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The Witch’s Inn was entirely unremarkable a place.

Oh, it wasn’t really for witches. If it really did cater to the magnificent beings of lore, it would likely have an entirely different clientele and a claim to fame that not another establishment in all of Archades could match. More like it was a familiar rest stop for those who considered themselves the ‘seedy underbelly’ of Ivalice—usually a title self awarded and without merit or earn, as Balthier had come to notice, not without a smirk—and was widely regarded as the home of the best kept secret fire whiskey in the entirety of the nation.

The first floor was equipped with tables, chairs and a bar, all the required necessities of a tavern, giving the look of an ordinary pub that could not merit any further description. Decor was entirely sparse with but a simple hardwood floor and a board in the far corner announcing marks for eager would-be hunters (it brought a chuckle to Balthier’s lips to see Vaan over there without a second glance to much else) and anyone else who would partake in game for the sake of monetary surplus. Unlike the rest of the city, it was undecorated and gave no admission to the festivities that were occurring everywhere else. To come in one would not know that a celebration was supposedly happening tonight.

The upper floor did fulfil the Inn part of the handle, and Balthier was looking forward to sleeping in a bed that didn’t shake havoc (he still had not petitioned his mechanics to fix the Strahl’s extenders, considering it to be a waste of gil) with the somewhat moot hope that the proprietor had finally done away with all the vermin infesting the upper level so the rest of the tavern were not privy to Penelo’s shrieks at whatever ungodly time of the morning it would undoubtedly be.

Ashe surveyed her new landscape with something akin to a sniff, something that got Balthier’s attention.

“One would think, two years living underground with men would cure even the most illiberal of prejudices.” Balthier, for his part, ran his hand along the surface of the bar, a lover’s playful caress. 

“One would think,” Ashe responded, considering the words as if they were a new wine on her inexperienced tongue. His gaze was suddenly drawn to the curve of her lips, watching her without embarrassment as she pulled away from the group. For a moment, he felt as if he had just narrowly escaped a perilous battle, but instead of relief at not being made an ornament in a Seeq’s bedchamber he felt only disappointment he wasn’t allowed an attempt to parry and counter-attack.

Exactly how worthy an adversary was the late Princess Ashe? He was sure of one thing—it would be entertaining to find out.

Extracting a deck of cards from his effects, Balthier allowed himself a seat at a table for four. “Three Handed Trickery anyone?”

“Ooh!” Penelo turned away from Vaan, breaking the no doubt deep and philosophical conversation they had been in, a large smile crossing over her sunny face. “I’ll play.”

“Very well,” Balthier accepted her company, using his foot to push out her chair—as much a gesture of a gentleman as he could afford while shuffling his cards—and let his gaze drift around the rest of the party. “Fran?” Not entirely without a bit of playful malice, he continued on, “Amalia?”

Both women politely declined, a bit of a smirk playing at Fran’s features.

“I’ll try my hand,” Basch spoke up, occupying the third seat at the table.

The game was initially difficult—Three Handed Trickery, despite it’s misleading name, was a game best played with four—and it didn’t take long for Penelo to push into a points lead. It was a bit of a marvel, at least to Balthier, that the girl could play at all with Vaan peering over her shoulder and telling her to pick this card or that, but she maintained her composure easily. Eventually and thankfully, they were joined by a Bangaa merc who gave his name to be Te’foyle, and the party welcomed their new player with as frivolous and superficial conversation as they could provide and a fair amount of apprehension, especially from the end of the captain who slipped into silence altogether. Vaan was scratched his somewhat airy head at the sudden lack of warmth and Penelo didn’t resist rolling her eyes at him.

Balthier could finally place his energy in trying to cheat his way into a points lead, and after three quick rounds including the Bangaa, he succeeded. As the game continued into the evening, both Basch and Penelo successively surrendered their hands and the gil they had bet, Penelo digging in her pockets despite Vaan’s clearly irritated protest. He’d give the girl her gil back later but not when people did surround them.

Basch and Penelo were replaced by two more Bangaa mercenaries, seemingly comrades of Te’foyle’s, equally unattractive with a slithery unaccented voice. Denwin and Ulis (or was that Ulis and Denwin, he pondered) they were called.

“You know,” he watched his opponents impassively over the top of his card hand, “dignified company retains as well as reciprocates antagonistic comments over cards. I feel I am being unnecessarily disappointed.”

He then added, “tall.” Wary glances were exchanged between the two more unpleasantly scented of Bangaas, but the one who was particularly ugly complied and offered Balthier the tall card.

It was almost too easy from there. Balthier slipped the comparatively tall card into the frill of his cuff and extracted a much more attractive card from the opposite sleeve. For a brief moment the sky pirate couldn’t help but wonder how well he would do playing fairly, but disowned such thoughts as quickly as they were drawn up. The delight, he thought to himself, was in the—

“Oy!”

The disruption of his thoughts, a masculine Hume voice with a gutter Archadian accent, had Balthier calmly turn his head and arch an unimpressed brow. He had been about to address his new acquaintance’s grievance when the question was answered for him with, “’e cheated! I saw ‘im, I did!”

Three equally angry, equally aesthetically burdened Bangaa visages fixed on Balthier.

Before the pirate was able to attempt conversing his way out of it, they were all standing and approaching. His own resolve and expression hardened and Balthier made no move for where he had stored the gil he had won in the last three rounds, but could hear the sudden lack of chatter save a few frightened, excited whispers—and the unfortunate sound of metal sliding out of leather. His hand thrust out, stopping Basch’s progress of unsheathing his blade.

“Easy Captain,” he glanced over at Basch, now standing beside him, as they both inched away from the three angry Bangaas. “I have a plan that uses a little more finesse.”

A quick glance over his shoulder told Balthier that the rest of their party had gathered, ever the tight-knit grouping of thieves, kidnappers, and dead men.

“And that is?” Basch’s voice was gruff, impatient, and more than a little angry for those who knew how to listen. Balthier decided best not to toy with the Captain anymore, no matter how much entertainment it might provide in the face of peril.

Words were not allowed as the same man who had originally ousted Balthier as a cheat made another proclamation, this time with fear in his eyes as he gazed steadily at Basch. “I know who tha’ is! It’s an apparition, ghost of the man that would ‘ave murdered the Dalmascan king!”  

Finesse be damned. “Run!” Balthier ordered, both him and the deposed captain dashing passed the array of tables to join the rest of their group.

“We split up, find each other later,” Fran ordered in her lukewarm voice, herding Penelo by the shoulders. They all exited out the double doors, out of the ill inspired Witch’s Inn and back into the cold Archadian street.

Without hesitation, without thought or permission, Balthier wrapped his warm hand around Ashe’s thin wrist and pulled her away from the dispersing group, into the deep of night.