"And we find ourselves in the same old mess, singing drunken lullabies." – Flogging Molly
Thursday night drunks were the worst.
Weekdays at Seventh Heaven were pleasant enough. Many of the patrons were regulars, simply meeting and catching up over a pint or two. Regardless of race, or color, or class, the regulars padded in around seven or so, ordered a few rounds, and chatted about their lives. It was easy to blur the slum-versus-Plate lines in 7th Heaven. All were welcomed in these pearly, beer-spewing gates.
The weekends were tolerable too. Friday and Saturday usually drew big crowds of people, especially now that 7th Heaven finally stepped into the modern world. The bar now boasted several top-of-the-line televisions, each equipped with a variety of channels to keep patrons happy. At first, Tifa argued against the TVs; she wanted to keep the old-fashioned feel of the bar, closer to that of a pub or even a watering hole. Yet the TVs had been a gift. After Strife Delivery Service had bundled a particularly large load of the TVs to shops around Edge, the company had insisted. And with two children to support, Tifa knew the TVs would bring in a new breed of customers and a new supply of revenue. So Fridays and Saturdays, and Sundays, too, drew in young blood, eager to cheer and boo their favorite events, not to mention happily waste their hard-earned gil.
But Thursdays? Thursdays were the worst. One day short of the weekend, but definitely not a weekday, Thursday hung amidst the tranquil regulars and the celebratory crowds. Thursday nights at the bar drew in those odd drunks – those drunks who, like Thursday itself, were suspended in the middle of their hellish limbo.
And Tifa, manager and bartender extraordinaire, was the ringmaster of it all.
It didn't help that Tifa rarely asked for assistance at 7th Heaven. This was something she resurrected. If Tifa could help it, she would often tend alone. Most customers wanted beer, anyway – even with the addition of the new TVs, most could do away with any frilly drinks. And she'd mastered the art of pouring the perfect quick brew, so help wasn't all that necessary. But tonight – this Thursday night – Seventh Heaven was particularly crawling with creepies. So without as much as a second thought, Tifa called Cloud from his delivery office and elected him an honorary beer-pourer of the night.
As Tifa toweled a warm tankard dry, her eyes settled on the creepiest and crawliest patron currently residing at the farthest corner of Seventh Heaven's wooden countertop.
Reno, the Turk, gulped out of the biggest pint glass the bar had to offer, merrily on the road to drunken stupor.
His bright, fiery aura engulfed his little corner of the bar with a sparkling energy. And even though he was more than on the far side of his third round of the evening, the local patrons seemed drawn to him. Those locals who dared come out on these Thursday nights were usually met with sulking, moody drunks with tales of lost love and woe (Tifa remembered, briefly, seeing Vincent among the crowd one Thursday night). But Reno was another package – he told vulgar jokes, shared outlandish stories, and guffawed with the best of them. The regulars ate it up.
Tifa didn't trust him. Not one bit.
"Oy, Irons Fists!" Reno bellowed. He slammed his glass down on the wooden countertop. Pulling out a misshapen mass of cash, he continued: "Bring it here, sister! One more for the secret agent man!"
Tifa rolled her eyes, unashamed of her open reaction. Usually, she would be polite to these wayward Thursday souls; after all, drunken men meant equally drunk tips. But this was Reno – he was invading her space, and now he was being chummy with her locals. She even bet he was that type of drunkard who never bothered to leave a tip.
The ex-warrior took the abused pint from the wooden countertop and poured.
As the glass filled, Tifa absentmindedly glanced in the opposite direction. Her eyes settled on Cloud.
The man was leaning against the countertop. Across from him sat a young girl, no more than legal drinking age, who sipped at her pretty pink booze with a cheeky smile. Although Cloud's face remained as neutral as ever, his focus was only her.
A nauseous feeling bubbled in the depths of Tifa's abdomen. She quickly snapped her head away, not wanting to think about that little fairy twerp on the back of Cloud's motorcycle...
Someone was slamming their fists down on the bar, repeatedly. "Yo! Am I gonna have to pay extra for that?"
Tifa looked at Reno's glass – it was overflowing. Composing herself, Tifa shut off the tap and mopped up the extra mess with her bar rag. She then slid the pint across the shiny bar surface, where it landed perfectly in Reno's outstretched hand.
Reno snickered as he lifted the glass to his lips. "As good with the drinks as you are with your fists, I see!" He slurped the frothy liquid before he continued, "Not so good with those boys, eh?"
Within seconds, Tifa had whirled around and reached across the bar to put Reno in a chokehold. Some of the patrons stopped mid-conversation to gander, but most ignored the miniature brawl over the din – including Cloud and his tinker-friend.
Reno merely squawked with laughter. "Don't bother, sister. He ain't looking this way." He began choking on his beer, but continued to laugh, resulting in a guttural, wheezing sound. He still went on through gasps: "You've got the entire bar's attention except for that blonde mess over there."
"I hope that beer chokes you to death, Reno," Tifa tersely replied. She shoved the Turk off and, as if to level her feelings, placed her hands atop the bar. "Besides, he's probably just making a deal with the delivery service."
Reno's eyes shifted to the other end of the bar. He easily caught the flash of spiky hair, even if he was more than tipsy. One look, however, told him that the female fighter was absolutely evading the truth. "Oh yes, he looks real busy on that delivery." He tried to waggle his eyebrows, but Reno had lost control of that two beers ago, so he instead squinted like a looney pirate captain. "Listen, sister, I may be drunk, but I can spot attraction when I see it. I'm trained to be observant." He began taking off his dark jacket – Tifa's riff had wrinkled it beyond even his liking. Reno continued, "Your aura is all over him and he don't even know it."
Shit. Tifa wanted to say something in her defense; she quietly wished she could talk, instead, with her fists. Her eyes scanned the bar room, looking for a customer's drink order to be excused from the conversation. No such luck. Her eyes rested, again, on Cloud and his pink fairy plum. Tifa watched as the twerp stifled a giggle and scribbled something on a piece of paper.
"What do you know about relationships, Reno?" Tifa accused.
Reno placed the tankard down and stretched his arms over his head. "Relationships? I know a little, but I can read people, and reading people often means reading relationships." A few moments passed; Reno seemed pleased with his remark. He chose that moment to pick up his drink and again start slurping.
With no one to serve and silenced by the Turk's remark, Tifa allowed her mind to wander. She leaned her head in her hands and stared at her locals. Every night, Tifa was here: the constant force, the yarn that strung these people together. Tifa listened to them, advised them, laughed and sometimes cried with them. They were open books, and she was glad to help turn their pages. And yet, in her own personal life, the book remained on the shelf. She was as rooted as ever in Cloud's life, sharing a house, raising a family (even if it was makeshift), but Cloud never let her read his own book. Tifa wanted to share her life with Cloud, fully, not just stand side by side.
It made her wonder. What did the locals see in the pages of her life?
"Hey, Reno," Tifa began. The Turk had apparently lost his edge; Tifa's chokehold had sobered him somewhat. He remained quiet as he acknowledged Tifa with his glance. "You say you can read people. So – what do you know about me? You observed things tonight." She leaned in a bit closer, to whisper quietly, "What can you tell about Cloud and me?"
Surprisingly, Reno's face softened. He smiled, but it wasn't his usual cocky sneer. It was a knowing smile, almost that of a clairvoyant. Its sincerity, an emotion so foreign to Reno's face, made Tifa uneasy. "Well," Reno drawled, "I know just from personal experience you got a thing for Chocobo Head over there." He took a small sip from his beer and continued. "And just by looking at you, I know you've probably never even mentioned that fact to him. Am I right?"
Tifa frowned at the Turk's words. "I have a house with him, Reno. We raise Denzel and Marlene together. We even sleep in the same room together, so how can you say that?"
"That's nothing," was Reno's somber reply. "I've knocked off people with more sincerity in their relationships then you have with that guy over there. Ya think the kids don't sense what's going on? They know, and they'll grow up with fucked up heads. Your kids know…maybe not Barret's, but that orphaned kid – him especially. You think he sees you and Cloud as together? Man, I don't think so."
Tifa was stunned into silence. Reno took the moment to chug the rest of the beer, then once again slammed it down the countertop, much like hammering a nail in Tifa's metaphorical coffin. The sound was noticed in the thinning bar crowd, Cloud and the girl included. A slight frown graced Cloud's features when he saw who Tifa was talking to.
"Trouble?" Cloud inquired.
A sigh. "No, Cloud, he's just drunk." Cloud promptly turned back to the human fairy.
Tifa looked back at Reno, whose smile only grew with more confidence. "I bet that's the only thing he'll say to you for the next week." Smug bastard. "When was the last time you slept with him?"
"None of your business."
"Hey, not what I was askin', sister," Reno responded. "Have you ever slept in the same bed as him? I'm not even saying naked and horny, Tifa, I'm saying just sleeping in the same bed. You know…cutesy-like."
Seconds passed. Tifa had nothing.
"I don't get 'around' much, with my job and all," Reno replied, taking Tifa's silence as an answer. "But when I was younger, I knew that pretty ladies needed decent attention. Now, that's not to say I always was decent– " he started chuckling " –but it's a guy thing, you know?"
Reno started meddling with his wallet again. He pulled out more money – neater this time, Tifa noticed – and placed a good amount of gil on the countertop.
"I've think I've given you more than enough for tonight," he winked, obviously pleased with his double meaning. He leaned over the counter in one final act of drunken wisdom and not-so-secretly whispered: "Just use what you have."
With that, Reno picked himself up and began stumbling towards the door. She saw him loop an arm around one of the departing locals – a new drinking partner, no doubt. They began striking up a conversation about cabs and long-distance fares.
The bar was almost empty now – save for two very particular people. Tifa knew she should start cleaning the place or else the stench would be too much to handle in the morning. She flipped her bar rag over and began wiping the counter down.
Tifa stopped, at the moment, at Reno's empty glass. She quietly mused over the Turk's words, replaying the appropriate conversation in her mind. A flirty giggle interrupted her thoughts.
The girl's features had changed – obviously drunk, she leered at Cloud with hooded eyes and parted lips. Her fingers played with the rim of her now-empty drinking glass.
Fighting instincts took over – or was it female instincts, long and forgotten? Tifa's emotions swelled. It was kill or be killed.
She dropped the rag and walked right up to the pair.
"Cloud?" she asked, softening her voice just enough to get his attention.
The blonde looked up – and so did the sugar-queen. Her eyes instantly knotted in uninhibited annoyance.
"Cloud," Tifa began again, "I really…really need you for something upstairs." She slowly, timidly took his hand. "It can't wait."
Cloud looked at their joined hands, his blue gaze intense and wary. He didn't let go, but didn't move either. The other girl shifted in her seat, and coughed lightly to remind the two of her presence.
Tifa, not letting go of Cloud's hand, look the girl straight in the eye. "I'm sorry, but the bar's closed." She pulled Cloud towards the stairs. "The exit's over that way."
Not looking back, Tifa lead her partner up the dark landing.
Tonight, she was finally going to start their story.
A/N
I'm (nearly) fresh out of college, and I remember those nights where you'd get a piece of drunken advice that would hit you square in the chest. Reno always seemed like one of those intuitive people – I'm assuming, as a Turk, one would need to have that type of instinct. Yet I like to think Reno would know more than the tip of the iceberg. Once in a while, you find a person who just simply knows.
Also, I don't limit myself to Cloud/Tifa, but I do think their relationship would need work. Cloud is messed in the head and Tifa's got her own hang-ups too. Maybe Reno just needed to play matchmaker. I'm actually thinking of writing a part two to see what would happen once they got to the top of the stairs. There's an interesting line we're straddling here - the difference between sex and intimacy, or sharing a life with someone versus a permanent roommate.
Thank you for taking a moment to read. If you'd like, leave me a review or even a critique on how to improve my stuff.