Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XII, I don't own anything.

I'm bored, it's late, I should be in bed, but I'm not. This is just something that fell out of my head I guess. R&R is appreciated, praise it or flame the crap out of me.

It was a dreary rainy morning at Balfonheim Port. Balthier, Ashe, Reddas (as a guest) and those other random losers stood at the edge to Cerobi Steppe, preparing for the battle that lay ahead of them. They stood huddled under a tree. Balthier gave a rundown as Penelo confirmed each point. "We have Firaga for Fran and Penelo."

"Check."

"We have Curaja for Vaan and Ashe."

"Check-a-roo."

"Foot long sub with ham and swiss cheese plus lettuce, tomato, and red vinegar on Italian bread?"

Penelo checked the bag she was holding. "Uh, it's on Parmesan Oregano."

Balthier glared at Penelo with a fury matching the devil's, but forced between his teeth, "It will have to do." He turned to Reddas. "So you understand gambits? If any character's HP falls below 60, you cast Protect, okay?"

He shook his head stubbornly. "I do what I want. I'm a guest."

Balthier sighed. "Couldn't you just please cooperate, just once?"

"I am a guest. I shall endeavor to do what… whatever the hell I feel like doing."

The self-praising gunman turned to Basch. "So you set your gambit so you cast Balance only when your health is below 30, right?"

"I, um… I don't quite know how."

"Why not?"

"I sort of—"

"What? Did you forget to go to the gambit shop? Again?!"

"But I have a reasonable…" He suddenly pointed to the sky. "The Basch signal!" He suddenly out of nowhere acquired an auspicious black cape and fled into the town.

Balthier signed. "Well, let's just go get some rest anyway."

"What about that mark we were supposed to hunt?" Fran inquired with a lisp.

"Just lie and tell them we killed the monster."

"I think that's wrong," Penelo spoke up.

"Oh, don't be such a goody two-shoes," Vaan said.

"Oh yeah? At least I'm not a rip-off of Tidus!"

"Huh? Who's Tidus?"

"I don't know but you're a rip-off of him!"

"Well you're a rip-off of Rikku!"

"Wha, what does that even mean?"

"I don't know! But this fic don't even make any damn sense anyway."

"Stop arguing," Fran commanded.

"Stay out of this Lulu!"

"All right!" Balthier shouted, blasting his golden Aldebaran into the air. "This fighting is pointless, ya?"

There was a moment of awkward silence in which Balthier, wide-eyed, held his mouth shut as if he had just confessed his deepest, darkest secret. Reddas broke the silence with an out-of-character hop, after which he excitedly asked, "Who am I a rip-off of?"

Everyone exchanged glances, until Vaan said aloud, "Well you're actually… pretty original." Reddas' excited expression melted into disappointment. "Oh… okay."

After more awkward silence, the group slowly dispersed back into the city, their hopes of slaying the rank 5 mark dashed and destroyed. Fran and Balthier aimlessly wandered down a damp alley. They turned a corner to see a shady man in a trench coat approach an estranged, insane-looking chocobo. "I got the stuff. You got the money?" The chocobo held an undeterminable amount of Gil in its beak which it traded to the man for a plastic baggy of Gyashl Greens. "That was… strange…" Fran trailed off.

And that's the end. I suppose later I might put more time into this but for now here it is fresh off my brain. R&R please