portolan | Open Post

[ Reyes got busier than expected today -- that was fine. Balthier came by while the other worked to just be around or see to matters of his own often enough that he was used to Reyes's time being occupied. Honestly, the normalcy of it and the sense that they could keep on their separate lives in each others' vicinity was a good deal of the appeal. And maybe the affectionate looks and soft touches and stolen kisses between. It was a good spread, all told.

Balthier's preoccupied, besides. He and Fran have just returned from a trip to Ivalice -- probably another reason he just wants to be near to Reyes -- and both Ashe and Larsa have renewed their offers to make a position for him, some sort of interplanetary affairs piece. He doesn't want it. He doesn't want anything that ties him down or locks him in or forces him to play some part he hasn't agreed to.

But, Scions, they need it. He's about the only person with any experience on this side of the galaxy, who has any sense what the peoples out here want and expect, or what of Ivalice's could be valuable. He's trying. He could get the right people in touch, keep any eye; he doesn't mind being an informant. And he doesn't want Ivalice getting taken advantage of or left behind, or worse, being attacked for its resources. So he's started to massage his networks, drop information here and there, see what starts to come out of the woodwork and intelligence networks alike.

Of course, the pay of a real position would be nice. But being an official would require residency. Formal ceremonies. Dressing like his damn father.

Being away more.

He sighs. He's had this back in forth in his head about seventy times now. Fran will laugh at him later, and tell him to toss it to the skies and let the winds steer them. She's better at that than he is. ]

The late afternoon sun tints the room a rosy gold, reflecting off the copper of the buildings to cast everything in an ethereal glow. One of the few things Balthier always missed about Archades. So many afternoons spent as a child with his mother, making art in that magical hour of perfect light.

Today, David sits out on the balcony reading, the fall air playful and lovely. Balthier has a perch in a chair, tilted out so he can see David. In his lap is a small notebook he often keeps with him but has never actually let David see; by now it's filled with small sketches of the man he loves, stolen when the other is busy.

Maybe it's how long they've been together now, maybe it's the disarming pleasantry of good light and weather from a bright spot in his youth, maybe it's the way steeling away to an apartment like this makes it easy to feel like everything else can be put aside for awhile -- whatever the reason, Balthier is more relaxed, and so when he stands to go pour himself fresh tea and pull an offering of snacks for David, he leaves the notebook open on the table beside him.

[ from here ]

They're more common on my world, I think.
They had possessed my father for quite some time.
My team and I took them down in battle -- had bound demi-gods that fought with us.
It helped that this god had been disowned by his counsel.

[ from here ]

[ as a sky pirate, he'd been to "towns" that ranged from outposts of three people and barely tamed fiends to the imperial capital, which was, arguably, a fancy cage hiding the worst monsters of all ]

tongue and firearm tend to be my blades of choice
magick isn't out of the question, though. nor is a good crossbow.
Right tool for the task; right tool for the man.

[ Balthier may be a pirate, but let no one say he doesn't honor his bets.

Which is why they're tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, near enough the open floor to ceiling windows that the night air wafts in, blocked from much of the dining room's view by tall screens and large potted plants. He had chosen the place in part for strategic exit and the ease of getting a secluded table; they are, after all, two wanted men who are supposed to be dead. But there's also something undoubtedly pleasant to the tile floors and rich textiles on the walls and babble of a fountain nearby, the way conversation and dinner and life just happens around them but doesn't demand anything of them. It's almost surreal, having the chance to do this amid everything else going on.

Really, he doesn't like to lose, but this was the better outcome, even if it's taking a good deal of self-restraint not to sigh at Basch's very out of place outfit. Were it not part of the bet, he'd have leaned heavily on the need to blend in, but alas. He is a man of his word. ]

Are you letting me order for you as well? Or did my services end at selecting the venue?

[ Basch has agreed to more than Balthier expected just in coming out; he's not going to push his luck. But he absolutely has asked around as to what the best house dishes are, and he'll be damned if he doesn't order more than enough food and insist the other eat his fill. The former captain looks healthier these days, the sallowness leaving his skin and his weight slowly improving. Recovery is slow, though. Physical and mental. ]

1. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I hold the title of prettiest boy in town.
2. Captain means you follow my orders or you're off this shift.
3. You told me you were into literature. Loveless is not literature.

[ Between traveling by foot in a filthy dungeon then walking across the sands in the desert sun, Balthier's body and temper are in desperate need of a bath, even with how charmed his garments are against sweat and smell.

He'd be lying if he said his thoughts had not turned, regularly and with curiosity, toward their new knight companion. He speaks little, lends a hand to defend without being asked, and there's a hollowness to his eyes and worrying thinness to his frame. Neither are a surprise, not with two years in that hell of a prison. What is surprising is his immediate commitment to the princess, and his very clear tolerance for the pirates.

He does cut his hair, he does pull on the discarded uniform of some man of iller fate. But Balthier suspects -- with a kindness he would never admit to possessing -- the others' spirit is in need of some mending.

So, at breakfast at their inn in Rabanstre on their second day, he claps Basch cheerily on the shoulder. ]

Eaten? Good. You're coming with me. I need a bodyguard for the baths.

[ He does not, but it's the best string to pull. ]

And I've already paid for it so do not waste dear Princess's coin.

[ Also not her coin, but she isn't there to sell him out. ]

It's been a long time since he rode as a passenger on a ship, and he'll admit the five-story sky cruiser is luxury. Decks full of ballrooms and bars and singers and finely adorned rooms, and a leisurely pace that will put them at port in a few days' time. He doesn't like feeling trapped, even if he has back up should something go south, but it was the best way to gather intel on his target without raising suspicion and, well, it's not the worst thing to dress nicely and enjoy himself.

It just never quite settles properly. He's restless, prone to looking over his shoulder -- metaphorically; he'd never give up his identity like that -- and feels like an imposter in a way he hasn't in a long time. Maybe because, had he never run away, this life would have been his.

He does manage to slip through some no entry and sound confident enough to make it up to a private service area of the top deck, above the lights and sounds. The fresh air and bright stars make him feel like his lungs finally inflate.

There's someone else there, and he doesn't really mind if they're worker or noble or something more nefarious. He leans on the rail, trailing his fingers across the wind currents.

"All that beauty, and the sky still wins. Humans are gluttons for punishment, hmm?"

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