AH! I'm doing it again! I keep promising to never do this again, and then I go ahead and do it anyway! Last time, I promise!
This is another chapter in the 'Day in the Life...' series, but once more, you don't have to read any of the other parts to appreciate this one (although, it is still encouraged).
Also, just to prove that I can, I have decided to include Compilation canon. This takes place, let's say, one year after Dirge of Cerberus, but before Lullaby of Bobo-the-Two-Headed-Emo-Dog.
I wanted to do a Valentine's Day story, but at the same time, there isn't actually a Valentine's Day in the world of FF7. So, it's a Valentine's story, but it isn't actually Valentine's Day.
A (Valentine's) Day in the Life of Tifa
8:00 AM
The alarm woke Tifa rudely with its incessant buzzing. She was tempted to try to wait it out, throw a pillow over her head, and shut the noise away and get just a little bit more sleep. Her head ached a little in what was not quite a hangover, but just the remnants of working late every night in a bar that used a little too many fluorescent lights, played music a little too loudly, and encouraged her to share drinks with her customers.
Sure, Seventh Heaven was hers, fully and completely, but when she'd built it from the ground up, she'd had a perfect vision of what it should look like, what it should sound like, and now that it was there, and it wasn't exactly as she'd imagined it to be, it almost felt too late to course correct and make the changes necessary to perfect it. There just weren't enough hours in the day, as the blaring alarm make sure to tell her as loudly as it possibly could.
Poking her head out from under the safety of her pillow and blankets, she found that Cloud, as usual, was nowhere to be found. She hadn't heard him come in last night, but that was normal. His delivery service seemed to run in increasingly larger circles around the world, with one package even demanding he go to Wutai once. How he managed that on his motorcycle, Tifa hadn't been sure, and Cloud rarely volunteered stories about his day.
Something about his absence bothered her, today more so than usual, though she couldn't remember why. There was something important she was forgetting, or something someone else might consider important, an idea nagging at the back of her mind.
Sounds not related to bothersome, hateful alarm clocks disturbed her train of thought. Somewhere on the first floor, Tifa heard the scrape of a chair on hard wood floor. Marlene was likely up and about, trying to keep quiet while making herself breakfast. Or maybe Denzel. If either were left to their own devices, it'd be nothing but Shinra Sugar Shakes and McChocobo's mystery wraps from across the street, and somehow the kitchen would still end up a disaster zone.
Sighing softly, Tifa extricated herself from the haven of her blankets, and shouted downstairs, "Give me a minute, monsters! I'm just getting dressed!"
There was a pregnant pause below, a void of silence where she knew noise was supposed to go. She shrugged in response, even though no one could see her do it, and then awkwardly tried to make the shrug into a warm-up exercise by turning it into a shoulder roll. She felt kind of silly, but kept at it anyway, figuring she was committed to it now. She blamed lack of sleep. Four nights in a row of less than four hours, waking up early to get the kids fed and ready for school, taking calls for Cloud's delivery service throughout the day, maintaining the house and bar during the afternoon, then running it through the evening, serving drinks and tending bar until close. She'd honestly felt less tired travelling through the wilderness, chasing after Sephiroth while fleeing Shinra.
She briefly entertained the idea of a shower, but it was a little too quiet downstairs. Normally, the monsters were running around and making noise by now. Silence meant they were up to trouble. Hurriedly throwing on a fluffy robe, she made her way down to the ground floor as quickly as she could manage. Not quite at a panic speed, just short of a run. She didn't want to let them know they had her worried. Any sign of weakness, and they'd attack.
Emerging into the bar proper, she was a little startled at what she found. Denzel, barely eking into his teenaged years, had still yet to hit a serious growth spurt, was sitting straight up and poring over text books in an uncharacteristic stab at scholarship. Marlene, dutiful as ever, was sweeping the floor of the bar, but was making a pointed effort of not facing in a certain direction. Tifa's attention snapped immediately to where Marlene was attempting to ignore, and her eyes narrowed.
Seated at the bar yet facing in her direction, stiff-backed and straight, was Rude. As always, he wore his Turk blue, sunglasses which concealed his unknowable eyes, and looked every inch the professional killer that he was. There was always a tenseness to him, a sense of a lion who was stretched and prepared, ready to pounce, but never quite doing it. Every movement he made was calculated, every thought assessed, every action planned out beforehand. There was a control, a sense of implacability to Rude, and a strength to back it up.
Rude being in Seventh Heaven wasn't unusual. She tolerated his presence, if only barely, though he usually had the decency to only make an appearance during business hours. But today, he wasn't alone.
Seated to either side of him were his comrades-in-arms, Elena and Tseng. Both had feline tendencies similar to Rude's own, but they were very different. While Rude was a predator about to strike, Tseng embodied the pride of the lion, the beast that knew it could take you down if it chose, but such a thing was beneath him. He ruled the savannah, and while he surveyed his domain and acknowledged any possible threats to it, always vigilant, he was dismissive of anything he deemed unimportant.
Elena, as always, was more a cub than a full grown cat. Though she'd been a Turk for several years, her over-exuberance and need to prove herself did more harm than good. But she still had claws, and as always, Tifa made sure to not dismiss her out of hand.
What were the three of them—
Reno rose from behind the bar, a bottle of expensive sake in either hand and a grin plastered on his face. Unlike the others, who were bedecked in their usual costume, Reno was wearing… a maroon cape, along with an elaborate headband of the same colour. One of his hands was sporting a golden gauntlet, while the other wore a fingerless black glove.
Any threat or order for them to get out of her bar, that it was too early for whatever this happened to be, was lost as she instead blurted, "Why are you dressed as Vincent?"
Reno grinned, his eyes sparkling, and opened his mouth as if to regale her with one of his bullshit fantastical stories, but Elena stood and gently slapped him upside the head and glared.
Whatever he'd been about to say was lost in a bout of sulkiness, and instead he answered, "Because I thought it'd be funny?"
She mulled over that answer, trying to decide what it was they were hiding, and decided that she didn't need to figure it out. It was too early for this, she wasn't properly dressed, and if she didn't put her foot down, Reno would inevitably make a joke about her fluffy robe, which she loved dearly.
"Out," she said, pointing to the door. "House rules, no Turks allowed."
"Rude drinks here all the time!" Reno protested.
"And when he does, he's a paying customer during business hours, and not a Turk. Out!"
She didn't bother mentioning that the bar didn't do the business that it used to, fresh off the popularity and fame of Avalanche post-Meteor, even post-Remnants, and having a regular, even one she disapproved of, helped the place stay afloat. Too much time had gone by, and the general population was beginning to adopt a 'what have you done for us lately?' attitude. All the old resentments from when Avalanche had blown up reactors and threatened their jobs had begun to creep up again among those who even bothered to remember who they were.
Reno looked forlornly at the two bottles of sake and then placed them gently on the counter. He made a mock sniff, and then waved goodbye to them even as Elena grabbed him by his cape and hauled him over, roughly, but not so recklessly as to knock the bottles. Rude was already standing, and made a single nod of his head to Tifa, and made his way to the front door.
Tseng stopped briefly by her, and handed her a card. She glanced at it. It only had a phone number, no name, no identifying logos. Plain white paper with plain black text, no embellishments to be found.
"We are in the market for an outside contractor," he said.
"Thug power!" Reno called, and then yelped as Elena switched her grip from his cape to his ear.
"I'm not interested," Tifa countered. "I have a job, and my day's pretty full."
"And I'm not offering you full time employment. The Turks wouldn't suit your temperament, I think. You're too… passionate. We have a small window, and I'd rather it be someone of your skills and restraint. This is a delicate mission, and I'm afraid I don't have the qualified manpower to do without third party assistance. It pays extremely well, and I'm aware that your business has been—"
"My business," she said, her tone clipped, "is none of yours."
He nodded respectfully, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked to the door. Before exiting, he paused, and said over his shoulder, "Should you change your mind, you need only contact me before noon today. Any later, and you will have no way of reaching either myself or my fellow Turks, as we will be radio silent at that point."
Something about his tone made her feel a little small, as if he were doing her a favour for offering her this, but Tseng didn't have the monopoly on pride.
Tifa Lockhart did not take handouts, especially from Shinra.
She felt her body stiffen, and her fists clench. She didn't hate the Turks, not exactly, and a lot of the old enmity for Shinra had long since died away. There was no point in continuing a war that her side had won. Still, there was no reason to help a side that, while attempting to reform, was still soaked in the blood of her family, friends and neighbours.
She played piano music in her head, washing away the emotion. Zangan had always tried to teach her balance of mind, emptiness of thought and emotion, but it had never really clicked. But the piano, that made sense to her. Playing a song in her mind, she soothed herself, calming away the righteous anger and reminding herself that she was angry at an older Shinra, and not what it was now.
She twirled the card anxiously between her fingers, flipping it end over end. She wanted to throw it away, right into Tseng's face. Or, well, his back. The point would stand. What would Cloud do?
Probably brood a little, find something to feel guilty about, and then shut those nearest to him out. He was getting better since the situation with the Remnants, but Cloud at his most social and responsible still left… something to be desired.
Her moment passed, and Tseng left out the doorway, and she felt a little annoyed. She settled for slamming the door behind him. Outside, she heard Reno yell something about it being too early, and needing to get his pancake fix.
Sighing, Tifa put the card in a pocket, and turned to face Denzel and Marlene.
"Okay, monsters," she said in a cheerful voice, as if nothing were amiss. "What do you want for breakfast?"
9:23 AM
Breakfast, despite the votes put forth, was not a diabetic mess but instead oatmeal with blueberries and apple bits, since Marlene's new obsession with vegetarianism now excluded yogurt and eggs. Denzel, as usual, rolled his eyes at what was offered, mumbling about missing bacon. Designing a happy face along the top of the meal with blueberries only seemed to make him surlier.
After they were fed, Marlene made sure they went to school, then took their dishes and deposited them in the kitchen sink. She wasn't sure where she'd find the time to clean them, but made sure to quickly run water over them before running upstairs for a shower.
The water from that wasn't particularly hot, but the old oil furnace hadn't gone out entirely yet. Somewhere, she'd need to find the money to replace it – Cid's passing attempts to repair it several times over his last few visits may have done more harm than good – but she wasn't sure where it'd fit into the budget.
When she stepped out, she went to get changed, and in dismay, realized she'd made the biggest laundry mistake of all. She'd entrusted the duty to Cloud.
All of the clothes in her active rotation were dirty. Not just dirty, but were buried and intermixed with Cloud's dirty clothes, which were spotted with mud, blood, monster goop, and from the soft green glow on one of his pairs of pants, Mako.
She loved that man, but sometimes, sometimes…
Time to deal with that problem later, whenever she saw him next. If she saw him again. She always had to worry about that.
Going through an old trunk, she pulled out an old outfit. Midriff-baring, sleeveless top. Short, black mini-skirt. Elbow length gloves. Suspenders. Her old boots would be in a closet somewhere. She still had the new shoes – she didn't think Cloud had gone out of his way to unintentionally contaminate and poison those – but nostalgia made her want to dig out the old ones. Looking at the outfit now, she wasn't sure what she'd been thinking of, back in the day. Still, it felt right for some reason.
She towelled off, donned the old outfit – no, uniform – and went downstairs. The kids might be able to subsist on oatmeal and blueberries, but Tifa needed some bacon, and she could only cook it when Marlene wasn't around.
She took the first two steps down slowly, but the smell of grease hit her nostrils, and her legs suddenly couldn't get down the rest of them quickly enough. Someone had been cooking in her kitchen, probably while she was in the shower, and that meant Cloud was home.
Emerging back into the bar, she found a table prepared with cutlery, a plate of bacon, hash browns, pancakes, eggs and toast. It was entirely too neatly prepared. More, there was a glass vase she didn't recognize set in the middle of the table with a single red rose.
Cloud didn't do flowers. They hit one of his many neuroses, reminding him of her. He was mostly over it, but every once in a while, his own self-doubt would creep back in again, and he'd need to be assured all over again.
Tifa both loved and missed Aeris, and knew it wasn't a competition, but sometimes, she wondered if Cloud knew that.
Looking over the plate, she saw that none of the food was burned or undercooked – another red flag – but Tifa was never one to turn down free protein, even fatty and disgustingly unhealthy protein. Maybe even especially that kind. She'd have to do so many crunches later. Picking up a slice of bacon, she bit into it and explored the ground floor.
"Cloud?" she called. "Are you home?"
She leaned her head into the kitchen, and saw that someone had done the dishes – a mean feat, considering that the water heater despised competition, and would only give heat to one source or the other at the same time. On the dish rack was a pot, one she hadn't dirtied herself, in addition to the dishes necessary to make the breakfast on the table. Had someone boiled water and then used that to wash the dishes?
"Cloud?" she called again, louder.
She checked the voice mail messages in the next room, and found none waiting for her. Another oddity. Someone usually had some delivery notice or another for Cloud, or one of her suppliers would inevitably have some bad news regarding the latest shipment. Had no one at all called?
The job board next to the phone had items crossed off; ones she'd planned to do that day. The garbage had been taken to the dump, apparently, and the payment for her liquor license renewal had been mailed.
Well. That freed up her schedule quite a bit.
She went back to the table, sat down, and ate the breakfast that had been laid out for her. Briefly, thoughts of poison flitted through her mind, giving her a sense of danger and excitement, but morosely she realized that she just wasn't important enough to poison these days. It put a damper on the mystery breakfast for a while, but nothing could permanently ruin free bacon.
She finished the last of the pork, and moved on to the hash browns, wondering what could have gotten into Cloud to make her a breakfast. And a good one, at that. He must've subcontracted the labour out. Cutting away a piece of pancake, and forking it into her mouth, she contemplated the mystery. The pancakes were fresh. And real pancakes, not premade, store-bought batter, or reheated.
Cloud didn't know the first thing about making pancakes. He still maintained that the waffle iron had picked a fight with him, and that was why he'd had to chop it in half. So, who did she know – and by extension, who did Cloud know – that could make good pancakes? Reeve subsisted off premade food, and without Shera, Cid would certainly die of starvation. Yuffie might be able to pull this breakfast off, but the bribe necessary to force her to do it would be prohibitive. Red XIII didn't have the requisite amount of opposable thumbs to handle a frying pan or skillet, and no one was entirely certain if Vincent actually ate anything anymore since becoming Hojo's personal lab project. There'd been a long-standing pool amongst Avalanche on whether or not he had to eat at all, or drank blood, or if he just retreated to the shadows to gorge himself on candy, but so far, no one had been able to prove anything.
No, none of their erstwhile travelling companions would be involved in this, with the exception of Barret, but he specialized more in gourmet dinners than breakfast. It was a skillset he tried to keep hidden, but at the same time, somehow managed to show off and act embarrassed about at every opportunity. And, he was busy on yet another expedition, this time setting up solar panels as a renewable energy source in the desert surrounding Gold Saucer.
Elmyra was a likely candidate, but something just didn't feel right. She took another bite of pancake, and then immediately choked it up, staring at the meal in horror.
Pancakes.
She had to run upstairs to get the card from her fluffy robe's pocket, and then had to run back downstairs to get the phone. It barely rang once after dialing before Tseng picked up.
"So, do you accept the job?" he asked.
"Did you send Reno to forever taint my happy thoughts of bacon by having him invade my home and cook me a delicious breakfast?"
There was a pause, and Tifa realized how ridiculous that sounded.
"No," Tseng answered, his voice betraying neither confusion nor surprise. "I assure you that I have no intention of poisoning you with what Reno refers to as cooking. I do, after all, wish to subcontract a job to you today."
In the background, she heard Reno shout, "Thug power!"
"I know you sent one of your underlings into my house. Things were tidied. Chores were done. There was a rose with my breakfast. This has underlings and minions all over it."
"I am in the business of protection, security, assassination and espionage, Ms. Lockhart. I assure you that my minions have not been ordered to become a cleaning service. Perhaps you should check to see if any elves have begun taking up residence?"
He managed to say it with such polite aplomb, almost smug in its way, that she knew that he knew something. Or maybe he just liked doing that to people. Killing them with kindness. Yeah, that seemed like a Tseng thing to do. But it gave her no leads on the Case of the Mystery Bacon.
"You don't want me to assassinate someone, do you?" she asked suspiciously.
"I'm afraid that I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of your mission until after you have signed on. However, I am quite aware of your moral code, and if I wanted someone from your particular side of the fence, so to speak, to assassinate someone, I would likely make an offer to Mr. Valentine first, Ms. Kisaragi second, and then your feline companion, Nanaki."
"Canine," Tifa corrected absently, an old habit of hers stemming from one of Avalanche's other betting pools.
"Regardless, it seems that your day has been freed unexpectedly. While I made no orders to arrange it, if you'd be willing, you'd be compensated quite handsomely for your time should you agree."
"You could always send one of your minions to find my mystery elves. I'm sure they'd be happy to work for you."
And then she hung up on the second most powerful man in the Shinra organization. It was the little things in life that made Tifa happiest.
10:34 AM
Tifa somehow managed to finish the mystery breakfast with the danger of it being Reno's cooking gone. Whoever had made it knew their way around the kitchen, but it nagged at her. Finally, on a lark, she decided to call Elmyra. She hated mysteries.
It took a few rings, but Elmyra answered, "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Tifa."
"Tifa! It's good to hear from you. Are the kids doing well?"
"The monsters are fine," she said with a smile. "In school right now."
"Good. I can't talk long right now. We're going to see the latest premiere of Loveless. It's back in the theatre circulation again, and I've never seen it, so—"
"Oh, understood," Tifa said. That was what had been bothering her about the date before. She'd wanted to go to that. "Just, uh, were you… by earlier?"
"No, was I supposed to be? Did you need me to watch the kids?"
"No, no," Tifa said. The last thing she needed was to burden Elmyra with, well, anything. She didn't get to go out often, and…
Wait. Elmyra had said 'we.' Who was she going to see Loveless with?
Before Tifa could ask, there was a noise in the background on Elmyra's phone, followed by the woman laughing.
"I have to go, Tifa, you'll have to call me later."
"Okay, bye," she said, but Elmyra had already hung up.
Well, the mystery bacon culprit – was that the right word? What did you call someone who stole the absence of something? – was still unknown, and now there was this 'we' situation. Unfortunately, Tifa only had time for one covert investigation.
She'd have to put it aside for now. She made a few business-related calls, made sure that her orders were well and truly ready to be delivered and that some major disaster had not only delayed or stopped them, but managed to make her suppliers forget to inform her of the fact. After twenty minutes of nothing but green lights, positive messages, and assurances that everything was running perfectly, Tifa felt a weight leave her shoulders.
She didn't let the good mood last too long. Her laundry wasn't going to do itself, and apparently Cloud was never going to get around to it. How did one train a war hero for domesticity? Apparently just expecting him to learn it wasn't working. She'd have to go on the offensive.
With that in mind, she strode upstairs, walked into her room, and found all of her and Cloud's clothes clean and folded neatly along their bed. Picking up one shirt suspiciously, she lifted it to her nose and sniffed. There was a very faint chemical odor, one she was familiar with. Someone had taken her clothes to the dry cleaners. More, she recognized this particular scent. She'd punched people who stunk of it often enough.
"Elves," she said menacingly, narrowing her eyes.
She didn't remember leaving the room, but she suddenly found herself back on the ground floor, the phone in one hand, the freshly laundered shirt in the other.
"Yes?" Tseng answered.
"I know what you're doing!" Tifa all but shouted at him.
"Well, that makes one of us. I'm afraid my schedule is an absolute mess today. Let it be said, never allow your secretary lay out your day for you when you know Elena is perfectly capable of balancing it far better."
"Save your… your…!" she seethed, unable to find a proper way to finish her sentence.
"Lies? Anecdotes? Excuses? Obfuscations?"
"Obfuscations! You're trying to manipulate me into accepting that job!"
"I assure you, whatever it may be; I personally have nothing to do with it whatsoever. But now that you mention it, I really recommend that you take the job. I have been cleared to pay you ten thousand gil for the day."
Tifa blinked. That… that was a lot of money. She hadn't seen that kind of money since the Sephiroth incident. Granted, Yuffie had stolen most of it, and what she hadn't, the rest of Avalanche had split equally, with Tifa using her share towards the new bar.
Ten thousand gil could get her a brand new furnace. It could go towards Denzel's schooling.
"Of course, that's just out of Rufus' pocket," Tseng continued. "I could likely squeeze out another five thousand from the Turk budget for your time and aggravation."
She could get her own washing machine so she didn't have to depend on Cloud taking dirty clothes to the Laundromat. Or, she could put a down payment on her own motorcycle, so she wouldn't have to borrow Fenrir anymore. Cloud always got that sad puppy-dog look in his eyes whenever someone was touching his bike and it wasn't him.
"And I won't have to assassinate anyone?" she asked.
"I can't discuss the details, but no, you will not have to assassinate anyone."
"And the elves continue what they've been doing," Tifa said.
"I assure you, no one under my employ is under any orders from me to be… elf-like."
Tifa liked to think she was good at picking out lies. She'd tended bar enough years, and had heard enough people tell them, either as boasting or as a way to try to get into her pants. Tseng didn't sound like he was lying. But then, he was a professional liar, and it was more likely that he was better at that than she was at ferretting them out.
Something told her that Tseng was being level with her, though. If he'd been behind the spontaneous cleaning and cooking, he'd likely be using it as a bargaining chip. She figured he'd be one to manipulate any potential asset to his favour, and one to own up to a mistake if caught.
"Fine, but this had better not be some kind of trick," she said.
"Excellent. You should drop by the new Shinra complex at, let us say, twelve thirty."
"What am I supposed to do between now and then?"
"My dear, what you do in your morning off is between yourself and your elves. I recommend making a mess and seeing what lengths they go to clean it up when you're not in the room."
A devilish grin took over Tifa's face as she hung up.
For the next hour, Tifa did just that. At first, she was circumspect about it. She poured herself a drink of juice, took a single swallow, and then 'accidentally' spilled the entire glass over the bar counter and floor. She made exasperated sounds and left the room, ostensibly to go get a towel to clean it up.
She was gone for a minute at most, pointedly taking her time, and returned to find the mess cleaned, the glass righted and filled once more to the brim with juice.
She'd made sure to listen for any overt sounds, any footsteps or hurried sounds of cleaning, but there had been nothing. Whoever was doing this, despite the obviousness of it, was attempting and succeeding at stealth.
Next, she grumbled about having to make lunch before leaving to do whatever job Tseng had hired her for. She made sure to grumble as loudly as possible, and made sure to include comments about how delicious the bacon had been for breakfast.
Just to increase the difficulty, she made sure not to leave the kitchen. To entertain herself, she took out dishes she'd been meaning to throw out – some had been cracked or chipped, others were just old and hideous – and began to smash them on the floor. She was really getting into the swing of it, maybe fifteen minutes in, before she heard a soft noise in the bar proper.
"Aha!" she cried, and sprinted over broken crockery, making sure not to cut her feet, to confront her quarry.
When she emerged in the room, she was greeted by the smell of bacon. A wrapped package was on a table, but no one was in sight. She walked over and inspected the item. It was a sandwich from Mike's Deli down the street. She lifted a slice of toasted bread, and saw that it was her favourite – a BLT, no unnecessary condiments, with extra tomatoes.
She was almost disappointed. She'd expected another homemade meal. Had the breakfast also been purchased? No, it'd been too fresh, still steaming. There'd been no packaging. And there were no places nearby that made breakfast that good. Still, there was no point in wasting a good BLT.
She took a bite, chewed, and made a moan of pleasure. She looked at the sandwich, and then double checked the wrapping. It looked like it was from the deli down the street. The packaging said it was from the deli down the street. But it definitely didn't taste like it.
No, this was better. A lot better. The bacon wasn't as fatty. The tomatoes were fresher. The lettuce was crisper. None of that chemical-fed, force grown food that was so common to the Midgar/Edge area. Even if the reactors were no longer in active use, and the Lifestream had brought new life to the blighted land, people were still in the habit of trying to skip steps. But this tasted natural.
She finished the sandwich before calling the deli.
"First Plate Deli," a man answered.
That was weird. She only did semi-regular business with the Deli, but she knew it was called 'Mike's.'
"Hi, this is Tifa Lockhart. I own Seventh Heaven down the street from you?"
"Sorry," the man said. "I wouldn't know. We're new to the neighbourhood, just broke into franchising, expanding the restaurant business."
"Welcome to the neighbourhood."
"Thanks. What can I get ya? You calling for a delivery?"
"Kind of. I'm calling about one. Did someone order a BLT in the past fifteen minutes?"
"Ah, so you're the one."
"Excuse me?"
"Listen, some broad with a big shuriken came in, said she needed one, made from our private stock of ingredients, paid extra for it. Needed it real quick. Cut in line and everything."
Big shuriken? Tifa thought. Yuffie.
"I'm not sure I'm supposed to be telling you this," the man said. "Now that I think about it… uh. Yeah. Forget I said anything."
And then he hung up.
Well, that answered one question. But it now more heavily emphasized another. Why would Yuffie go to this kind of trouble?
She contemplated that for a bit, and then made her way back to the kitchen. All the broken dishes on the ground were now gone. Tifa checked the cabinets. New dishes – ones that didn't match her old sets – had replaced them.
Well, there was only one thing to do.
She pulled all the remaining old dishes, and smashed them to the floor as well. Then she went to go get ready for whatever mission Tseng had in store for her.