"Or you'll what?" challenged Balthier. In his own regressing mental state, it wasn't the item in question so much as the principal of the matter. Fran had something and refused to relinquish it into his care. Even if keeping it hidden away would be best for everyone involved, he suddenly felt bound and determined to lay claim on the phone once more.
Producing his own cellular, the pirate's thumbs tapped fervently over the keys. "I could make you see stars in the very best of ways, dear heart." He threatened in turn, obviously not insinuating that he intended to strike her. Not Fran or any other woman, if it could be helped. Whatever message he'd been preoccupied with was sent, and then his face went alight with a cheeky expression. Moments later found one of his arms around her waist, tugging her in so that he could plant his lips firmly against her own. Drunkenly passionate and open, his tongue was just beginning to trace the tight seam of her mouth - likely shut to spite him - when something chimed from beneath the table. Enough to guide his free hand to the exact pouch where Basch's cell was being kept.
A distraction! The lot of it providing enough time to accomodate the slight delay between the two phones. Fingers disappearing beneath the table, he might have deliberately brushed her thigh while fishing for the outdated device. "If memory serves, the agreement was something to the effect of you alerting him to any incoming communications. It sounds as though he now has a message." Never mind that the digital screen clearly read: BALTHIER. The tables had turned, or so it would seem. No longer was he faced with the combined forces of Fran and Basch. It was now the men against the lone woman at their table.