we can steal this car if your folks don't mind

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

Who: Statler and Waldorf Balthier and Martel.
What: Catching up, shooting the shit, talk of houses, etc and soforth. Life in Baedal.
Where: A cafe in Brock Marsh.
When: Some time after Balthier and Jack's recent log but before... now. THESE ARE NOT THE DROIDS YOU ARE LOOKING FOR
Notes: I got nothin'.
Warnings: Sarcasm?

On the third floor of a wide building there is cafe reached by a narrow winding set of stairs, whose insides are wooden with colored glass windows and lights, and that has a large semi-circle of an outdoor patio that sits atop whatever shop is below, looking out over the bustling district. Balthier, dressed a bit simpler than usual but no less unEarthly, lounges on a chair on said patio, people-watching. This, he thinks, feels a bit more familiar. (He's not sure he likes the thought. It's deceptive.) All traces of his injuries attained during his recent expedition are gone - there are some bits on his shoulder that scarred, left too long without healing, but his shirt's covering all of that - and he looks for all the world like he hasn't got a care in it.

Comments

[apostatised]

With a loose one handed gesture- "I'm certain I can be sufficiently opinionated on the subject myself." They're not living in some glass-encased monstrosity and there will be rugs, that's a start. "But if you want to bring back friends from the fog, you're on your own."

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

"What about expensive things I shan't turn over to my employers?" Asked in a tone that's not serious - not because he doesn't plan on doing that (he does) but that he doesn't think Martel would, in any universe, actually give a damn.

[apostatised]

"The wards will no doubt serve a dual purpose," Martel returns philosophically, a sort of verbal shrug that indicates precisely Balthier's thought. The new, improved and more ethical Martel is merely as law-abiding as it suits him to be.

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

"As I said." He raises his glass, lazy, saluting the spirit of theft and dishonesty, "It just doesn't pay."

Crime does, however. It pays very well - particularly when you're good at it. And Balthier is a veritable artist.

"So what are you pulling in your funds doing, if not mercenary work?"

[apostatised]

Crime did pay exceptionally well, in Martel's experience.

He holds up two fingers. "Scholarly pursuits-" he's terribly dry about it, though in fairness 'working at Baedal's university' does seem to put 'living beside an alchemist' to shame in terms of being potentially unwise, "-and I've taken up training Hellsing's field agents."

Neither of which are much like mercenary work, but that isn't his only background and none of what he's doing now is unfamiliar.

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

"How very established of you." Personally, Balthier's just happy the bleed-through guild is properly staffed of madmen who went wide-eyed with intrigue at his talk of airships, all up for a good time with a bad idea, collectively held together with willpower and twine. It's familiar.

"I suppose we aught go hold a real estate agent at knifepoint, what say you?" He's probably being colorful, there.

[apostatised]

They'll probably have to take out a loan, but given the fact that all of their more respectable connections are to city institutions of one form or another- that shouldn't be much of a problem. (Thinking along these lines, as necessary as it may be, makes his teeth itch; he briefly has the urge to rough up a politician on principle.)

Swallowing, he says over his glass, "How nostalgic of home. I suppose we ought, at that."

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

And, of course, they do. There's no use in wasting time, as it's not like either of them fancy spending more time at the Inn than necessary. (For Balthier's part, he doesn't mind staying with Jack, but he can't stand being beholden to one person - he knows Jack feels the same way, though, so it's fine.)

"When the hell did I get responsible enough to quality for a loan?" he complains, later. "I headed a suicide mission a week ago. What's wrong with this place?"

[apostatised]

"Everyone on said suicide mission survived, with sanity more or less intact," Martel points out, mercilessly, as they walk. "And as a direct result, a Guild offered you placement."

He's still not sure how he became respectable - while simultaneously knowing exactly how and having been quietly masterminding it for the sake of leading a life less irritating - and as such is sidestepping it to take this opportunity to needle Balthier with reality.

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

"All that means is I'm terrible at suicide missions," he points out. "If I'd been any good, we'd all be dead." Look, that makes perfect sense, it's just terrible. At least, he reflects privately, he's getting a good look about town. He's already side-eyed an institution he'd like to come back to after hours.

"And you, too, you bastard. What were you even doing for those months in that hell hole? We've both hit our heads.." INJUSTICE, etc.

[apostatised]

In retrospect, 'sod all' is what he was doing in said hell hole. Martel opts not to point that out.

"I was run through the chest," he says, mildly, "it does change a man's perspective."

...as true as that is, somehow it just sounds like a hideous joke coming out of his mouth. That was probably deliberate. (God forbid he just say something straightforward.)

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

"Good for you, a ship the size of a city fell on me."

... Which is a bit more than he's ever, ever said about anything that went on back at home before, but then, it's not like Martel expected any misty-eyed sympathies or a hug. (And if he wanted either, Balthier would search him for witchcraft.)

"I feel positively unnatural. I'll have to see to a fighting ring or some other damn thing..."

[apostatised]

If Balthier ever tries to hug him, Martel's going to knock him out and tie him up for safe-keeping (and to prevent him accidentally humiliating himself in public) while he goes to find out who's been arsing about with his head. Official word.

"I'm sure one can be found, if you're feeling choked by respectability." The superior tone of amusement is thoroughly false; he only plays at being without such complaints because it's more entertaining that way.

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

And so they have an accord.

"Terribly." How could he live, without the drama? It's like Balthier would just wither away and die if he couldn't be over the top and needlessly theatrical, no matter how much easier it would make life for anyone else. (His pride would never permit for such a thing. Ease! Gods forbid.) "Oh."

The sudden tone change is so abrupt and smug-sounding it's a wonder he hasn't robbed somebody right then. Balthier spins about, walking backwards aside from Martel. "They've got chocobos here."

You know, those things that aren't horses.

[apostatised]

"If you're having one, I'm hearing no more complaints about my horse." It's amazing how he doesn't so much as pause before delivering that, glancing at Balthier as he spins. "You're going to walk into someone."

No, he isn't.

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

"No, I'm not. And I shan't have one because I don't believe in keeping animals." So there. "I'd rather build a gate crystal. But they're here and it's both endlessly unnerving and satisfying, because they're so much more efficient."