(There *might be someone prettier out there, but would they put up with Jack? That's the kicker.)

Balthier sips his drink, reflecting on the different bits of Baedal he's seen - he doesn't want convenience, not really. He'll take the fog guild job, he knows, but he's going to carry on with his own priorities meanwhile, and - suddenly he sets his glass down and bends forward, hands over his face.

"Oh, gods, I'm going to have to ask you if you need a blasted roommate, aren't I."

* Might.