Tifa closed the bar for the night, for it is Easter weekend. Edge isn't the most devout on the best of days, but the coincidence of Aerith's rain upon it so near to the cusp of Spring sent many into fervent prayers.
Blessed be the earth, as dry as a bone it may be and with little fertility.
Blessed is the lamb, where they may amble around in fields far from here.
Blessed is the wine, for she serves the most red in her stock, and the most repentant of all come to her for the deep color of life and of life that was spilled by his stilled hand.
Tifa stepped out from the cellar in the by-room near the bar proper, next to the beer kegs and ale barrels. She searched the room for that familiar red and saw that he hung it up on a coat rack so neatly and prim like a shy ghost. The man who gave up this ghost, Vincent all clad in darkness and eyes of red, sat at the bar like the repentant man who went to the bartender first before the priest. She stood next to this stool as friends do because they're not interested in business matters.
She poured him a glass half-full, and she said it as much when he complained she gave him half-empty. He gave her a miffed scowl, and it was so human that she smiled and placed her hand on the back of his neck to pull him down to her lips. It was chaste because he was surprised, so she upped the intention by filling her own glass- just enough for a taste, a swallow- and swirled the red between them before drinking it down. She could feel the way his eyes follow her long throat as she drinks, her face up and letting him behold the way the low yellow lights glow on her skin. She looked at him, her eyes feeling as alive as red can be, not from tears but from the deep fire in her irises, a window to her heart that still pulse dark and vibrant.
Vincent raised a toast to her and drank. His eyes didn't leave hers. He lowered the glass and she saw a drop from the corner of his lips. She caught it with her finger and, salaciously, she slipped down her shirt- a shirt loose enough to bear a whole shoulder- but she slipped that shirt down to reveal her left breast and placed the drop of wine there on a peaky nipple.
Vincent saw red and went right for her.
Blessed is the flesh, for we rejoice our lives before we turn to dust.