Disclaimer: Still, thankfully, not mine.

Notes and Warning: I'm stunned by the number of reviews garnered by the first scenario. And humbled. Most grateful. That being said, this scenario may be offensive to some, for my limits are few and far between while others seem to be discomfited by issues that I merely find humorous. So, rather than subject myself to flames of furious affront, I offer warning. Characters are Basched… err… I mean bashed. Characters check out other characters' bums, regardless of characters' gender/species/personality/etc. Innuendos are made, regardless of blahda blahda blah. There is, however, no romance. Of any sort. No pairings, no couples — no coupling. Despite Basch's pleas. And yes, this warning is silly and over-long, and I feel all the sillier for writing it, but I felt it needed to be done for the rare reader that would read, and be insulted, and outraged that I hadn't warned them in the first place (being, I suppose, the first scenario, but I felt no need to go back and edit there…)

Having said that as well, I must admit this scenario isn't nearly as satisfying as the first, being, as it is, a bridge between first and third, and hardly worthy of the designation of scenario on its own merit. But since the third is in progress, I must include the second, worthiness aside. I begin to fear I shall never progress in the game; forty-four hours in, and I've just toppled the Urutan-Eater. After skewering the Urutan-Yensa surrounding it. :sigh: I'm not having fun yet. And the game has destroyed my writing style. Just look at the above! Alliteration ate my literacy.

In No Particular Hurry

He was not an outdoorsy type of person. He preferred his water chilled, in crystal goblets, brought to him by busty barmaids generously bribed to bounce in lieu of a floorshow of second-rate magicians wearing oddly-shaped hats infested with dreamhares and molting doves. He preferred his water hot, in a tub, shared with splendid company — or the aforementioned bribed busty barmaids if no better prospects presented themselves. He preferred his water tamed, contained, and easily disposed of down a convenient drain. Of all the ways he'd been confronted by water, thigh-high and bone-chilling and smelling a bit of fish past its prime was his least favorite. Well, second least favorite, for smelling a bit of hume refuse — as the Waterway had — was ever-so much worse if he let himself dwell. Which he couldn't, not with icy water perilously close to his favorite assets and Fran perilously close to clawing said assets to shreds over an off-hand (but sorely repented) comment on the remarkable effect frigid rivers had on pert viera flesh; he knew better, he did, but it had been far too long since his last tavern dive, and his restraint was wearing thin.

Basch, buck naked and all scrawny pale limbs and sudsy pale hair, wasn't helping. And while his singing voice was pleasant enough, the subject matter left much to be desired — despite the subject matter waxing poetic over desire of the most carnal variety. Basch, he'd concluded, was an absolute pervert, as was only to be expected of a man who'd spent the last two years with his arms chained away from his body. The former Captain of Dalmasca would either get over it — or develop blisters in areas he wasn't the least bit interested in. Either way, they'd have peace, for a while.

"What are we looking for, again?" he asked Fran, for while she might yet be angry, her answer would surely make more sense than Vaan's, who'd replied to his first query with rolled eyes and that damnable pout, and a finger pointing straight at the Nebra. "Not that I'm not enjoying this wonderful frolic after the harsh travails of desert travel…"

"Semclam Shells." Catching a Glint of something Mysterious, she reached down only to smack her face against the surface of the river. Spluttering, she pushed back sopping white locks and examined the fistful of debris she'd claimed from the river bottom. "But all I am finding are bottle caps and engagement rings." With a sigh, she tossed the sludgy handful back into the water. "Do something, Balthier. I feel Berserk rage rising within me over this trivial task; if it were to break free — I fear what I might crush." She gave her partner a meaningful Look. "You should fear what I might crush."

"Ever persuasive, my dear. Your command is my humblest wish. Oh Vaaaan…" he called out, squelching his way over to their overly-blond Leader. "Could you enlighten me as to why we're seeking shells when you've already given our supply to that demanding village woman? I do recall you telling us about your previous involvement in this fetch quest. Repeatedly. Against our fondest desires for your absolute silence. Hmm?"

"Hmm?" The boy refused to remove his gaze from the Nebra's rippling current. "Basch demanded a bath — at sword's point. And I thought you'd rather look for clams than look at…" He shuddered, and hunched closer to the river's surface. "If I was wrong, then go back to shore. I won't stop you. You might be Blinded, or turned to Stone, or forced into perpetual chastity…" The tip of his nose was wet, the boy was now hunched so far over. "Yeah, chastity's sounding real good about now. Is he ever going to run out of lewd chanties?"

"He was a soldier." Balthier winced as a particularly implausible lyric carried over the sweltering breeze. "So, you're not expecting us to actually find these elusive mollusks? They're but a ruse—"

"—to preserve our sanity. Yes. That, and, well…" Vaan blushed, and dared a quick, upwards glance. "When I was here earlier I saw this gigantic furry thing waddle out of the river. It looked totally wicked, and carnivorous, with its huge mouth and huge teeth and bits of unfortunate villagers dribbling out of its huge mouth and stuck between its huge teeth… With four of us, I'm sure we could kill it. Or feed it. As long as it's Basch."

"You've a truly devious turn of mind. Perhaps you're not a complete waste after all." Balthier stroked his chin, then followed the younger man's advice, if only because it put him in position to drown himself should the dire need arise. Nose to noisome water, he tried out-waiting the jubilantly (and outright salaciously) bathing Basch. "Although I fail to comprehend your reasoning in dragging us across uncounted deserts and plains when we should, by rights, have long since reached Rabanastre. I begin to suspect you of having ulterior motives."

"Nah. I just get sidetracked easily. And Penelo usually keeps track of my To-Do list. Which isn't the same as Migelo's To-Do list; that's usually Imperial Soldier F, affluent man to the left inside Batahn's, wealthy merchant standing outside Eastgate—"

"Wait." Balthier blinked, and reassessed the younger blond (coming to the same conclusion he'd reached previously: Net worth a bushel of apples and a pair of darned but otherwise serviceable socks). "I distinctly recall your outrage over being mistaken for a rent boy."

"Oh. Yeah, about that," he scratched at an itch on his ankle, accidentally submerging himself — for he'd forgotten he was standing hip-deep in the river. His lack of awareness of his current location was not due to burgeoning embarrassment, but because he'd caught sight of something shiny, and he was indeed easily sidetracked. "I shoulda said I wasn't a common rent boy. You've seen Migelo, haven't you? Do you really think a bangaa dressed like that takes care of orphaned children out of the kindness of his heart? He offers us jobs, all right…"

"Ah." If he blinked in blank bewilderment much faster, Fran would claim him a coquet — though not unfairly. "So the truth over your hesitance to return to Rabanastre comes to light. You keep us sequestered in the desert fighting overgrown chickens with attitude in order to elude your pimp. Truly the sand must be scouring my wits dull not to have realized—"

"Hey! I said nothing of the sort!" Vaan would have looked outraged were he not dripping wet and sporting a merrily cavorting tadpole on his chin. "You're assuming way too much from a few innocent statements—"

"I'm beginning to think you and innocent are only nodding acquaintances—"

"Balthier," Fran joined them, curious over the rising volume of their conversation. "Is there a problem? I'm prepared," she clenched her sharply clawed hands while a gleeful smile lurked at the corners of her otherwise stern lips, "to deal crushing retribution to whatever obstacle dare impede our journey."

"Save your rage for the local endangered wildlife; I'm sure they'll welcome the deathblow after the misfortune of catching Basch in the buff." Balthier sighed, and inhaled river water. Helpful pats from Vaan and bone rattling blows from Fran cleared his lungs and doomed him to yet another day wandering the Estersands. "I need a drink," he declared mournfully, picking slime-coated waterweed from his ruined suede vest. "I need a pub, with lissome wenches fit to practice suave blandishments upon. My legendary silver tongue grows tarnished from lack of practice."

Vaan shrugged, not actually caring that the older man was depressed but somewhat worried that he might actually succeed in doing himself in, leaving him alone with the pretty but frightfully intimidating viera and the not-as-pretty but even more frightening ex-Captain. "You could always flirt with Fran."

"Who'd neuter me."

"Uhm, yeah. Ouch." The lady in question, now grinning openly and making cute little snip-snip motions with her sharply manicured fingers, inched past intimidating into terror provoking. "Well, there's Basch—"

"Who'd take me seriously."

"There's that…" A moonstruck Basch wasn't an eventuality anyone wanted to face. "I guess that leaves—"

"No one at all," Balthier cut in, earrings tinkling soft counterpoint to his violently shaking head, "for you'd certainly overcharge me."

"Got that right," the blond sneered before remembering his current, vehement denial of certain accusations. "—Hey…! I told you…" Without thinking he looked up — his gaze landing on Basch's backside. "I told… I…" He gulped (and managed to swallow the tadpole). "Remember me telling you about the gigantic, villager-eating monster?"

"Yes…?" the other man answered warily, taken aback by the non sequitur.

"I hope Fran is still in the mood for crushing, 'cause it's about to eat Basch, and it'll be coming after us next."

"Why must the good be joined with the bad?" Philosophical, yet resigned to his fate, Balthier straightened and turned, the better to assess the situation. "The — exceptionally bad. It is not that I fear death; indeed, you've taught me to embrace it with eager arms; it's the ignominy of leaving this life in the crushing maw of something that extraordinarily fluffy. And white." He crossed his arms, and dripped, and knew with certainty that river water had flooded into the barrel of Capella, rending his gun more useless than usual, unless he planned on chucking the ugly length of metal at the monster, perhaps bruising the tip of its snarling snout. "Did I mention that it's fluffy?"

"I could strangle you," Fran offered, placing a consoling (and muck-encrusted) hand upon his shoulder. "Those smothered by viera are often considered lucky bastards."

"Would you?" He was actually cheered by the prospect of imminent demise, as opposed to not quite as imminent but much more gooey demise. "I knew you cared, my dear. Now if you'd be so good as to snap my neck to be sure—"

"Wait…" Vaan, torn between watching the shambling Greeden and his suicidal party members, instead found his attention caught by Basch, who by now had noticed the beast's approach.

"Waiting's the last thing I want to do, but you've managed to pique my curiosity." Balthier covered his partner's fine-furred hand with his own, silently promising her soon. "Do tell, Vaan, why you've called for the postponement of my… my…" Eyes caught by the sight that had enthralled their nominal Leader, he paled, and swayed, and would have fallen with a sparkling sploosh had Fran not steadied him. "Mein Gott! Der Dummkopf!"

"Indeed." Fran twitched, from the tips of her dark-pigmented ears to the tips of her darkly clawed toes. "The gods torture us for their amusement."

Vaan nodded his perfectly tousled head in agreement. "Two years locked away in the dark and the dank must have snapped his mind. I mean, he doesn't even have his sword; he left it on the bank with his clothes."

Balthier urgently, desperately needed a drink. Or nine. Or a scrumptious morsel laced with opiates. Or to be knocked mercifully unconscious. He wasn't, by this point, a picky man. "I don't believe that's the sword he has in mind."

Caught up in his frenzy, Basch heard none of their comments. Instead, he shook his fist at the fluffily white creature's nose, causing the Greeden to go cross-eyed trying to focus on the peculiar, ranting biped.

"Ha ha! Fate has brought us together upon this pleasant, sandy shore of battle. Cower before my mighty blade, fell beast, and know despair!"

"Gworf?" the Greeden growled curiously around its mouthful of boastful Basch.

"This is where we run away, most likely into a pack of wolves," Balthier reminded the other two who were gaping in shock at the ex-Captain's rather garbled I fight on! "And if by some mischance we happen across one of those misbegotten Happy Bunnies — kill it. We can't take the chance of it reviving Basch. In fact, let's all solemnly swear to never touch a Save Crystal again. The repercussions would be disastrous. After all," powdery sand clung to his trousers and the soles of his shoes, but did not slow down his strategic withdrawal in the slightest, "his clothing is still back at the shoreline."

The other two dutifully swore, and Balthier soon joined in, for Vaan didn't sound the least bit blasphemous with his high-pitched yelps of, "Oh noes!"