Love Your Hot Sauce
Chapter Two: Mauve and Mako
After Meteor Day, Nibelheim transformed from a classic, quaint town to a tourist haven almost overnight. Reconstruction for brick roads, Item Stores, gyms, coffee shops and real estate offices branched outward. Houses were built with stone blocks—less flammable—and surrounded by tall metal fences. In comparison to other cities, Nibelheim was still small, but business inflated by four hundred percent. The population bounced from forty to a few hundred. Only the manor atop the hill and the broken factory beyond remained untouched by the renovation.
Tifa Lockhart became the owner of an extremely successful First Heaven bar. By this point in her life, settling down meant everything. She was done fighting Sephiroth and Shinra while simultaneously being chased by them. The world was saved, everyone was alive, and she could finally slow down. As a member of AVALANCHE, she was never given time to grieve over the loss of her father, friends, and homes. Every minute was spent towards The Cause, or so the people have dubbed it. Fighting was—
The digital clock above the front entrance chimed into her reverie. Three in the morning and she was still on her feet. The shame. Tifa snickered, remembering the way Yuffie would react when she'd see unsightly behavior. . .
The group was all walking along the beach of Costa Del Sol and a young couple happened to cross their path. The boy had his hand hanging loosely around the girl's waist as it slowly reached lower and lower. . .
Yuffie asked aloud, "Is that legal?" Everyone focused on what the ninja was referring to.
. . . until it made its way to her ass and sque—Yuffie rushed forward before anyone thought to stop her and kicked the boy in the head. "Feel the shame! The shame!"
Tifa gave a sleepy laugh. She could sympathize with the ninja's outrage regarding men placing their hands where they don't belong. Most of the honest jobs she managed to land were as a barkeep. What the group—particularly Cid and Barrett—didn't understand was that Yuffie came from a completely different culture and mindset. Which was probably why she clashed and argued the most with her teammates. Speaking of that little troublemaker, she hasn't received any word in one year, nine months, two weeks, and three days. On the last note, Yuffie wrote about going on a journey to discover her potential. To become as powerful as Cloud proved himself to be. As a martial artist, Tifa could relate; it's impossible to feel like a master when you know people like Cloud exist. There's always another technique to learn or a better fighter. She leaned against the counter, staring at the doors as if he'd ever walk through them. 'Oh Cloud. . .'
Two years, one week, and five days. Not including today.
Tifa pulled out a red marker she habitually kept in her back pocket and turned to a calendar she set aside for one specific reason. 'This is just for you,' she thought, marking this morning with a red scribble—two years, one week, and six days since he left. Admittedly, it shouldn't have been a surprise. Cloud was always burning footprints on her polished floors by pacing back and forth in a constant restlessness. Even after Sephiroth's death, that bastard continued to plague Cloud's world. It was strange; the ex-SOLDIER personally delivered the finishing blow yet he couldn't accept it was the end.
The change was too sudden. To go from having the world's survival rest on your shoulders, the ultimate purpose in life, to nothing was not an easy adjustment. Unlike Cid with his sky ships, or Barret as he took Marlene to see the liberated world, Nanaki charged with the protection of Cosmo Canyon, and everyone was surprised to learn Yuffie was of a noble bloodline. They had people to be with, or tasks set only for them. Futures. Cloud's only goal was Sephiroth. Tifa was hoping that Cloud would see that Nibelheim could be his future. Well. . . she blushed a little, she wanted to be his future, too. But Sephiroth took that place in his life. Just another reason to hate a mass murderer. Like the only note her hopeless first love left behind, "I'm sorry. It can't be over yet, not for me. I'll see you in the end."
Tifa wished him the peace he left to find, the answers to his questions. And she waited, afraid to leave Nibelheim in the event of his return. Just in case Cloud would love her back. She knew that when he returned—and he would return—he would find her here. She still carried around the note; for her hopes and despairs. It was painful to read it every morning, study his scratchy handwriting, only to fold it up so she could read it tomorrow.
Not that digressing from heroine to bar owner was easy, despite the fact it was what she wished for. It's difficult obeying the laws, because the law used to mean Shinra. AVALANCHE members used to have wanted posters, now she was a role model. There were desperate times that she had to pawn her mother's keepsakes to buy a med-kit for Biggs. Now people were giving her offerings, and not always in the socially acceptable way.
When (one year, ten months, two weeks, and five days ago) Cid made his first visit to First Heaven, the pilot hollered at her lack of hobbies. And doubling as a bouncer on the weekends didn't count. Neither did a giant calendar collection.
"Play some fucking cards—hic—or twirl your god damn ass long hair, Tiff! Anything but count. Hic. . That shit's for fucking mental mother-fucks in fuckin' mental assyl—assiloom—ass. . ."
"Asylums?"
"Hospitals! Fucking mental hospitals!" Cid spoke as kindly as a cussing pilot could muster under the influence of seven to twelve shots. His half-sober awareness would focus on her calendars, "Holy fuck! What the seven hells are—hic—all those damn papers doin. . hic. . on your damn wall? Fuc—king white wall and three brown? It's shitting up y-your brown color, Tiff."
Tifa laughed and sighed. She started methodically and pointed to the first on the top left. "The first calendar: The Death of Sephiroth, with two years. ." She even had one as trivial as when she got her last hair cut. After reading the sixth calendar, Cid's disgruntled silence embarrassed her and she poured him another drink, hoping he'd forget about the calendars in the morning.
She realized, from Cid's reaction, how pathetic it was to cling. She was as restless as Cloud, just not as honest about it.
Since then, Cid would stop by in his new Highwind once every week or two. He'd provide the martial artist with stories far more exciting than waiting for 11:59 p.m. to change to 12:00 a.m. In exchange, the beer was free. . . or whatever his newest obsession was.
Recently, Tifa threw away the calendars except nine: Cloud, Cid, Barret, Nanaki, Yuffie, Vincent, Cait Sith, Aeris, and Sephiroth. So she was "healing" as Cid called it. To heal would imply a wound, and her initial response was to clout him. In the end, Cid's good intentions won over impulsive violence and she was grateful to him. Which reminded her to mark everyone else's calendar before setting herself to the task at hand: washing the glasses, stocking the cabinets, setting the chairs, wiping the counters. . .
Tifa sighed at the daunting task and decided a little procrastination under the moon wouldn't hurt. First Heaven didn't open until noon anyways, she could spare the time. She ambled around the counter and locked up; absently fingering the keys between her hands.
The night air was cool against her exposed skin, reminding her of the coming winter. Black shorts and a white tank weren't going to cover it in a few weeks. Not that it ever covered much in the first place. Nor did it ever catch his attention. . . Tifa walked in the middle of the road, kicking pebbles in her gloom. Perhaps she should try to slim down? And maybe wear something more girly and pink, like Aeris did. 'God damn it girl,' she chided herself, 'how stupid is it that I'm competing with my dead friend for another friend's attention?'
So preoccupied with her disastrous love life, she failed to notice a figure cross her path. And as she kicked another couple of pebbles, her boot—her steel-toed boot—connected with something that grunted. "Oh, I am so sorry! I wasn't paying any attention and that's no excuse, but I'm really sorry!" she rambled a minute longer before she fully took in the situation.
The person she kicked was solid and heavily cloaked. Tifa supposed it was a man due to the height and wide shoulders, but the layers of black cloth made it impossible to determine. The shadows seemed to gather around the figure and he looked more inhuman than a simple stranger. Any normal person would at least be nervous. A real shame Tifa didn't qualify for having normal anythings.
"Excuse me, sir," she began kindly, hoping she wasn't addressing a tall woman as a man. Because referring a woman as a man after accidently kicking her is just asking for trouble. "Are you all right?"
Tifa knew everybody that resided in Nibelheim and she was certain he was from somewhere else. After bartending to all the locals, her sixth sense could affirm that she didn't recognize him. Pretty sure, anyway. The man emitted a lost sensation she couldn't place. Not hostile. A wanderer, probably from the old days. It made her want to help but walk away at the same time. Tifa shrugged these thoughts away and offered her hand to him like the Good Samaritan that she was.
He did not move, but he might be contemplating her. Thinking wasn't a bad thing; she pulled back her hand and shifted slightly. The hair on the back of her neck pricked when she felt his gaze. It was intense. "Well, umm, I own a bar down the road if you want to. . sit down and rest? Perhaps a drink?"
He grunted.
Tifa reckoned this was going to be her only response, made a U-turn, and hauled herself back to First Heaven. It never failed; she always found a way to be at her precious bar. Gods only know how much dust was collecting on her bed. Or how many fan mails and chocolates were collecting on her lawn. Tifa listened to her footsteps along the sidewalk; she strained her ears to hear her companion's footfalls. Glancing backwards, he was there, wearily following behind in rhythm. Weary was something she knew all too well and spared him a warm smile; hoping it didn't look too weird from ill-use. "Did you just come from the inn?"
Grunt. The man was worse than Vincent. Who knew that was possible? Tifa made a mental note to tell Yuffie all about it.
"Then I suppose you know you came too late. Their doors close to customers after the moon rises past the factory," she pointed skywards with her free hand. "They're a superstitious lot. That or they do it to for the thrill of tourism."
In a curious manner, the shadowed man titled his head a bit to the moon. He almost seemed to scoff at the idea. Tifa had the same reaction when she heard about the strange rumors, but there was nothing she could do about it either way. She sighed and chuckled. His head slanted to the side as if watching this for the first time. She found his reaction to be kind of cute, in a lost puppy kind of way, but managed not to say so. "Inside joke."
Tifa grinned like the old days. Yeah, those were the times. Beggars knocking on people's doors, asking for anything: garbage, clothing, a place to sleep. Luckily, a martial artist knows how to prepare for all kinds of situations. She unlocked the door, "You can stay the night if you'll agree to put that whole collision thing behind us. What do you say?"
At that moment, she pushed the door open with an exaggerated "ta-dah" flourish. There was a quiet pause, as if a moment of truth settled upon the unsuspecting duo. Realizing the possible mistake of being friendly to a stranger was an old warning her mother used to give.
'Well,' she thought with fresh optimism, 'too late now. Might as well enjoy the company and see what will come of it.' And man, did company sound wonderful. She appreciated Cid's visits, but she still had the yearning for companionship; a driving need to be the shadow of her old self. Fans didn't count as company, they were just. . . crazy. Too chatty, too freaking happy to be in a bar with their new idol. Publicity was an awful thing sometimes, it made Tifa lonely. So she clasped onto the nearest possible outlet of semi-normal human interaction.
The stranger also hesitated, thinking before making another move. He settled whatever doubts and sauntered forward, his posture straighter. As he passed by, Tifa felt a sudden tingling jolt. The kind of jolt you get when you incorrectly equip lightning materia. She didn't want him to see her flinch, so she said whatever could come to mind, "I know it's not the Ritz, but that place is full snobs. They kicked me out once because of my attire. But hey, not me, I kick people in."
He seemed to jump, too, but didn't stop walking until he reached the center of the room. She could've sworn she heard a soft exhalation of breath that could very possibly be the gross understatement of a chuckle. And since she was on such a roll with this newfound happy, Tifa decided it was a chuckle. A light breeze of winter reminded the martial artist to step inside and shut the door. "Would you like me to show you your room or would you like a drink first?"
The figure half turned and regarded her in what she assumed to be a sideways glance. He might've tried to speak, but the words came out as a dry rasp. That meant he'd want a drink. "Just sit on one of those stools at the corner. I'll fetch some water, then we go from there, okay?"
That triggered a nod. The curiosity was getting to her, seeping past her self-restraint. Who was this wanderer? Maybe he was a refuge? How could she get to see his face without being nosy? "By the way, it's much warmer in here. Feel free to hang your cloak on a nearby stool and relax a little."
Feeling clever, Tifa walked past him and around the counter. She didn't want to ruin the surprise and ducted down, taking her time searching for an empty glass. She waited, listening for the rustling of his cloak slipping off. He was still standing and pulling off an extra jacket by the time she was "done" and her gaze met his exposed collarbone. Deep mauve eyes traveled up his features and clashed with brilliant mako jade orbs.
At first, the truth standing two feet from her failed to register. She couldn't comprehend whom these eyes belonged to. Tifa could not make out the familiar face until the glass of water slipped from her fingers and shattered to the floor. Memories of tragedy and anger resurfaced, the scar on her chest burned. She felt scattered but solely focused on the danger before her.
"Sephiroth."
End of Chapter
Thank you for reading!
