a/n; an old idea i wanted to use. it's gonna be a six-chaptered drabblish piece, for fun and practice on two awesome characters. happy reading!

birds of a feather.

'Where she walks, no flowers bloom
He's the one I see right through
She's the absinthe on my lip
The splinter in my fingertip' ~ birds of a feather, the civil wars

a chance

"A Viera?"

Maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised. Vieras were mysterious beings, making them positively craftier than any Hume mind could conceive. The prospect of a mind close to his makes his skin rattle with excitement.

She glares at him, flicking her hair just slightly out of her face, the shackles shaking delicately on her wrists. They look precarious on her thin arms.

"Can Humes say nothing more?" she speaks, her soft drawl making his ears perk. He likes the way she sounds.

"I'm sure they can. But, admittedly, I don't think these guards are seasoned enough to have captured a Viera before," he says, then pauses. "If I may ask, what is a lady such as yourself doing here? I doubt a cell is a place most of your kind ought occupy."

She doesn't answer him for five minutes. He counts them out, almost perspiring at her extreme silence, wanting to speak but not wanting to provoke her into a longer state of quiet. He watches her rise from her perch on the concrete bench, ears swiveling while her eyes dart around the area.

"Cells do not bring me here," she says as an answer, before she makes sure the guard is out of sight, reaching up for a hairpin in her long, white mane, and digging it into the lock of her shackles. They melt off her wrists in seconds.

Balthier's impressed. Never has he seen a woman in such scanty clothing uncuff herself so quickly. He eyes the discarded hairpin on the dusty ground, slowly but deftly going to pick it up while she's distracted by the small cracks of the cell.

"You will not tell me what did bring you?" he asks, shaking the bands off his own wrists.

She doesn't answer as she pulls a device from her breastplate. He looks on in hefty amusement and curiosity, not bothered that his question goes unanswered. In fact, the only reason she could be here would be because she was after the treasure he was after. Nothing else of immediate importance was around them, besides.

She places the device onto one of the hairline cracks she had found, in the top, leftmost corner of the cell. He squints his eyes, only faintly making out a red glow. He tilts his head a little closer to it, before it creates a small explosion.

Balthier gets thrown back into the wall, jamming his shoulder into the concrete. He grunts, but when he looks up, light filters through the dust cloud, paving the way to freedom.

Now, if only it wasn't so high…

The Viera looks out of the cell bars one last time, and, hearing the distant clamor of guards, readies herself into a peculiar stance.

Balthier automatically reaches out and grips her arm. She strikes him with a glare, jerking her arm back, but failing to release herself.

"Does this mean you're leaving me?" he asks, giving her a smile.

Her nose wrinkles and her lip curls, showing him a dangerous amount of fang. Her ears twitch at the sound of the guards getting closer, and he grips her harder.

"Let me go, Hume," she snarls.

"Oh, that isn't the right tone to give to your most recent acquaintance," he almost tuts. "Maybe, to gain my forgiveness, you can just…leverage me out through that hole you made, hm?"

"No," she growls. "Make your own means of escape."

"When you've already made one for us? My dear, the guards are almost here."

Her eyes shadow with something, and he knows that she won't ever give in. Stubborn, and staunch. He likes that.

"Let them come," she says.

And they do. In seconds, they're outside of the bars, some yelling, some taking out the keys to unlock the door and punish them accordingly.

Balthier sighs loudly, never letting go of her arm. "I really didn't want to do this," he tries to say over the racket of the guards, rolling his eyes skyward, then looking back to her pointedly. "But you leave me no choice."

He leans up and casually kisses her, and he's pleased that she is too shocked and angry to respond – not reciprocating or pushing away – wanting the former, but waiting for the latter. He hears the guards stop what they're doing, and he's certain they've stopped to watch, just as in shock as the Viera he's kissing. Not many have witnessed a Hume and a Viera kiss. It was what he was counting on.

He glances at them out of the corner of his eye, bringing up his hand quickly and dispelling a fire spell. Some guards catch, while others yell and shout, looking for the keys they seem to have dropped.

Balthier breaks the kiss, only to look into angry red eyes. He grins.

"I'm afraid you owe me," he says, gesturing to the scrambling guards.

He's only able to blink before she bares her fangs and launches them through the hole. Balthier isn't quite sure how she does it, but he finds himself on solid sand, stumbling to find his balance.

The Viera landed gracefully, already walking away from him.

He runs to catch up with her, coming to stop in front of her.

"We make a good team, don't you think?"

She walks past him, her eyes fixed to the distance.

"I cause ingenious distractions. And you add that singular push."

Her ears twitch. "I do not associate with Humes."

"I am not an ordinary Hume."

She doesn't stop walking, clearly unimpressed at his efforts. She doesn't answer him.

It's only when the prison's door opens and the guards start chase do they start running in the same direction.