Balthier’s jealousy, in all honesty, amused Fran. It was so illogical and so unnecessary that there wasn’t even a way to respond to it. Fran was too distant to be easily distracted by even the most handsome random patron, and she had been even before Balthier and she had become partners in more then one way.
So it was with an amused glint in her eye that she looked at Basch and gave a soft, “hmm” in thought. “Aye, I suppose they would, but I believe keeping my eye on the two of you leaves me little time to look elsewhere.” Ever the calm babysitter, really. As if she ever looked twice at men even when her companions weren’t trying to get drunk off their asses.
At the mention of taking Basch’s phone for safe-keeping, Fran maintained a straight face other than the slight quirk of an eyebrow. “When I last saw your phone, there was only one other number in it,” she pointed out innocently. The boys could make of that observation what they wanted, but she was wondering exactly who he thought he would annoy at the end of this evening’s drinking.
When Balthier got down to business, Fran returned her gaze to make sure that nobody seemed to be listening. But for all the people who might cast their eye on the trio—for one reason or another—she saw no one who looked like Shinra or AVALANCHE agents to spoil the plot. At the description of Barret, Fran added, “And his harsh tongue.” Man cursed like a sailor, and Fran should know.