World Tree MUSH

    After all the ruckus with the explosion in the phlogiston mines, and the hubbub of the back-and-forth with helping refugees find their way back to safety, a certain pair of sky pirates had eventually retired to the depths of an unattended mine shaft. The viera of the two pauses to listen, ears swivelling this way and that, tracking the sounds of the crowds beyond. The hume, however, is already sizing up the crate of forgotten phlogiston ore and mentally calculating how heavy that thing is and how much they can lift between the pair of them. Fragile though she may look, the viera is much stronger than she looks.
    "Fran." A soft call, as the hume pokes and prods at the crate, this way and that, testing its corners.
    "Balthier." The viera's distinct voice carries the faintest whiff of amusement.
    "I think we should be able to manage this, between the two of us. Are we clear?"
    "For the moment. This crate, you want?" Fran swivels one ear toward Balthier.
    "The way I see it," Balthier comments conversationally as he positions his back against the short end of the crate, "they're mining this stuff like mad for a reason. Mayhap we ought to sample a crate for ourselves."
    "I think it would be foolish not to."
    "Well, what are you waiting for? Help me get this thing back to the ship." The hume sighs in mock drama and shakes his head. "Wayward hare."
    "Hume-child."
    The banter is familiar; comfortable, and there's no animosity in the 'insults' at all. With a grunt, Balthier attempts to lift his side of the crate; on her side, Fran lifts her side with just a smidge less effort. Those slender limbs are a lot stronger than they look like they should be.
    For the moment they're making their merry way back to the entrance to this place, perhaps to abscond with the grate through a service entrance, back to the hub area where the Strahl waits.
    For now, they expect this place to be empty...

    When the Jedi who was stationed outside the mines had noticed two of the crew skulking off, she didn't pay much mind at first. Assuming instead that they were going their own way to try and save people, surely not everyone would believe her when she attempted to help coordinate things. Though as they eventually went an entirely different direction - as the evaction went on she glanced back that direction now and then and by the time things had started to settle down, the woman had simply enough vanished. Those that were on her ship had been left in the care of the rest of the mining facility, and Surai... was seen no more that day.

    Especially as her ship jumped away, which would leave the impression that Surai had gone as well. However, there was a new figure in the area, slipping through the organized chaos with practice. A figure wrapped top to bottom in a completely black cloak, wrapped around their figure. With the hood drawn, nothing of their features could be seen except a bit of the mechanical-looking mask they had on. Where were they going? Well, they made their way towards the entrance of that side shaft where last the pirate crew had been sighted seemingly messing with the Phlogiston. It was a deep shaft, they had a heavy load. Even with the two it would probably take a fair while to get back out if they weren't going to use the conventional methods of cart and track. Especially as the carts and tracks seemed to be electric, there was the chance that a cart would just shoot off with their payload!

    Thus, by the time the pair made it to the mouth of the shaft, they would be able to make out the cloaked, dark figure standing near the entrance - waiting. On them? Hard to say.

    "Grrrgh. A bit to the left on your end, Fran." Inch by torturous inch and foot by agonising foot, the sky pirate manages to help Fran lever the crate in the indicated direction. The crate is damned heavy, and it would have been a lot easier to commandeer an electric cart.
    There's no telling if the electrical system in this place might have been compromised, though, and there's also no telling whether the carts' use would have triggered some kind of sensor or alarm somewhere. Finally, it just doesn't go where they need it to go. They're going to the Strahl... not wherever this stuff gets processed.
    "Mind your shoulder, sky pirate. To the right it should go. No, to the right."
    "Doing my best," Balthier grunts, straining to keep the whole crate from overbalancing.
    "Do better. Or this will be lost."
    "Are you sure we're going up and out? Air smells a bit stale down here."
    "No doubt that is you."
    "Ha-ha. A comedian viera. Just my luck, isn't it? I'm serious, Fran; it still smells rather disappointingly of old tunnel."
    "A long shaft, this. We go upward."
    "Your nose is better than mine," he sighs, in resigned acceptance.
    It's quiet banter rather much like that is what the black-cloaked figure is treated to as the pair get closer to the entrance. And then once they pick out a different shadow from the shadows around them, the click and creak of weapons as Balthier rests his rifle over his shoulder, casual as you please. Fran has her bow in her hand, slung down from her shoulder between one breath and the next, but she hasn't drawn an arrow yet. Her ears are swivelled straight forward, focused on the black-cloaked figure; the quiet intensity of a hunter.
    "I don't know who you are," Balthier comments airily, "but I'm going to guess that you don't belong here any more than I do. That certainly doesn't look like the same standard-issue mining uniform I've been seeing all evening." The rifle stays on his shoulder, but it's in reach and close enough to lower quickly. Not yet a threat; still casual... for the moment. "If you'll pardon us, we'll just be on our way with this."
    The viera is silent, apparently content to let her partner do the talking.
    The crate isn't quite forgotten, but they don't look like they're going to go back to moving it until the area is clear. For now, it's a stare-down.

    For a moment, for a while, there was silence. The figure said nothing. They stood, still. Despite their short stature, looming in some capacity as they menaced the two. Unlike Balthier, there was no visible weapon, arms crossed underneath their chest. No sound from them at all. Were they even alive? Some kind of guard? Perhaps they were actually going to let the pair go by unaccosted after all, as they did nothing to interfere for the longest.

    Though finally, an arm separated from the crossed position they were in, no weapon in hand, raising towards the pair and their loot. But what was she doing? It's hard to say, if one was looking at the black-robed figure. By all accounts the hand that was in htheir way had extended a finger as if pointing, but nothing was said. It was subtle, but stronger ears than a humans could hear something subtle.

    The sound of something moving. What, though? Well, that would be a piece of the ore from the crate floating up into the air a little. The sound was the rustling of the ore, slight as it was, against the other ore as it raised up. But once it was in the air, no sound at all as it floated back slightly.

    The well-dressed sky pirate remains outwardly affable, but there's a stillness in his hazel eyes that speaks to the intensity of his focus. He watches the cloaked figure's every move. He listens. His companion watches and listens even more intently, those tall hare's ears swivelled straight forward to face the stranger. Her claw-nailed fingers lie lightly over her bow, but the intensity in her red-brown eyes could change that in a split second.
    It's Fran who hears the ore first, ears swivelling back, followed a moment later by her reluctant gaze. A flicker of surprise crosses her stoic expression.
    "Balthier." It's a warning she gives her companion, but no specifics. One might assume she's pointing out to him that the ore is floating, but no. Fran doesn't waste time with trifles. She's telling him not to take this one lightly.
    "I know." Balthier's response is languid and unperturbed. His calmness is at odds with the situation, maybe meant to keep the opposition calm as well. Or, maybe he's genuinely not afraid. It's hard to say which it is.
    Those still, hazel eyes fall upon the figure, ignoring the parlour trick of a floating nugget of ore. His mouth twists into an affable smile. "You're going to have to work on those communication skills. That's a nice trick, to be sure, but I haven't the time for parlour tricks, however interesting they may be."
    "Or, are you after this? You'll find us to be moderately difficult prey, if you really insist on pressing the issue," Balthier offers quietly. His affable smile fades like ice in sun. "Even if I haven't got time to shoot you, which I doubt, my partner does, and I feel obligated to mention that I've not ever seen Fran miss..."

    The floating ore? Flicks up harmlessly right towards Balthiers head. Not enough to harm, and in fact slow enough if he was paying attention he could simply move his head out of the way.

    'A warning.'

    It wasn't a voice so much as a mechanized sound that was produced, artificially. The sound came from the figure, but it certainly didn't sound good. 'It is a waste to have to kill you over such a trifle. Especially in a place so combustive as we are in.' That mechanical-sounding grating voice certainly didn't sound like the type to 'warn' anyone.

    'Abandon your catch, lest you become prey to a bigger predator, scavengers.'

    Finally the black-cloaked figure moved, starting to walk towards the pair of Sky Pirates quite calmly, as if nothing at all was wrong. Their arm lowered and as they walked, arms by their side, the cloak covered them again for the most part. However, the hood seemed to draw back a tiny bit as they approached. Maybe it was just the angle of how they held their head, but the evil-looking mask was certainly meant to impose negative impressions.

    "I understand scars are all the rage among the ladies, but I hardly need the assistance," Balthier drawls. His words are unmoved, but his hazel eyes are tracking the floating ore near his head. He doesn't look quite at it; merely close enough that he can follow it with his peripheral vision. "Who else am I but the leading man in this story? And I would be a poor leading man indeed if I had any difficulties in wooing the womenfolk."
    Fran says nothing; never so much as twitches an eyelash out of line. Her stillness trasncends the blonde hume at her side. Where he radiates calm and stillness, and uncharacteristic intensity of focus, she is like being stared at by a hawk intent on springing. Pure killing intent; the stare of a consummate hunter.
    "Oh, come now." Balthier sighs, almost theatrical in his disappointment. His rifle is returned to his shoulder, his tone quite reasonable as he raises an arm, fiddling with the dust-stained cuff of his sleeve. "Scavengers... That's really quite crass, isn't it? I work hard at this charismatic charm, you know. It's a bit wounding to have all of that hard work and effort dismissed out of hand."
    His hazel eyes remain serious and still, though. "I don't take well to threats. Make your point, we'll make ours, and then everyone goes on about their way." Beat. A rustle of fabric as Balthier shrugs. "Or not."

    'That is mine. You can go scavenge another.'

    A very, /very/ simple statement.

    'You get to live, and life goes on with you in it. Accept my generosity. There is no need for grand displays of power here.'

    The clacking sound of the figures metallic-heeled boots were the only audible thing from them that was natural. That grating unnatural voice echoed in the mineshafts, practically growling out despite the lack of vocal chords. While there was no Charisma emitted from the black figure, there was certainly something the two might recognize. It is the same feeling one might get when they make eye contact with a large beast that is minding its own business. A natural offer for a stalemate. There was no reason to fight to the death when one party could just as easily turn and walk away. Sure, it required one side to bow down, but it was a practiced aura on the 'Siths' part. An uneasy feeling, the air around them almost seeming cooler as they clacked closer and closer. The pirates might even recognize certain features about the mask now that she was closing in. Not only was it artificial, it almost seemed like some kind of machine. Not quite a helmet so much as something made to interface with something. This figure had likely suffered grevious wounds in the past to wear such a device, but it was almost as if their capacity was in no way lowered.

    A one-eyed dragon is still a dragon, though the closer the figure got, fourty feet, thirty five, there was a strong pressure coming out of them. An emotional pressure, at least, to those who were more easily intimidated it might make one want to just turn tail and flee.

    Some of that affable charm is rubbing away from Balthier's mannersisms, visible in the slight squint of his eyes, or the downward slash of his mouth. He's losing his patience with this game, his back is actually aching quite a bit, and he'd really like to get this crate back to the Strahl and go get roaring drunk with his accomplice. Instead, he's here, negotiating with... whatever it is this person is; he's not quite sure.
    Balthier tightens his grip on the rifle, and there is something cold and still that enters into his eyes and his stance. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, as though he were psyching himself into a tranquil stance of some kind. It has nothing to do with the Force and everything to do with mental conditioning -- he stills his mind, quiets his thoughts, and focuses his senses on the threatening figure in front of them. Maybe it's a trick he's picked up from his less human partner.
    "I thought I told you, I don't take well to threats." He sighs, though what he might mean by the gesture, it's hard to say. "Contrary to what the press likes to say, I don't enjoy killing. Crude and messy business. Blood is so damnably hard to wash out of things, you know. But mark me, stranger. I will. I've no fear of it." Balthier keeps his rifle frozen in place, squinting slightly down its ironsights. "We /are/ dangerous criminals, and we /will/ behave irrationally when pressed to a corner. And this is looking rather like a corner you're presenting, here." His voice dips; softens. "Do you really want to risk it?"    Yet the danger isn't the rifle, however steady his eyes and hands. He's reluctant to fire for the same reasons the figure doesn't reach for a lightsaber. The air here is too volatile. Fran, however, is under no such compulsion.
    Thin sparks jump from the stone at the figure's feet; an arrow skitters away from where it had been purposefully misfired, leaving a divot in the stone. The viera has another arrow strung in the time it takes to exhale and inhale, staring.
    "I'm afraid we're terribly busy people with things we need to do, and those things don't include sticking around here. Accept /my/ generosity. Back down, before you start something that I will most assuredly finish. This ore will indeed be quite thoroughly mine -- when I take it from you. One does not become the leading man simply because one is elected to the role. One must display the appropriate skill, finesse, and -- at times -- yes, strength of will." The rifle raises just a twitch. "Do not cross mine."
    These two are made of sterner stuff than the average civilian. They flaunt the norm; live their lives on the razor's edge. Courage and fear both mean different things, to them, than they do to most people.
    If they feel the pressure, they say nothing -- Fran's ears swivel until they're facing straight back, and there is a slight narrowing to Balthier's hazel eyes, but the two otherwise don't look inclined to back down.
    He raises his rifle and tightens his finger around the trigger, but he doesn't squeeze enough to actually discharge the weapon. Not yet. Just enough to show that his knuckle is white beneath the multicoloured rings around his middle and ring fingers.
    "I'd suggest you stop moving, now, friend." His tone softens, and he smiles that affable smile, although it never reaches his eyes. "Else you may find, to your misfortune, that I and my partner do not start anything we have no intention of finishing."
    The question is, what'll the figure do? Will they keep advancing? Certainly looks like they could double for one of the old guard, one of Vayne's Judges, but are they as confident in their own power; as secure and willful? Time to find out.
    "You know, I can't remember the last time I had a proper standoff," he comments off-handedly to Fran.
    She doesn't answer him, flicking an ear indifferently, but he looks pretty used to that.

    When the arrow was fired, the figure didn't seem to stop. Almost as if they knew it wasn't going to hit.

    Still, eventually they did come to stop, about twenty paces away properly. Close enough that the chill in the air was tangible as they raised their arms and crossed them beneath the chest. At this range, the fact that the being was female was much more noticable. Even with the dark robe, the mechanical mask and false voice, there were certain things about them one might notice. Posture, shapes. Scents, too, if Fran was paying attention. An acrid metal scent, like the taste one might get from licking a penny.

    'The mines have exploded once already. Do you really want to risk being inside them when they do so again, over a box of rocks?'

    She paused, only to bring out an arm and point, 'By the way, there is a tracking device in the bottom of that container. I am uncertain if you noticed, but you would likely be tracked down somewhat easily were you to make off with it.' A complete bluff, but stated quite convincingly. 'Do you truly wish to walk out of her with them all in your pockets, like a thief in the markets running with fruit in shirt? If you doubt me, take a peek underneath. Your tall-eared companion has her weapon pointed at me. A metal fixture right in the center.' In truth that metal 'fixture' was simply a metal knob used for transporting it around, magnetic stuff, but from beneath it could very well look like anything, were one to check.

    The closer the figure draws, the more an aura settles around the sky pirates as well, that of a dangerous animal backed into a corner and left with little alternative. Each almost bristles in their own way despite their postures being so still and focused.
    The line of Balthier's mouth is a slash of displeasure. The fine, white fur that covers Fran's ears nearly stands on end, and both have swivelled around to face backward again; a typical stance of aggression or discomfort in many animals.
    "The question is, do you?" The corner of Balthier's mouth twitches. "Believe what you want to believe, then."
    Fran's ears slowly lower until they're not only facing backwards but slightly tilted, a universal sign of aggression in most animals. "We waste our time here," she says, low.
    "The hour grows late, and I grow weary of your pointless games, Balthier comments softly, tone of voice conversational; reasonable. "I intend to quit this place with this crate in tow, tracking devices be damned. I'll take my chances." Either he genuinely doesn't care, or he's calling her bluff. It's hard to say. "Ah, you lie so /easily/. Too easily. Lies are like seasoning, my dear; they're best used sparsely or they ruin the dish, you know."
    "Go back to your skulking, and my companion and I will leave this place, with no further trouble to you, as tempting as the thought may be." The rifle raises incrementally; points slightly to the side.
    Altair roars as the sky pirate pulls the trigger. It's not strong enough to actually ignite the mine shaft. Magick would do the trick, but he left that behind.
    He gives sufficient time for everyone's ears to stop ringing.
    "Do not test me. I've shot aplenty to spare; the next will be aimed for your heart. And if I do not succeed, my companion will. It's seldom that Fran ever misses her target."
    Both raise their weapons; train them on the figure.
    "What'll it be?"

    'Lies? And where is the lie? How do you think I knew you two were making your way up here, and that I did not need to venture further down into the mines to receive my haul?'

    How indeed. It's not as if they knew she was a Miraluka, or had even any indication on how she saw or what she knew or why.

    Still, that calmness remained about her. Why /was/ she still here, what exactly was this womans game? If she was capable of lifting the rocks, she could have attacked them in other ways in theory. Maybe in the end it didn't even matter. But something interesting did happen.

    The shot rifle bullet... stops in the air. It was a strange sight, almost as if something grabbed onto it and swung the bullet around in an arc before coming to rest visibly. An invisible hand, maybe, as if one were catching a ball. Except her arms didn't move, the only thing that did was a hand shifting, opening slightly.

    'How about I make you a slightly differing offer. I am not quite certain if you are planning to keep your loot for youself, or if you intend to sell it, but I can just as easily buy it from you here and now - on the condition that you two come do a task for me? I am a member of the Sith Empire, and while I imagine you enjoy your freedom, I imagine you also enjoy credits much more, yes? There is something I need to purloin, and while I intended to go on my own, I imagine you two thieves would make a decent distraction, and may very well enjoy the chance to line your pockets in the process. Rest assured, I care little what you do on this mission as long as I get what I came for - there is plenty to take that I care not for.' Her hand flexes once more, but this time... something comes out from inside of her cloak.

    A staff, which twists apart and reveals a crystal. 'In a temple on another planet, guarded by a group of monks, there is one of these I wish to acquire. There are many other fun things you two could probably make use of. How about it?'

    "How indeed?" Balthier arches a brow, tilting his head slightly. The twist of silver in his ear gleams in the faint light from lamps further down the shaft, and he gestures slightly with the rifle, although it never moves far from the figure. "We'll just have to file that one under 'trade secret.'"
    Actually, the answer is that he doesn't know whether she's lying or not. He's just assuming she is, because despite his apparent youth, he has the withered black heart of a cynic... but she doesn't need to know that.
    Both sky pirates stare at the bullet frozen in the air, Fran with an arrow drawn past her cheekbone, Balthier with his rifle poised and his finger snug over the trigger. They look ready to act at a second's notice, as though they were expecting the bullet to be flung back at them, or some other nonsense. They've come to expect inconvenient physics in these places beyond Ivalice.
    "Please." Balthier puts up his rifle, slinging its embroidered strap over his shoulder and scoffing. Fran doesn't move. "If you want a common cutpurse, I expect you could investigate any slum off the beaten trail of this colony, and like as not you'll find half a dozen simpering to do your bidding. I, my dear, am a /sky pirate/."
    What exactly does that mean? He doesn't specify, but presumably it's categorically better. Somehow.
    He tilts his head, watching her unblinkingly. That aura of stillness has settled about him again, although it lacks the predatory threat of Fran's stillness. "Hm. So. You offer me a favour for a crate of ore, even if I may happen to find the terms unsavoury later on down the line." He glances back at the massive crate, sharing a look with his viera partner. His hand rises to rub at his jaw, thoughtful.
    "Not a bad deal. But rest assured that while I would accept your offer... ah, ah," he sing-songs, shrugging the rifle down and pointing it at her with a languid half-smile. "No sudden movements, there. Keep yon hands where I can see them."
    He clears his throat, watching her carefully. "And what manner of general skullduggery are we speaking of, here? The crate is yours, as far as I'm concerned. I've no interest in ruining my back getting it out of here. The leading man is above such menial labour." Not really, but he's not desperate enough to ruin his spinal column in the pursuit of avarice. There are other fish in the sea. He shifts his weight to a more balanced stance, but he keeps his rifle trained, waiting and evidently curious.

    'You may wind up with nothing, you may wind up dead. You may wind up jailed and separated from your little duo. Or you may wind up with quite a bit more than you were bargained. That is how it goes in such deals. It all depends on just how competent you are. I imagine if you were caught, you would squeal like a mynock about my presence, so I fully expect little of you. But having a distraction is always nice, especially two who seem set on lining their own pockets." The staff lines itself back up and reassembles itself before being tucked away in her cloak again, only for a sack of coins to come out. Just how much of what currency is hard to say, though it does float over towards the two and plop down atop the crate of ore.

    'Kill, maim, rape, pillage, or slink through the shadows and never get seen. I care little. But if I go in with members of the Empire, it will stir the nest much harder than if two greedy thieves made their way in and were caught. Really quite simple.' The box, however, was entirely ignored by her. Her fingers began to dance as if one were playing an instrument, bits of ore raising from the box and floating towards her, slowly starting to circle around her in the air as it floated and collected bit by bit. Of course, were one to shoot at her it would probably explode quite brilliantly if one of those ores ignited. But so would the mines.

    An explosive vest, of sorts. 'I assume, 'Sky pirate' as you put it... you have your own ship. Is it capable of hyperspace travel? If not, we can talk about this in a place that isn't soon to be happened upon by the rescue teams checking for miners just in case. My transportation is upon the edge of this system, you can meet up with me there and I can give you more details?'

    "There you go again with the threats. Honey attracts success by far more easily than vinegar, my dear. You might do well to try using it from time to time. Although your threats do lack a certain appeal," he sighs. "Save your breath. They've no effect on a man of my means. The leading man is hardly afraid of a little danger." Those hazel eyes settle on her, cold and still. "Nor does any sky pirate worth his proverbial magicite."
    He shrugs when she seems to scoff at their chosen profession, or their thinly-veiled greed. "Well, I've scarcely made a secret of my vocation, have I? 'Tis hardly my fault that I happen to be skilled enough to garner a reputation."
    Fran's red-brown eyes have meanwhile flicked to the sack of coins, or whatever, watching it float over and plop down atop the crate, sagging slightly to one side once they stop defying gravity. By the time it stops moving, it vanishes into Fran's claw-nailed hand, passed over to Balthier. No sooner has she passed it off to him than she has an arrow strung again in silence. He weighs it, bobbing it up and down in his palm thoughtfully, before it vanishes into one of the pouches at his belt.
    "Silver, I'll wager, or I'm a poorer judge of reappropriated goods than I'd thought. All right. You've your bargain. This will spend just as well in half a dozen different worlds." Balthier lifts hazel eyes to the figure, expression neutral, although there's a flicker of distaste, almost anger, as the stranger's list of potential actions gets progressively nastier. "Slinking through the shadows and avoiding notice rather does have a nice ring to it. Oh, I suppose a sky pirate may be inclined towards other forms of entertainment... but the leading man is both dignified and elegant. Those are hardly."
    Thieves with morals, huh?
    "No," he comments simply, on the matter of negotiations. "If anyone comes close to this shaft, Fran will hear them. We chose this route for a reason." Balthier spreads his arms in demonstrative gesture. "Look around. 'Tis all but abandoned. We'll finish our business here, before we leave. Unless you've not yet decided, in which case, you can have word sent by courier. We'll not be at your beck and call, however. No sky pirate works thus, least of all these two." He folds his arms. "Choose carefully."

    'Courier it is. Visit an empire-controlled world at some point. Considering the Tree is what it is, it may be difficult to find a specific one whenever you like, but if you at least come across the Galaxy I am from that shouldn't be terribly hard.'

    The ore finished drawing up around her only to settle down conveniently. The hand that was controlling it all remained visible, fingers spread, while the other floated a small tablet-like device over. Had a screen with a simple enough map that one might be able to follow in any language, with scale present and coordinates. From this location. She'd come prepared? Maybe she was here for them and not the ores.

    'That should on a normal day take you to one of our planets. Inquire for Chiak-sul Alum and word will filter my way, and I can relay a message yours.' And with that, 'Chiak-sul Alum' turned and began to wander back out just as calmly as she had wandered towards them. However, her back was fully exposed.

    The sky pirate settles for folding his arms, still as he regards the figure blandly, hazel eyes hooded. Only a fool would mistake his sleepy regard as anything but veiled alertness, though.
    He cocks his head as the tablet is floated towards him, eyes hooding even further, but it's Fran who shoulders her weapons reaches out and takes it. The viera's red-brown eyes scanning the screen as the screen picks out her features in blue-white light. Her tall ears flick this way and that, but half her attention is on deciphering the screen, and the other half is still loosely paying attention to the actions of 'Chiak-sul Alum.'
    "A pleasure doing business with you, Chiak-sul Alum." He does not flip a token at her. "Think it over. We'll be in touch. When you've made your decision, inquire after Balthier or Fran. Either of us will handle the business side of things, if you take my meaning."
    With that, the sky pirate turns his back on the Miraluka in a startling display of either foolhardy nonchalance or confidence in his partner to watch his back. He strolls off without another word.
    Fran casts a last, lingering look over 'Chiak-sul Alum,' narrowing her eyes just a hair. Eventually even she turns to stalk down the mine shaft after her partner, but not without a last look over her shoulder. One ear swivels to remain pointed at the other as long as she's still in earshot.
    Balthier's voice floats back down the shaft, distorted by the echoes, but still smooth and nonchalant.
    "Be seeing you."