"Was it dignified that he led you on like a besotted school girl?" Piaget taunts. "Trotting you around like some prize? If he hadn't, we'd never have located you."
Balthier's hand is shaking he's so angry. It's rare he misses his shot. Still, there's a stun spell woven into the bullets, and he wastes no time turning around and throwing magic at the barrier, hitting it with the butt of the gun as he curses under his breath, fingers skimming form sort of manual release, his body still between Aerith and the door.
His fingers catch, magic finding the break in the lock. Balthier had told Piaget to update those spells. Arrogant fuck. He digs in, slipping a lock pick up to dislodge the physical mechanism when he cries out, back arching before he slumps on Aerith.
Something's hit his back, lodged right between the ribs, a second one skimming his side, white hot pain erupting in both.
He snarls again, stumbling around to throw an ice spell. His control is gone, and the temperature drops, ice crystals forming on surfaces and their air fogging the space. Piaget's face twists before he's frozen solid. Balthier never was one to play dirty, but right now, he doesn't care.
And he's going to pay for how much magic he's using, but that's a future Balthier problem. Weight still against the door, clutching his side, aware its hot with blood, he throws another spell at the door. The barrier comes down. "Lightcraft," he rasps, and manages to stumble into the cargo bay. He has to brace himself to get his leg over, and when he sets his hand on the controls, it's slick with blood. "Hold onto me," he says, trying not to wince when she tightens her grip. They don't have time to waste, and the second she's settled, he's off.
The Strahl is blessedly close because his vision is hazy and he feels sick. If he hadn't practiced this maneuver a thousand times, it wouldn't have happened, but as it is, they bump and slide inside, scraping against other cargo. He gropes for his communicator, rasping into it, "We are returned. Disengage and depart. Full defense authorized." And then he slumps over, bloodied hand grasping for where Aerith's sits around his middle. "I think -- I need your services --" What's left of his voice is weak, but it's the calmest he's felt since he realized she was gone.
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Balthier's hand is shaking he's so angry. It's rare he misses his shot. Still, there's a stun spell woven into the bullets, and he wastes no time turning around and throwing magic at the barrier, hitting it with the butt of the gun as he curses under his breath, fingers skimming form sort of manual release, his body still between Aerith and the door.
His fingers catch, magic finding the break in the lock. Balthier had told Piaget to update those spells. Arrogant fuck. He digs in, slipping a lock pick up to dislodge the physical mechanism when he cries out, back arching before he slumps on Aerith.
Something's hit his back, lodged right between the ribs, a second one skimming his side, white hot pain erupting in both.
He snarls again, stumbling around to throw an ice spell. His control is gone, and the temperature drops, ice crystals forming on surfaces and their air fogging the space. Piaget's face twists before he's frozen solid. Balthier never was one to play dirty, but right now, he doesn't care.
And he's going to pay for how much magic he's using, but that's a future Balthier problem. Weight still against the door, clutching his side, aware its hot with blood, he throws another spell at the door. The barrier comes down. "Lightcraft," he rasps, and manages to stumble into the cargo bay. He has to brace himself to get his leg over, and when he sets his hand on the controls, it's slick with blood. "Hold onto me," he says, trying not to wince when she tightens her grip. They don't have time to waste, and the second she's settled, he's off.
The Strahl is blessedly close because his vision is hazy and he feels sick. If he hadn't practiced this maneuver a thousand times, it wouldn't have happened, but as it is, they bump and slide inside, scraping against other cargo. He gropes for his communicator, rasping into it, "We are returned. Disengage and depart. Full defense authorized." And then he slumps over, bloodied hand grasping for where Aerith's sits around his middle. "I think -- I need your services --" What's left of his voice is weak, but it's the calmest he's felt since he realized she was gone.
It's alright. She's home. The rest is manageable.