Speak Plainly (Balthier/Ashe, PG)
Speak Plainly
Fandom: FFXII:OGC
Characters/Pairing: Balthier/Ashe
Rating: PG
Length: ~1000 words
Notes: Spoilers for Phon Coast / Balthier. For katmillia, for the Out Of My Comfort Zone meme. Further notes: Man, I need to finish this game. I am so very much not confident! Out of my comfort zone, indeed.
Summary: If it is only the light keeping her up, she need not acknowledge the thoughts she has tucked in the back of her head.
- - -
There is a light on in the Strahl. It is not nearly bright enough to account for her restlessness, but Ashe blames it anyway as she stands, quietly, and brushes dust from her skirt. It helps, somewhat: if it is only the light keeping her up, she need not acknowledge the thoughts she has tucked in the back of her head.
Although she seems to be moving to acknowledge them, anyway, despite herself; she steps quietly into the Strahl, knowing already that it will not be their Viera companion who keeps her awake.
"Lady Ashe," Balthier says. "No sleep for the wicked, I see."
"I told you once today," Ashe says hotly, already offended, "I am no power-hungry schemer, and I would appreciate your-" She stops, mid-sentence, at the smirk crossing Balthier's face. "What?"
"I meant myself, Princess, not you." The corner of his lip turns up in a darker, but more genuine smile. "Always so quick to claim criticism as your own."
"Well." Ashe huffs, a little, trying not to smile. "Forgive me for continuing to expect mockery, from you of all possible people."
"From time to time," Balthier agrees. "It's not nearly as much fun when you expect it." He gives a deep, beleaguered sigh, and turns untroubled eyes to hers. "What keeps you up tonight, then, if not wickedness?"
This time, Ashe permits herself a smile. "The average concerns of a dethroned Princess are not reason enough?"
Balthier laughs, a surprising response. "I would say your concerns are somewhat greater than average." He then pauses, and adds rather cheerfully: "Although come to think of it, I am not sure whether there is such a standard as the 'average dethroned princess'. Troublesome in this case, but probably a good thing overall."
Ashe still, sometimes, has trouble telling whether Balthier is mocking her or not; as is her usual response, she decides this particular statement is three parts mocking and one part commiserating.. "I won't bother you, if you are busy."
"Something on your mind, then?" The words are casual, light: almost too light, too deliberate. Balthier's face is bland as he glances at her.
"I would-" Ashe begins; stops, and sits down in the chair beside him. "I would have an answer out of you, if I may."
"You've not even popped the question," Balthier replies. "I make no promises."
"I do not wish to offend," Ashe says. "Nor to pry."
Balthier sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. "It is too late for word games. Speak plainly, Ashe."
Ashe scoffs, surprised. "Speak plainly, says the pirate with the silver tongue. Balthier, the only thing more flowery than your language is your clothing."
Balthier laughs, again. "I will speak as plainly as you do," he says, and it sounds like an invitation. Her heart flutters, softly, in her breast, as if reminding her of its existence.
Ashe takes a breath. How to put into words the strange feeling that plagues her stomach, that has stirred her brain since earlier that day? "A judge," she says, slowly and experimentally.
Balthier gives a sort of ironic little sitting-down bow. "Judge Ffamran Bunansa." The syllables do not sound familiar on his tongue at all.
"Ffamran," Ashe repeats, rolling the name in her mouth like candy. "Ffamran Bunansa. It is - not quite like 'Balthier' at all, is it?"
Balthier chuckles, and smiles at her charmingly. "Isn't that the point? Why else would one choose a dashing sky-pirate name, other than the desire to get rid of something as dreadful as Ffamran?" The words have two meanings, Ashe thinks.
"Why - why tell me?" She is tired of stammering around him, trying to pick her words so carefully: so this, finally, she will say, plainly. "Why tell me and not the others? You know they all must know, eventually. Do you mean this to weigh on my mind, as a lesson?"
Balthier takes a breath, and lets it out slowly. Finally, he speaks. "It is... your regard. Your opinion is the most... important, on this particular venture."
Ashe is floored by the honesty in his words - it sets her aback, for a minute. Balthier takes her silence as awkward response, and adds in a lighter tone: "I would not cry if Vaan were to become terribly offended and never speak to me again."
"Be fair," Ashe says, already laughing despite herself - and who is this man, to make her laugh at the same time her stomach rolls with nerves? Her heart beats loudly, one time, as if in defiance of her common sense. "I am serious, Balthier."
"As am I," he says, his eyes twinkling - it seems as if making her laugh aloud is some sort of challenge he keeps tally to in his head. "Anyway, to answer your question."
He spreads his hands out before him, a simple gesture despite the dramatic flare of his cuffs. "We are all following you now, Ashe, despite my repeated attempts to gallivant off after better treasure. I would have you as prepared to deal with Nethicite as my simple words could possibly make you."
His barefaced words leave her almost breathless. It is not news to her, but to have Balthier admit it - to have Balthier admit anything - "Do you truly think me so tempted?" she breathes.
"No," Balthier replies, and she has never seen him speak so plainly. He smiles, somewhat wryly. "Not at all. But I think you precious enough to warn anyway, given the circumstances."
Her entire heart leaps - much to her surprise - but Balthier's smile transmutes into something more like a smirk. "Simply the leading man giving way to his leading lady." His eyes grow grave. "It is your scene now, Ashe."
She is breathless. "I thought we were not playing word games," she whispers.
Balthier stands. "I'll speak no more plainly than that - tonight," he says, pausing beside her. There are a million things she should say, and none are appropriate. "Get sleep, Ashe."
She remains in the seat, strangely unable to move, the impression of Balthier's lips in her hair fading slowly into the night.
Fandom: FFXII:OGC
Characters/Pairing: Balthier/Ashe
Rating: PG
Length: ~1000 words
Notes: Spoilers for Phon Coast / Balthier. For katmillia, for the Out Of My Comfort Zone meme. Further notes: Man, I need to finish this game. I am so very much not confident! Out of my comfort zone, indeed.
Summary: If it is only the light keeping her up, she need not acknowledge the thoughts she has tucked in the back of her head.
- - -
There is a light on in the Strahl. It is not nearly bright enough to account for her restlessness, but Ashe blames it anyway as she stands, quietly, and brushes dust from her skirt. It helps, somewhat: if it is only the light keeping her up, she need not acknowledge the thoughts she has tucked in the back of her head.
Although she seems to be moving to acknowledge them, anyway, despite herself; she steps quietly into the Strahl, knowing already that it will not be their Viera companion who keeps her awake.
"Lady Ashe," Balthier says. "No sleep for the wicked, I see."
"I told you once today," Ashe says hotly, already offended, "I am no power-hungry schemer, and I would appreciate your-" She stops, mid-sentence, at the smirk crossing Balthier's face. "What?"
"I meant myself, Princess, not you." The corner of his lip turns up in a darker, but more genuine smile. "Always so quick to claim criticism as your own."
"Well." Ashe huffs, a little, trying not to smile. "Forgive me for continuing to expect mockery, from you of all possible people."
"From time to time," Balthier agrees. "It's not nearly as much fun when you expect it." He gives a deep, beleaguered sigh, and turns untroubled eyes to hers. "What keeps you up tonight, then, if not wickedness?"
This time, Ashe permits herself a smile. "The average concerns of a dethroned Princess are not reason enough?"
Balthier laughs, a surprising response. "I would say your concerns are somewhat greater than average." He then pauses, and adds rather cheerfully: "Although come to think of it, I am not sure whether there is such a standard as the 'average dethroned princess'. Troublesome in this case, but probably a good thing overall."
Ashe still, sometimes, has trouble telling whether Balthier is mocking her or not; as is her usual response, she decides this particular statement is three parts mocking and one part commiserating.. "I won't bother you, if you are busy."
"Something on your mind, then?" The words are casual, light: almost too light, too deliberate. Balthier's face is bland as he glances at her.
"I would-" Ashe begins; stops, and sits down in the chair beside him. "I would have an answer out of you, if I may."
"You've not even popped the question," Balthier replies. "I make no promises."
"I do not wish to offend," Ashe says. "Nor to pry."
Balthier sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. "It is too late for word games. Speak plainly, Ashe."
Ashe scoffs, surprised. "Speak plainly, says the pirate with the silver tongue. Balthier, the only thing more flowery than your language is your clothing."
Balthier laughs, again. "I will speak as plainly as you do," he says, and it sounds like an invitation. Her heart flutters, softly, in her breast, as if reminding her of its existence.
Ashe takes a breath. How to put into words the strange feeling that plagues her stomach, that has stirred her brain since earlier that day? "A judge," she says, slowly and experimentally.
Balthier gives a sort of ironic little sitting-down bow. "Judge Ffamran Bunansa." The syllables do not sound familiar on his tongue at all.
"Ffamran," Ashe repeats, rolling the name in her mouth like candy. "Ffamran Bunansa. It is - not quite like 'Balthier' at all, is it?"
Balthier chuckles, and smiles at her charmingly. "Isn't that the point? Why else would one choose a dashing sky-pirate name, other than the desire to get rid of something as dreadful as Ffamran?" The words have two meanings, Ashe thinks.
"Why - why tell me?" She is tired of stammering around him, trying to pick her words so carefully: so this, finally, she will say, plainly. "Why tell me and not the others? You know they all must know, eventually. Do you mean this to weigh on my mind, as a lesson?"
Balthier takes a breath, and lets it out slowly. Finally, he speaks. "It is... your regard. Your opinion is the most... important, on this particular venture."
Ashe is floored by the honesty in his words - it sets her aback, for a minute. Balthier takes her silence as awkward response, and adds in a lighter tone: "I would not cry if Vaan were to become terribly offended and never speak to me again."
"Be fair," Ashe says, already laughing despite herself - and who is this man, to make her laugh at the same time her stomach rolls with nerves? Her heart beats loudly, one time, as if in defiance of her common sense. "I am serious, Balthier."
"As am I," he says, his eyes twinkling - it seems as if making her laugh aloud is some sort of challenge he keeps tally to in his head. "Anyway, to answer your question."
He spreads his hands out before him, a simple gesture despite the dramatic flare of his cuffs. "We are all following you now, Ashe, despite my repeated attempts to gallivant off after better treasure. I would have you as prepared to deal with Nethicite as my simple words could possibly make you."
His barefaced words leave her almost breathless. It is not news to her, but to have Balthier admit it - to have Balthier admit anything - "Do you truly think me so tempted?" she breathes.
"No," Balthier replies, and she has never seen him speak so plainly. He smiles, somewhat wryly. "Not at all. But I think you precious enough to warn anyway, given the circumstances."
Her entire heart leaps - much to her surprise - but Balthier's smile transmutes into something more like a smirk. "Simply the leading man giving way to his leading lady." His eyes grow grave. "It is your scene now, Ashe."
She is breathless. "I thought we were not playing word games," she whispers.
Balthier stands. "I'll speak no more plainly than that - tonight," he says, pausing beside her. There are a million things she should say, and none are appropriate. "Get sleep, Ashe."
She remains in the seat, strangely unable to move, the impression of Balthier's lips in her hair fading slowly into the night.