The Leading Man (balflear) wrote in midgarcity, @ 2012-06-18 02:37:00 |
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At times it was easy to forget that he was only twenty and three years. Strolling into the bar with Fran and Basch in tow, Balthier imagined himself to be an elder confidant hell bent on showing someone considerably younger the 'finer things' in life. In reality that was hardly the case, what with Basch fon Ronsenburg having nearly a decade on him. The sky pirate wagered it had something to do with the coincidental timing of his escape from proverbial shackles, just as Basch was being fitted with tangible ones made from heavy iron. For every year one man spent locked away, the other explored all that the planet had to offer. Of the two he was likely the more worldly, age difference be damned.
Fate, looking to be consistent in her cruelty, saw fit to preserve his freedom in spite of countless transgressions. All the while men like Basch were to be dragged off, one after another. Balthier could acknowledge how unscrupulous the situation was and may even lament on it. Any strains of guilt that clamored to the forefront of his mind were soothed with the reasoning that, generally speaking, no man could choose the cards they were dealt. Basch had been plucked from the depths (somewhat unwittingly, but that was neither here nor there) some months ago, and for the benefit of some boy he chose to reveal the truth and forfeit the precious gift of independence.
There was little he could do or say to redirect Basch's course. All that was left to him now was to ensure the man reached his intended destination, so that his grand scheme wouldn't end on an ill-conceived note. Balthier knew first hand that there was little more damaging to ones pride than a plan gone horribly awry. Still, any dramatic undertaking deserved a round of drinks before hand. Or perhaps their night out could be more appropriately described as a hearty acknowledgement of courage. Followed by another round to serve as a proper send off. Labels for the evening weren't so very important, he supposed, so long as the outcome was the same: they were not to remain sober.
"Another round, if you please!" He called to a waitress, upon reaching the bottom of his second stein. The venue chosen was fairly nondescript, based out of a sector that was largely residential. It saw little in the way of traffic and tragedy. Their table was positioned near the back of the establishment, where only one half-dead light illuminated their faces. Balthier could complain in an effort to haggle some small amount off their tab, but wouldn't. Actually kind of liked it this way. Looking across to the blond gentleman, who had long since passed out of their company in favor of fellows more refined, he offered a smirk. "You've been enjoying stout from your hometown, yes? If you leave here so much as able to stagger, I'll have failed in my evening's endeavor."