customary for higher-end Archadian establishments, so Balthier slipped Altair into its holster at his thigh and entered. He had heard sufficient tales of the pirate city to know that he ought to keep one hand on his weapon and the other on his Gil pouch, and he did so as he wove his way through the crowd. There was a surprisingly large clear space around the hunt board; it appeared the only person examining the postings was a woman in black and gold armour, with long blonde hair that streamed arrow-straight to her waist. Some ten feet away from her, a group of what he presumed to be hunters had clustered, and were gossiping in excited whispers. He sidled up behind them to listen.
"Queen of hunters, they call her," a bangaa said, and snorted. "She does a fair job, for a hume."
"-heard she killed a shieldwyrm single-handedly," one of the men was saying.
"She's Nabradian, isn't she?" another asked.
"Nobody knows," someone else said. "She doesn't give a family name. Or anything else for that matter."
"I've heard she never takes a partner," the second man piped up.
"That's not true-Fran's hunted with her, haven't you, Fran?"
The whispers fell silent as all eyes turned to the one Viera in their midst. She half-shrugged. "She is a skilled hunter," was all that the Viera said.
"Come on, you must know more than that," one of them complained.
"Knowing is not telling," the Viera replied firmly, and turned away to signal the bartender for another drink.
"How long is she going to take?" a boy, younger than Balthier by perhaps some three years, complained. "I want to look too!"
His words were rather louder than he might have intended, and the woman by the board must have heard him. Balthier observed that most of the hunters were drawing back so as not to be too near the offender, but she seemed to take no notice. She pulled her insignia from her pocket and stamped four of the bills upon the board; Balthier was not close enough to read the details, but he could see that they bore the red ink indicative of marks that were at least rank V.
Without speaking a word, the girl turned away from the board and moved through the crowd toward the small tables that clustered on the terrace. Balthier wondered if it was chivalry or fear that had the occupants of those tables jumping to their feet to offer her a place, but she continued past all of them until she found a tiny table tucked into a back corner. She seated herself with her back to the wall, and the serving girl brought her a mug of ale.
"Wouldn't mind going on a hunt with her," someone said just behind Balthier's shoulder, and he turned to face the new speaker. "Haven't seen you around," the man continued. Most of the left side of his face was covered with a twisted, reddish rope of scar tissue. Beyond the scar, Balthier could see that he had long, unkempt brown hair and grey eyes. "I'm Algus."
"Balthier," he said, pleased with the way his chosen name tripped smoothly off the tongue. Certainly it was more suitable than the ridiculous Ffamran that his father had chosen for him. He wondered if this Algus originally hailed from Archades--the unfortunates in Lower City had been known to corrupt the traditional name Argath in such a manner.
"You're a hunter, or a pirate?" Algus inquired.
"A bit of both," Balthier replied, drawing on the feigned insouciance of an Archadian ardent. It would never do to appear too eager.
Algus turned and waved at the bartender, who set two mugs of frothy ale on the bar. Balthier glanced at the sign above the bar, which depicted three drinking vessels--one clearly filled with ale, another that was a wineglass, and a third that indicated strong liquor--with prices listed beside them. As he would have in an Archadian establishment, he handed over enough for his drink and Algus's, with a bit extra for the barkeep.
"My thanks," Algus said, toasting him with the metal mug before gulping down a generous amount of ale.
Balthier returned the salute and tried a sip. It was far better than he would have expected in a town like this, but then again, pirates probably took their liquor seriously. He was also aware that it was probably a good bit stronger than its Archadian counterpart.
"Here, have a seat. Do you game?" Algus inquired, casually knocking over a chair and sending a boy of some sixteen years scrambling for a new seat. He claimed the table thus emptied, and Balthier joined him.
Balthier knew the basics of most games of chance--one could not grow up ignorant of such things amid the Archadian nobility--but had not practiced their play overly much. He called up his best smile and pretended to utter confidence. "I do, when the stakes are worth my while."
Algus laughed and downed more of his ale. Balthier sipped at his more cautiously, unwilling to fall prey to strong drink in a town with which, it must be admitted, he was less familiar than was wise.
"So what would be worth your while, then?" Algus asked him.
"It depends on my mood," Balthier temporized. "Money has its appeal, but there are other, more interesting things to wager, are there not?"
Algus snorted. "You'd like her." He jerked his head slightly toward the woman who had stamped the bills previously. "She said something like that the last time somebody asked her to play. She kicked his ass, metaphorically speaking."
"Not literally?" Balthier sipped his ale again, and calculated the odds of embarrassing himself utterly if he challenged her to a game. He was capable of a good bluff, a trick learnt from Jules, and there would be advantages for him even if he lost, which he had no intention of doing. If he could defeat the queen of hunters at her own game, he would earn a reputation very quickly. Should he lose, provided he made a good enough showing, it would still benefit him, particularly if he could get her to go on a hunt with him.
"Literally came later, when he got too friendly and found himself with a sword at his throat and a boot to the balls."
Balthier endeavoured not to reflexively cross his legs, and was reasonably certain he had contained his reaction. "Surely he suspected such would happen? I admit I have not spoken to her, but she does not strike me as one who would suffer fools gladly."
Algus laughed uproariously. "True, but drunk men are not known for their caution." He drained his ale and rose from the table. "Come on, let's see if the ice queen fancies a game of cards."
A protest tried to wrangle its way out of Balthier's mouth; he clenched his teeth tightly to contain it, and followed Algus over to the table that the girl had claimed for herself.
Algus apparently felt no need to announce his presence beyond swiping a chair from a nearby table, spinning it about so that the back of the chair faced the girl's table, and plopping down with his arms folded atop the chair. "Game of cards?" he said with an easy grin, fanning out a pack of cards between narrow, tanned fingers.
"You bore me, Algus." It was the first time Balthier had heard her speak, and her voice was clear and cool. Her accent was neither the cultured lilt of the upper classes nor the easy slur of the lower, but somewhere in between, each syllable precisely pronounced. This close, he could see that she was younger than he had first thought; though her demeanour implied years or even decades of experience as a hunter, her face was unlined, and her skin surprisingly smooth for one who spent her life out of doors.
"That's no way to greet a friend, Celes. Besides, I've brought you someone to meet."
She glanced up from her ale, and Balthier found himself pinned with an icy stare from eyes like his mother's sapphires. He forced a smile, and hoped that she did not see how nervous he was.
She sighed. "Algus, if you intend to cheat me, I will castrate you," she said conversationally.
The same thought had already occurred to Balthier, but he was reassured when Algus clutched dramatically at his dirty blue bandanna. "You wound me. I had no intention of playing myself, and was going to offer to deal for you so that you'd each know you were playing fair."
She did not appear to react to that statement. "Oh, very well." She glanced up at Balthier. "Sit down. I don't intend to kill you yet."
Balthier swallowed hard and took a seat across from her. Algus began to shuffle the cards smoothly. "Poker, then?" he inquired.
Balthier looked at Celes, who nodded assent. "Certainly," he told Algus, who grinned.
"Ante up!" Algus declared.
Celes gestured for Balthier to go first, so he put down three hundred-Gil pieces. She matched him, her face expressionless, and waited for the cards to fall.
They played some ten hands of poker, of which Balthier won six and Celes won four. As the games continued, Balthier grew more at ease with Algus's dealing, which appeared to be entirely honest--Balthier saw no cards that indicated an excessive manipulation of the deck, nor could he catch the other man engaging in legerdemain. Celes, for her part, appeared to be rather bored by the whole proceeding. Other patrons of the inn gravitated toward the match, watching in relative quiet, although they kept a safe distance from the actual action.
"Last hand," Celes said, studying the pile of Gil before her.
"As you wish." Balthier inclined his head.
A faint smile touched her lips, the first expression Balthier had seen on her face since he sat down. "I grow bored of gambling for Gil," she said. "What say you to a more interesting bet?"
This was the opportunity he had been awaiting. Balthier gave her his best careless grin. "As my lady commands," he said, giving her a half-bow from his chair. "What do you wish to wager?"
"I hear that you have a rather spectacular specimen of Archadian engineering in the aerodrome." She stacked Gil neatly into piles of twenty without appearing to actually count them.
"The Strahl is the best ship in Ivalice," Balthier answered, and then cursed his unruly tongue. He had taken care with the ale, but it seemed to have caught up with him.
Her eyes lit with amusement. "Here is my wager, then, Balthier. The winner is owed any service he or she desires from the loser, for one month."
Balthier prayed he was not blushing as much as he thought he might be, and shifted slightly so that the alteration in the fit of his pants would be less apparent. "An intriguing wager," he said, and hoped that his voice was steady. "Any restrictions on choice of task?"
"Any service the winner desires," she repeated, and her gaze ran from his face down to where the table's edge hid his lower body.
He fought the urge to loosen the collar of his shirt. Algus was grinning fit to crack his face, and the other patrons were making lewd jests to each other. "I accept," he said. Gods give me luck, he prayed silently.
Algus made a show of shuffling the cards in a series of intricate patterns before dealing out the hand. Balthier picked up his five cards and studied them, working to keep his face impassive. The seven, eight, and nine of hearts were staring at him, along with the two and three of clubs. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Celes put down three cards and received three from Algus, though her face gave no clue to her thoughts on her hand. Balthier looked at his hand and decided that if he was going to lose, he would at least have the decency to see the game through. "Two," he said, putting down the clubs.
Algus passed him two cards, facedown. Balthier picked them up and had to struggle mightily to maintain his lack of expression when he saw the jack and ten of hearts winking at him. From nothing to a straight flush seemed an impossible miracle, and he resolved to burn incense at the next Kiltias temple he saw.
Celes met his eyes over the fan of her cards. "Last chance to fold," she said coolly.
Balthier shook his head. "Let them fall as they will," he answered, and laid down his cards, no longer able to keep his grin in check. He heard the surprised murmurs all around them; everyone seemed astounded that the queen of hunters was about to lose.
"Very nice," she said, and from her tone, she might have been admiring a decent but unexceptional painting in an Archadian gallery. She began to lay her cards down one at a time.
Ten of spades, jack, queen, king--Balthier's heart began to pound in his chest, and his face prickled as the weight of his nervousness dragged at him. Her face remained expressionless as she set the ace of spades neatly beside the other four. "Royal flush," she said.
He was doomed.
As the shouts and laughs and cheers went on all around them, Balthier called on years of training at the Akademy and made the best of a bad situation. "Well-played," he said.
"You as well." She gathered her Gil and stuffed it into her belt pouch. "Now, about that service."
Balthier gritted his teeth. "As you command," he said, though the words nearly choked him. He'd thought to be done with commands.
"I require the use of your ship; it will make my hunting easier. Purchase any sundries or armour you may need--I suggest, at the least, a good supply of antidotes. Meet me at the aerodrome in an hour." She rose, adjusting the sword that hung at her side. "I abhor tardiness, so do not be late."
With that, she walked out of the room, pausing only to kick Algus's chair out from beneath him in a manner that suggested good-natured fun, rather than actual irritation.
Algus scrambled back to his feet, rubbing at his backside. "She never misses a chance for that," he muttered. "Well, kid, best get moving. She really does hate it when people are late."
Balthier limited himself to a nod, as he did not trust himself to be civil, and made his way to the door. He had taken little in the way of sundries with him from his father's storage, and he would need potions at the least if she intended him to hunt with her.
He had the sinking feeling that it was going to be a very long month.
Rating: PG, this installment
Warnings: Spoilers for Balthier's backstory.
Notes: This crossover places characters from FF6 into Ivalice as though they have always been there; personalities remain intact, although backstories may have altered.
Wordcount: 3200
Summary: One of the most valuable lessons a young sky pirate will ever learn is when it is wisest to simply cut his losses and walk away.
Beta: first_seventhe
For the fifth time in the last quarter hour, Balthier checked the Strahl's sensors and viewscreens for any sign of pursuit. None was apparent. He let out a long sigh of relief and checked his flight path. The Tchita Uplands were spread out beneath him in a motley patchwork of brown stone and green grass. He nudged the controls just slightly to turn the Strahl to the east. The best place to hide a liberated ship would be Balfonheim, where few asked any questions and the Imperial presence was negligible at best.
Then, too, he had heard that the Hunt boards at Balfonheim were among the most extensive in Ivalice, second only to Phon - which was far too close to Archades for his liking - and a hunt was just the thing to begin making his name.
He ran appreciative hands over the gleaming consoles before him and smiled. The weight of his past had fallen away like the hundredweight of steel armour he had left in a jumble in his judge quarters. No longer would he be Dr. Cid's son, with all the expectations that entailed. Balthier the sky pirate had no family, no past, no expectations to live up to save only his own.
"Well, then, let us see what we can do about making a name for ourselves, shall we?" he asked the Strahl. He took the contented hum of the engines as assent, and tapped the throttle for more power. He would be in Balfonheim by midafternoon.
~*~
The busiest times in Balfonheim port were sunrise and sunset, as ships set out for and returned from strikes set for midnight. Things were quieter at midafternoon. It was no trouble at all to slip the Strahl neatly into a docking bay, and toss a few hundred Gil at the portmaster on his way past. Balthier took a moment to resettle the lace of his cuffs and straighten his new velvet vest - just the thing for a pirate - before stepping out of the aerodrome and into the bustle of Balfonheim's streets.
He was no gawking provincial, but the sheer range of humes and other races that he saw astounded him. He saw seeq of all colours, and more bangaa than he had seen in any one place in his entire life. He had, of course, seen the other races on various expeditions the Akademy had mandated, but never so many at once (save of course for Moogles, whose technical prowess made them invaluable even in high-flying Archades.)
He nearly walked into a wall when he caught a glimpse of a Viera - and one only barely clad at that, in the merest hints of leather armour - and cursed himself for his clumsiness. He wanted to appear as a dashing pirate, not some bucolic bumpkin.
"Hey, get out of the way," a bangaa growled behind him, and Balthier hastily dodged out of the way as a half-dozen bangaa barreled past him, each with enormous sacks balanced upon their shoulders. Unfortunately, that brought him into rather closer contact than he would have preferred with a murky, reeking puddle just off the cobblestoned street. He shook his foot to dislodge the strings of algae from his boot, taking care not to contaminate his trousers.
It seemed there were some dangers to Balfonheim he had not considered when planning his departure from the stifling life of a judge.
He shouldered Altair and set his chin at a determined angle, striding down the edge of the street as if he had every right to be there, which right he was doubting more and more at every moment. The street was crowded with all manner of people, and if he had thought the society parties of Upper Archades drenched in a rainbow of eye-catching colours, he had thought wrongly. Balfonheim boasted a wider array still, though its inhabitants were rather less careful about ensuring that the colours they wore complemented each other.
He saw a sign painted with a cresting wave, and the clumsy lettering beneath further specified that the establishment was known as the Whitecap Inn. He glanced through the open door and saw a very excited crowd, and more importantly, a hunt board.
Those within the inn did not appear to have relinquished their weaponry at the door as was customary for higher-end Archadian establishments, so Balthier slipped Altair into its holster at his thigh and entered. He had heard sufficient tales of the pirate city to know that he ought to keep one hand on his weapon and the other on his Gil pouch, and he did so as he wove his way through the crowd. There was a surprisingly large clear space around the hunt board; it appeared the only person examining the postings was a woman in black and gold armour, with long blonde hair that streamed arrow-straight to her waist. Some ten feet away from her, a group of what he presumed to be hunters had clustered, and were gossiping in excited whispers. He sidled up behind them to listen.
"Queen of hunters, they call her," a bangaa said, and snorted. "She does a fair job, for a hume."
"-heard she killed a shieldwyrm single-handedly," one of the men was saying.
"She's Nabradian, isn't she?" another asked.
"Nobody knows," someone else said. "She doesn't give a family name. Or anything else for that matter."
"I've heard she never takes a partner," the second man piped up.
"That's not true-Fran's hunted with her, haven't you, Fran?"
The whispers fell silent as all eyes turned to the one Viera in their midst. She half-shrugged. "She is a skilled hunter," was all that the Viera said.
"Come on, you must know more than that," one of them complained.
"Knowing is not telling," the Viera replied firmly, and turned away to signal the bartender for another drink.
"How long is she going to take?" a boy, younger than Balthier by perhaps some three years, complained. "I want to look too!"
His words were rather louder than he might have intended, and the woman by the board must have heard him. Balthier observed that most of the hunters were drawing back so as not to be too near the offender, but she seemed to take no notice. She pulled her insignia from her pocket and stamped four of the bills upon the board; Balthier was not close enough to read the details, but he could see that they bore the red ink indicative of marks that were at least rank V.
Without speaking a word, the girl turned away from the board and moved through the crowd toward the small tables that clustered on the terrace. Balthier wondered if it was chivalry or fear that had the occupants of those tables jumping to their feet to offer her a place, but she continued past all of them until she found a tiny table tucked into a back corner. She seated herself with her back to the wall, and the serving girl brought her a mug of ale.
"Wouldn't mind going on a hunt with her," someone said just behind Balthier's shoulder, and he turned to face the new speaker. "Haven't seen you around," the man continued. Most of the left side of his face was covered with a twisted, reddish rope of scar tissue. Beyond the scar, Balthier could see that he had long, unkempt brown hair and grey eyes. "I'm Algus."
"Balthier," he said, pleased with the way his chosen name tripped smoothly off the tongue. Certainly it was more suitable than the ridiculous Ffamran that his father had chosen for him. He wondered if this Algus originally hailed from Archades--the unfortunates in Lower City had been known to corrupt the traditional name Argath in such a manner.
"You're a hunter, or a pirate?" Algus inquired.
"A bit of both," Balthier replied, drawing on the feigned insouciance of an Archadian ardent. It would never do to appear too eager.
Algus turned and waved at the bartender, who set two mugs of frothy ale on the bar. Balthier glanced at the sign above the bar, which depicted three drinking vessels--one clearly filled with ale, another that was a wineglass, and a third that indicated strong liquor--with prices listed beside them. As he would have in an Archadian establishment, he handed over enough for his drink and Algus's, with a bit extra for the barkeep.
"My thanks," Algus said, toasting him with the metal mug before gulping down a generous amount of ale.
Balthier returned the salute and tried a sip. It was far better than he would have expected in a town like this, but then again, pirates probably took their liquor seriously. He was also aware that it was probably a good bit stronger than its Archadian counterpart.
"Here, have a seat. Do you game?" Algus inquired, casually knocking over a chair and sending a boy of some sixteen years scrambling for a new seat. He claimed the table thus emptied, and Balthier joined him.
Balthier knew the basics of most games of chance--one could not grow up ignorant of such things amid the Archadian nobility--but had not practiced their play overly much. He called up his best smile and pretended to utter confidence. "I do, when the stakes are worth my while."
Algus laughed and downed more of his ale. Balthier sipped at his more cautiously, unwilling to fall prey to strong drink in a town with which, it must be admitted, he was less familiar than was wise.
"So what would be worth your while, then?" Algus asked him.
"It depends on my mood," Balthier temporized. "Money has its appeal, but there are other, more interesting things to wager, are there not?"
Algus snorted. "You'd like her." He jerked his head slightly toward the woman who had stamped the bills previously. "She said something like that the last time somebody asked her to play. She kicked his ass, metaphorically speaking."
"Not literally?" Balthier sipped his ale again, and calculated the odds of embarrassing himself utterly if he challenged her to a game. He was capable of a good bluff, a trick learnt from Jules, and there would be advantages for him even if he lost, which he had no intention of doing. If he could defeat the queen of hunters at her own game, he would earn a reputation very quickly. Should he lose, provided he made a good enough showing, it would still benefit him, particularly if he could get her to go on a hunt with him.
"Literally came later, when he got too friendly and found himself with a sword at his throat and a boot to the balls."
Balthier endeavoured not to reflexively cross his legs, and was reasonably certain he had contained his reaction. "Surely he suspected such would happen? I admit I have not spoken to her, but she does not strike me as one who would suffer fools gladly."
Algus laughed uproariously. "True, but drunk men are not known for their caution." He drained his ale and rose from the table. "Come on, let's see if the ice queen fancies a game of cards."
A protest tried to wrangle its way out of Balthier's mouth; he clenched his teeth tightly to contain it, and followed Algus over to the table that the girl had claimed for herself.
Algus apparently felt no need to announce his presence beyond swiping a chair from a nearby table, spinning it about so that the back of the chair faced the girl's table, and plopping down with his arms folded atop the chair. "Game of cards?" he said with an easy grin, fanning out a pack of cards between narrow, tanned fingers.
"You bore me, Algus." It was the first time Balthier had heard her speak, and her voice was clear and cool. Her accent was neither the cultured lilt of the upper classes nor the easy slur of the lower, but somewhere in between, each syllable precisely pronounced. This close, he could see that she was younger than he had first thought; though her demeanour implied years or even decades of experience as a hunter, her face was unlined, and her skin surprisingly smooth for one who spent her life out of doors.
"That's no way to greet a friend, Celes. Besides, I've brought you someone to meet."
She glanced up from her ale, and Balthier found himself pinned with an icy stare from eyes like his mother's sapphires. He forced a smile, and hoped that she did not see how nervous he was.
She sighed. "Algus, if you intend to cheat me, I will castrate you," she said conversationally.
The same thought had already occurred to Balthier, but he was reassured when Algus clutched dramatically at his dirty blue bandanna. "You wound me. I had no intention of playing myself, and was going to offer to deal for you so that you'd each know you were playing fair."
She did not appear to react to that statement. "Oh, very well." She glanced up at Balthier. "Sit down. I don't intend to kill you yet."
Balthier swallowed hard and took a seat across from her. Algus began to shuffle the cards smoothly. "Poker, then?" he inquired.
Balthier looked at Celes, who nodded assent. "Certainly," he told Algus, who grinned.
"Ante up!" Algus declared.
Celes gestured for Balthier to go first, so he put down three hundred-Gil pieces. She matched him, her face expressionless, and waited for the cards to fall.
They played some ten hands of poker, of which Balthier won six and Celes won four. As the games continued, Balthier grew more at ease with Algus's dealing, which appeared to be entirely honest--Balthier saw no cards that indicated an excessive manipulation of the deck, nor could he catch the other man engaging in legerdemain. Celes, for her part, appeared to be rather bored by the whole proceeding. Other patrons of the inn gravitated toward the match, watching in relative quiet, although they kept a safe distance from the actual action.
"Last hand," Celes said, studying the pile of Gil before her.
"As you wish." Balthier inclined his head.
A faint smile touched her lips, the first expression Balthier had seen on her face since he sat down. "I grow bored of gambling for Gil," she said. "What say you to a more interesting bet?"
This was the opportunity he had been awaiting. Balthier gave her his best careless grin. "As my lady commands," he said, giving her a half-bow from his chair. "What do you wish to wager?"
"I hear that you have a rather spectacular specimen of Archadian engineering in the aerodrome." She stacked Gil neatly into piles of twenty without appearing to actually count them.
"The Strahl is the best ship in Ivalice," Balthier answered, and then cursed his unruly tongue. He had taken care with the ale, but it seemed to have caught up with him.
Her eyes lit with amusement. "Here is my wager, then, Balthier. The winner is owed any service he or she desires from the loser, for one month."
Balthier prayed he was not blushing as much as he thought he might be, and shifted slightly so that the alteration in the fit of his pants would be less apparent. "An intriguing wager," he said, and hoped that his voice was steady. "Any restrictions on choice of task?"
"Any service the winner desires," she repeated, and her gaze ran from his face down to where the table's edge hid his lower body.
He fought the urge to loosen the collar of his shirt. Algus was grinning fit to crack his face, and the other patrons were making lewd jests to each other. "I accept," he said. Gods give me luck, he prayed silently.
Algus made a show of shuffling the cards in a series of intricate patterns before dealing out the hand. Balthier picked up his five cards and studied them, working to keep his face impassive. The seven, eight, and nine of hearts were staring at him, along with the two and three of clubs. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Celes put down three cards and received three from Algus, though her face gave no clue to her thoughts on her hand. Balthier looked at his hand and decided that if he was going to lose, he would at least have the decency to see the game through. "Two," he said, putting down the clubs.
Algus passed him two cards, facedown. Balthier picked them up and had to struggle mightily to maintain his lack of expression when he saw the jack and ten of hearts winking at him. From nothing to a straight flush seemed an impossible miracle, and he resolved to burn incense at the next Kiltias temple he saw.
Celes met his eyes over the fan of her cards. "Last chance to fold," she said coolly.
Balthier shook his head. "Let them fall as they will," he answered, and laid down his cards, no longer able to keep his grin in check. He heard the surprised murmurs all around them; everyone seemed astounded that the queen of hunters was about to lose.
"Very nice," she said, and from her tone, she might have been admiring a decent but unexceptional painting in an Archadian gallery. She began to lay her cards down one at a time.
Ten of spades, jack, queen, king--Balthier's heart began to pound in his chest, and his face prickled as the weight of his nervousness dragged at him. Her face remained expressionless as she set the ace of spades neatly beside the other four. "Royal flush," she said.
He was doomed.
As the shouts and laughs and cheers went on all around them, Balthier called on years of training at the Akademy and made the best of a bad situation. "Well-played," he said.
"You as well." She gathered her Gil and stuffed it into her belt pouch. "Now, about that service."
Balthier gritted his teeth. "As you command," he said, though the words nearly choked him. He'd thought to be done with commands.
"I require the use of your ship; it will make my hunting easier. Purchase any sundries or armour you may need--I suggest, at the least, a good supply of antidotes. Meet me at the aerodrome in an hour." She rose, adjusting the sword that hung at her side. "I abhor tardiness, so do not be late."
With that, she walked out of the room, pausing only to kick Algus's chair out from beneath him in a manner that suggested good-natured fun, rather than actual irritation.
Algus scrambled back to his feet, rubbing at his backside. "She never misses a chance for that," he muttered. "Well, kid, best get moving. She really does hate it when people are late."
Balthier limited himself to a nod, as he did not trust himself to be civil, and made his way to the door. He had taken little in the way of sundries with him from his father's storage, and he would need potions at the least if she intended him to hunt with her.
He had the sinking feeling that it was going to be a very long month.