[The show they put on is, he's certain, far better than anything their culprit might have managed to steer them towards— the man himself has nearly worn himself out with protesting at this point, his voice hoarse from his insistence that they're doin things wrong, but every member of the crowd that's gathered is now watching intently, breath caught in their throats as they watch Balthier find himself backed against the bench.
He smiles knowingly, both hands catching against the rise of the bench, and he offers Tifa a wink as she leans over him.]
There's something I ought to tell you— I'm not left-handed.
[He reaches behind himself to swap the sword into his right hand, quickly ducking out of Tifa's hold to turn the theatrical tables on her as he plays at lunging forward to attack— they lack triumphant music to accompany, but there's definitely a gasp from somewhere within the audience.]
of course!
He smiles knowingly, both hands catching against the rise of the bench, and he offers Tifa a wink as she leans over him.]
There's something I ought to tell you— I'm not left-handed.
[He reaches behind himself to swap the sword into his right hand, quickly ducking out of Tifa's hold to turn the theatrical tables on her as he plays at lunging forward to attack— they lack triumphant music to accompany, but there's definitely a gasp from somewhere within the audience.]