Here's my favorite part of my fics; clearing the air. Here we go with the current gripes.

-Vincent is just what I like to call 'fanfic Vincent'. He's not 'inconsistently characterized' he's just going along as he's being written. And Tifa's screwing with everyone's heads here, so he'd have to 'adapt' his characterization to keep up with all the shit she's throwing at him.

-I thought I had changed that drinking age comment. Guess I didn't, and I figured somebody would point out the error of my ways (Cookie to you Ardwynna)

-Tifa isn't being sadistic. She's just frustrated and a little slap-happy all things considered. And that whole mess with 'Jim-Jam' will be cleared up soon.

-As for the Vincent and Tifa scene that seemed to have disquieted a few of you, she merely 'melted the icy wall around his heart'. He was perfectly fine when she left.

-The rubbing alcohol part was a joke taken partially from the piercer I frequent. It's also a well-known fact that Rubbing Alcohol isn't meant for human consumption.

Now Reno, Reno here is going off the deep-end; because I couldn't really pick which facet of Reno I wanted to rib on. Overly-emotional Reno? Tear-jerker Reno? Tough-as- nails and bitter Reno? Doesn't-want-your-goddamn-pity Reno? So he's most likely going to be phasing out of character more than I should have let him. But I'm sure he deserves it.

Disclaimer: Oh forget it. Just look at the last six chapters. And I'm currently laughing my ass off, because I just recently saw a FF7 'fic with an OC named Greg. I didn't read it, but I can assume that he's just as stellar of a character as my 'Greg'.

As Reno's breakdown continued, Tifa just stared at him from her side of the bar, blinking in surprise, half reaching out to him as if to try and offer condolences; though for what exactly, she wasn't sure. Things had been rolling along marvelously, until something had set him off.

She really should have shut this shit down before he busted out with his 'hidden sensitive side'. Now some batshit revelation was bound to come out, and she'd be the only one there to coddle him.

But what would it be?

.....I mean, we could sit around and make guesses.

No matter what somebody shouts out, I'm sure its been used as a 'angsty-past' plot piece at one point or another.

"Uh..... are you..... I mean, are you okay Reno?" Tifa started, awkwardly and woodenly patting him on the shoulder in a half-assed gesture of reassurance. "Come on, professional assassins aren't supposed to be sobbing like teenaged Prom Queens."

However, her attempt only made him still, shoulders trembling slightly, hands falling into his lap, twining together, while he stared at the floor looking lost and forlorn. Silently, he reached over and grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured it over his head, causing it to dribble down his face and neck, soaking his collar.

"You know what I like about the rain?" He asked hollowly, chucking the empty bottle aside, causing it to thud hollowly against the floor and go skidding away under the table. "Nobody can tell when you're crying."

"What? Reno, I know for a fact that you're crying. Pouring Rubbing Alcohol on yourself and acting like its rainwater isn't going to change that. I can see you've probably got some deep emotional wounds here, but, y'see, I'm not a licensed therapist or anything. I'm just a....." She trailed off rolling her eyes, realizing that 'bartender' wasn't always far off from 'therapist' in some respects "Never mind. You'd just better leave me one Hell of a tip."

Reno, however, snapped around towards her, scowling and planting his hands on the bar top, jabbing his index finger towards her, hitting her in the sternum.

"Shut up." He seethed lowly, sick of her condescending attitude. It was never really clear what his motives usually were when he showed up in Tifa's bar, but it was par for the course that he tried to avoid some bit from his past, which he couldn't face without Tifa's constant nagging and prodding. "Shut up you little bitch! You couldn't possibly know what its like; so don't try and give me any of your fucking pity! You're always acting holier-than-thou, even though you're the-"

"Ugh! Reno, get over it!" Tifa sighed, rolling her eyes, picking up the blowtorch and shoving it into his hands, causing him to stop, glancing down at it in confusion, "There, that's the closest thing to a damn Oscar I can give you. Now will you please quit the overly-dramatic pastiche, sit down, and dry your eyes? This is embarrassing."

Reno blinked again, and, clutching the blowtorch to his chest like a precious artifact, he sat down heavily in his barstool, shaking his head. He exhaled sharply, blowing at his bangs, causing them to flop back in his eyes after a moment, then fixed her with his aquamarine eyes, giving a shallow shrug of apology.

"Sorry about that babe. Guess I got a little carried away. But its just..... It's just not the same. It hasn't been the same, ever since Rude died....."

Tifa blanched in shock at his comment, because, come on, there's just bound to be some sort of past history between Tifa, Reno, and Rude. You know, since she owned a bar back in the Slums, and the Turks just loved bars.

Ah yes, stellar grounds for a highly complex back-story. One where they were friends, or one of them was hooked up with Tifa, until the whole 'AVALANCHE becoming a thorn in Shinra's side and blowing shit up' drove a wedge between them.

But I digress. That's probably another story for another chapter.

"What? Rude died?! How?! .....When?!" She couldn't believe it. Rude, dead. I mean, that guy was tall. If anything, she would have wanted to go to the funeral to see if they could have actually found a casket long enough to fit him in it. Or maybe they had just cut two of them together and then glued them into one 'super casket'. But whatever the case was, it was weird that she hadn't caught word of it.

Maybe that's why she had faced such a steep drop-off in business over the past few months.

Reno sighed, shaking his head, avoiding her gaze.

"It was just a few months ago. When Midgar was destroyed..... He and Elena were horribly, horribly crushed. I mean, I made it out without so much as a scrape, but the two of them didn't make it..... And I, I just can't-"

"Oh my gosh! I just can't believe it! I mean, he was always so polite when he wasn't trying to kill us. I can't believe that Reeve didn't say anything about it the last time I talked to him. Because, after all we-"

Reno cleared his throat expectantly, causing her to cut her tirade off rather abruptly, grinning meekly at him in embarrassment. He was looking at her blankly, shaking his head, before heaving another melodramatic sigh, contemplating his newly acquired blowtorch.

"Look, maybe its for a stellar plot device. Maybe it's here to crank up some angst rating and make you feel compelled to pity me and coddle me, then fall in love with me. Or maybe some fangirls just don't think Rude is attractive at all, and just decided to do away with him as opposed to dealing with him." He muttered morosely, picking at a spot where the varnish was peeling a little on the bar top, face set in grim concentration. "But whatever it is, I guess I'm pretty fucking forlorn and unstable because of it, and I could really do for some coddling..... like, y'know, let me rest my head on your bosom or whatever."

And this stunning revelation had just sapped the fight right out of Reno. It was obvious, even before he used the word 'bosom' while referring to Tifa's chest.

".....Wait a minute. Fangirls don't think Rude's attractive? I thought he was pretty damn hot. That just doesn't make any sense, really."

Reno let out a sarcastic snort, rolling his eyes, propping one hand up under his chin.

"You're telling me. And you've never even seen him with his shirt off."

"And you have?"

Reno nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, yeah. We were partners for a few years. I've seen him with more than just his shirt off."

Tifa opened her mouth to reply, but stopped, eyes narrowing towards Reno. Her mouth snapping shut as she mulled the words over in her head, wondering if it had come out in the way he'd intended it to.

".....Was that meant to be a double entendre?"

Reno's lips curled up into a sly grin, and his eyes took on a glint that caused Tifa to back away a few steps, swallowing heavily.

"Damn right it was."

.....Okay. Now this was starting to make a little sense.

"Alright. Now tell me something Reno, if I shaved my head, wore sunglasses, and didn't talk too much, would you find me more attractive?"

"Yeah." He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

.....Right. Dumb question there, Tifa. Use your brain for once.

Of course he'd find her more attractive that way.

"And if I were a man?"

"Even better!"

Tifa nodded slowly to herself, leaning forward on the bar top, so they were eye level with one another, and she pointed towards him, as if aiming a gun, one eye squinted shut.

"Well Reno, I think I have this all figured out. You, obviously, are dealing with some severe issues over the loss of Rude. So in your desperation and depression, you came to latch on the closest thing to Rude. Me."

"I fail to see how you're the closest thing to Rude." 'Greg' piped up from where he had taken a seat at the other end of the bar, but Tifa brought her hand up, silencing him, a scowl coming to her face.

Her eyes narrowed and she cupped a hand over her mouth, twisting away from Reno as she did so, turning towards him, pointing an accusing finger.

"I could be honest and tell him that you're really the closest thing to Rude." She hissed, causing him to squeak fearfully and hunker down, pulling his hood up out of fear, motioning for her to carry on.

Straightening back up, she returned her attention to Reno, going on with her stellar observation of Reno's severe emotional mishaps.

"You obviously have a thing for soft-spoken martial artists. And you like drinking. I'm close enough in those respects. And you'd be able to bum around my bar, drinking until you die of cirrhosis."

Reno nodded , reaching out and grabbing her by the upper arms, shaking her a little.

"Dude, I can't believe it. You totally get me. Nobody understood me, except for Rude. I mean, it was him and Tseng that brought me in, turned me around from being a hard-luck slum kid to being a ruthless Turk..... but Rude's gone, and I'll never be able to get over that deep, stabbing emotional pain, and oh the angst!"

Tifa patted his cheek awkwardly, before inclining her head towards 'Greg'.

"My friend at the end of the bar there can just open you up a plot hole, and things will be all better." She explained, though Reno looked dubious.

"I don't know. He seems a little, I dunno.,... ambiguously gay to be able to wield such awesome, unimaginable power."

'Greg''s eyes narrowed slightly, glowing-even-more-in-the-freakin'-dark, and with a bored expression on his face, he merely snapped his fingers.

Reno opened his mouth to ask what good that did, when the door to the bar was pushed open slowly, causing Reno to glance up over his shoulder, seeing the doorframe filled by a tall, well-muscled man in a blue suit, shades in place, some of the neon lights reflecting against his bald scalp.

The red-head let out a girlishly pitched squeal of excitement, and turned back towards Tifa, grabbing her and pulling her into a sloppy, grateful kiss on the lips, pulling away with a slightly disappointed expression, before pouncing on an equally bewildered 'Greg', giving him a kiss as well, before practically leaping onto Rude.

The recently revived Turk offered a small wave and nod towards Tifa, who smiled back happily, grinning as the door shut behind them.

They stood in stunned silence for a moment, before 'Greg' cleared his throat uneasily, causing her to glance over at him. He had gotten off of his bar stool and was making his way over, settling down into the seat that had been previously occupied by Reno, fixing her with a bewildered look.

"I know he was really grateful for our help and all, but when he kissed you, did he slip you some tongue?"

"No." Tifa replied, shaking her head, hearing 'Greg' let out a concerned little murmur. "Nice work by the way."

"No problem." 'Greg' nodded happily, glad he was able to have been of service to her. "You referred to me as your friend, and you got rid of that goddamn blowtorch. It was a success all around."

She nodded in agreement, tucking some hair behind her ears, sighing.

"Yeah, I suppose I have been getting a little carried away lately. But come on, it's all new and different, isn't it?"

"In a disturbingly brutal way, yes. Yes it is." He agreed somewhat reluctantly, picking at his bandages slightly.

"I thought you had a healing factor or something."

"Last time I checked I don't think I did. Of course, that was back when I was so unstoppably awesome that my all-white outfit wouldn't get mussed up no matter what."

"You'll shake it off. Give it a chapter or two..... Ye Gads!"

"What?!" 'Greg' asked worriedly, jumping to his feet, looking around frantically for the source of Tifa's concern. When somebody just spouted out 'Ye Gads' in the middle of the sentence, there was bound to be something terribly wrong.

"Look at the day!" She gasped, pointing at the calendar.

'Greg' checked it out, not really seeing what the big deal was. There didn't seem to be anything very important going on, so he didn't know what all the hub-bub was about.

Though, his confusion gave me the opportunity to use the word hub-bub again. I love 'Greg' for that sole reason.

"It's almost Christmas!"

"And?"

"'And'?! Don't you know what that means?!"

'Greg' shook his head, shrugging.

"No. Not really. I'm Jewish."

Tifa started to explain what it all meant, but stopped, her eyes narrowing at him, one eyebrow arching up in confusion.

"You're Jewish?" She asked incredulously, causing him to nod in exasperation.

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?" He replied tersely, rolling his 'glow-in-the-freakin'-dark eyes, looking like someone had jammed glowsticks in in place of his corneas.

"No. I mean, it's a little odd. 'Drakengard Louisiana, Esquire' doesn't really strike me as the kind of name a Jewish person would have..... then again, it doesn't really strike me as the kind of name any person would have."

"Look, that's not really the point. Did it ever occur to you that my mother could have been Jewish, and had a normal last name? Or did you ever consider that maybe I converted to Judaism? Or did you think that Drakengard Louisiana, Esquire.....The Third could be a fake name?"

"Is it a fake name?" She asked hopefully, blinking at him, one hand pinching at the bridge of her nose. She was so tired right now. And this bizarre twist in the conversation wasn't helping.

"Unfortunately, it isn't. But I'm still really Jewish."

"I'm so confused right now." Tifa muttered to herself, sighing, scrubbing her hands over her face.

"So, what's the big deal about Christmas, anyway?" 'Greg' asked, trying to pull the conversation back on track. He obviously wouldn't understand the gravity of the situation at hand.

"Christmas fanfics."

"They make Christmas fanfics? Do they make any Chanukah ones?"

"How many Jewish characters can you name off the top of your head? And you don't count, because you don't even really exist in continuity."

"Touche. But, what's so bad about Christmas fanfics? At least you get presents, and they probably aren't miserable angst-fests."

"Are you kidding me? The loser jerking us around right now wrote two of them! One wasn't funny, and the other one....."

"What about the other one?"

"I was like friggin'..... Hell, I was so screwed up in that one that I don't even think I can draw a comparison to how off-kilter I was acting. And a good portion of it was devoted to Barret! Nobody writes about Barret!"

"Okay, so, I take it you want to do something about this?"

"Of course! But I don't know which one we should take care of."

'Greg' blinked, taking it all in.

"There's more than one kind?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, there's the 'Shinra Christmas', the 'Miserable Christmas', the 'Vingette Christmas' the 'Mistletoe Story', the 'Humor-type with some kind of clever mishap involving Shinra and AVALANCHE', the-"

"Whatever. Just pick one, and I'll get us there in time to screw it up."

"I'm not screwing things up! I'm being creative and original."

"And a scary freak! I'm afraid to sleep at night!"

"We haven't even been working together for an entire day."

'Greg' rolled his eyes, letting out a gurgle of frustration. She was being awfully difficult. Even more so than in those situations when she was being rude and disagreeable just so the author has decent grounds to stack against her and make Aerith look that much better to the reading audience.

"Will you just fucking pick something?!"

".....Once we start the next chapter."

END SEVEN

So, guys. Which Christmas genre should they make an effort to tackle? Poor 'Greg'. He just can't win. Or get anybody to take him seriously. This was a bad chapter. A train wreck even. But I had no clue how to finish it up.

Stay tuned for "Tifa's Bogus Christmas Interlude!" (It'll be this story, but with the title changed for the 'Christmas Interlude chapter)