Chapter 4:
Half an hour later, a strongly built man entered the bar. He wore a black leather jacket over an exerciser's shirt and cargo pants, which was a typical adventurer's look. His hair was finely cut and had a graying blonde color. The man's eyes were deep blue and had a faint glow to them. He could've been no younger than forty years of age.
He sat down at the counter, and the bartender immediately came to him.
"Ah!" he said. "Welcome back, Mr. Strife. The usual, I presume?"
"Yes, Mr. Malcolm," Strife said. "The usual it is."
As the bartender stepped away to prepare his drink, he looked over to a table to see a familiar face. She was very outgoing to the men at the table, babbling on and on about nonsense.
"Well, if it isn't Tifa Lockheart," he said to himself, in a rather annoyed tone.
"Here's your drink, Mr. Strife," Malcolm said, sliding a glass across the counter.
Strife stopped it and said, "Malcolm, isn't that Tifa Lockheart?"
"That she is," the bartender said, cleaning out a glass. "Why do you ask, Storm? Was she another lover of yours?"
Strife didn't answer. Instead, he got up and walked casually over to the table to hear what she was saying. Her babbling continued, and he caught a joke from her.
"And the guy's like 'No way! I'm married to the Midgar Zolom!'" she laughed.
And so did all the men. Strife blended quite well in the background, but that was also because all the men had their undivided attention to Tifa.
Taking a deep drink, Tifa said loudly, "I feel like singing, boys!"
She brought her empty glass down hard onto the table and zigzagged to the stage where, usually, bands would perform. A microphone was set up in case something like this would happen.
Completely out of tune, she started singing: "I'm never gonna meet a gu-u-uy, who left me there to yea-ea-earn. You left me stranded on the isle, and left me there to bu-u-urn."
Strife shook his head, sighing. "Oh, Tifa. What have you done to yourself…"
She continued to sing, and soon enough, she shook off her tank-top shirt. Noticing, she practically ripped off her bra and swung it around before releasing it to the crowd. All the men wolf-whistled, cheering her on.
"Shake it all up, babe!"
"Yeah! And strip it all off!"
Strife was disgusted with the amount of filth they cried out to Tifa. He closed his eyes, letting the event pass as if it were a dream. Maybe it was a dream.
It wasn't. The whistling and filth only grew louder, and Strife did his best to block it all out. That wouldn't work. A glove came flying and slapped him on the forehead.
"Hey, it's Storm Strife!" one of the men cried out. "Hey, Storm! Why won't you tell us your real name? …Ah, well! Come and join us! …Or are you gonna hang around there like your son?"
Strife spat. "Peh! My son's a fuckin' bastard. I ain't half as near to what he's like."
"Yeah, sure. But you still gotta check this hot babe out!"
Strife dared to open his eyes. He was even more disgusted to see Tifa butt naked by now, dancing on the stage like a maniac. A youthful man walked up to the stage.
"Hey, babe," he said. "What do you say that you get laid with me in the rooms upstairs, eh?"
Tifa did one of those shy girl poses, pressing her index finger to her lips and blushing. "Ooo! That sounds like a wild idea!"
"Yeah. This will be easy. You're fuckin' hot."
He wrapped his arm around his bare waist and tickled her under the chin. Tifa giggled. This was all enough to release the storm of Strife. It seemed like, in less than half a second, he was over at the stage. In less than two seconds, the egoistic fellow was on the ground, a slit of blood across his middle. Tifa was now in Strife's arms and still very drunk, and Strife held a giant sword pointed at him.
"If you ever try to disrespect my daughter like that again, Mendoza…" he threatened.
He didn't even need to finish. Like lightning, Mendoza was scrambling out the bar door. Strife looked around the rest of the bar with a hard gaze. He didn't even have to threaten all those other men. They immediately returned to their drinks and regular conversations. Strife brought Tifa upstairs to an empty inn room and laid her on the bed and under the covers. She was asleep in less than a minute.
Strife returned downstairs to Malcolm and placed ten gil on the counter. "That's for her room, tonight."
"I didn't know she was your daughter, Storm," the bartender said. "Likewise, I didn't even know you had a daughter."
Strife gestured him to lean closer. Then, he whispered, "She isn't my daughter… Well, not yet, I think. She's my son's girl, so I've heard. She's a little depressed because she and he got into a fight."
"And how do you know all of this? From what I've heard, you haven't even met your son."
"I've never known him. I'll put it that way. But I have my reasons of knowing…"
The bartender shrugged. "If you say so, Storm."
Strife handed him an extra five gil. "Can you do me a favor and gather all of her clothes? You're one of the most respectable men I know around here, Malcolm."
"You can count on me, Storm."