Set Your Sights High
Aerith pushes the church door shut behind her, hushing the racket of the slums to a murmur. She closes her eyes a moment, breathes in crumbling wood and moss-covered stone. If she fills her lungs to the brim, she might even catch something fresh and floral peeking through those heavy, earthy smells.
All she hears as she crosses the crumbling church is her own footsteps, dull on the moldering floorboards. Near the apse they are so soft with rot that she was able to tear them out with her bare hands, to reveal the soil underneath. The hole she made is now a verdant patch of rainflowers, thriving in the light admitted by the broken roof. She has many skills, but this is her one true talent.
Aerith strolls past the flowers. They don't need her help today. Instead she heads for a door behind the former altar, set into a shadowy nook that is easy to miss. She smiles wryly at the urge to glance behind her before she opens it. It isn't as if she needs to look around to know that she's being watched.
None of her watchers ever come back here, though. It's just a small, windowless room in the back, with one way in and out. All they have to do is watch the door. It's become her private place, safe from prying eyes. Every girl needs one of those.
This little sanctuary has a hole in the roof, just like the main chamber of the church. In the beam of light it admits, Aerith has assembled a mound of soil. She smiles as she kneels by the dirt. Her weeks of labor are paying off in the form of little plantlets, eagerly reaching for the light with fragile leaves. She runs a hand across the tiny field, stirring up a faint whiff of their characteristic scent. If her flowers are well on their way to filling the old church with their fragrance, what might this little room smell like in a week or two? The thought makes her grin.
"Aerith."
She freezes, her hand hovering mid-air. She knows that voice. Shit.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asks.
Aerith sits back on her heels and peeks over her shoulder. In the doorway stands Tseng of the Turks, his expression as dour as his suit. She didn't expect him to show his face, much less talk to her.
"What in the world are you talking about?" she asks, wearing her sweetest smile.
His eyes narrow at her answer.
"These," he says simply and gestures to the tidy green rows behind her with a flick of his hand.
Her smile wavers. The Turks have never shown any interest in her gardening before. She didn't expect them to care now, either.
"They're, um… medicinal. Mom uses them in her remedies." She beams up at him again, pleased with her quick thinking.
"Aerith," Tseng sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Say that to the wrong people and your mother might lose her apothecary business."
It isn't what he says, so much as the way he says it. Like she is some silly teen girl who doesn't know any better. Like she doesn't know who the "wrong people" are down here.
"So I'm growing loco, big deal," she snaps. "Who even cares what I do?"
Tseng arches an eyebrow.
"So, you don't mind if I check with your mother and make sure you have her blessing?"
Aerith clenches her teeth. Does he have to look so damned smug for thinking of that?
"Why would you even want to do that? What do you care what I do?"
"This," he points to her fledgling crops, "is a risk. If you get in trouble, there are limits to what I can do without drawing attention."
"Oh, come on." She rolls her eyes. "What do the cops care if some slummer grows a bit of loco on the side?"
"If I were you, I'd be more worried about your new customer base."
"I don't need to worry about them, do I? Not when I have a bunch of Turks watching my every move."
"You're pushing your luck. Stop it. Now."
He is right about that; she is pushing her luck. Of course she is. You can get pretty far in this life by staying quiet and keeping your head down – but you can get much farther if you know when, and whom, to push.
"You seem to have firm opinions, Mr. Turk." Aerith smiles, with only her lips. "So please, do share. How exactly do you expect me to earn enough gil that me and mom can eat every day? Should I go to Wall Market and ask the Don for a job?"
His eyes widen, just as she expects. He may have gotten the drop on her today, but in certain ways, he is delightfully predictable.
"You have your flowers–"
She snorts. "Oh, come on. Nobody wants flowers down here. But these…" She plucks a leaf off one of her plants and waves it in front of Tseng's face. "Do you have any idea what people are willing to pay for these?"
He leans back, frowning slightly at her leaf.
"Let's compromise, then."
"I like my plan." Aerith brushes the leaf across her upper lip, smiling as she sees his mouth thin into a straight line. "Why in the world would I want to compromise?"
"Because I can give you a pass out of the slums."
Her teasing smile freezes on her face.
"From now on, you will grow flowers only." Tseng speaks firmly, like he is issuing orders. "I will provide you with a paid train pass, so you can sell them above plate. You'll get a much better price for them topside."
"T-topside?" Aerith gets out after a few failed tries.
"Above plate, yes. I imagine the entertainment district in Sector 8 would be a decent place to start."
She realizes her mouth hangs open. She closes it and draws herself up, meeting his piercing eyes head-on despite the wild fluttering in her chest.
"I might be able to work with that."
She tries to say it all casual, but the damned corners of her mouth keep wanting to rise. Tseng must notice it. Maybe that's why it irks her that he is able to keep his own face so carefully blank. It irks her so very, very much.
"But you should make it two passes. Mom should see the topside too."
A hush descends on the room. The muted sounds of the outside world drift in through the hole in the ceiling, but the man in front of her remains quiet. The light doesn't touch him. He looms in her doorway like a shadow with a marble block of a face. It reminds her what he is.
The silence drags on. Maybe she's gone one push too far.
"Or one." She shrugs. "Just the one works, too."
"Then we have a deal." Tseng holds out his hand.
Aerith takes it and squeezes – hard, just to see if his expression will change. It doesn't. With a nod of goodbye, Tseng smoothly extricates his hand and turns away. She watches him leave until his dark silhouette has fully melted into the shadows beyond the door.
She yanks the door shut. Safe once again in her private place, she lets her grin spread freely across her face.
Two surprises in one day. And here she thought old Tseng had gotten predictable.
Maybe she'll try standing her ground next time.