The Warrior
By Faerlyte
Chapter 4
She almost left right then, but something held her back. Her eyes cast about the observation room once. It was empty and silent, no hints as to who might be in the simulator. Then she took a step towards the training room, another step, and she reached for the button to open the door.
Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she debated for all of three seconds, before giving it a firm push. The door slid open into a barren wasteland of rock and cliff bathed in moonlight. Somewhere from within came the metallic ring of a sword.
Tifa stepped out onto a stone path and heard the door shut softly behind her. She shivered as a light breeze shuffled her uniform. The sounds of battle were raging from up ahead, so she followed it.
It never occurred to her to check the settings of the simulator before plunging into an unknown landscape. Curiosity had gotten the better of her judgment. There was no telling what sort of monsters dwelt here or what level they were set for.
She considered turning back, but she caught a glimpse of a dark silhouette in the shape of a man against the full moon. The narrow blade of the masamune swept behind him as he lowered his head and darted across the sky out of sight. Her lips parted with a sharp intake of air.
He was flying.
At once her heart beat quickened. She couldn't fathom the sensation of awe that compelled her to take a closer look. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen or felt before; she had to see.
Her boots crunched against the ground as she climbed the winding road at a trot. When she mounted the top of it, she found herself on a wide lookout point above the battle ground on which Sephiroth fought. She stepped up to the edge and peered cautiously over the lip of rock down into the canyon below.
Tifa's throat convulsed and she sucked in her breath.
The ground below was strewn with the bloodied and disemboweled bodies of monsters numbering in the hundreds. They formed a path of carnage, growing gradually in size and strength as it curled and twisted along the canyon bottom. It was a grisly sight, ripe with the stench of death, which finally hit her full in the face.
She gagged on the rancid air, and took a step back.
A loud, resonating cry shook the air from above and Tifa whirled around. Her eyes scanned the skies frantically. Then they stopped, widening in alarm; it was a dragon, locked in heated battle with the silver haired General.
Her shoulders uncoiled slowly – she was out of danger, at least for now.
Sephiroth on the other hand, she was not so certain of.
It was an enormous dragon, unlike any she'd ever seen. Not that she'd seen all that many, but this one so dwarfed Sephiroth in size that it could seemingly swallow him whole without effort. Its silver scales glistened ghostly in the light of the moon as it circled its prey, flexing its gleaming talons.
As she watched, transfixed by the sheer nerve of the man to engage a foe of such caliber, Tifa could make out tiny patterns of red sprawling across Sephiroth's face. There was a delay between her puzzlement and the sudden realization that what she saw was blood. Even his hair had taken on a shade of pink.
Something squirmed inside her uncomfortably. Was that his blood, or something else's? It didn't seem to slow him down any either way.
He moved through the air with enviable grace, as if flying were second nature. His glinting sword carved the night with a deadly song. His hair, which should have been an impediment, followed his every fluid motion and only accentuated his strength. Had it not been drenched in blood, it might have been beautiful.
Tifa looked on pensively, the unsettling feeling in her stomach worsening. Her fingers flexed at her sides, itching to help, but afraid of what she would face. Something wasn't right in all this.
The dragon flew above in a wide ark, then shifted course and came barreling back down in a controlled, twisting dive. Sephiroth met it head on, parrying the dragon's claws as they passed, and thrusting back with the masamune. It plunged into the dragon's chest.
Sephiroth flipped over the hilt and planted his feet against the dragon's belly. Then he drew the blade down the length of its body, spilling forth a belch of steam from the body cavity and a stream of blood and guts.
The agonized screech of the dragon curdled Tifa's blood as it writhed and clawed viciously at its gaping stomach.
She strangled an exclamation at the base of her throat as the dragon's flailing talons struck its foe and the two descended upon the canyon bottom. The impact was tremendous, the ground shuddering with an explosion of rock and dust. Then all was deathly quiet.
Tifa stared unmoving in disbelief at the remains. She was not expecting to see Sephiroth walk away from it, and when he emerged from the plume of settling dust, she had to look twice to believe it. He was walking towards the rocky outcrop she stood on, or, perhaps staggering was a better term.
Behind him a massive form lay motionless.
The tip of the masamune made an erratic trail through the dirt as it dragged on the ground from where it hung limply in his right hand. His motions were sluggish, his back slightly bent, as if bearing a great weight on his shoulders. As he came closer, Tifa could hear a rasping noise as he breathed.
She could see him better now and there was no longer a question of whose blood he wore. Bewilderment creased Tifa's forehead. What was he doing? Trying to kill himself?
All of a sudden she felt the weight of the sniper rifle acutely hanging from her shoulder. She resisted the urge to reach for it as she watched the man below. He sank to his knees and she could see his body shake.
If it was death he wanted, she thought, she could give it to him. A single bullet right now would be all it would take, and yet…despite all the hate she felt, the anger…the mere thought of giving him that luxury made her seethe. That he wanted death was an obvious indication that he should have to live.
A roar thundered from below off to the left and Tifa glanced to the left in trepidation. There was more?
Striding powerfully across the ground, its great horned head swaggering from side to side, was a great behemoth. Its nostrils flared and steam furled into the air. Muscles rippled in his hind quarters as a massive tail swung languidly behind it, thick and powerful.
Sephiroth lurched to his feet and raised his sword, his arm trembling with the simple exertion of holding it up. A row of gaping wounds bled from his right shoulder where the dragon's talons had ripped his flesh. He held his ground with eyes of blazing stone, as if he could not lose – as if he dared anything to defeat him.
Tifa had no idea how long he had been fighting to reach this state, but it had to have been for hours. That he remained steadfast in the pursuit of…whatever it was he thought to accomplish by fighting himself into oblivion, both amazed and appalled her. How long had this been going on?
Or was this to be the first as well as the last?
The behemoth charged. Sephiroth merely waited. They engaged in a flurry of talons, teeth, and steel. She was surprised at how fast he could still move in his condition, but it was noticeably slower than before. Every time they engaged, he came away wearing more of his own blood than that of the beast. The behemoth was not unscathed by any means, but he was clearly winning the confrontation.
Tifa felt sick. Her eyes burned as unshed tears sprang at the corners. She did not want to watch this.
Her feet moved of their own accord, propelling her forward over the edge of the high rise. It was a long jump to make down to the ground below, but that's why SOLDIERs were mako treated. She landed with a grunt, the force sending a jolt up her knees and spine that throbbed to the very roots of her teeth.
The Behemoth whirled on her. Tifa raised her fists and spread her feet, and blinked in astonishment as the fiend stiffened and sagged to the ground with a gurgle.
She blinked again. Sephiroth stood before her in blood-drenched glory, for all the world like this was perfectly normal, his hand clenching the hilt of the masamune where it now protruded from the beast's side. In one swift, fluid motion he jerked the sword free and gave her look of absolute condescension.
"What are you doing here?" His voice thrummed cold fury in her ears.
Tifa watched in morbid fascination a stream of blood travel down the length of his blade, the words failing to compute. Drip, drip…it spattered onto the ground at his feet, mesmerizing. She could smell that copper tinge, could taste it on the tip of her tongue like she had five years ago. None of the blood had been his then.
Was she forever fixed in that place in time where it all had gone wrong? Were they all?
Well, he hadn't tried to kill her yet.
She lifted her head slowly to look at the man, the unspoken question hiding behind the smoke screened visor. Their surroundings had reverted back to the simulator room and it was darker now than it had been in the artificial landscape. For that reason Sephiroth's eyes glowed ethereally bright as he examined her with an air of detachment.
It might have frightened her had his breathing not been so ragged, his hair not near so matted from dried blood, and his shoulders not so slumped. The truth in point was that he looked terrible.
"Are you…" She faltered, grimacing at what she honestly couldn't believe was about to come out of her mouth, "Are you ok, sir?"
It was almost comical to see his blood smeared brow arch in what otherwise might've been an elegant display of dubiety. He casually wiped his cheek with the back of his glove and seemed to gaze down at the residue with bored interest. His eyes flickered astutely back to her,
"I was not trying to die, if that is your concern." He supplied evenly.
"N-no…" Tifa stammered, her face flushed, because that's precisely what she had been thinking. She wasn't entirely convinced otherwise either, but that he somehow knew what had been running through her mind bothered her.
She stole a longing glance at the door.
"You are free to go." He said and, using the hem of his coat, wiped his sword clean.
Tifa actually hesitated, her eyes lingering on the myriad of wounds along his body. The bleeding had stopped and she could see the skin beginning to knit itself back together in places. His intestinal fortitude had to be through the roof for it to react so quickly to injury.
All SOLDIERs had it to a certain extent, but this…this was insane!
She took a step, slowly, towards the door. He obviously didn't need her help and she didn't really want to give it anyway. "Yes sir." She mumbled and did all but run from the Training Room.
It wasn't until she had retreated within the safe confines of her room that her heart rate returned to something relatively normal. Her hands were still shaking, but she was safe. She rested her head back as her body braced against the door, and closed her eyes.
I can't do this, she thought.
It was 5 o'clock sharp and in the adjoining room outside the cafeteria a silver helmet peeked around the corner. Tifa's heart gave a leap of joy; the doors were unguarded. She made a quick cursory check of all the converging hallways before starting her advance.
She stopped in front of the doors and listened for a minute. No sounds came from within.
Her hand reached over to hover above the control panel before giving it a decisive press. The doors swished open into a deserted room fresh with the warm smells of hot cooking. Her eyes traveled to the breakfast bar laden with sticky buns, fresh fruit, pancakes, sausage and eggs made every way imaginable.
Naturally…
A cadence of footsteps hailed from somewhere behind her. Tifa fired an anxious look over her shoulder, saw no one, and made a mad dash into the cafeteria. She skidded up to the breakfast bar, snatched up an apple and a piece of sausage (the latter she wolfed down), and sprinted back for the doors.
They opened a fraction of a second before Tifa pushed the button and she froze. Crisscrossing leather straps disappearing beneath the collar of a black leather trench coat stared back at her from mere inches away. A startled yelp emerged from the back of her throat and she made a dive to the side.
She was still running when she rounded the corner, slammed into a solid body, and went sprawling to the floor. The unsuspecting victim beneath her went 'oof' as she landed on top of him in a tangle of arms and legs. In the midst of the chaos that ensued, her visor flipped up, which in turn caused her eyes to widen considerably down at the man, who was none other than Angeal, now staring up at her in dazed confusion.
Tifa scrambled off him and slammed the visor down so hard she gave herself a headache. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, sir!" She was babbling and threw in a salute for good measure. Then she was launching down the hall like a madwoman, a vapor trail in her wake.
That morning, Angeal would spend the majority of his breakfast haranguing Sephiroth about the identity of the SOLDIER that had clothes-lined him in the hall. All records of SOLDIER recruits came with a photograph for purposes of identification, and, as Angeal adamantly swore, he knew damn well none of them had looked like that. Therefore it had to be another Shin-Ra conspiracy.
"He looked like a woman." Angeal stated, his brow furrowing in further consternation as he continued that thought, "Hell, he sounded like a woman."
Sephiroth bit idly into his sandwich as he read the morning newspaper, "Is that so?" He murmured, "Who is he?"
"How the hell should I know?" His friend said, exasperated, "There are a thousand SOLDIERs frequenting headquarters. I can't be expected to recognize them all on sight."
The General laid down his newspaper. "He was wearing a 2nd class uniform." He pointed out patiently. "That should narrow your search, if it's so important to you."
Angeal frowned deeply at Sephiroth's casual dismissal, "It is our duty to uphold the integrity of SOLDIER. Of course it is important."
"And we are to do that by tracking down some wretched boy with regrettably bad genes?" Sephiroth inquired, leveling his friend with an expectant look.
The other man hesitated, "Perhaps you're right." He conceded, "But there's something odd about it."
Sephiroth stood up from the table and murmured almost beyond ear shot of his companion, "Does it even matter anymore?"
Meanwhile, Tifa was catching her breath in what appeared to be a broom closet, her back plastered to the wall and sweat rolling off her in rivulets. Her phone promptly started ringing, eliciting a jump, and she jerked a hand into her back pocket. She eyed the offending piece of technology with some trepidation as she flipped it open.
It was Chaka. She sighed in relief.
"Hello?" Her voice sounded shaky.
"Hey, Small Fry," He said. "What's goin' on?"
Tifa paused dumbly. She couldn't very well say she was hiding in a closet from her superior officer after having been caught red handed filching an apple from the officer's court. "Nothing." She bit her lip.
"Nothing?" He repeated deadpan, "I heard you singlehandedly beat a malboro the other night – that doesn't qualify as 'nothing' in my book."
Tifa turned blank, "Oh. That."
"Yes, that. Congrats on qualifying for 2nd class. You talk to Angeal this morning?"
"Uh…no, no I haven't." She lied and shut her eyes in a wince. "Why?"
"We're meeting him in the Training Room today," He explained, "…after breakfast. He should've posted a message in your log under assignments."
"Oh, alright. I'll check." Tifa murmured.
"You comin' to breakfast? I can give you the unofficial briefing there if you want." Chaka offered.
She opened her mouth to decline when a thought struck her. It might be better if she at least put on the pretense of having not eaten breakfast yet, that way they might not suspect her. Or at least they'd have less reason to.
"Yeah, I'll be there." She answered after a moment. Her apple had been lost during her escape this morning anyway.
"Alright!" He boomed enthusiastically, "Later Fry."
It was a minute or two before Tifa thought to wonder at what Chaka could be briefing her about. He obviously knew more than she did. It sounded like they were going to be spending some time together.
That wasn't so bad, she decided. She preferred him over someone else, say, Angeal himself, or god forbid, Sephiroth. She thanked her lucky stars that the General was as conceited as he was – he obviously didn't have time or patience to train students.
Breakfast was tumultuous and lively. The cafeteria was packed with 3rd and 2nd class, as she had arrived late, but there was no sign of Chaka. The moment she stepped into the room, the atmosphere changed.
The noise level diminished, several dozen heads glanced up to follow her, and hushed murmurings passed down the length of the tables. All traces of previous anonymity were gone. Word had gotten around. She didn't know how it had gotten around, and so quickly at that, but it had.
Did she really stand out that much?
Her eyes remained steadfast on the floor in front of her and she burrowed behind the collar of her uniform. Eventually the focus of the room shifted away, though there was a tingling on the surface, as if they were just waiting to cast another glance.
She grabbed a tray and started ladling it with scrambled eggs, more out of a need to distract herself than anything else.
"Hey you," A voice commanded from behind her.
Tifa stiffened involuntarily. Was he talking to her? No one ever talked to her.
"Hey!" With an edge of anger this time, and someone grabbed her bicep, wrenching her around. Her tray clattered to the floor, spilling its contents. "I'm talking to you."
He was thick and moderately tall, but no more than another faceless SOLDIER 3rd class. She gritted her teeth, taking a deep breath, and yanked her arm free. There were two others with him standing guard on either side, what little she could see of their faces expressionless.
When no one said anything, Tifa dropped to the floor with an inward sigh and proceeded to clean up the mess.
"That's right." The leader barked suddenly. "On your knees, fag. Folks around here don't care for some homo greenhorn showin' off – we're SOLDIER infantry, you fight with the team or you're out the door."
A crowd was gathering, or at least, their attention was gathered. They'd become eerily silent. Not surprisingly, none of them seemed apt to leap to her rescue.
Tifa concentrated on maintaining calm. What was wrong with these people? It was a required test! What else was she supposed to do? But that was the nature of their kind – no logical reasoning whatsoever.
She finished gathering the spilt food in her tray and stood up without a word. She did not so much as look at the three of them, didn't care what they wanted or had to say.
The leader was not finished however, for he quickly intercepted her path, bearing down on her with every last inch of his height, "Watcha gonna do when you haven't got a rifle to save your ass, eh? I'm mighty curious to find out – teach you a thing or two about real men."
"That's a good one coming from you, Dev." A familiar voice remarked wryly, approaching from the right.
Tifa glanced up to see Chaka sauntering towards them with an air of boredom. He stopped in front of the offending party and made an exaggerated show of looking down his nose at the other man, for he was easily taller.
"Last time I checked, you were still failing to advance beyond rudimentary level assault rifle mastery. Something to do with – now how did that go?" Chaka paused for effect, tapping his jaw in a show of deep thought, "I believe it was, 'SOLDIER is a consummate pansy."
Dev lurched forward, teeth bared and splotches of red showing at the corners of his mouth. His hands balled into fist, ready to strike, but it never came. Chaka's eyes were sharp as a knife.
"You're nothin' but a two-bit slacker." Dev spat. "Aint' worth my time."
Chaka inclined his head with a gracious smile, "By all means, Dev." He returned cordially, "If that helps you sleep at night."
The trio departed muttering amongst themselves as they passed through the cafeteria doors. Tifa watched them go warily. Somehow, she got the feeling that wasn't the last confrontation they would have.
"Don't mind them," Chaka said when they had gone. "Every military has their low-lifes."
Tifa resisted the urge to scowl as she threw the contents of her tray away, "You didn't have to do that." She retrieved an apple from the fruit basket.
He grinned broadly, "What? And miss a perfect opportunity to remind dickhead of his insignificance? Not on your life." Chaka nodded his head at the door, "If you're ready, we can split this joint."
"Aren't you getting something to eat?" She asked, curious.
"Nah," He waved her off and cracked a devious smile, "I get mine straight from the horse's mouth."
Tifa trailed after him as she attempted to decipher his meaning. "Like…as in, from the kitchens?" She ventured.
Chaka put a finger to his lips as they left the cafeteria. He made a cursory check of all the converging hallways, verified the cost was clear, and murmured close to her ear. "I have a contact on the inside." His brow wriggled suggestively.
At first she didn't understand, but her inborn feminine instincts clicked in a fraction of a second later and it became clear. "Oh!" And she grinned slyly, "You mean a girl, don't you."
He shifted somewhat uncomfortably, "Ahh…She's just a friend, you know." He insisted, "But yeah, I get a quick snack every morning at 5."
"You're up that early?" The words came out before she realized what she was saying.
Chaka gave her a sidelong look, "Hey now," He said, "Just because I won't accept a 1st class promotion doesn't mean I don't take what I do seriously."
Tifa's mouth fell open accordingly, "But then…you've already been offered 1st class?"
"Shit, yeah." He grumbled, "Angeal's been trying for years, but I keep telling him no. You'd think he'd get the message."
Her lips pursed in a frown, "But Chaka," She regarded him through her visor, "that's a dream to young men everywhere – a dream that many of them will never achieve despite their best efforts. Are you sure you want to give up a privilege like that so easily?"
Chaka scowled deeply and muttered, "I wouldn't call it a privilege."
Anger flickered in his eyes, not at her, but something else. It might have been a hint of rebellion. He wouldn't feel comfortable confiding his true feelings for the company, not knowing her loyalties, but she thought she could guess at what he felt and she couldn't blame him for that.
"I know…I mean, I understand, I think." Tifa babbled stupidly, gave herself a mental kick, and started over. "You could look at it this way – If you were to accept, you would have a greater impact on the company as well as those around you, and you could use that influence to do good in the world, whereas if someone else takes it…they might not."
Chaka's head twisted sharply at her, his eyes narrowing a fraction. He didn't say anything for a long time and eventually averted his attention back to wherever they were going. It wasn't until they'd entered the elevator and had it to themselves that he finally spoke.
"Why are you here, Fry?" He asked pointedly.
Tifa felt her lips go dry and her face pale. She had never quite come up with a suitable answer to that question. The usual hero-worshipping really didn't quite fit her projected persona and her competitive drive was relatively mild compared to others.
But buried in the mire of reasoning that had gotten her this far was one very real truth.
"I have nothing else left." She replied and gazed moodily at the floor.
Chaka studied her for a moment before lowering his gaze as well. Neither of them spoke until they had reached the Training Room. Angeal was not there yet, but it was still early so Chaka wandered over to the computer to punch in a few settings.
Tifa was already inside the simulator and suddenly found herself standing on the Junon canon several hundreds of feet above the ocean. The air smelled of salt and seaweed as overhead a flock of gulls flew by, squawking noisily. She wished she could pull off her helm and savor the feel of wind in her face, but she couldn't.
Chaka walked up beside her and spread his arms, stretching with a groan of satisfaction, "Pretty amazing this thing, huh?" He said and started along the cannon out towards the end of the barrel.
Tifa followed behind, her gaze lifting to the horizon in the distance. She marveled at what technology was capable of. It was all so detailed in its realism.
When they came to the end of the barrel, Chaka leaned over and gazed down at the water. All it would take was a particularly strong breeze to send him tumbling off. Tifa stayed several paces back from the edge, not wanting to take her chances.
Chaka glanced over his shoulder at her, "Dare you to jump it."
Her jaw dropped, "You're not serious are you?" She asked.
He laughed and waved his had dismissively, "Nah, I just wanted to see if you would. Haven't got to see anyone do it yet, so I don't rightly know what would happen if someone actually jumped. I imagine you'd get wet – the simulator can do just about anything."
Tifa was not known for her swimming prowess, though she was not about to admit to it. Her eyes skimmed the distance below and she took an involuntary step back towards the center of the canon before she got dizzy. That was a long way down…
"You know," Chaka walked back towards her, "you can simulate people with this thing too."
Her heart stopped and her mouth went dry. She clenched her teeth hard, no, don't even think it.
"They have to be in the Shin-Ra database though." He continued. "You could fight a simulated Sephiroth if you wanted."
Great, that's just what she needed. One Sephiroth was more than enough without having a simulated one running around too. Her attention drifted back to the water below curiously, "Why don't you jump?"
"Me?" Chaka shrugged, "I'm not that crazy. I just want to see what would happen if someone else did – they'd have to have some serious gonads."
Well that was something that Tifa could firmly testify to having absolutely none of. She was completely safe.
From seemingly nowhere Chaka had produced a bat, followed by a pail full of baseballs. He reached into it and grabbed one. Then he tossed it to her.
Tifa caught it clumsily, glancing up in confusion as Chaka gave the bat an experimental swing. She felt a nervous trickle down her back as she understood what he intended for her to do. Fortunately, she had a solid grounding in proper throwing technique from engaging in extensive snowball fights at a young age.
She planted her feet, gripped the ball firmly in her hand, and winded back to throw. It wasn't all that fast a throw – she didn't want to risk accuracy for speed. It had been a while after all.
The bat connected with a crack and the ball went sailing over Tifa's ducking head out into the ocean. She twisted around to follow its trajectory as it continued for some distance before it began a rapid descent into the sea. It was so far below that the splash was swallowed up in the waves.
When she turned back around, Chaka was beside her and holding the bat out. "Your turn." He said.
Tifa stared at the narrow piece of stylized wood in abject horror. She had never swung a bat before in her life – there hadn't been one in their town. If she tried to now she would embarrass herself so deeply that he probably would never speak to her again.
Men knew how to swing bats. They just did it. She had no idea how to swing a bat. How was she supposed to explain that she'd never learned how?
Her hand reached out to numbly take the object from him. She walked slowly to where Chaka had been standing and very reluctantly turned around. Then she looked at him, her hands hesitantly gripping the handle, and took a stab at holding it upright.
Chaka stared at her for all of two seconds before he shook his head, his lips framing a scowl, and walked up to her. "Man, who the hell taught you to hold a bat like that?" He promptly took it from her and demonstrated the proper grip. Then he handed it back.
Tifa attempted to emulate what he had just shown and looked up questioningly. He gave a nod of approval and waltzed back over to the ball bucket. Then he picked one out, gave it a toss, and positioned himself to throw.
She had no idea what on earth she was doing. Her eyes widened as the ball all of a sudden came screaming towards her. She knew before she'd forced her arms to move that she was going to be well behind the throw. Knowing this, she tried to swing too fast and too hard, and ended up pirouetting in a most undignified fashion.
Chaka very nearly got to see someone fall from the cannon into the ocean. The devil himself was laughing himself into a frenzy over there now that she had regained her footing and was staring dejectedly back at him.
Her cheeks flushed, "I've never swung a bat before!" She protested.
He managed to stifle the rest of his amusement before sauntering back over and schooling a more serious expression, if somewhat forced, "That much is apparent." He said and took the bat, "Alright, watch carefully."
She did.
"Hold it like this," Chaka indicated, the bat swiveling in a tight, controlled circle behind his head. "And swing from the waist. Plant your back foot first, and drive with your left – that's where your power comes from. How you stand is up to you, though I like to spread my feet. Whatever is most comfortable." He continued, "But always a controlled swing."
Tifa nodded, understanding. He did a couple more swings before handing the bat back to her. "Give it a try."
She spread her feet and raised her arms so that the hand highest on the bat was about level with her chin. Then she gave the bat a sharp waggle from side to side, testing its weight and adjusting her grip accordingly. Her back foot planted and she swung. It felt awkward and her first attempt still left Chaka frowning.
"What did I do wrong?" She asked meagerly.
"You're still swinging from the elbows." He said. "Let your upper body move from the waist and relax those wrists a little."
She nodded and tried again. It felt better that time. At least she was no longer pirouetting off the canon.
"Much better." Chaka told her. "Let's try throwing a ball into the mix."
"Okay." Tifa said and took a deep, calming breath.
"Remember," He began firmly, "keep your eye on the ball – that's the most important thing."
Her brow settled determinedly and her fingers tightened around the bat. She watched him wind up, saw the ball release from his hand, picked up her lead foot and stepped into the swing. Her eyes never left the rapidly spinning white leather. The impact of the ball as she connected with the bat rattled her teeth and made her hands tingle.
Then it was soaring out across the water and falling to the sea.
She smiled ecstatically and did a little victory hop, "I did it!"
"Alright!" Chaka beamed back at her and raised his hand, palm out for a high five. "You're a natural."
They continued to take turns hitting, but the bucket never seemed to empty. Tifa was beginning to suspect that it never would empty in this place and that it simply replenished itself. She had no idea how long they'd been going at it, but her arms were both sore and tired.
The scene started to melt away as Chaka was swinging at a poorly thrown pitch. He caught it with the tip of the bat and it went sailing off in an odd direction. It was right on course to plug Angeal in the nose when the ball vanished harmlessly into the simulator.
Chaka turned a fascinating shade of purple, "Uh, sorry sir." He said and idly scratched the back of his neck.
Angeal smirked dryly, but said nothing.
Tifa lowered her gaze demurely. She had forgotten to check her log and here they were goofing off in the simulator. She was really going to have to get a handle on things if she wanted to stick around for any length of time
"So much for my giving a briefing." Chaka whispered apologetically as their superior officer approached. "It doesn't really matter."
"Don't worry about it." She told him and gave Angeal a salute.
"Good morning," He greeted them, and his expression had turned somewhat sour. He was giving her an odd look, which she adamantly refused to let rattle her, lest he suspect her from this morning.
Unbeknownst to Tifa, it was that very incident that was the source of his irritation right now, though he did not suspect her. Not only had it just been plain weird, but the little runt had run off before he could be properly chastised. To add insult to injury, Sephiroth had promptly disappeared to Gods knew where.
But Angeal was doing his best. He cleared his throat, arms clasped neatly behind his back as he addressed to two SOLDIERs in front of him. His eyes fell on Chaka first, "I realize that what I am proposing is somewhat unconventional."
Tifa wanted to ask what he was proposing, but thought better of it. Best not to let him think she was already practicing negligence if she could help it. She really had meant to check.
"But," He continued, "—as you well know, Chaka, there is no one else with as solid of background training in Martial Arts as you, or as much innate skill."
There was a long pause.
"According to military procedure, only a 1st Class can take on students for specific training." Angeal regarded Chaka steadily. "There is no questioning your qualifications, so I will choose in this case, to disregard the law. Are you willing to take on a student in Eric here, as a 2nd class?"
"I'm game." Chaka consented.
Angeal shifted around to address her then, "And are you, Eric, ready to commit to comprehensive training to the effect of a 1st Class rank?"
Tifa stared at him wide-eyed for a few seconds before bowing her head towards the floor to examine the steel grating. She glanced at Chaka, but he merely shrugged. Her eyes drifted cautiously back to Angeal and she bit her lip.
Then she was speaking, her tongue taking control of the situation before her brain could react, "I guess so, but…" she trailed off indecisively.
"Yes?" Angeal prompted.
"Fry." Tifa stated firmly then. "Please, call me Fry."
Chaka put on a goofy grin and gave her thumbs up.
Angeal gave her the barest of raised eyebrows, before nodding, "Alright then. Fry it is." He turned back to Chaka, "I'll leave the scheduling up to you. Just bring me an outline when you're finished and I'll upload it onto the data base."
"Sure thing." Chaka replied.
"You're both still subject to the morning workout of course, which, if I'm not mistaken," Angeal checked his phone and snapped it shut, "begins in less than five minutes."
Chaka and Tifa took one glance at one another, lasting all of a second, and were sprinting for the door. Behind them, Angeal's fading voice drawled, "You're dismissed."
Author's Note: This chapter...is enormous. I was having trouble finding a stopping point. Oh well, that should make you guys happy, right?