“Well hello.”

She is unlike anything he has ever seen. A wild, beautiful thing.

Her skin is the rich color of cocoa and her soft, white hair is an untamable mass of gleaming waves, pulled up and flowing over the exposed skin of her back. The tall, white rabbit ears on the crown of her head, slid through an intricate iron helm are new to him as well. And when she turns, startled and ashamed that she was so careless and her sharp ears had not caught him, he finds himself fascinated by the way her hair curls around her face. He nearly thinks she reminds him of a lion.

He smiles at her armor, or the lack thereof; the leather bodice that uplifts her breasts, and the shimmering, crystalline fabric that does little to hide her smooth, taut belly; the armor on her loins that looks more like a pair of panties that scarcely cover her bottom. And the labyrinthine leg guards running from her firm, brown thighs all the way down to her ankles astound him. Her cute little rabbit toes and deadly clawed fingers are almost too much. She truly is a beast.

He is baffled by her tall, double-heeled stilettos, wondering how she can possibly walk on their spiked points. But her graceful, fluid movements as she rises from the pilot seat quickly disprove his suspicions.

He loves the way her fierce ruby eyes fill with uncertainty as she realizes she has been caught red handed attempting to commandeer his airship. He thinks for a moment she might back down and curl up in fright, until she snarls and he finds himself held at the point of the arrow notched in her bow. But he only grins and holds up his hands in surrender. She raises a brow suspiciously, analyzing him, refusing to lower her weapon.

Her voice is touched with a melodic, foreign hiss as she speaks in clear, refined English.

“Leave, or die.”

She nigh looks shocked when he chuckles pleasantly and shakes his head.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, love.”

He hears the bow string tighten as she pulls the arrow back a little further.

“By what reasoning?” she hisses.

“Well,” he smiles, “It’s clear that you have little or no knowledge of airships, so how is it that you plan to fly one, or even get out of port for starters?”

Her confidence seems to waver, and he knows she hasn’t given this as much thought as she should have.

“Not to mention they’d never grant the ship permission to depart when it’s not the registered pilot who’s flying it. And besides it’s rather difficult to fly an airship single-handed.”

“You manage,” she replies slowly, attempting to hide her now blatant uncertainty.

“Yes, but I know what I’m doing,” he smirks.

Her eyes have lost their ferocity as she realizes her plan has failed and that she will probably be arrested. But still, she holds him at the point of her arrow. She could still kill him and easily slip away unnoticed.

“But,” he continues brightly, lowering his hands and pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

He opens it and holds it out to her, still grinning, “Since you seem so eager, I may as well inform you I’ve been looking to hire a co-pilot.”

She eyes the flyer inquisitively, ‘Co-Pilot wanted. For more information, seek Balthier at Dock Nine of the Rabanastre Aerodrome,’ and looks back to him.

“So, are you interested?”

He watches smugly as she still refuses to lower her weapon.

“You want to get out of here, don’t you?”

She falters.

“You want freedom.”

The bowstring just barely slackens.

“I know something of your people,” he tempts her, “You are bound to your wood, and to leave is to never return. You’re tired of being chained down, and you want out. I can give you that.”

He steps around her notched bow and brings his face mere inches from hers, “So, what do you say?”

Her eyes are burning when he gazes at her.

Hesitantly, she drops her bow, removing the arrow.

“Well then, it’s settled,” he says triumphantly, folding the flyer back up and stuffing it in his pocket, “Now, we’d better head back to the SandSea and take down the rest of those bills, which reminds me. Might I ask the name of my new co-pilot?”

He is oozing charm as he gives her his most dashing smile.

She stares at him quizzically, “. . . Fran.”

He presents her with a sweeping bow, still smiling sportively, bewildering her all the more, “Welcome aboard the Strahl, Miss Fran. My name is Balthier.”