Okay, so I was keeping this a secret, but Tifa's Bogus Journey isn't going to strictly be all Tifa clichés. So now, recoil in horror as we tackle... The Yuffentine cliché.
Gad. Zooks.
But hey, with 'Greg' out of commission at the moment, and 'Jim-Jam' not quite back in commission, Tifa needs to take things easy on herself, as she's got nobody to back her up... or does she?
Nope. Well, not at the time of writing this intro anyhow. It's subject to change.
But hey, at least she has a crazy new outfit.
Let's hear it for the tenth chapter! Most of my stories are long dead before they hit this point. But not this one. Of course, this one has a nearly inexhaustable food supply, so until I thoroughly disgust all of you it'll keep going. You guys rock (sadly, this chapter may not).
And don't worry kids, your pleas have been heard. 'Evil Tifa', and 'High school' clichés are around the bend. Pretty much after this scenario.
Disclaimer: Not that anybody would want to gank them, but 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' are mine... as well as all their outlandish cohorts. It's all a bunch of harmless fun. And San Dimas, and Wyld Stallyns are part of the Bill and Ted reference.
Oh, and Lost Spirit Candle, thank you for wishing me a 'Happy 100th Review'. For that you deserve a puppy or something fanciful. Name your price.
(This is so totally a page break)
"Oh, those stupid San Dimas stoners..." She muttered to herself, hunkering down a bit more, flat-out gnawing on her fingernails as she tried to work out what to do.
After hitching a ride out of the Hospital with Rufus (George Carlin, mind you), she had, out of the good graces of her heart, helped Bill and Ted round up some historical figures from their world, suffering through some rather humorous hijinks along the way.
And she had totally had a little something going on with Billy the Kid back there, but there's really no place for that here.
...Unless Tifa/Billy the Kid 'fics suddenly become a really, really hot commodity.
But since I'm certain they won't, their romantic fling will just remain shrouded in mystery, with perhaps a few cryptic references to it later on.
Well, that is, if she stops gnawing her fingers off and comes out of her hiding place any time in the near future.
After helping to round everybody up, she had been dropped off at the Gold Saucer, in the mood to do an 'angsty-crap throwaway one-shot' and just whine to herself, despondent over the fact that Cloud went on a date with Aerith; that he loved the Ancient, and not his childhood friend, despite the fact that they had been nothing even resembling pals way back in the day.
Guess it's the whole principle of the matter, or some such nonsense.
Yeah, that would have been easy. She didn't run the risk of any other characters screwing her up, and all she would have needed to do to keep it original was sit around doing a crossword puzzle, or order room service or something other than contemplating slitting her wrists in the bathtub.
And she most definitely didn't need 'Greg''s help to order room service.
But no. Ending up in the right situation just would have been too convenient, right?
As soon as she had set foot out of the phone booth, Bill, Ted, Rufus, and their entourage of 'Historic dudes' had all vanished in a flash of bad special effects, Bill promising that they'd come pick her up when they were done with their report.
Alas, she had started out, with a jaunty bounce in her step, but she hadn't gotten more than ten feet when she saw something that made her stop cold.
Left sitting on one of the benches, was a newspaper, which bore the cryptic headline of Meteor Crisis Totally Over and Done With. Which, surprisingly had been from two months ago.
Of course, after she got a good look at it, she knew she was in waaaay too deep, and spun, sprinting back towards the Phonebooth, worried and frantic.
She had screamed at them not to go; not to leave her there, as it wasn't the right plotline, but they hadn't heard her; too busy playing air-guitar and rocking out to their demo tape as her only way out of there disappeared in a flash of bad special effects.
And now, here she was, cramped and cowering behind a mog-shaped garbage can, gnawing away on most of her left hand in anxiety, right hand fervently clutching the six-shooter Billy the Kid had given her during their foray into the Wild West.
Her eyes were wild and frantic; bloodshot and darting back and forth as she stole glances at the lobby from her hiding place, keeping a frantic look out for her pursuer.
Whoa, hold the phone here. What's got Tifa's hackles so raised here? And why is she cowering behind a garbage can with a six-shooter like some kind of coked-out sniper?
"Like, OMG Cid, have you seen Tifa around anywhere? I saw her, and went running over to say how kewl it was to see her, and how we were going to ride all the rollercoasters twice now that we were together again, but she just took off, and now I can't find her."
"Well, shit."
"Yeah, I know. Isn't that, like, just the weirdest thing ever? Maybe she thought I was going to try and steal her materia or something. Because, I, like, do that all the time, you know? Because I'm so adorable, and cheeky, and even though my kleptomania is a possibly dangerous psychological condition, it makes for chapters upon chapters of wacky fun!"
She drew in a deep breath to steady herself, trying to calm down. It was fine. She could handle Yuffie; rebuff her cutesy advances, even when they did inevitably end up striking out together on a journey of intrigue and self-discovery, and then find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other after chapter upon chapter of rather pointless adventures.
But, despite the fact that she told herself she could do it, she had bolted as soon as Yuffie's high, screechy voice tore her eardrums asunder, needing to take cover and think of her best plan of action to try and stay out of her clutches, with nobody to help her in case she got drawn into a nefarious trap by Yuffie's almost magnetic appeal.
Maybe she could slip away while Yuffie was talking to Cid. She'd have to make sure she had a chance, and that she had a clear shot at one of the exits before she tried anything though.
Tifa chanced a look out from behind the garbage can, though she had to wince and immediately flinch back; bringing her right arm up to shield her eyes.
Good lord.
In the X amount of required months/years that had passed since AVALANCHE had saved the Planet and undoubtedly went their separate ways, Yuffie had matured like you wouldn't believe. She was beautiful, graceful, currently well-endowed, and so radiant that it physically hurt to look at her without proper eye protection. I mean, Hell, she was glowing with the radiance usually reserved for the second coming of Jesus.
...Yeah, she had the blinding white glow, and the little angels blowing trumpets and everything. The whole she-bang, really.
The bony, obnoxious little pseudo-skeleton that they had all wanted to punch in the spine had matured into a beautiful, desirable young woman.
So desirable, in fact, that Tifa was stalwart in her new plan to just hide out behind the garbage can for the duration of this, and not find herself falling in love with the new improved Yuffie.
Ugh. This was going to be a long one. She wasn't feeling so hot right now either. Pretty lethargic, yet at the same time, rather bright and optimistic.
"I just have no idea where she went." Yuffie sighed, shaking her head as Cid reached out, patting her on the shoulder reassuringly.
"Drink your goddamn tea?" He offered conversationally, tilting his head to the side as he lit up a fresh cigarette. Yuffie seemed to brighten considerably at his encouraging words and nodded emphatically, a bright smile splitting her face.
"Oh Cid, you know just what to say! You really do have a..." She paused, and Tifa could hear her quickly thumbing through some papers, but from her hiding place, she couldn't tell what it was "...Heart of gold! Thanks!"
After a few moments, the overpowering exuberance died down, and Tifa chanced another peek out from her spot, warily checking for Yuffie.
Only Cid remained in the lobby; smoking his cigarette, as always.
The coast seemed rather clear, though just as she felt it safe to stand up for a moment and take a stretch; the room suddenly darkened, and she glanced over towards the entrance, already overcome with a cold feeling of dread, gloom, and despair.
"Oh not this shit again." She muttered to herself as she saw Vincent stalk into the plaza, looking like someone had just kicked his puppy into rush hour traffic.
Hell, Vincent was brooding so much that Tifa could feel an almost magnetic pull on her mouth, twisting it into a forlorn, pained scowl to match that of Vincent's, though his was mysteriously concealed behind his dashing red cloak.
She, on the other hand, was just standing there, scowling at nothing like some kind of idiot.
It really kind of pissed her off that Vincent was already back to his over-the-top brooding shtick. She figured that the quick fix she had done on him with the blow torch would have at least toned him down for a little while, but this was just as angsty as ever.
Hell, it was more angst than she could physically stand. It made her stomach clench and roll with despair.
But Cid didn't seem affected in the least. He just smiled broadly at Vincent and reached out, clapping a rough, calloused hand down on Vincent's shoulder, flicking his spent cigarette away.
"Shut up or I'll break your goddamn arm!" He exclaimed rather cheerfully, though Vincent flinched back as if Cid's touch flayed the flesh from his bones, hissing a little.
"Are the others all here already?" Vincent muttered. "Basking in the happiness of seeing us all together again, while I am forced to simply endure this foolish event, having the good cheer of all the rest of you unduly shoved down my throat and into the pitch-black recesses of my tortured soul?"
Cid merely nodded in affirmation, looping an arm around Vincent's shoulders and leading him towards the Wonder Square; neither noticing Tifa hunched against the wall, reeling from the over-powering despair that was radiating off of Vincent in waves.
Now completely alone in the lobby, Tifa dashed around to the front of the garbage can, leaning her head in right before her stomach heaved, forcing up that Nanaki-based chop suey she had eaten before she had mercilessly beaten 'Jim-Jam'.
...Yeah, she really needed to work 'eating' somewhere into her schedule. It was just getting a little weird. And maybe using the toilet. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had even seen the inside of a bathroom, save for staring at herself in the mirror and doing a grueling introspection on everything that was wrong with her life.
Ugh.
Well, at least with her head shoved in the garbage can, she had plenty of time to think.
Perhaps this wasn't going to be a bizarre Yuffie/Tifa one. After all, Yuffie was overbearingly perky, Vincent was overbearingly abysmal, and Cid...
...Cid was just spouting off lines of text that had been spewed forth among a multitude of expletive deleteds in the course of their grand, actual adventure. And he was smoking like a goddamn fiend.
So maybe, just maybe...
Ah, but of course! How could she have been so blinded out of fear of a possible screw-up that she hadn't noticed it before!
It was going to be one of those ones where the author tossed all the characters together, but has only the most basic knowledge of the characters. Oh man, these ones were a blast. All she had to do was act rude and reckless, and everyone would be so stereotyped, they wouldn't know what to do!
Feeling better already after having purged herself both of her fear of being stuck in a bad underage-girl-on-woman situation, she pulled her head out of the garbage can, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and put on the cowboy hat she had gotten from Billy the Kid with a grand flourish.
Piece of cake. Piece of-
"Um, excuse me, officer?"
Tifa paused, turning towards the voice, seeing a beautiful woman, dressed in a gauzy flowing robe, and coated in white, glow-under-uv-light greasepaint.
What-what!
Tifa jumped, turning towards her, bringing up her six-shooter, even though she knew it would most likely mis-fire and blow her hand off, but not really caring, because there was a fucking, fake-out ghost in front of her.
These situations never went well for her.
"Oh, sorry, sorry!" The ghost-woman squeaked, throwing her hands up as if to surrender, not wanting any trouble. "I was, looking for someone, and wondering if you had seen them come through here."
Tifa studied her for a long moment, lips pursed in a thin line, contemplating what this new arrival meant. She was used to getting the phantom-plot-device thrown in her face an awful lot, but this one glowed under fucking UV lights. There was no way of telling what was going to happen.
But then again, these dead-types usually were rather benevolent, and just came to dangle a little plot device in front of them, or perhaps a pearl of wisdom that would eventually resolve their overwhelming predicament.
She shrugged, putting the six-shooter back into her holster, and nodded for her to go on.
"Might have. I've been cowering in the lobby for a few hours now. Who are you looking for?"
"Well, my name is Lucrecia and..."
Tifa put a hand up to stop her, sighing heavily, nodding along as she pulled out her cell phone, already dialing Vincent's number.
"Say no more. I know the routine." She hit the send button, waiting for her brooding teammate to answer.
"Yes?" (OMFG! He's totally on the other end of the phone! Check out the doo-dads that indicate he's on the phone!)
"Hey Vincent, it's Tifa. Look, I'm here in the lobby with Lucrecia's ghost or whatever, and she says 'Move the fuck on!'. So, you know, start getting over it, because she's a ghost, and she glows under UV light and all that shit. See you in a few minutes."
She snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into her pocket, before turning back to Lucrecia-ghost, who nodded appreciatively.
"Well, that sure saved me a lot of trouble. Thanks." She nodded, before abruptly turning and leaving.
Tifa found herself alone in the lobby again, completely perplexed. What purpose did Lucrecia-ghost serve by suddenly appearing? Did it mean that Vincent would start enjoying life now, and would ride the Teacups with her and then promptly vomit like the Poncy-fop he was?
Well, in that case she really needed to hurry up and catch up with the others.
And she really, really needed to find out what friggin' genre she was in so she could expertly plan her counter-strategy.
Thankfully, she mad it to the Wonder Square with no further incident, only to be subsequently glomped by-
"Aerith!"
Oh no.
Oh, God no.
"Hi Tifa! That's a really... uh, eclectic outfit you've got on. San Dimas cowboy, huh?" The flower girl chirped excitedly, insane emerald eyes glimmering with a dewy sheen of happiness, her rosy cheeks framed by her silken chestnut locks, and-
"Jesus Christ get off of me!" Tifa shrieked shrilly, immediately trying to disentangle herself from the overwhelming cute that was Aerith. Or overwhelming kawaii if you want to be all cool and randomly put Japanese words in your story to show you're in-the-know, and culturally savvy or some shit.
Well, heck, perhaps I'll show my unending coolness by... Oh, I don't know, randomly peppering my 'fic with German words to show how fucking kuhl I am.
"What?" Aerith asked, innocently, her grune Augen widening in dismay. "I thought we were friends!"
"Well, fuck, you can't just come back from the dead randomly like this in these post-Meteor stories." She sighed, shaking her Kopf in dismay.
Aerith burst out laughing, rolling her eyes and elbowing Tifa in the ribs lightly, leaning in conspiratorially.
"Yeah, tell that to our esteemed author, why don't you?"
Zing.
Aerith fucking rocks.
Tifa had to grin at that, feeling mildly better, despite still being confused as all fuck. She figured she could get a straight answer out of Aerith. After all, they spent so much time in cut-and-paste scenarios that they had grown rather immune over time. They had a tolerance for being stereotyped that far surpassed that of any other characters.
Ah, Aerith. The only other Frau she knew that had faced as many bad clichés as she had. Despite her not being part of her personal vendetta, they were allies, whether the Ancient realized it or not.
...I bet you guys really want me to stop tossing in random German words, don't you?
"Say, Aerith, things are pretty bat-shit right now. You have any idea what plot we're supposed to be in right now? I don't know what's going on. We're all disgustingly generalized, it's two months post-Meteor, we're at a reunion, you're alive with no half-assed explanation whatsoever, and I ran into Lucrecia's ghost a few minutes ago. I've been trying to figure it out, but really, I've got nothing here."
The two oft-cliched heroines pondered for a while, glancing around uneasily, trying to spot any tell-tale signs that would clue them in to what shit-storm they had ended up in.
Well, everything looked normal enough...
Wait a second...
Vincent and Yuffie were sitting close together, their disgustingly overdone 'auras' completely negated due to their close proximity. They were gazing at each other as if they had suddenly just noticed one another. Their eyes locked, longingly, and Yuffie reached up hesitantly, brushing her small, soft hands across the metal clasps of his cape, covering the bottom half of his mouth from her view.
He didn't stop her as she reached up to undo them, only staring back with a soul-searing gaze as the red material fell away, allowing her to figuratively drink in the beautiful, rapturous sight of him.
"Oh no..." Tifa breathed, eyes going wide in shock, horror wrenching at her gut "Lucrecia's ghost... That inanely cryptic appearance makes perfect sense now!"
"What?" Aerith asked, blinking at her in confusion, her brow crunching up in shock. It was bad enough that she was dressed like a crazy, pseudo-cowboy in a San Dimas t-shirt (over a long-sleeve, hand-made Wyld Stallyns shirt, mind you) but now she was blatantly analyzing plot points which... "Oh shit!"
Hearing such a profanity pass through Aerith's petal-pink lips was all it took for Tifa to know she wasn't alone in this mess.
Oh no, she had Aerith to back her up now.
They couldn't fail, for all their sakes.
"Come on!" She snapped, grabbing Aerith by the wrist and taking off in a dead sprint towards Vincent and Yuffie, knowing they didn't have much time left to prevent a catastrophe and utter, utter failure.
"My God I'm miserable." Vincent sighed, shaking his head sorrowfully, and reaching up, cupping his hand to Yuffie's face, thumb stroking across her cheekbone.
"I'm not!" Yuffie murmured sweetly, a small, shy smile gracing at the corner of her mouth.
An oddly heavy silence settled over the two of them at her comment, neither breaking eye contact, both unconsciously leaning in closer to the other.
"..."
"Hey, wanna make out?" Yuffie asked abruptly, breaking the building sexual tension, blinking expectantly at the older man.
"Yeah, okay." Vincent shrugged non-chalantly, grabbing her face with both hands, ready to just pretty much shove his tongue down her throat and cement this unholy alliance for good.
"No!" Tifa and Aerith shrieked, as if one being, now existing for the sole purpose of preventing any sort of statutory shenanigans from occurring.
They had to stop those two from locking lips, or else.
...Or else what?
Hell, I don't know. I'm being all kuhl, and geheimnisvoll. C'mon guys, nothing is more totally cool that an awful cliff-hanger. Right?
Am I right?
Ah, screw it. I don't know a damn thing about Yuffentines.
(To be concluded next chapter. Which will be waaaay more coherent.)
Yeah, so there we go. This was kind of a cliché grab bag. You know, Lucrecia-ghost, super-stereotypes, Aerith being back for no reason. Non-sensical reasons to hook up.
And, Tifa's 'San Dimas Cowboy' outfit is there for a reason. Which will be explained next chapter. And next chapter will be better, I promise. And don't worry, Aerith is only going to e giving her a hand next chapter, then its back to 'Greg' and the All-New, All-Different 'Jim-Jam'.