[Final Fantasy XII] To the Last Drop
Characters: Balthier, Fran
Rating: G
Contains: References to alcohol
Notes: Written for shanaqui for a fic meme a million years ago that I forgot to post back.
Wordcount: 646
Summary: Balthier knows better than to take the challenge, but he might as well do it anyway.
Beta: None
The Whitecap is welcome relief from the icy wind off the ocean. At midwinter, even Balfonheim gets cold. Balthier ducks inside and checks out the room. It is filled with a tangle of pirates of all races-he even sees one or two viera amid the bangaa and seeq. He recognizes Rjlm One-Eared, who looks exactly like the tales that circulate about her even in Archades, and he's fairly certain that the one clad in spotless white leather and gold-plated steel is Carn the Extravagant. There is one other viera he doesn't know. In contrast to her flashier counterparts, she is clad in simple black leather, and she has seated herself near the open windows. He wonders how viera don't freeze, given how little they tend to wear and how cold it gets here.
"Balthier!" He doesn't quite recognize the dark-yellow bangaa to his left, but he's fairly certain the way the bangaa is grinning means trouble for him. "Come, come, help us settle a bet!"
"What sort of bet?" Balthier asks warily. He sidesteps to avoid the nimble fingers of a moogle trying to help herself to the contents of his purse.
"Just a drinking contest, against the lady," the bangaa says, gesturing to the viera by the window.
Balthier thinks about it for a moment. He's been away from Balfonheim for nearly two months, picking up rare components to enhance the Strahl's navigation systems. Plenty of time for a newcomer to make her name in the lawless pirate city, and he's sure the bangaa is not out to help him.
"And what has the lady to say to this contest?" he inquires.
"Haven't asked her." The bangaa grins.
Definitely trouble of the sort he doesn't need. Balthier shakes his head. "Some other time, friend." He turns to go.
"Are you the sky pirate, Balthier?" The voice is smooth and feminine, with a strange lilting accent he can't quite place. He looks back and sees the black-clad viera standing behind him.
He tries for a cocky smile. "My legend grows, it seems, but you have the advantage of me."
"I am Fran." She tilts her head slightly. "Perhaps you will share a drink with me."
He definitely has a bad feeling about this, but he doesn't think there's a way to gracefully bow out of this one, and the bangaa has moved out of his field of vision. Damn. "I would be delighted." He bows to her and follows her back to her table. She pours him a glass from the bottle on the table and the moment he tastes the brown-sugar-and-cinnamon flavour heavy and rich on his tongue, he knows he's in trouble. He has no head for Bhujerban madhu.
"I propose a contest," she says, sipping from her own glass.
"And the terms?"
"I propose that, regardless of outcome, you and your Archadian-built ship will assist me in a job in Bhujerba." She smiles. "Winner takes ninety percent of the profits."
Balthier frowns. "What sort of job?"
"Magicite," she says. "The Empire has paid for a new shipment to its laboratory. I can think of better hands to deliver it to."
Balthier looks around them, sees two humes and a moogle watching them closely, and recognition dawns. "Reddas hired you," he says, but quietly enough that it does not carry beyond their table.
"Do you play?" she asks, and there is an edge to her tone.
He can think of worse heists than a load of magicite stolen from under the Empire's nose. He raises his glass and smiles. "Bottoms up, Fran."
Ten percent of a magicite load meant for Draklor is sufficient, for now, to better outfit the Strahl. If she has the connections she implies, then it might be worth losing this contest to partner with her again.
He tilts back his glass and drinks the madhu to the last drop.
Rating: G
Contains: References to alcohol
Notes: Written for shanaqui for a fic meme a million years ago that I forgot to post back.
Wordcount: 646
Summary: Balthier knows better than to take the challenge, but he might as well do it anyway.
Beta: None
The Whitecap is welcome relief from the icy wind off the ocean. At midwinter, even Balfonheim gets cold. Balthier ducks inside and checks out the room. It is filled with a tangle of pirates of all races-he even sees one or two viera amid the bangaa and seeq. He recognizes Rjlm One-Eared, who looks exactly like the tales that circulate about her even in Archades, and he's fairly certain that the one clad in spotless white leather and gold-plated steel is Carn the Extravagant. There is one other viera he doesn't know. In contrast to her flashier counterparts, she is clad in simple black leather, and she has seated herself near the open windows. He wonders how viera don't freeze, given how little they tend to wear and how cold it gets here.
"Balthier!" He doesn't quite recognize the dark-yellow bangaa to his left, but he's fairly certain the way the bangaa is grinning means trouble for him. "Come, come, help us settle a bet!"
"What sort of bet?" Balthier asks warily. He sidesteps to avoid the nimble fingers of a moogle trying to help herself to the contents of his purse.
"Just a drinking contest, against the lady," the bangaa says, gesturing to the viera by the window.
Balthier thinks about it for a moment. He's been away from Balfonheim for nearly two months, picking up rare components to enhance the Strahl's navigation systems. Plenty of time for a newcomer to make her name in the lawless pirate city, and he's sure the bangaa is not out to help him.
"And what has the lady to say to this contest?" he inquires.
"Haven't asked her." The bangaa grins.
Definitely trouble of the sort he doesn't need. Balthier shakes his head. "Some other time, friend." He turns to go.
"Are you the sky pirate, Balthier?" The voice is smooth and feminine, with a strange lilting accent he can't quite place. He looks back and sees the black-clad viera standing behind him.
He tries for a cocky smile. "My legend grows, it seems, but you have the advantage of me."
"I am Fran." She tilts her head slightly. "Perhaps you will share a drink with me."
He definitely has a bad feeling about this, but he doesn't think there's a way to gracefully bow out of this one, and the bangaa has moved out of his field of vision. Damn. "I would be delighted." He bows to her and follows her back to her table. She pours him a glass from the bottle on the table and the moment he tastes the brown-sugar-and-cinnamon flavour heavy and rich on his tongue, he knows he's in trouble. He has no head for Bhujerban madhu.
"I propose a contest," she says, sipping from her own glass.
"And the terms?"
"I propose that, regardless of outcome, you and your Archadian-built ship will assist me in a job in Bhujerba." She smiles. "Winner takes ninety percent of the profits."
Balthier frowns. "What sort of job?"
"Magicite," she says. "The Empire has paid for a new shipment to its laboratory. I can think of better hands to deliver it to."
Balthier looks around them, sees two humes and a moogle watching them closely, and recognition dawns. "Reddas hired you," he says, but quietly enough that it does not carry beyond their table.
"Do you play?" she asks, and there is an edge to her tone.
He can think of worse heists than a load of magicite stolen from under the Empire's nose. He raises his glass and smiles. "Bottoms up, Fran."
Ten percent of a magicite load meant for Draklor is sufficient, for now, to better outfit the Strahl. If she has the connections she implies, then it might be worth losing this contest to partner with her again.
He tilts back his glass and drinks the madhu to the last drop.