Disclaimer: Not mine.

Cid: Happy Hour

Cid spent most of his time in Midgar in bars.

Well, he only went there to fight with the bureaucratic morons of ShinRa. An hour with them was more than enough to drive him to drink.

Well, to drink stronger stuff than he would anyway.

He found he avoided the upmarket bars on the plate. They were all polished wood, dark green upholstered booths and dim yet adequate yellowed light. The only variation seemed to be in the colour of the upholstery. Even then, the variation didn't seem to be very various, just red, blue or green upholstery, or a dark wood finish instead of a cherry one.

After drinking at and moving on from about four of these bars, Cid was usually more than ready to buy a bottle of something stronger and just drink it in an alley somewhere. It was cold and not so comfortable, but at least it wasn't so boring.

Even this tactic was made difficult by the fact that most of the strong stuff liquor shops on the plate sold was pricey, and far too smooth to get properly drunk on.

It was so unfortunate that he had to stay on the plate when arguing with ShinRa's bozos.

This was why Cid tried to avoid Midgar.

Sometimes, however, after he'd fought and won or lost a round with the administrators who seemed to love making his life difficult, he would stay an extra day to visit some of the taverns in the slums.

These were proper taverns and bars. The lighting was genuinely bad, the stools were moderately uncomfortable and definitely not upholstered, and you could get splinters from the bar itself if you weren't careful. More importantly, the clientele weren't a clientele, they were customers, drinkers, and patrons. They needed a drink, not a place to "unwind".

It was a different crowd altogether, and it was infinitely more fun. One memorable evening, Cid had nearly lost an eye in a darts game. He hadn't been standing in front of the board at all; it was just that the player had been so drunk he couldn't tell where the board was. Naturally, everyone had thought this was hilarious.

Another night, Cid had spent a wonderful two hours gambling outrageously at poker while his fellow gamblers had become as drunk as humanly possible. Cid thought he'd left the bar with more money than he started with; he couldn't be sure. He'd certainly left without his shirt.

There were hazards in these rougher places- some of them were rougher than the Junon bars. Occasionally Cid would emerge from a bar bruised fairly seriously, but they had to carry the other guy out. Occasionally Cid himself was the one kicked out. This was more common if he'd lost the latest round with the bureaucrats.

At times like those, he was glad that the slum bars sold the sort of booze he was used to.

And then, there were the times when Cid would enter a bar and everyone was drinking to forget. Most times, he'd turn around and leave. Sometimes, he'd stay. Those times, when he left, he would see the trash on the streets more clearly, and the shadows under the barkeep's eyes would stand out more, everyone seemed that bit more poor, and the alcohol would burn more on the way down.

He'd leave town the morning after with an empty wallet, but no hangover.