fic! wowowowow
A fic! I'm surprised at myself, really. I'm actually quite nervous about posting it; it has been too long since I've written anything and I have zero confidence when it comes to my own writing. Ahh, I'm so dead.
Title: untitled (cannot think of one that is not utterly lame)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Balthier/Fran
Rating: G
Summary: Pre-game. Before there was sex, there was chess.
Spoilers: Vague allusions to Balthier's past.
Word count: 1003. It's a shorty.
Disclaimer: Do I own Final Fantasy XII? No, I think you have the wrong number.
She has been staring at the chess game across the room for the last half hour. Discreetly, of course, in a way only a viera can be. However, Balthier is much familiar with the discreet and so notices her interest despite it.
“You like chess, Fran?” he asks while pouring himself another glass. Her glance shifts from the game to meet his eyes. Balthier continues, the liquor making him talkative. “You know. That game you’ve been watching out of the corner of your eye this entire time instead of drinking with me.” As he swallows he can see the face she makes through the bottom of his glass.
“Are you drunk already or do you really believe all these empty glasses are yours?” Fran taps one with the tip of a finger. Balthier ignores her.
“Usually I wouldn’t object to your interest in games, but when it takes time away from your interest in me, well, I have to take steps. You understand.”
“Of course.”
“Do you play?” he asks, elbows on the table and leaning forward to look at her, intent. It’s one of the things he likes about her, that she doesn’t look away.
“I have not learnt.” Fran says. There’s a defensive note to her voice, slight or maybe just imagined, as if confessing to not knowing how to play chess is some weakness that she should be hiding. The moment is broken; Balthier has to turn his face to cover his grin at the idea of it.
“Well, I don’t like to brag-“
“No, you don’t do you.” Fran agrees, with great gravity. She looks it too but it doesn’t trick him. He can see it, the tiny smile at the corner of her lips, the look of amusement in her eyes that she’s trying to hide. He hates that she tries to hide it. Even since she’s stopped eluding him, agreed to be his partner, he still feels it sometimes; the distance that seems too far, as if she stands just out of grasp and not reaching for him at all. He wants to make her smile, to make her laugh. He’s learnt that it’s not any easier even after she’s had a few to drink.
“I was the best chess player in the academy while I was there.” he continues, undeterred, “My old man taught me. When he was…” Balthier pauses here. Sane is what he doesn’t say. It’s almost painless now, but only almost. He continues, carefully nonchalant. “Well, you know.” Only Fran doesn’t know, not yet. It’s not something that is easy to say, that he is the son of a madman; the memory still weighs too heavily to be told. She looks at him then, in that way she has, intensely; it always makes him feel transparent, lain bare.
“I’d like to learn.” she says. Balthier doesn’t mind the feeling so much when it’s her.
---
The innkeeper is obliging, though puzzled. Balthier can see that he doesn’t understand how a viera and a hume could want to play chess at such a time or why at all.
Despite this, a board is set up with all haste and it isn’t long before they’re seated, opposing sides of the small study desk in one of the rooms they’ve booked for the night. He explains to her the rules, the pieces, the red and the white. She listens intently and Balthier knows he will only have to go through this once. She isn’t a bad beginner, naturally able to read the game a few moves ahead. Still he can tell that it may be a while yet before she can defeat him.
They play quietly, like old men or old friends. Different from how he used to play in Archades; it was never silent then, the quiet of thought always broken by taunts and insults exchanged back and forth between players. Instead there is something comfortable in this, a feeling perhaps he could too easily become accustomed to.
At two in the morning, they are still at the chess board. Fran doesn’t seem to mind it at all, even seems reluctant to stop regardless of the late hour. Balthier thinks he already likes this too much, finds himself not minding to spend a few more nights like this, playing chess games into morning in the quiet of an inn room while everyone else is asleep. Their current game is the closest yet. “I can win this,” Fran murmurs, eyes trained on the board. Balthier sees that she can but doesn’t think he will lose to her just yet.
He’s right.
They stalemate at six in the morning, when the sunrise is just drawing into the room. They can already hear the city stirring outside the window, the sound of street vendors setting up their stalls for the day, and footsteps in the street.
“A draw,” Balthier says aloud, only half surprised; he is getting used to being impressed by her. “Well, it seems you have some talent with chess.”
“It is enough to match you, is it not?” she answers, seeming unruffled by the jibe.
“You haven’t beaten me yet.” he reminds her, comfortably complacent. But as always, she sees through that, sees his admiration, reads him deeper than anyone else cares to look. She stands and holds outstretched one of her pieces for him to take. It is the king; a surrender, for now.
“Perhaps another game later tonight, then. To convince you of my talent.” There is promise in her words, but something else then too, in her voice and unmistakable. Her smile. He takes the piece from her and touches her hand while he does; somehow it doesn’t seem so daring just then. The smile doesn’t disappear.
“Tonight.” he agrees and wonders what else Fran can read in his face in that moment. Balthier watches her close the door as she leaves and he feels it, even as she walks away from him, that perhaps the distance isn’t quite so far.
Title: untitled (cannot think of one that is not utterly lame)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Balthier/Fran
Rating: G
Summary: Pre-game. Before there was sex, there was chess.
Spoilers: Vague allusions to Balthier's past.
Word count: 1003. It's a shorty.
Disclaimer: Do I own Final Fantasy XII? No, I think you have the wrong number.
She has been staring at the chess game across the room for the last half hour. Discreetly, of course, in a way only a viera can be. However, Balthier is much familiar with the discreet and so notices her interest despite it.
“You like chess, Fran?” he asks while pouring himself another glass. Her glance shifts from the game to meet his eyes. Balthier continues, the liquor making him talkative. “You know. That game you’ve been watching out of the corner of your eye this entire time instead of drinking with me.” As he swallows he can see the face she makes through the bottom of his glass.
“Are you drunk already or do you really believe all these empty glasses are yours?” Fran taps one with the tip of a finger. Balthier ignores her.
“Usually I wouldn’t object to your interest in games, but when it takes time away from your interest in me, well, I have to take steps. You understand.”
“Of course.”
“Do you play?” he asks, elbows on the table and leaning forward to look at her, intent. It’s one of the things he likes about her, that she doesn’t look away.
“I have not learnt.” Fran says. There’s a defensive note to her voice, slight or maybe just imagined, as if confessing to not knowing how to play chess is some weakness that she should be hiding. The moment is broken; Balthier has to turn his face to cover his grin at the idea of it.
“Well, I don’t like to brag-“
“No, you don’t do you.” Fran agrees, with great gravity. She looks it too but it doesn’t trick him. He can see it, the tiny smile at the corner of her lips, the look of amusement in her eyes that she’s trying to hide. He hates that she tries to hide it. Even since she’s stopped eluding him, agreed to be his partner, he still feels it sometimes; the distance that seems too far, as if she stands just out of grasp and not reaching for him at all. He wants to make her smile, to make her laugh. He’s learnt that it’s not any easier even after she’s had a few to drink.
“I was the best chess player in the academy while I was there.” he continues, undeterred, “My old man taught me. When he was…” Balthier pauses here. Sane is what he doesn’t say. It’s almost painless now, but only almost. He continues, carefully nonchalant. “Well, you know.” Only Fran doesn’t know, not yet. It’s not something that is easy to say, that he is the son of a madman; the memory still weighs too heavily to be told. She looks at him then, in that way she has, intensely; it always makes him feel transparent, lain bare.
“I’d like to learn.” she says. Balthier doesn’t mind the feeling so much when it’s her.
---
The innkeeper is obliging, though puzzled. Balthier can see that he doesn’t understand how a viera and a hume could want to play chess at such a time or why at all.
Despite this, a board is set up with all haste and it isn’t long before they’re seated, opposing sides of the small study desk in one of the rooms they’ve booked for the night. He explains to her the rules, the pieces, the red and the white. She listens intently and Balthier knows he will only have to go through this once. She isn’t a bad beginner, naturally able to read the game a few moves ahead. Still he can tell that it may be a while yet before she can defeat him.
They play quietly, like old men or old friends. Different from how he used to play in Archades; it was never silent then, the quiet of thought always broken by taunts and insults exchanged back and forth between players. Instead there is something comfortable in this, a feeling perhaps he could too easily become accustomed to.
At two in the morning, they are still at the chess board. Fran doesn’t seem to mind it at all, even seems reluctant to stop regardless of the late hour. Balthier thinks he already likes this too much, finds himself not minding to spend a few more nights like this, playing chess games into morning in the quiet of an inn room while everyone else is asleep. Their current game is the closest yet. “I can win this,” Fran murmurs, eyes trained on the board. Balthier sees that she can but doesn’t think he will lose to her just yet.
He’s right.
They stalemate at six in the morning, when the sunrise is just drawing into the room. They can already hear the city stirring outside the window, the sound of street vendors setting up their stalls for the day, and footsteps in the street.
“A draw,” Balthier says aloud, only half surprised; he is getting used to being impressed by her. “Well, it seems you have some talent with chess.”
“It is enough to match you, is it not?” she answers, seeming unruffled by the jibe.
“You haven’t beaten me yet.” he reminds her, comfortably complacent. But as always, she sees through that, sees his admiration, reads him deeper than anyone else cares to look. She stands and holds outstretched one of her pieces for him to take. It is the king; a surrender, for now.
“Perhaps another game later tonight, then. To convince you of my talent.” There is promise in her words, but something else then too, in her voice and unmistakable. Her smile. He takes the piece from her and touches her hand while he does; somehow it doesn’t seem so daring just then. The smile doesn’t disappear.
“Tonight.” he agrees and wonders what else Fran can read in his face in that moment. Balthier watches her close the door as she leaves and he feels it, even as she walks away from him, that perhaps the distance isn’t quite so far.