AN; Reviews make me tear up with joy, and tips are always welcome. I'm also more than open for requests on pairings, situations, whatever; anything you'd like to see written. :3

Ruby

There are a few unfortunate truths that, in Balthier's opinion, ought to be considered unholy:

A man can never escape battle without SOME stain on his best cotton shirts and vests;
Smile at a woman once, and suddenly she's a godsforsaken puppy;
And that partners are partners. Nothing else.

But for all his embellished words, condescending smirks, gaudy clothes and his devil-may-care facade, sometimes there are things that force Balthier to admit that he is, indeed, nothing more then a Hume man and can only react as such.

Not mortal, of course. Mortal implies flimsy, perishable; an unstable life that can easily be ended by simple means such as at the tip of a sword. And a leading man never dies, so there is, in his opinion, no way he can be simply 'mortal'. But a Hume, maybe. Few things can remind him of that.

The feel of the wind on the deck of the Strahl, looking down upon an Ivalice resembling a gilded playset for a well-to-do child;
his grudgingly admitted conceit, the kind of obsession and particularity over his appearance characteristic to no other race;

And ruby eyes. One set of them in particular, of course; Balthier was not a man to be melted by any pretty pair of eyes. No, just the specific pair that were drifting across the warm, smoky span of the Sandsea. Fran's gaze watched the area with the lazy ease of all Viera, appearing so indifferent yet missing not a single detail of what was going on. It had been a long, frustrating day of hunting a single Mark, it's poster naming it to be the most cunning, ferocious-looking beast in all of Ivalice- and, promised great profit worth said danger and effort, the pair of pirates had taken off early that morning on the direction of the Estersand. The desert heat sapped the energy from their bodies as rapidly as the fangs of a Redmaw while they spent endless hours slaying every beast in the entire area to draw out the Mark. And, much to Balthier's disgust, they found that it must have been breeding season or the like, for he had never seen so many bloody Hyenas and Cactuars sauntering about in one place. When they were all finally dispelled, the Mark finally emerged... Only for it to be revealed as a disheveled, old stray of a Chocobo, it`s feathers permanently ruffled in a manner that made it look much larger then it actually was and a temperament as docile as could be. Leaving the creature to it's own devices, they made the trek all the way back to Rabanastre.

Fran looked as unfazed as ever, but Balthier was more then a little disgruntled. His vest was quite delightfully torn, Curaja-healed gashes still criscrossed his upper left forearm, and he was desperate for a strong drink. Coffee, maybe... Just the idea of something hot, as they entered the tavern, was almost enough to degrade him to a visible shudder.

Only almost, of course.

So all in all, Balthier was quite unruffled, not at all his usual careless self. Maybe the fatigue and sun had made him delirious- yes, that was surely it- but he found himself staring at the willowy Viera across the table from him, much less subtly then he could possibly realize. Her eyes in particular. Why had he never paid them more attention? He had never seen eyes like those. Sure, other Viera had red eyes, but none like Fran's. The deep garnet of lush, expensive wine, slightly angled and equal parts flame and frost. Others would call them inexpressive, but Balthier had long ago learned to read every emotion that popped up in them, even in the faintest hints- anger, amusement, wariness. He had seen it all, had had it all directed at him. Really, there were no eyes like those. And, as he was just realizing, she was fascinating as a whole, but her eyes were particularly captivating to him. Who wouldn`t react to Fran this way? he wanted to argue. Gods damn the unfortunate truths, when he looked at those eyes.

Yes, he was definitely losing his mind.

When had he started thinking in poetry, anyway? He hated poetry- it was a waste of time. Foolish. He made a slight scoffing noise under his breath, the sound still managing to be surprisingly classy, always true to form. But as he tried to force himself to look away, his eyes kept drifting back. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? 'Ah, well. Nothing wrong with a man studying a beautiful lady, is there?' He was just amazed Fran hadn't noticed yet.

Fran had noticed. A while ago. She felt Balthier's eyes on her as obviously as hot rays of sunshine, drawing her attention from her scan of the Sandsea. It piqued her curiosity- why was he studying her so intently, without looking away? It was slightly disconcerting- not particularly bad, but it set her off balance- and Fran didn`t like feeling anything but in control. Finally, when it got to be too much, she glanced up at him to meet his eyes, catching him in the act of gazing at her once more.

"Is there a problem?" The Viera questioned in her succinct, lilting manner, delicate eyebrows arched ever so slightly.

Balthier started, just slightly, but recovered in an admirably short time. He should have known better to expect anything less of Fran and those keen, wonderful eyes, but really. Had he truly just been caught in the act of what, from anyone but himself, he would have named the foolish fawning of a schoolboy? He tried to muster up his trademark charming smile, but failed miserably; apparently he really was delirious. Visibly flustered, he dropped his gaze, not meeting Fran's eyes. "Nothing at all, m'dear. Just... surveying."

A knowing, almost laughing look flashed into ruby eyes.

Then just a hint of a very, very Balthier-like smirk curved the lips of the Viera, and suddenly Balthier realized he was getting a hint of how Vaan probably felt every time the older man gave him that look. If he had been just a bit less well-bred, he probably would have done something as demeaning and horrid as blush.

"Surveying... of course."