World Tree MUSH

    Winter should be flexing its claws in many places, including the realm of Ivalice, but there are places yet untouched where the sun still shines and balmy breezes stir the warm air. Palm trees sway over the sandy white beaches of a vacation world in the Serene Branches, so thoroughly integrated with its neighbours that its only distinguishing features are its unique tropical geography.
    It's a popular vacation destination, an attractive vacation destination on many worlds nearby. It also has quite a few by-roads in the form of its vines, acting as a sort of miniature hub for the worlds closest to it in form and function.
    The Strahl is actually visible today, but the ship is so far off the beaten track that only a lunatic with encyclopedia knowledge of the obscure vines nearby would know about it or even see it. Hatch casings and covers have been opened along one of its engine-like nacelles, baring the Strahl's inner workings to the blue, blue skies. Crates and barrels are heaped in the sand nearby, and the surf mutters to itself in the background, not quite the deafening crash of full shoreline exposure.
    Balthier is here, pacing back and forth while he studies sheaves of blueprints in his hands, muttering to himself in turn as he shakes his head. Nono, the chief moogle engineer, has to walk double-time to keep pace with the taller hume.
    Fran is not here.
    That's because Fran is about five miles away, speeding the hovercraft down a shoreline, glorying in the raw speed and air and perfectly non-magickal mist kicked up by the glowing cyan footprint of the hover's glossair rings.
    She's moving at unsafe but probably controllable velocity towards the nearest cluster of vines; not to go through them, but simply to explore, taking note of their presence as she whips past them with her ears pressed flat by the wind, snowy hair like a wild white banner behind her. There's nothing back at the ship that Nono and Balthier can't handle; a girl's got to get out and operate personal vehicles at unsafe velocities once in a while.

    Winter indeed, especially in Polyuchyn. Not that the river valley town is blessed with great amounts of snow; that honor is saved for the hills around it. It's a beautiful drive, and inhumanly quiet when you're out in the rural roads to and from the other nearby towns...as long as the plows have cleared them.

    And in fairness there are other worlds to explore, other Places that the Vines have called to her. Rusalka's family orders, of course, were to find and meet people. Make allies. Find those who can be counted on for support, and counted on in emergencies. So she'd grabbed her coat this morning, wrapped a scarf around her neck, settled into a spare seat, and spent the morning searching.

    Which led to the current situation, and a decidedly nonplussed Stojespal girl.

    Fran's enjoyment of the hovercraft is something Rusalka would definitely understand - the need for speed, a little adrenaline, and simply 'doing something very well' on her own. Sally respects the Viera's skill, and the annoyingly fast machine. The vines, some of the dimensional shunts more visible than others, streak past...

    ...as does a dark blue sedan, stopped upon a road a short distance from what seems like a gap in the cluster. Curiously, this particular sedan has its hood open, and after a moment it would be easy for the Viera's red-brown eyes to recognize a familiar face standing next to it.

    Short brown hair, the hairband, a light colored scarf loosely around her neck, and wearing a black shirt with some racing company's logo on it and white pants, Rusalka Stojespal is just a little annoyed. Red t-straps tap impatiently on the ground, when she's not pacing back and forth in front of the car with her arms crossed.

    If the Viera looks closely, her fingers are twitching, almost shaking.

    The hovercraft is surprisingly quiet for the speeds that it travels at, although it still does make enough sound to precede its arrival. It's more of an electrical whine, magicite heart beating through an engine just as formidable as Kometa's; sister-technology that accomplishes the same end, albeit through very different and alien methods.
usalka may hear the hovercycle before she sees it. By the time it reaches the dark blue sedan, the craft has slowed, inching ever closer to the ground without ever quite scraping it and gliding with more smoothness than it has any right to.
    There's the viera in the driver's seat, although in contrast to her usual revealing armour, she's wearing a plain-looking pantsuit in black. It's not form-fitting, but not too baggy, either, and she has gloves with unique fingertips to accomodate her clawed hands. Getting those things on or off might be dicey with those claws. Then again, one never knows.
    "Hume-child." Fran's voice is just as dispassionate-sounding as ever, her scratchy, smoky tone carrying without effort. She actually looks bemused, one stark white brow arching; one ear swivelling forward and the other back as though in indecision. "Distant, this place. What business brings you here?"
    Red-brown eyes flick down to the open hood, and then the twitching of the girl's fingers, the spasming of her hands. The viera's expression never quite changes, or so it seems; the arch of her other brow is so gradual that it could be missed.
    "Trouble...?"

    The faint whine, clearly a mechanical sound, catches the engineer's ear. It's not hard; there's not a lot of other noise around to mask it in all fairness. At least, none past a soft, faint hiss coming from the front of the sedan. It's not the jet-black sportscar that Rusalka had momentarily raced the viera in, but a more generic useful vehicle. Something official, as well, the front ID plate bearing the family coat of arms.

    Electric-blue eyes glance towards the sound, looking to pick out - oh, there. Lower than she'd thought, at first. And then Sally blinks hard when she picks out the long silver hair of the pilot, as well as that curiously nose-forward seat.

    And sighs.

    A hand waves, though the tense energy makes it quicker and more angry than she'd intended. Maybe just a little of it is from being called a child, she'd admit. "Fran." What was she called again? Vi-something; she'll remember in a moment. The ear-swivels get her gaze to flick upwards for a moment, before meeting those red-brown eyes once more.

    "Nothing...business, I suppose. At least, perhaps not directly. I was exploring the vines some more." A glance back at the exposed engine in the sedan, a momentary evaluation, and then Sally turns back to face Fran and her shoulders slump before she kicks an errant stone to the side.

    Trouble? "Yes, quite. Though, only temporary I believe. Whatever you do, do /not/..." She turns, finally freeing one hand to point down the road she'd come from. "That path, upon the left. Just to the edge of the road, there is an invisible vine there, as you pass that small pole. You see the faint shimmer, yes? It leads to the edge of a volcano."

    Definitely someplace she's going to remember. "I was fortunate to stop in time, and escaped...barely. The heat," she adds, gesturing at the motor, "was too much. It needs time to cool."

    //And so do I. Though God in heaven why are you two here? Not that, I suppose, I mind so much.// Blue eyes soften a bit as she shifts from foot to foot. "And yourself? Out for a joyride?"

    In fairness to the racing enthusiast, everyone is a hume-child to the viera. Her people measure their ages centuries, aloof and mysterious, hidden safely in their Wood. Even Balthier is no more than a child when held up against her years (at least fifty and no more than double that, by his loosest estimates). That she tolerates the hume and deigns to partner with her marks her as special, at least to him (or curious, to the rest of Ivalice).
    Red-brown eyes flick over the sedan, taking in the details of the vehicle, gaze lingering over its plates. She focuses next on its apparent inactivity, ears swivelling forward to listen to the engine. It's possible she can pick up on sounds Rusalka can't even hear with those magnificent viera ears. She seems to decide for a moment, twisting something on the hovercycle's engine and sliding off the seat in a single motion; the cyan light of the glossair ring dies as the craft gently touches down.
    The viera folds her arms and studies the situation a bit more directly. Her gaze snaps over to Sally when she's asked what it was she was doing here. One white brow arches slowly at mention of a joyride. "My thanks, for such advice. I will remember." She tilts her head again, studying Rusalka like a puzzle she can't quite solve. "A short run. The hover is not so finicky as the Strahl, but to be free, it must taste, sometimes, yes?" Fran gestures nebulously with one claw-nailed hand. "And to search the vines. Yet nothing useful here is to be found, among these vines; not to our purposes."
    Duality. Two sky pirates, one shared purpose. Rarely do they travel apart, yet Balthier is not perched on the passenger platform. In fact, it's empty. The viera has come alone. She looks back to the sedan and its propped-open hood, cocking a red-brown eye at the inner workings.

    Viera are long-lived, and there's something familiar about her - Sally decides that the 'child' is less a means of poking her ego like Balthier's princess, and simply...well, there's something almost otherworldly about the viera. //As if she is Baba's age, perhaps...that same attitude. Not as if she is superior, simply...agh.// Rusalka just shakes her head, watching Fran's ears instead.

    The engine itself is simply slowly cooling, the soft hiss the sound of coolant still sizzling inside. There's a faint shimmer over the motor as well, though this the simple haze of hot air than anything else. Soft metal tinks can be heard as the powerplant cools as well, and the engine itself...complicated, but kept mostly immaculate. There is only so much one can do for any moving vehicle, but it's clear that the driver does it all.

    Sally, meanwhile, widens her eyes as Fran lands the cycle and steps over, and she trots over closer to the Viera. Not so close as Balthier and the others, but close enough for friendly acquaintances at least, and to answer any questions she might have had. 

    "I will make mention of it to the Gardeners, at some point. I have seen that some vines move, as things change in a land. I have heard tales even that a vine will completely relocate itself in a world, if the local rulers attempt to control it. Supposedly, they avoid dangerous places." Sally snorts derisively, then shrugs and sighs loudly.

    "Perhaps it was simply bad luck to catch it as it moved. At least it was still there when I could get moving again." Shudder.

    And then she grins as Fran mentions the hover. "To be free. I suppose...I suppose that Balthier has his own beliefs, but. You understand, yes?" Sally rests one hand on the lifted hood, warm to the touch and feeling the hot air from the motor rise around her. "Such a thing, its purpose is to perform. To run free, to //be// speed. Chaining its soul down by never using it, or only barely letting loose its potential. I could not do that, and be myself."

    //Yours and mine both,// Sally thinks. Fran's out on her own, Balthier...elsewhere, perhaps at the ship. //Waiting to find a safe path out, perhaps? If she's scouting...// "Were you searching for anything in particular, perhaps?"

    Those ears are quite remarkable in how they seem to swivel and catch every little sound. They move as though she scarcely needs to think about it, acting on instinct, letting the viera pick out information from her surroundings. She casts a bland eye at the overheated sedan as she listens to seemingly anything and everything. Maybe she's listening to the tell-tale ticking as the sedan's engine cools.
    "Many forms does danger take, and what is danger to a hume is perhaps an inconvenience to a bangaa and nuisance to a viera," Fran states, red-brown eyes flicking briefly over Sally. She turns her attention back to the vehicle. It's dead, Jim. At least for a little while longer. She shakes her head, the gesture brief, tall ears and white hair bobbing. "Hume arrogance only would suggest all vines heed hume danger."
    She folds her arms more securely and steps closer to the car, leaning over to peer at it more closely. At immediate glance, its inner workings aren't familiar, being a completely different method of propulsion than Ivalice's repulsorcraft powered by magicite and glossair rings. She loses interest in it soon enough and looks back to Rusalka. One shoulder twitches in approximation of a hume shrug. "Too, vines are inconstant." Nor are they infallible, Fran's raised brow seems to suggest.
    She says nothing on her partner's beliefs and freedoms, her exotic features curiously opaque. Let him answer the next time he feels like dropping in and bothering the Stojespal girl. Messing with her world view seems to be a hobby of his, although not for the reasons one might think. He would answer for her, and she would expect as much, but not in the matters that really count.
    "Yes," she says simply, when Sally looks for confirmation that the viera does understand. One ear flicks indifferently. "Trouble. Not here do I find it. The Strahl will leave, soon. Need you a ride back somewhere more familiar, Rusalka Stojespal?" Ah, so she does remember the girl's name. It seems a rarity to hear Fran bespeak someone's name, though. "There is room aboard the Strahl and to spare, for your vehicle."

    A couple of her cousins of various sorts can wiggle their ears. If they could be here to watch Fran, they would lose their minds - and probably never try that particular annoying party trick again. Rusalka, meanwhile, just watches the silver-furred ears from time to time, flicking back and forth like antenna seeking signals. Rusalka turns, shifting the scarf against her neck a little looser before resting her rear end against the edge of the vehicle.

    "I suppose." Viera, that was it. //A beautiful word. It sounds so exotic.// Almost as exotic as Fran herself would look, before Sally's gaze follows Fran's at the engine, before she hmpfs softly. "Perhaps it is a vine for rock-men, then. I would not be surprised if such things exist." Maybe she's lying a little, a flippant comment that were it ever to happen she would be quite surprised at. Then again, the World Tree's particular sense of humor seems to be rubbing off on her.

    "And human - hume?" Shrug. "I suppose. But I sort of am stuck being one, it seems," she teases with a glance at her hands. 

    As for being stuck, the engine is quite indeed dead. "I managed to back up enough, without becoming caught on anything, but the sudden heat was too much. It stalled, and I managed to coast this far." Shaking all the way, of course. "In this state, if I tried operating it, there would be damage to the valves, electronics, and even the interior. Pistons in chambers, that drive a central shaft for power."

    Fran may or may not be much of an engineer, but it's clear enough. Hot metal swells, friction increases, parts wear and break much more quickly. "So, I find myself...sitting." She looks down at her feet, tapping each alternatingly against the ground softly. "But I suppose I do not mind the company, I think."

    She nods when her companion mentions a lack of trouble. "It's pretty, in a way. This place, I mean. Eh?" An offer of a ride? She bites her lower lip a moment, weighing things. //If there is more wrong...I do not have the tools to handle anything more serious. And the Strahl would be fascinating to see again, but...but ugh. Balthier. He will never let me live this down, I am sure. What should I do...//

    Her right foot kicks at an imaginary rock, before standing. "I...would not want to put upon you. Yet, I have seen no one else on this road, or in this place." She gives the motor an eye, tapping fingers lightly on the top of it to test the heat. Warm, but not so much that it wouldn't run by now. "I...can see. If it will fire, that is; if so then I shall be fine."

    If not...

    The movement of the ears might be a little distracting to those unaccustomed to the presence of viera. There were some few who had left the Wood living in places like Rabanastre, although such often made an effort to blend in within their surrogate societies; some dyed their silver hair and ears. Fran had never sunk so low as to resort to dye, unashamed of who she is or where she came from, even if she had resolved to cut away that past forever -- shame, though; never.
    "Mayhap," she comments on the issue of vines and rock-men. Such things are not outside the realm of possibility. Even Ivalice had many possibilities, and there are more still beyond its comfortable and familiar bounds. "Unpredictable are these places. Endless is their variety. They are not just for humes."
    Fran appears to be a viera of relatively few words, though she seems inclined to make those few count. The viera's gaze darts to the sedan again as the maladies are listed with clinical precision. Those red-brown eyes are taking in the details, and while the exact terminology may not be compatible, there is still a certain degree of understanding behind that gaze. Every time the engine block ticks as it cools, an ear flicks to regard it. She looks down, then, as Sally dithers about being temporarily grounded. Company? The viera's gaze is strangely opaque again at that, but... she doesn't say no. Instead, she shifts her weight, casually resting a hand on a hip.
    This place is pretty, Rusalka says, and Fran finds herself looking around at the sandy shores, the palm trees rustling in the breeze. It's winter in the rest of the world and summer here. One can hardly complain about that.
    "Balthier is with the Strahl." Red-brown gaze and ears alike swivelling back to Rusalka, Fran shifts again, folding her arms and standing a little straighter. Her body language is clear enough, though, even if she didn't speak. "Do what you must. If it does not heed you, we return to the Strahl with the hover. The Strahl will return here and we will recover your vehicle." One ear flicks forward. "Yes...?"

    Sally's never dyed either, it's easy to see. Fashion and glamour perhaps isn't perhaps her strong point, though she's certainly what the average hume might well call cute in a regal way. The signs of nobility, the sharp features of her mother; they're echoed in the girl - and then there's those eyes, that curious intense deep blue. Not contacts, simply a strange quirk that's been part of the line for a while. She is, simply, who she is - equally unashamed of her own homeland.

    Only the sense of her soul needing to breathe, out on its own, is what pushes her away so often.

    Fran is indeed one who doesn't waste words, even as verbose as Sally can be. //Mother and Fran would probably get along. Quietly, of course. They both say so much simply with each of their eyes, sometimes.//

    "True. But as a hume, I should at least know which are dangerous to me. And," she adds with a girlish giggle at the thought, "should I be asked directions by a rock-man, I suppose it might be useful after all, yes?"

    One professional to another, admittedly, even as Sally sizes up her chances. The odds are slim that there's more severe damage, at least...were it a normal situation of losing coolant. Being exposed to that much heat may have damaged the oil and other lubricants, which would be equally destructive. A small list of possibilities runs through her mind, is quickly weighed, then shrugged at.

    "And...please, if you don't mind? Sally Stojespal is fine. Or simply Sally. Sometimes I detest that name." An offer of friendship, at least, a single thread between them.

    There's a smirk of amusement, as if hearing one had won a tiny wager. "I suspected as much. He is not one to leave it for lengths of time willingly, especially simply taking the hover out to stretch its legs." That seems more something of Fran's doing, and the girl suspects they'd both enjoy a good race someday. Even if Fran would slaughter her with that damn overpowered magic-engined not-a-rocket.

    "If not, then I suppose I will accept your offer." She pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment considering it, and hoping it might be a short trip and that Balthier will completely forget about it ever happening. Weighing the odds of //that//, however, gives a much less comfortable answer.

    She stands, hand fishing in a pocket and plucking a set of keys. "If it starts, the cooling system should be able to handle the rest of the thermal load. Wish me luck." And with that she steps around the Viera, leaving the hood up for her to watch what little there honestly is to see. Sally settles into the driver's seat, checks the dashboard and frowns at the still-high gauge, but then stabs the key into the ignition and gives it a twist, crossing her fingers and stepping gently on the gas pedal.

    Either it will start properly, or the motor will turn over quite sluggishly from the heat.

    Where Sally finds amusement in the hypothetical issue of rock-men and directions, the viera has already mentally dismissed the subject as irrelevant. Her eyes are roving all over the vehicle, as though she were searching out whatever problem it is that's making life difficult for the racing enthusiast. Humour, however, seems to be lost on her. She's paying more attention to her senses than to the jibes.
    Those red-brown eyes flick to the girl, once, before they return to the cooling car. Her nostrils flare, as though to scent the air around the vehicle, wrinkling slightly at the distasteful scent of too much heat on automobile components.
    "Then Sally Stojespal you are," Fran comments by way of acknowledgement. She doesn't give her own name again. Balthier already introduced her once, and she doesn't have any other names than what was given her.
    To the assessment of Balthier's preferences and an owlish blink, first one eye followed by the other. Does he not like to leave the ship? "He does not." Mind leaving the ship, that is, the timing of her words suggests. "He and Nono discuss matters. Methods. The Strahl is a finicky girl, but trust her with Nono, he does, as do I." Ah, so the ship is half Fran's, too, is it? That would make sense, since they seem to be equal partners. Fran may leave the talking to Balthier, but only a fool might asume that she were subservient.
    She folds her arms and regards the ticking engine block, ears swivelling back momentarily. Isn't that a fine mess?
    Still, her eyes track Sally as the girl produces a key and advances on the vehicle, head twisting left and then right to track the hume-child sidling around her. One ear flicks indifferently when she steps a little too close, but Fran doesn't move to evade.
    "May the gods smile on you," she says evenly, in that scratchy, strangely-accented voice of hers. Her tone is solemn. Yet, as though to belie her levity, her ears flick forward, and she shifts her weight, folding her arms the other way. The subtle arch of a brow seems to say, 'Well? Let's see it, then.'

    Fran's curiosity about the car catches Sally's eye, but past the initial explanation she doesn't offer further. The taciturn viera probably wouldn't want to hear the deeper details; if she did she'd ask. Or so Rusalka assumes, anyway. 

    It's a mix of smells. Gasoline, faintly. A little trace of overheated oil, and definitely the smell of coolant, as well as the faint scent of hot plastic, steel, and aluminum. All of them the scent of industry, nothing of nature. Fortunately the engine's cooled off some already; had Fran happened by a short time earlier it might have been worse.

    Sally nods at the acknowledgement of her preferred name, then smiles. Fran didn't ask, and privately she thanks the viera for that. It's a damn embarrassing and annoying tradition, she thinks. "Thank you. And...just Fran, then? No family name, or similar?" She's never heard Balthier's, but meh. She'll ignore it just to spite him, in a decision of great maturity.

    The body language when Fran gives her apparent blessing gets an eyebrow lifted. That faint sense of challenge is there, and Sally can't help but feel like she's being tested...whether she actually knows her stuff or not. Eyes close as she turns the key, coaxing the gas pedal gently, to listen to what the machine tells her. Fortunately, she was right - there's a moment or three where the engine gives a weak, sluggish whimper of an attempt to start, but then coughs and catches, purring finally...albeit a bit roughly, from the still-present heat.

    Sally herself gives a sigh of relief behind the wheel, before getting out to rejoin her companion. The engine's left open, exposed, as internal fans kick on while it idles. "The extra airflow will help the radiator cool things faster. And, Nono? Yes, Balthier mentioned them. The Strahl's engineer. The only one?"

    It's a little strange. Maybe it's the fact she doesn't really seem to judge so often. Maybe it's the quiet, thoughtful nature that reminds her of her mother. Maybe it's the respect of a fellow skilled driver. Maybe it's the lack of pompous bombasticity. Maybe it's a little bit of sympathy for being that exotically beautiful, especially since Sally's had to dress up not unlike said viera - and speaks of that to no one. But something about Fran just seems to say 'friend' and Sally can't help it.

    "So. It is running, yes. And...I appreciate the offer of help." //Especially as much as Balthier gets under my skin.// "It was very kind of you."

    When the girl asks whether there's any surname or title, the viera merely stares at her with that opaque gaze, red-brown eyes and the foreign set of her heart-shaped face unreadable. There is no answer forthcoming from the warrior. Instead, her nostrils flare as she takes in the scents of the machine. To judge by her lack of surprise, she isn't concerned about how far removed from nature it is.
    She did choose to leave the Wood, after all, over the hearty protests of Mjrn and Jote.
    Both of those tall ears swivel forward to listen to the car's lurching attempts at life, one of them flicking a bit as it coughs and catches, studying the patterns of its high and low frequencies; the traces that speak of an engine stressed. Her gaze slides to the open hood, watching as the inner workings of the car are put on display with a running engine. Fascinating. Ivalice has such vehicles, but almost all of them are engineered around magicite. The chassis designs are generally much more streamlined, too, as the hovercycle might indicate.
    "Nono. I. Two other moogles under Nono's command," Fran says, one ear returning to its vigil of the area, the other pointed at the car. "Too, Balthier is as skilled with her, as much can be expected for a hume." The part she doesn't say is that moogles are much better at technomagical engineering than humes are, simply because they're generally inquisitive, intelligent, and small enough to cram them into places a hume would never ever fit.
    True to form, though, Fran doesn't elabourate too much. Rusalka will probably be able to judge that for herself whenever she gets around to meeting Nono. If the viera considers the hume-child a friend, she doesn't mention it. She seems to be an aloof one. Folding her arms, she tilts her head and regards the vehicle, red-brown eyes hooded and one ear flicking back. So. It is running. "Yes," she replies, simply. To the offer of help, she merely gestures to the cooling engine. "This road, you want, then? For you we would move this. Bring it somewhere safe. There is room and to spare aboard the Strahl if you wished to make repairs."
    Last chance to change your mind, Checkered Flag Girl.

    That Fran didn't answer is perhaps a little bit of a surprise, but then again perhaps their culture lacks such things. Even in Rusalka's world, there are still some small places like that; though if Fran's world was like that perhaps a simple explanation is enough. Intensely blue eyes glance at the viera in curiosity for a moment. //Perhaps it is something she does not wish to speak about...I suppose, we all have such things.//

    A ghostly thought of her father, and the pride he might feel in his daughter's actions, runs through her mind, and she can't help but smile slightly.

    There's a lot about this particular vehicle that would catch Fran's eye. The amount it's overbuilt; while it may be relatively sleek on the outside despite its generally boxy frame, underneath there is strength. An interior, at least, carefully sculpted for comfort. Carefully manipulated steel in complex shapes, and a lot of it; it suggests a mix of luxury and power and unbreakability.

    Mostly unbreakable, anyway. The apparent weakness as the machine stirred oh-so-sluggishly, followed by the lack of smoothness running now, suggests not everything is as perfect as it is supposed to be. Even as Rusalka gently tugs a cable to rev the motor momentarily, the roughness remains, and Sally frowns.

    A crew of three then? Well, engineering crew of three. "I see. I suppose, for a ship that large, one person would be hard-tasked to handle it all." She thinks back to the quite small not-a-tour of Strahl she'd had before, with the Exo Cayde. She'd seen little enough from the inside, but the outside at least was impressively large.

    For a hume? //That// gets an eyebrow raised, as much as she'd heard a variant of it all her life. "Then I suppose some humans - humes - might just surprise you more." Forgive her, Fran, she hasn't met Nono, and some buttons just itch to be pushed.

    Then Fran extends a very generous offer, and Sally glances down at the engine, resting one hand's knuckles atop it. "I..." But, Balthier. //Swallow your pride, child, or choke upon it!// Baba's voice comes all too clear, and swallow Rusalka does. "I will accept. It is not entirely performing where I would prefer. I would appreciate at least some space, to examine things closer. I would pay appropriately, for your time and inconvenience."

    A handkerchief is plucked from her pocket, wiping off what little grime there might have been on her other hand. "If I may trouble you both, then, for a little while?" And the cleaned hand is outstretched for a handshake, assuming Fran accepts.

    The lack of a surname may be a cultural element. Neither of the pair of sky pirates have ever given any last name, or anything at all aside from the given names that they've introduced themselves by. Maybe that's just the way of Ivalice, or maybe it's just a reflection of whatever separate cultures they hail from.
    Those red-brown eyes do linger on the car, studying its lines with the critical eye of an engineer. "The Strahl is a finicky girl," Fran admits, "but she can be handled by one, of sufficient skill. It is easier with more. But not impossible. Smaller than some airships, large enough for versatility. Nono and his crew handle maintenance. Upgrades. But I am capable of it. Too, Balthier; we both of us know the Strahl well."
    Huh. That's a lot of words in sequence for the taciturn viera.
    Fran does not rise to the bait on the matter of humes, though, maintaining her cool composure. She watches as Sally struggles with herself, before finally accepting the offer presented her. Almost imperceptibly, the viera inclines her chin, too subtle to be a nod. Good. "The Strahl's cargo hold is large. Your vehicle can be secured, with room and to spare."
    She would pay. Fran flicks an ear, blinking those red-brown eyes languidly. It's a subtle refusal, but it's a refusal. "That is not necessary."
    Her eyes flick down to the hand offered her. She stares at it for a good five seconds, long enough that it might seem the viera is offended -- before reaching out with those claw-nailed hands, gripping Sally's hand in a grip that is perhaps startlingly strong. So, the pilot does know how to handshake. That's good.
    "Climb on when you are ready." Fran flicks a gesture at the hovercycle, once she releases Sally's hand. "The hover waits."

    Finicky. Sally gives a small harrumpf of sympathy. "As is Kometa, at times. It is a high-performance machine, but...very carefully tuned. And must be kept in equally top condition." Not that she's ever had problems with it, careful and well-timed maintenance and records match her meticulous driving. "To keep such a thing always functional, that is a sign of skill upon its own."

    Credit to Nono, his team, and Fran. And Balthier too.

    "But knowing it well, as you said, that is the most important. To become part of the machine, one with it, feeling as it moves and simply..." She holds up one hand, palm down, as if to explain.

    There's a nod given at the mention of space to work. "Thank you. I assume I will be allowed tools, as well." It's required, if she's going to crack open a few things for inspection. And then there is the handshake, which...frankly, gets a look of surprise from Rusalka. The Viera isn't that much larger as she is, in physique or height, and Sally's no bodybuilder. She does her best, though; the mechanic's no slouch when it comes to slinging a wrench.

    Climb on? The hovercycle?! The look of sudden excitement on Sally's face is unmissable, even as she lets go of Fran's hand. "R-really?!" She'd just expected to follow Fran back, but... "That will do! A moment!" Excitedly, nearly bouncing back to the open car door, she leans in and shuts things down - no need to waste fuel, at this point. It takes only a couple seconds to secure the hood as well, before Sally's standing at the hover, looking over Balthier's seat.

    She manages not to squee - or scream - too much at the viera's flying. And she manages to be equally polite to Balthier, respecting his own privacy aboard ship...while, occasionally, holding a basics class in automotive repair and just how the majority of earth technology works, bringing the vehicle back to its quietly purring, powerful state. And adding just a few aside comments on vines impolite enough to open up on such terrible places.

    Silly hume-child.