He is mildly surprised when he enters the cockpit and finds her in the pilot seat hastily attempting to plot new coordinates on the control panel. It is instantly clear to him she has a great of experience with airships as she swiftly sets a course for Bhujerba. He smiles.

"Well, hello."

She is unlike anything he has ever seen: a wild, beautiful thing.

Her skin is the rich color of cocoa and her soft, white hair is an untamable mass of gleaming waves, pulled up and flowing over the exposed skin of her back. The tall, white rabbit ears on the crown of her head, slid through an intricate iron helm are new to him as well. And when she turns, startled and ashamed that she was so careless and her sharp ears had not caught him, he finds himself fascinated by the way her hair curls around her face. He nearly thinks she reminds him of a lion.

He smiles at her armor, or the lack thereof; the leather bodice that uplifts her breasts, and the shimmering, translucent silk that does little to hide her smooth, taut belly; the armor on her loins that scarcely covers her bottom. And the labyrinthine bracers running from her firm, brown thighs all the way down to her ankles astound him. Her cute little rabbit toes and deadly clawed fingers are almost too much. She truly is a beast.

He is baffled by her tall, double-heeled stilettos, wondering how she can possibly walk on their spiked points. But her graceful, fluid movements as she rises from the pilot seat quickly disprove his suspicions.

He loves the way her fierce ruby eyes fill with uncertainty as she realizes she has been caught red-handed attempting to commandeer his airship. He thinks for a moment she might back down and curl up in fright, until she snarls and he finds himself held at arrow-point. But he only grins and holds up his hands in surrender. She raises a brow suspiciously, analyzing him, refusing to lower her weapon.

Her voice is touched with a melodic, foreign hiss as she speaks in clear, refined English.

"Leave, or die."

She nigh looks shocked when he chuckles pleasantly and shakes his head.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, love."

He hears the bowstring tighten as she pulls the arrow back a little further.

"And why is that?" she hisses.

"Well," he smiles, "despite your grace in operating an airship, how exactly do you plan to get out of port?"

Her confidence seems to waver, and he knows she hasn't given this as much thought as she should have.

"Certainly you're aware they'd never grant the ship permission to depart when it's not being flown by the registered pilot. Besides, it's rather difficult to fly an airship single-handed."

"Not as difficult as you might think," she replies with a dark smile. "Your hume machinery comes as naturally to me as breathing."

"So I've noticed," he smirks, "but I doubt you've ever flown anything like the Strahl."

"I have piloted more Archadian airships of this class than summers you have weathered," she snaps, baring her teeth. "Yours can be no different."

He only smiles at her in return.

"I'm sure you have, for I haven't seen as many summers as I'd like and the greater majority of Archadian airships function on a very similar playing field. However, I'm afraid you might struggle with the upgrades I've made since saving her from the scrap heap."

Her eyes immediately lose their ferocity as she realizes this hume has been one step ahead of her all along and that now she will probably be arrested. But still, she holds him at the point of her arrow. She could still kill him and easily slip away unnoticed.

"But," he continues brightly, lowering his hands and pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

He opens it and holds it out to her, still grinning, "Since you seem so eager, I may as well inform you I've been looking to hire a copilot."

She eyes the flyer skeptically, turning her nose up and refusing to make eye contact.

"So, are you interested?"

He watches smugly as she still refuses to lower her weapon.

"I know something of your people," he tempts her. "You are bound to your wood, and to leave is to never return."

"What do you care for that?" she hisses, ever the predator.

He steps around her notched bow and brings his face mere inches from hers, "I don't care, if you must know."

Her eyes are burning when he gazes at her.

"But, I can almost taste your thirst for a place to belong and you would make an incomparable leading lady on this ship."

Hesitantly, she drops her bow and removes the arrow.

"You may have experienced a great deal more of the world than I have, but you most unfortunately have not yet found a place to call your own."

Her lip curls bitterly and she plants a hand on her hip, "Your point?"

Her free hand grips the arrow so tightly he can hear the thick bolt of wood splinter beneath the pressure - something that makes him admittedly nervous. He clears his throat anxiously and tugs at his collar, choosing his words carefully.

"I would like to invite you to call the Strahl your home," he offers, his voice dripping chivalry, "if you find it suits you."

She seems only mild surprised at his proposal, smiling gingerly as she restocks her arrow and slings her bow back over her shoulder all in once graceful motion.

"You saved her from the Archadian scrap heap, yes?" she asks pointedly, smoothing her hand across the back of the copilot seat.

He smiles arrogantly, "The Draklor Laboratories scrap heap, if you must know."

She nods slowly, taking in the rest of the cockpit.

"She has been well cared for," she observes.

There is something in her tone that worries him, but the overwhelming urge to gloat about his beloved ship smothers the concern and he blindly opens his mouth to continue lording only to be cut off by the silvery hiss of her voice.

"But," she continues, observing him mischievously, "she still needs work. Your affinity for performing proper maintenance is clearly lacking."

In spite of his knee-jerk instinct to jump to his own defense, he realizes that not only has she accepted his offer, but has outwitted him in doing so. Merciful heavens, a woman skilled with both airships and her tongue; he didn't know such perfection existed.

"Well then, it's settled," he says triumphantly, swallowing what little pride she has left him with as he folds the flyer back up and stuffs it in his pocket. "Now, we'd better head back to the SandSea and take down the rest of those bills, which reminds me: might I ask the name of my new copilot?"

He is oozing charm as he gives her his most dashing smile.

She effortlessly ignores him, baring her teeth in a wicked smile.

"Fran," she answers.

He needs no invitation to take her hand in his and still smiling boldly lightly brush his lips across her knuckles, to which she continues smiling, less than bothered.

"Welcome aboard the Strahl, Miss Fran. My name is Balthier."

He looks up at her with roguish eyes, "I'll be your captain."