Disclaimer: I don't own Vincent or Tifa or Reno or Yuffie, and there's no way in hell I'd want to own Palmer

Yes! Second chappy! I was so pissed off cause it was finished yesterday, but the document uploader thing wasn't working. Finally, we get a little Vincent action!

P.S. The song Vincent sings is Lover I Don't Have to Love by Bright Eyes so yeah...I only wish I could write like that

P.P.S. Now it's edited a little better thanks to a few mistakes pointed out by Macabre Puppet, and a couple more I noticed. I hope it reads a little better now!


She took a small silver wreathe and pinned it onto me
She said this one will bring you love
I don't know if it's true but I keep it for good luck...

Nowhere and It's Now, by Bright Eyes...again.. I mean come one, it's my user name!

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Tifa pulled into the complex parking lot, and entered her building, humming a little tune. The apartment she lived in was a pathetic structure. Leaning ever so slightly to the right, it was a wonder that it hadn't been condemned or turned into a national monument. The girl ascended the stairs, the walls around her peeling with paint and covered in graffiti. As she neared her room, she could hear her neighbors arguing again.

"Goddamn it Tim! If you keep on FUCKING shooting up our shit, then how are we gonna make any money? A good dealer stays clean, you fucking asshole!"

Nonchalantly, Tifa continued toward her room with little more than a blink. She was used to hearing conversations like that between her neighbors.

Finally she arrived at room number 507 then unlocked the door and threw it open.

It was sparse, including a single bed, dresser, and desk in the main room; which broke off into a small bathroom/kitchen area. The kitchen consisted of a small stove and microwave, and there was a tiny sink used for both facilities. There wasn't even a shower, so she had to walk down the hall every morning and wait her turn to get clean.

Posters of Tifa's favorite bands, quite a few depicting Death Penalty, covered the walls, and lining the floor were various drawings and sketches. The artwork swirled and spiraled, and ink flowed across the paper conveying an overall sense of pain--of loss.

Tifa was only sixteen, having skipped a few grades back in middle school. Technically still a minor, at the age of fifteen she dragged her parents to court and won her emancipation. If Tifa did moderately well in class, kept a steady job, and steered clear of trouble she was allowed to live on her own, supported by funds taken from her parents every month. Winning her emancipation had been a long, hard battle and Tifa thought it was hilarious that the court system was so afraid of a minor living on their own,yet had failed to notice she was working in a bar.

Stretching languidly, Tifa sauntered over to her closet, swung the door open, and scrutinized the contents. Fingering the garments, she browsed through the hangers until she found what she was looking for. A tight white shirt with a wild design, including doves and vines on the front (think Urban Outfitter style), tight black jeans, and a white stud belt.

'The perfect outfit for a concert!'

She thought happily, shedding off her clothes and donning the new apparel. Turning, she stood in front of a full length mirror and critically examined her reflection.

'God I hate my boobs' she thought grimacing at how they bulged against the thin fabric of her blouse, as if bursting to escape. She hated it how her impressive cleavage was all that a guy could look at when they talked to her, and the unwanted attention she received as a result. Even the thought sent a chill down Tifa's spine. If there was one thing in the world she did not want, it was attention from lewd, perverted guys.

Brushing the sickening thoughts from her mind, she pulled her waist length hair into a loose ponytail and picked up her purse. Glancing once more in the mirror she left to go meet Yuffie.

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Palmer nervously mopped the sweat from his brow.

"Why do they always make ME talk to him about this stuff?"

He mused unhappily, waddling toward his destination. Sadly, there is no other way to describe the way Palmer moves. His enormous bulk does not allow smooth strides or dainty steps; he waddles.

Palmer stopped, straightened his yellow and red polka dot tie, then warily approached the figure ahead of him.

The youth's head was tilted forward-- long,dark hair curtaining his face. Hisslim legs were crossed in front of him and clad in dark leather pants, which greatly contrasting the pale, white arms that rested against them. A delicate hand lifted gracefully from his thigh as he turned the page of the book he was reading.

Palmer stood there a few moments, not sure what to do, and was just about to speak when man's head shot up. Palmer was like a deer in headlights, immobilized by the sight of those deep red eyes. After a couple tense seconds, the man said in a low, gravely voice,

" Palmer, is there some reason for this disturbance or did you just come to admire my good looks?"

Startled, Palmer wiped his forehead again and said hastily, " Oh right, sorry, so sorry Mr. Valentine! It's just that, well, the shows about to start and you weren't with the rest of the band, and well... the fans are started to get fidgety..."

Vincent blinked. "Oh right."

Carefully he took a bright pink bookmark, and slid it between the pages of the novel. Palmer could just glimpse the title, "A Tale of Two Cities", before Vincent set it on the table and stood up.

Not even acknowledging the rotund man, he glided past, with long, graceful strides.

Palmer struggled to match his pace and said, "Oh...pant... gasp... there's another...gasp...reason I came too...heave..."

Vincent shot him a contemptuous look, "What?"

"I spoke with President Shinra.. gasp... and he said...huhn... he wants you...to accompany him to a the Black and White Ball being held...gasp... by... Corneo... He said something about a good chance for more exposure..."

"What about the rest of the band?"

Palmer stiffened. President Shinra had made his plans for the rest of the band very clear. But better not to upset this volatile man just yet.

"I'm sure we can arrange for them…huff… to come. Though...heave... being the leader of the band you're the main attraction."

Vincent stretched his arms and folded his hands on the back of his head. This act lifted his shirt up ever so slightly, revealing the ragged edges of a scar on his waist.

"The main attraction."

"Of course, so you'll do it?"

"No"

And with that blasé response, Vincent rounded the corner and stepped on stage to the delight of thousands of screaming fans.

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"Yuffie!" Tifa squealed happily, "Look! Look he's coming!"

Yuffie bit back a laugh. Tifa never got this excited. Only someone she admired as much as Vincent could cause Tifa to act like she was just another wide-eyed teen.

Tifa couldn't believe it. There he was! Vincent was onstage in front of her! Her idol, the man who created the most beautiful music she had ever heard was right there!

Currently he was adjusting his microphone, and practically every time he moved the girls in the audience screeched.

She could hear them whispering to friends, "Ohmygod, he totally just looked at me!" and someone yelled aloud,

"Vincent! Impregnate me!"

Vincent's full lips twitched at the yell, but he didn't smile. He turned to the redhead with long scars running down his cheeks, who was tuning his guitar and nodded. The redhead let out a rakish grin, and Yuffie melted.

"Wow Reno is freaking hot!"

She cried in a bubbly voice. Tifa shushed her, since the singer was leaning into the microphone as if he was about to speak.

The whole concert hall fell quiet.

"So" he said in a bored voice, "We're the Death Penalty"

Everyone in the audience went crazy at these few words, but the raven haired man held up a hand to quiet them.

"My hope is that, here... tonight.. all of us young people can forget everything besides the music. We are a generation of dreamers… of rebels… and of cowards. We have to live every moment as if it's our last, because god fucking knows we aren't going to understand anything when we grow up. We'll fight and we'll lose.So, let's hold up our fists to that flame in the sky'cause we all know it would blind us."

He grasped the microphone tightly, and said in a husky voice, "This song's called, A Lover I Don't Have to Love."

The band began, creepy instrumentals and a pulsing beat flowing throughout the room. Yuffie was grooving next to her, but Tifa never removed her eyes from Vincent's brilliant red one's. He began to sing, leaning close to the microphone while his narrow hips swayed in time with the music. Vincent's voice was so passionate it almost brought tears to Tifa's eyes.

I picked you out of a crowd and talked to you

I said, 'I like your shoes.' You said, 'Thanks. Can I follow you?'

So it's up the stairs and out of view, no prying eyes.

I poured some wine. I asked your name you asked the time.

It is two o'clock, the club is closed we are up the block.

Your hands on me. I am pressing hard against your jeans.

Your tongue's in my mouth...tryin' to keep the words from comin' out.

You didn't care to know who else may have been you before...

I want a lover I don't have to love.

I want a girl who's too sad to give a fuck.

Where's the kid with the chemicals?

I thought he said to meet here but I'm not sure.

I got the money if you got the time,

you said "It feels good."

I said, "I'll give it a try..."

Then my mind went dark.

We both forgot where your car was parked,

let's just take the train.

I'll meet up with the band in the morning.

Vincent was shaking with emotion, as he groaned the lyrics.

Bad actors with bad habits.

Some sad singers they just play tragic.

Well, the phone's ringing and the van's leaving.

Let's just keep touching, let's just keep...singing.

I want a lover I don't have to love.

I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk.

Where's the kid with the chemicals?

I got this hunger and I can't seem to get full.

I need some meaning I can memorize,

The kind I have always seems to slip my mind.

The music reached a crescendo, as he spat out the words. For a split second, Vincent's eyes caught her's. They glowed eerily in the fluorescent light. For a few precious moments everything was still, and it was just Tifa and Vincent, with their gazes locked. He grinned sadly, and the tenor of his voice changed as he sang the next lines soft and sweetly.

But you write such pretty words.

But life's no storybook.

Love's an excuse to get hurt...

And to hurt.

Do you like to hurt?

I do! I do!

Then hurt me.

The audience roared. Vincent violently swung the microphone back and forth, screaming over and over again, echoed by his fellow band mates.

Then hurt me...

Then hurt me...

Then hurt me!

The song ended, and Vincent stood straight, coolly regarding the audience. The change was so sudden that if it wasn't for his long hair and wild attire, the singer would have the appearance of a cold-hearted business man instead of a rock star.

Tifa stared at him, her heart beating painfully in her chest. That song…

It was so full of pain, of bitterness. Vincent brushed a stray strand of hair from his face and Tifa wondered,

'What happened to make him so angry with the world?'


Awww... Next chappy they totally meet, no more nonsense of setting the scene. Wow this one's long, but only cause the song takes up so much freaking room. But... I couldn't resist. Well... Tell me what you think! All opinions welcome!

P.S. Also the line Vincent uses about how, " the sun would blind us" is from the Bright Eyes song, A song to Pass the time. I know... no creativity whatsoever...:(