1
Wednesday, September 29th, 11:59 pm – Tifa's Seventh Heaven, Sector Seven
She hated it. Yes, that she could be sure of.
Waving off another leaving customer, Tifa began to dream, lingering around this sudden spike of negativity as she strangled the neck of a whiskey bottle. Trying not to bury her head too far into the Freudian textbooks, she would often wonder about the origins of this severe dislike, finding a scapegoat in an inaminate object lying on her windowsil, a present from her friend, Jessie. It wasn't a living, breathing creature that had harmed or offended her in any way. It didn't or, for the sake of her sanity, shouldn't interrupt her or ignore her when she felt like talking. And it definitely would never call out the name of an ex-girlfriend mid-coitus. It did, however, remind her of everything she disliked about herself, and every glance at it resulted in the same set of turbulent feelings: memories of foul smelling market stalls, the air usually rife with the pungent amalgam of body odour and black smoke; street bums dishing out black looks that were tantamount to a middle finger salute; the pushing, and shoving, and groping.
Why can't I stop staring at it?
It was a lopsided set of brass scales on the window ledge, partially hidden by a broken jukebox. She'd rather it be completely hidden, but hadn't gotten round to finding a better, or worse, spot for it.
With a glance at the clock she felt under the bar for her tablecloth. Eyelids heavy, she was ready for bed but wouldn't be closing for another few hours. She'd yawn if the air wasn't completely saturated with dust and booze and bad breath.
"Excuse me, miss!"
She shook her head, snapping out of her reverie, and looked over at the gruff man tapping his fist against the counter.
"Yes, sir, what can I get you?"
"I've been asking you to get me a glass of rum for the past five minutes but you've been daydreaming on the job."
"Oh. I'm really sorry, sir. This one's on the house."
The man shook his head and wandered back to his empty table with his drink. She looked at him again and realised he had come alone. He sat, arms folded, glaring at every young couple that entered beside him and shaking his head at their unabashed actions. But that was life in the slums. Many people did not come to bars to socialise. They came just to drink, to get away from their own convoluted problems, and to lose themselves in indulgence.
She took a step back and sat upon her uncomfortable stool that vied to make life as hard as possible for her spine. Being barked at by a customer was not a regular occurrence, leaving her overwhelmed by the underwhelming situation. It wasn't the verbal abuse per se. Rather, the fact that she was no longer liked by one-hundred percent of the people in the bar.
They say that nice guys finish last. In that case, where the hell do nice girls finish?
The bell rang above the door as it opened once more during the jukebox's lull between records. It was enough to catch her attention for more than the usual nanosecond. It was enough to steal the limelight from the terrible set of scales.
It was enough to change Tifa's life forever - though understanding why would have been jumping the gun ever so slightly.
It started with a man.
Red hair; obviously conditioned and well maintained: vain.
Designer suit, designer shades, designer shoes: wealthy and vain.
A smile more lopsided than the horrible scales: cocky, wealthy and vain.
The first thing he looked at when he sat down at the bar? My breasts: game over.
He winked at Tifa.
"Hi there, what can I get you?" she asked, as warmly as possible.
His gaze did not leave hers as he removed a cigarette from a silver-plated case, placing it firmly between his lips as though it had always belonged there. He took his time to taste the processed leaves and Wutaian slave labour dissolving through the paper, rolling the stick of tobacco from one corner of his mouth to the other with a flick of the tongue.
He patted the remaining pockets stitched to his expensive garments rather hastily for any object to set the stick of tobacco alight, conceding very quickly. Standing up, he leaned over the counter, his cologne dancing around her nostrils, reaching on the underside of the bar, feeling his way around melting ice, chopped lemons, cutlery and empty glasses before settling on a small matchbox soaked in diet coke.
He concluded the act with an exaggerated moan of pleasure as nicotine fused with his bloodstream. His closing words were, "I'm not here to drink."
Catching a distorted reflection from an empty glass, she discovered the smile that would do little more than encourage the strange patron's attempts at what could only be described as a courtship ritual. On any other day she would have simply walked away, tended to another customer or pretended to refill a barrel. Playing hard to get like this would keep him at an arm's length so that he was far enough to keep his thing in his pants but close enough to keep buying alcohol from her. On any other day, she would have laughed in his face and told him not to cancel his Penthouse subscription.
There had to be a little room for forgiveness when she was behind the bar. After all, she couldn't blame the men for responding to her tight T-shirts and flirtatious behaviour the way they did. But when she was off work, with her family and her friends, she was no longer the sexy barmaid dressing down to aid her business. She was a human being that deserved to be treated with respect.
So, having thought about all of that, she began to wonder why she was smiling instead of walking away. She began to wonder why she was staring at the edge of a pectoral muscle under his dishevelled shirt, four buttons carelessly ignored.
She wondered who he was.
"Then what are you doing here?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"I came here to see you," he replied, calmly taking another drag of his cigarette, arrogantly blowing out ringlets of smoke.
"You came here to see me?"
"You sound so surprised."
"Well, have we even met before?"
"I saw you here a few days ago from outside. You were arranging a few wine bottles on the shelf by the window and I couldn't help but stop and stare at you," he said, playing the embarrassed stranger she would never know."You're really beautiful, do you know that? Shit, what am I saying? Of course you know that."
Tifa nodded at the other barmaid by the sink in the back.
"Sheila, can you just take over the bar for five minutes?" she called.
He flicked a few dying cigarette embers into the bar ashtray and smiled smugly to himself. She was intrigued. He knew it. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.
It had taken a while to perfect, allowing him to build up an evolutionary immunity to mace, proving Darwin's genius. Then again, charm never was acquired easily, and his was in no way subtle. It tended to sucker-punch the recipient, leaving them out of breath and unguarded.
In all honesty, she did not see his brash confidence coming, even though she had almost been conditioned by the wolf whistles and one-liners of many of her regulars. However, many of her regulars were men that clearly breached the age of those that still owned their own teeth.
Was this the answer she had been searching for? Was it karma, or any other indescribable set of principles that had somehow sent this man to her bar? With a look over his shoulder, her eyes found the scales on the window ledge. They suddenly seemed to find equilibrium – a perfect balance. The tedium and boredom had long since disappeared from her mind's eye… was it a sign?
She removed the nearest bottle of white wine from the shelf behind her and poured herself a glass.
"Seeing as though you're not drinking, I hope you don't mind if I take a drop."
"Go ahead, it's on me."
"I know," she replied.
He chuckled quietly as she sipped the iridescent liquid from the glass, staring into his eyes dreamily before breaking off into her normal state of conformity by asking him the obvious question.
"So, what's your name?"
"You don't want to know my name."
"Why ever not?" she asked in a sardonically soft pitched tone.
"Because telling you my name would kill the romance instantaneously."
"Romance?"
"Yeah, I mean, don't you think it's far sexier for two strangers to know each other incredibly intimately without knowing one another's names? Don't you think it's far more dangerous? Passionate? Wild?"
She placed her glass on the bar and leaned in closer to the mysterious stranger before her, ignoring her reflection in his eyes.
"What makes you think I want romance with you? Or romance at all for that matter?"
With a slow and steady movement he touched her arm and caressed her skin. It was a daring move but she refused to pace back. Enthralled by his allure that had placed her in a stranglehold, disabling her ability to think normally, she allowed herself to become encompassed by the moment.
He slid his finger down her arm, eventually holding her hands in his. They were soft and smooth; each finger slim and slender; an experienced set of hands that could do anything.
"It's oozing from every pore of your skin – this delicate skin. And your eyes; there is so much emotion swimming in them, probably even more than in your mind or your heart. I can read every contour of your body like a poem." He removed his hands and lifted his arms to gesture at the people in the dark bar. "Just look at this place! You don't fit in this dump, it just doesn't make sense."
He seemed to enjoy holding her hands, reaching out to caress them once more.
"You're like a rose forced to grow in this compost heap of a bar. You're yearning to get out of this dreary place because you know you deserve better. You need a little excitement in your life, hell, everybody does."
That was the moment she flinched, ever so slightly. He had summed her up perfectly with one glance of her now imminent body language. With a moment's thought, she took another sip and forced her eyes to stop gazing through his for a fraction of a second. It was not that she did not like him, but he did seem a little more direct than she was accustomed to and, in all honesty, it was awfully intimidating.
The man docked out his cigarette and tapped his fingers on the bar to regain Tifa's attention.
"You know what, I'm feeling kinda' thirsty. Maybe I will have a drink."
"Oh, uh… what would you…?"
"Scotch. On the rocks."
She stood upright, removed a large glass bottle from the top shelf and poured some scotch into a tumbler. With a mallet, she crushed a few slabs of ice into jagged rocks and dropped them into a glass. She slid the drink over and watched him slowly take a sip.
"Why have I never seen you here before?" she asked, placing her chin upon her propped fist, trying to read him the same way he had done.
He had made it look easy.
"Well, I don't really live around here, Tifa."
She stood upright, an expression of curiosity forming on her face rapidly like a reflex action.
"How do you know my name?"
"This is your bar isn't it? Tifa's Seventh Heaven? It'd be a pretty misleading title if not."
She sighed and coiled her hair through her fingers in mild embarrassment.
"Yeah, okay, my bad, but now shouldn't you tell me your name? It's only fair. I'm sure it won't kill the romance."
"Fine, putting all romanticism aside, my name's Reno."
"That's an unusual name," she replied, rinsing out her wine glass. "Then again you are an unusual person."
He drained his drink and shook his head as though a foreign word had struck his ears.
"Unusual? In what way am I unusual?"
"I don't know; people like you aren't very common in these parts of the slums."
"Yeah, well I told you, I'm not from around here."
"So where are you from then?"
He shrugged; not as though he didn't know the answer. It was more of an expression to inform her that the answer didn't really exist.
"I don't really have a home. I don't like being anchored down to live in one building for the rest of my life, or even one city. I like to travel a lot; you can't name a place I haven't visited."
The din of the bar seemed to have settled down as more of the customers began to lose interest in drowning their sorrows, choosing to return again tomorrow. They all mumbled their incoherent goodbyes to Tifa and Sheila as they left.
She placed her chequered cloth under the counter and moved in front of the bar to sit besides Reno. After propping herself upon one of the bar stools, she gazed intently at him once again.
"Socialising on the job are you?" he remarked.
"No, my shift's over. I should be closing this place up in an hour but I'm sure the patrons won't mind if I call time a little earlier."
"You'd be doing them a favour, alcohol screws people up. I'm glad I never touch the stuff," he uttered, waiting for her cute giggle to erupt once more. "Why don't you do it then? Close up this place so that we can take a walk."
"A walk where?"
"We don't need a destination to govern a walk now, do we? People never walk aimlessly anymore or let their creativity run riot," he mused aloud, his fingers tapping the counter as though they belonged to a concert pianist. "Hey, do you know what I'd love to do?"
She ruffled her hair and yawned slightly. "No, what would you love to do, Reno?"
"I'd love to just get lost. I'd love to just walk out into the night and take a gut instinct on which turn to make and which street to venture into until I get completely and utterly lost. Just to break away from my own comfort zone and to feel thoroughly excited again-
"And I'd like to walk with you, Tifa. What do you say? Are you going to walk out past midnight in this dangerous city with a complete stranger? Or are you still being controlled by your doubt and insecurity?"
Tifa smiled broadly and looked away to laugh before she returned her gaze and noticed that his expression had hardly changed.
"Are you serious?" she said, the best response she could muster.
Reno took hold of her soft hands once more and stroked them gently with his thumbs.
"I'm more serious then I have ever been in my life."
"What would you do?" she asked, hoping her debating skills could ease her away from this awkward situation. "If you were me and a complete stranger just asked you to get lost with him past midnight around the most dangerous city in the world? Hmm? It's a lot harder to say yes when you flip around and view things from my perspective."
Reno bit his lower lip and rested his head against the bar, still holding Tifa's hand and keeping it close to his cheek.
"You don't have to worry about the dangers of the street... I'll protect you."
"It's not me I'm worried about," Tifa replied, removing her hand from his, soon waltzing back behind the bar to appear occupied.
Reno dusted himself off, a painfully laborious motion, and played with the long stands of Tifa's hair.
"Well, I'll be leaving now. And I can tell you that you'll never see me again. I won't come to this bar, I won't come to this street, I won't come to this Sector or even this damn city ever again. I'll be another stranger to inflict minimal impact upon your life." He turned to face the door and pushed it open; knowing fully well that he had caught Tifa's undivided attention. As he turned around he noticed her eyes screaming for him to stay and her body language betraying her. "… Unless you come on this walk with me. We'll walk until the sun rises then we'll find a way home again. Who knows – maybe we could make arrangements to take another midnight walk."
She exhaled loudly, leaning against the bar. His suave confidence had definitely won her over and the danger of his proposal only weakened her knees. She was sure this man had everything she needed, he could give her the attention she craved for or the satisfaction she deserved – even if it was for only one night.
She took a look at the scales one last time before she said, "The sun doesn't rise in the slums..."
The only response he could give was a wave as he inched out of the door.
She suddenly found herself clapping loudly to create a shrill noise that resonated around the bar.
"Time, gentlemen, please!" she shouted, ringing the bell dangling from the crossbeam, ignoring the groans of her disappointed regulars.
Thursday, September 30th, 00:30 am – Velvet Bank Road, Sector Six
He would never understand the irony of the statement, allowing him to feel relatively comfortable when saying, "What's up?"
"Oh, nothing," she replied uneasily.
He followed her gaze and nodded in response to an inaudible exclamation.
"Ah, that thing. I don't really come to the slums too much but I do know that that plate is one hell of an eyesore."
"Well, it's not just an eyesore for me anymore. I've had to live with that thing looming above me for quite a long time now and it never ceases to amaze me. It's more than just an ugly hunk of concrete and metal, y'know? It's more than just a shield to the beautiful sky. It's... it's what it signifies that disgusts me the most."
The oppressive nature of the plate amplified the wails of nearby police sirens, marking the end of another citizen's ephemeral life, inducing word after word to flow off her tongue.
"It's an insignia," she continued, "that demonstrates the callousness of human beings. Shinra created it to keep his stranglehold on the inhabitants down below… to mortally wound our souls and to shackle us to the shadows we live in."
She rubbed her forehead and smiled awkwardly. What am I saying?
"I'm sorry. I'm boring you, aren't I?"
"Of course not."
His reply was calm and reassuring. He could see she was not brilliant at choosing the right words to say on what could only be described as their first pseudo-date.
Reno often believed that if there was no chance of having sex at the end of the night then the word date became obsolete. He had been studying her closely for the past half an hour - enough time to draw up a rough schematic of her mind. She kept her arms folded, almost covering her breasts from view. It seemed to be a passive way of informing him that she was not the wildcat barmaid he hoped she would be.
It made sense in its lacklustre way.
Other noticeable attributes to her physical appearance seemed to add to the growing list of unavailability: the lack of make-up, the scrunchie tying her rather beautiful hair out of view, the old hand-me-downs she wore.
The schematic had evolved into a laundry list of crap.
It didn't matter anymore. He was happy to move on, unhappily safe in the knowledge that the proposition was firmly off the table after her poetical diatribe about social inequality. That didn't go to say he was a pig though. He had female friends and he enjoyed the company of anyone that could hold a conversation without dipping into the awkward abyss of silence.
"I guess I've never thought about the people that live down here underneath that plate," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But maybe I can give you a little tip to keep your spirits up."
She took a deep breath as they crossed over unused asphalt, entering a side street, both not choosing where to go, one simply following the other.
"I'm all ears," she said.
"OK. All you have to do is think of a quote. But not just any quote. It has to have come from someone very close to you so that it becomes a personal memory rather than an ordinary set of words. Think of your favourite person in the world and then think of the most significant thing they ever said to you. Think of any inspirational words they may have imparted that changed your outlook on the future."
She moved closer to his body, the heat escaping from which provided more than just warmth.
"I don't know, I can't think of anything."
"Of course you can, you're just being lazy."
She giggled and stared into space, finding it difficult to remember the last time anyone had said something, period, let alone something of general importance. She needed an excuse to prevent her appearing foolish or dull, but that proved to be even tougher.
It would have been a lot easier if Marlene's little voice didn't flood her memory so often.
It had only been two days since the little girl had read Tifa's palm in an act of boredom, claiming that her mystical powers were strengthening each day. She had decided to amuse her and allowed her to inspect her left palm like a bank teller inspecting a fraudulent thousand Gil bill, expecting the usual fortune a six year old girl's imagination could produce––You will find your one true love. You will live happily ever after. You will buy Marlene lots of cookies.
The actual fortune had been rather disturbing indeed.
You will be blinded by love... It will lead you to a path of inner destruction...You will find the solution in the barrel of a gun... Your heart will desire revenge...
She had witnessed a small glint of light in the young girl's eyes and drew her palm back to a safe distance, unaware of the correct phrase to make sense of the situation. She had no desire to question Marlene's fortune. She had no desire to fathom the remarkable series of events that had transpired.
She had simply wanted to vomit.
With another glance up at the plate she conceded once more.
"Alright, let me hear what your quote is first."
Reno stopped and looked her intently in the eyes. He held her hands and waited for her to focus back.
"OK, look, this may sound a little stupid, but one of my closest friends told me something a long time ago that really made me think... You ready for this?"
She nodded, expecting to be thoroughly entertained.
"Here's what happened. My friend once told me that it's OK to act crazily. It's OK to do things that are dangerous or to do things that don't seem right to other people. And the craziest idea is often the most revolutionary."
"I see," she responded, mentally digesting his rather strange comment. "So, when exactly has a crazy idea been revolutionary?"
"Alright, think about the first man that ever milked a cow."
They both continued to walk under the ambient glow of the street lights with only their echoing voices as reassurance that human life still existed. She giggled to herself as she waited for his logic to kick in.
He continued, flawlessly delivering his speech.
"What must have been going through the mind of the man that first milked a cow? Well I'll tell ya, he must have been one crazy son of a bitch that liked feeling up farmyard animals and ingesting their bodily fluids!" He paused as Tifa burst out laughing. "Think about it. If you saw a man drinking cow's milk for the first time you'd think that was pretty crazy. But his crazy idea has now become the norm in today's society. I mean, when you open up a carton of milk, do you ever stop to think that it came from a cow's tits? No, because his crazy idea was a revolutionary idea."
"So are you saying that it's OK to be a crazy guy that likes to feel up farmyard animals to drink their bodily fluids?"
"Absolutely!" he responded, trying not to laugh.
"Alright, you've made your point," she replied, patting his chest and huddling under his jacket as a slight gust of wind bathed her body. "Oh! I think I know what my quote would have to be.
"A long time ago my father once said something very important to me. He said that in a world filled with vultures, sometimes it's better not to play dead-
"I never really understood what that meant back when I was a kid, but now that I've witnessed the harshness of this world we live in, I know that the only person I can look out for is myself."
Reno placed his arm over her shoulder, his warm breath instantly condensing in the cold air as he spoke.
"Your father sounds like an intelligent man. His words make a lot of sense. And after recollecting on those words you now remember that the only one to look out for is yourself.
"So...? What are you waiting for? If you're the only one that can make things better then go for it! Don't waste your time in that bar of yours day in day out. If you want to rise above everyone else you have to work for it… yourself."
"I guess… you know what… I think I do feel a little better," she whispered, enjoying the sound of her high heels clicking against the pavement. "Do you think we're lost yet?"
He laughed, his slender frame shuddering against hers.
"We've been walking for twenty minutes."
"Yeah, well I've never seen this place before. Mind you, I never walk around the rougher neighbourhoods."
That was a lie, but she was getting the feeling that this may not have been the greatest of decisions. He seemed fine enough, but his capricious character, as alluring as it was, gave food for her doubt.
"I'm sure you know where you are," she continued. "Maybe not because of your knowledge but because you're a man that doesn't like to prove he's ever lost."
"Actually, I have a confession to make… I can't get lost in this city. I mean, like I told you, you can't name a place I haven't visited. You should really have paid more attention back in that bar, Tifa," he teased. "I guess I just wanted to take a walk with you."
"You shouldn't have told me that."
"Why not?"
"Because I get the sneaking suspicion it just killed the romance."
"So there was some romance to start with? That's good enough for me, let's go back to your place," he said, scooping her up and carrying her in his arms.
She giggled and patted his shoulder.
"Hey, put me down. I guess I should get back home––on my own. It's getting late and I have to get up early in the morning."
Reno placed her back on the ground and threw his hands in his shallow pockets.
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
"Oh I see. This is just a cunning way to find out my address without actually asking me for it. You take me out here to the middle of nowhere so that I'm forced to walk back with you. I must say, you are one clever man."
"Hey, you should be falling head over heels now that you've found a sexy and intelligent man. I'm a difficult breed of masculinity to obtain in this derelict city," he said, deliberately pulling poses that flexed his muscles. "So Tifa," he whispered, pulling her within earshot after she had finished laughing. "Ask me if I'm feeling lucky."
"Alright. Are you feeling lucky?"
"It depends on how you react to this."
He leaned in to kiss her, only finding her cheek as she jerked away, his lips merely grazing the flesh of her face. The butterflies ran havoc in her stomach as she moved back and shook her head, keeping him firmly at bay.
Reno sighed, "I guess I'm not feeling lucky."
"I guess not," she replied with a smile, perambulating the shadows with a suggestive sway of her hips.
Realising he had found and exposed a tiny portion of repressed flirtatiousness, he smiled and enjoyed the view.
"I'll get that kiss sooner or later. In fact, you'll be the one kissing me."
His words grabbed her body and turned it on axis, leaving a growing smile on display.
"Well?" she asked, finding nothing clever to say in response. "Do you want to walk me home or not?"
A/N
I should mention that setting the story pre-game has not given me the artistic licence to change the personalities of the characters. I do want to stress, however, that the story will try to place histories behind Rude's, Tifa's and Reno's idiosyncrasies and develop motives for some of their actions within the game. I'm not going to give too much away, but I will warn you that Rude does speak in this story. As the video-game plot dictates, he'll shut up by the end. I promise.
aardy.