Havn't been submitting lately, mainly because my lap-top went kaput-skie. Recently managed to get my writing files off my hard-drive, lost the disc, found it again, and remembered this. I want to see more of this pairing, personally.
o o o
Her feet hurt, her head hurt, and the cut on her palm, one she received when she cleaned up a glass she'd dropped, stung like a bitch. All she wanted was to close up and go downstairs where she'd shove Jessie to the side and settle down on the threadbare mattress between the older woman and tiny Marlene. But she still had a half an hour until closing time, and slum-drunks tended to get nasty when their favorite dive closed early - as in bullets through the window nasty. The day had been long and tiring, and they were all exhausted, but they still had to keep up the pretense of running a bar, no matter how much she hurt, and of course she'd demanded that they all sleep and that she'd be fine alone. Of course.
She sighed, wiping spilt beer off the counter top. The place was currently empty, but she knew that just before closing, half a dozen already-drunk men would stagger in, demanding or pleading for one last drink before she closed. They were the one's that got nasty and shot out the windows if a bar closed early, and they were the one's that always hit on her, or just tried to hit her in general, and they were the ones that made her head ache the worst.
The bells over the door jangled, grating on her frayed nerves, and she looked up, expecting one of her regular end-of-the-nighters, and tensing herself for a string of lewd comments or sour curses. But the man walking through the door wasn't someone she knew, or even dimly recognized. Five foot something, a handswidth shy of six feet tall, with a blond crew cut and sharp blue eyes. Handsome, in a rough sort of way, his face tanned and weather-beaten, and from the build of him, not someone that would lose a fight easily. A construction worker, or, maybe, judging by the intelligent gleam in his eyes, a foreman of some sort. She scanned his denim jacket for any sort of insignia, some clue as to his occupation. He had a patch on his shoulder that she didn't recognize, a circle, divided in two, with an H in one half and a W in the other. Then she saw the 'Airmaster' on the other arm. A pilot. A high-class, Shinra trained pilot. She gave him a warm smile she didn't feel as he strode in, his boots thunking against the wooden floor, his hands in his pockets.
She was in high-alert mode. Why would a Shinra pilot be strolling the slums at nearly two AM? If he'd reached the rank of 'Airmaster', he was obviously an intelligent man, and with the military training, a very strong man as well. It went against all the rules that he'd be in a tiny bar in a worthless Sector, instead of above plate or in Wall Market - unless, of course, he was looking for something. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as he crossed the bar and sat on one of the stools. Was the Shinra onto them? Had they sent this man to obtain knowledge about Avalanche, or to intimidate? Were the Turks even now lurking outside, waiting for his signal that, yes, this was the place, now come kill them all? Or was it a simple twist of fate that brough him here, nothing more?
"What'll it be, Captain?" She asked, smiling. The use of the title was risky, but it would let him know that she wasn't some gutter trash he could cow easily. She studied him up close, careful to keep her smile in place. Powerful, judging by the size of his calloused hands as he rested them on the counter, and by the width of his shoulders, and the press of his thighs against his jeans as he sat. Naturally arrogant, from the set of his body and the coolness in his eyes. And no one's fool.
His brows went up at her words and he laughed, pleasantly surprised. "Holy shit." He said, amused, his voice rough and strong. "Someone down here who can actually read, and knows what an Airmaster is. Wonders never cease."
Almost likable, if it wasn't for the Shinra element. She returned the laugh, even though she knew the humor didn't quite reach her eyes. "The slums are full of surprises." She said, earning another laugh from the man.
"I guess so." He answered. His eyes raked her form in a single, practiced, hungry sweep and he looked back up at her, an admiring light in his eyes. "Gimme a Soul Kiss." He said, smirking. "The whiskey kind."
Tifa resisted rolling her eyes, something two years of experience with horny drunks had taught her, and turned to mix the drink. At least he had the decency to not try to lean over the counter and grab her ass, a move that would earn him a solid boot to the jaw if he tried. However, she could feel his eyes on her the entire time like a viable weight, following the shifts in her curves as she reached for the various bottles, and, she was sure, enjoying the sight she provided when she bent to retrieve the ice and the orange juice from the small refridgerator. Men.
Tifa stirred the drink and slid it expertly down the bar into his waiting hand. He took a sip, looked thoughtful for a second, and smirked at her again. "And she can Kiss properly." He said, taking a second, longer drink. "Marry me, please."
She laughed at the dry tone of his voice, snatching up her towel and going back to work at the various spills left on the bar. "What brings a Captain to the slums?" She asked, offhand, not quite daring to glance over at him.
"Boredom." He replied with a shrug. "Curiosity. Desire to find a place not full of idiots. Desire to find a barkeep that knows his, or her, cocktails."
"Dangerous to be Shinra in the slums at night." She said, a tiny warning note in her voice.
"I can take care of myself." He replied, emptying his glass with another shrug.
Tifa relaxed a fraction. Either he was telling the truth or he was a very good actor, and she doubted he was there to cause trouble. Almost likable.
His eyes were heavy on her body again as the door bells rang again and she gave a welcoming smile to the very drunk man that had just walked in. "It's really too bad." He said with a sigh, drawing her full attention again. "I have a personal code that forbids me from seducing a woman I just met." He lamented, and she couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "If I'd found this place a week ago, I'd probably be doing my best to get you into bed right now. But I leave tomorrow. Such a shame." He sighed again, shaking his head as he stood and dropped a small pile of gil on the counter. "Oh well." He shrugged. "Maybe Lady Luck will cross our paths again."
Tifa scooped the gil from the worn wood as he turned to walk away. Almost likable, almost fuckable, if she could be sure that no harm would come to Avalanche from such a tryst. Barett would have a fit if he knew she'd even considered it. The pilot was right, such a shame. And she didn't know a damn thing about him, no hint to who he was aside from the two patches on his coat.
"Hey," She called to him, just as he reached the door. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Um," She half stammered. "What does H-W mean?"
"You ever hear of the Airship, Highwind?" He asked. She nodded, very few people hadn't heard of the ship, since it was among the biggest on the planet. He grinned suddenly, wickedly, proudly. "I built her." Then he was gone in a burst of toneless bells and Tifa wondered how in the hell Shinra's best pilot had found her tiny, ramshackle bar.
o o o
A Soul Kiss is a real drink. 1/3 Rye Whiskey 1/3 Dry Vermouth 1/6 Dubonnet 1/6 Orange Juice 1 Slice of Orange. Stir well with ice and strain into glass. The Bartenders Guide by P.G. Duffy.