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Chapter XXII – Tailing in His Tyre Tracks
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It had been three days since their arrival in sunny Costa del Sol and their time spent there had passed in a blur.
'Much like last night's events,' Barret mused, when he woke up and found himself in a bath tub donning a certain sailor suit he thought he'd lost three years ago.
"The hell... ?" he grumbled, fumbling beneath him and tossing the bath plug that had been pleasantly situated between a certain crevice at his rear end. The events of last night soon came rushing to the forefront of his mind, joined by a most vengeful headache.
"Aww man..." He rubbed his creased forehead with giant fingers, embarrassment bubbling to the surface alongside images of the night before. Some came in greater bouts of clarity than others and Barret found he preferred the ones that remained in the obscurity of blurs and alcohol.
Though he had to admit, the memory of a drunken Yuffie stealing billiard balls from the inn's pool table thinking they were Materia was a damn funny one.
The throbbing behind his eyes intensified as he gripped the sides of the tub and, with a groan, slowly began to lift himself from his makeshift plastic bed, mind as foggy as the bathroom's mirror. As he approached it to wipe away the remaining condensation, preparing to survey his no doubt drab visage, he suddenly recalled with slight horror why he'd slept in the lavatory to begin with.
Spinning round, Barret almost tumbled over his own feet as he dived towards the door in a drunken lunge. Catching the handle, he paused briefly to listen with great strain before giving the brass a quick and cautious jiggle.
Locked.
He blew a sigh of relief, trudging back to the mirror while running a hand down his haggard face. Recounting the night's events was proving regretful for the gun-armed man. He could remember the happenings of the past few days well – such as Tifa informing him they could stay in a top-line luxury villa right out of the blue, though she suspiciously avoided any line of questioning on the matter. He could also recount his resulting frustration on hearing said matter after having already paid for their inn room for the next few days.
Yet he couldn't quite remember the past twelve hours or so. Mainly on account of a certain ninja who decided sharing celebratory reunion drinks was mandatory and not to be argued with. Barret leaned over the sink and rubbed his eyes. He was certainly no stranger to booze, (after all, he'd spent the first day in town nursing his conscience at Bar del Sol,) but his concern mainly stemmed from the fact this was the first time he'd woken up in a bath tub... and wearing different clothes at that.
He twisted the sink's tap, watching the water pool in his cupped hands before throwing the liquid up into his face. The cold burst on his skin felt incredible and brought refreshing clarity from hours past in the form of Cait Sith's voice. 'Ye know, we gonnae be leavin' early taemorrow but dinnae worry yer drunken socks off! Ah'll wake ye up in tha' moornin' with mah beautiful singin' ye seem tae enjoy soo much!'
Barret suppressed a shiver. Quickly telling himself it was just the cold water, he moved over to the towel rack to dry. Pressing the fluffy material against his face, he shook his head as he tried to shake the threat of Cait Sith's morning musical reprisal from his mind. He knew hanging the cat from the bar's ceiling lamp would end up in some sort of repercussion, but at the time Barret was too drunk to care.
He cast a wary glance at the door, reassuring himself it was indeed locked despite knowing he'd only checked it moments ago. Sighing, he hung the towel once more from its proper place before returning to the mirror. Sweeping his knuckles across the chilled surface, he peered at his now unveiled reflection. It was just as he thought it'd be, complete with dark circles under his eyes. He took a moment to appraise his outfit, watching the gold trims of his navy collar shimmer as he turned this way and that. Pulling on his red neckerchief to straighten the folds, it suddenly occurred to him that something was missing. Turning round, he spotted the missing piece from his attire almost instantly. Nabbing the garment from the toilet seat, Barret returned to the mirror and placed the white and navy cap on his head.
Through the haze of his hangover, Cloud's comment on his chosen suit rang out from three years ago. 'Ahhh... You look like a bear wearing a marshmallow.'
Barret stopped tugging at the knotted cloth around his neck, squinting through his migraine at his reflection. He shook his head and growled, "Marshmallow my ass..." before tossing his cap over his shoulder.
What did that stupid ass know anyway? Besides, it wasn't like Barret cared about what others thought of him. He'd been outcast from his hometown for years, let alone by complete strangers because of the gun grafted into his right arm. Yet here he was, finding that he did still in fact have a damn to give. Otherwise he wouldn't worry about Tifa and Marlene as much as he did. In the end, deep down past his gruff exterior, Barret did care. It was why he'd banded AVALANCHE in the first place; out of concern for the Planet, it's people... and the future left for his little girl.
Then again, there were some things simply not worth caring about. Like the opinion of an oblivious, spiky-haired jackass. And why should he care? He did cut a dashing figure, after all. And life was all about guilty pleasures, wasn't it? Or at least, that's what Barret told himself when he began to flex his muscles and strike a pose in front of the mirror.
'Dayum,' he thought. 'Back in tha' day, the ladies would'a been swoonin' at the harbour fer a piece of this!' As he raised his burly bicep towards the mirror, a sudden scratching on wood ensnared his full attention. Lowering his arms, Barret slowly turned towards the sound. The scratching stopped. Barret's muscles now tensed with trepidation rather than pride. Straining his ears with the fine-tuned precision of a Jumping, he mimicked the rabbit-like creature's tenacity for caution as he crept towards the door. On closer inspection, a glint of gold flickered from behind the keyhole.
Realization struck Barret like a bolt of lightning, but before he could act it was too late. A blast of noise filtered through the door and resounded throughout the bathroom in a muffled, wooden score.
"Whit dae yae doo whit a drunken sailor~ Whit dae yae doo whit a drunken sailor~ Whit dae yae doo whit a drunken sailor~ Early in tha moornin'~!"
All caution flew out the window. Barret stormed the rest of the way across the restroom, twisting the lock and wrenching the door open. Cait Sith was caught red-handed, frozen in surprise with golden megaphone in hand. The weapon come instrument hovered midair where it had once been pressed against the door's keyhole.
"Yer up early!" Cait Sith babbled. "Err... top of tha moornin' tae ya?"
Barret grabbed his thrown sailor cap from the doorway and pitched it at the fleeing cat, hitting Cait Sith squarely in the back of the head and sending him head over heels down the hallway. As the little robot dived behind the inn's reception desk, Tifa suddenly rounded the corner. She blinked at the sight of Barret, who in turn blinked back at the pile of clothes resting against the curve of her hip.
Tifa readjusted the stack of fabrics under her right arm before finally addressing her old friend. "Well, at least you kept them as pyjamas."
Barret refused the groan that rose in his throat, instead choosing to scratch at his thick beard. He idly recognised the need to shave. "Yer soundin' a helluva lot betta," he changed the subject. Tifa ran her fingers through the pile of folded clothes as she ambled towards him.
"I guess the few days of rest helped. That and a few Potions did the trick." Barret nodded, taking note of the ease in which Tifa carried herself. Her chest no longer heaved for breath; all symptoms of her smoke inhalation gone. "Here," she said, pressing some articles into his arms. Barret raised a brow when he recognised them to be his green cargo pants and white fishnet shirt with vest jacket. Tifa met his cocked eyebrow with an upturned lip. "I washed them last night, remember?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Right." Barret hoisted the clothes under his arm, squinting beneath the inn's artificial lights. His temples and the backs of his eyes throbbed.
Tifa shifted her hip slightly, her head following. "You don't remember anything, do you?" Barret took one look at the fighter's expression and immediately came to a decision. 'Mebbe it's better I didn't.' Tifa looked down and shook her head as if she'd heard his very thoughts. "Anyway," she tucked a strand of dark chocolate hair behind her ear, "thanks for letting me and Yuffie have the villa."
"I keep tellin' ya, it ain't no problem," Barret waved her thanks without a second thought – and not for the first time. "Figured you could use the space to do 'girl talk' an' all that other crap." When Tifa fixed him with a raised brow, he quickly continued. "Besides, like I said, I could only book a room with three beds. Lucky we even got that on such short notice, it being tha' season an' all..."
Tifa nodded. "Well, I still really appreciate it, though the only 'girl talk' I've had has been Marlene asking after you this morning."
Barret grinned on hearing this. Despite Marlene's insistence on staying with Tifa and Yuffie, even dragging a less than thrilled Denzel along with her, Barret knew his little girl would want to come back eventually. She always did; whenever he left her under the occasional care of Tifa and Cloud on long business trips in the past, it was only a matter of time before she asked Tifa of his whereabouts.
Barret was brought from the fond memories of his adopted daughter when the puzzlement to Tifa's words struck him. "You sure 'bout that?" he asked. "I figured you an' Yuffie would'a had a whole lot more to talk about."
"Oh, we have, but she's mostly been out partying for me to really speak with her." Tifa narrowed her eyes at Barret who immediately tensed. "Actually, she never came back last night. Do you know anything about that?"
An instantaneous recollection of hours past flashed across Barret's brain, bringing the invasive mental image of an intoxicated Yuffie snatching the inn's pool cue and using it for, 'secret ninja staff technique practise... stuff.'
He opened his mouth to speak when a sudden high-pitched whine came from the elevated sleeping area opposite the bathroom. Barret and Tifa both turned to see the gaping jaws of Nanaki, his tongue rolling out from between his canines as it stretched long with his yawn. He blinked his lone eye sleepily at the two from atop the middle bed, his fiery tail drifting with lazy flicks as it hung from the bedside.
"While I'd remind you that some are still trying to sleep, I feel it's unneeded given Cait Sith's earlier interruption." The fire-dog then gave Barret a pointed stare, causing the dark-skinned man to stomp his boot in annoyance.
Barret could no longer hold his tongue. "Don't you f***in' look at me, Red!"
"Why not?" Nanaki calmly replied. "I'm not the one who provoked Cait Sith's anger by hanging him from the ceiling light."
"Wait, you did what?" Tifa spun on Barret, who in turn threw up his arms, exasperated. Before anyone could comment further, a great, raucous snore came from the bed beside Red XIII. The fire-dog stretched his neck towards the sound in order to accommodate his monocular vision. He shook his head in amusement, his auburn mane swaying alongside tinkling tassels. Tifa bit her lip as she turned towards the sight while Barret snorted trying to suppress a laugh.
Partly swathed under the duvet lay Yuffie, her arm draped across her eyes with a slackness that matched her jaw. Though Barret wasn't close enough to see, he could just imagine the pool of drool beside her pillow. Tifa quietly moved up the small set of stairs and approached the teen's bed, using one thumb to skim through the pile of clothes at her hip as she did so. Both Barret and Red watched with interest as the fighter pulled out the ninja's articles and lay them neatly atop the elm footboard. Yuffie continued to snore undisturbed and Barret couldn't help but wonder how long it took the ninja to finally run out of energy; inebriated or otherwise.
"Yo, Red," Barret turned towards the sleepy fire-dog on an afterthought, "how's Yuffie sleepin' here? Ain't that meant ta be Vincent's bed?"
Red XIII nuzzled his snout between his paws and rubbed sleep from his eye before replying. "I believe Yuffie found herself too drunk to go elsewhere. If Vincent did return to his quarters last night, I did not notice." On taking heed of Barret and Tifa's odd expressions, he continued. "I'm sure he would have found accommodation elsewhere."
Barret brushed away the subject with an amused grumble, "Yeah, bet findin' Yuffie in your bed is enough to turn anyone insomniac."
Tifa snapped from her troubled train of thought to shoot Barret a scolding look over her shoulder. "If you're not careful, Barret, I'll make you do the washing next time."
"Ya know what? That ain't a thang." The Ex-AVALANCHE leader crossed his burly arms, his muscles accentuated through the tight sleeves of his sailor suit. "You do enough as it is, Tif'."
Red XIII shook his head. "It is fortunate that I don't wear clothes."
"Oh?" Tifa began, a teasing lilt to her voice. "Well, I'll guess I'll just have to freshen you up with a bath, Red."
Though Nanaki looked unperturbed, his ear gave him away with a few trepidatious flicks. "That won't be necessary, Tifa."
Barret guffawed – then winced, his head throbbing with returned vengeance from the act. Tifa shook her head and briefly wondered just how much Barret had to drink, though she knew with Yuffie involved it would have been no small measures. "Right, well," Barret grunted, rubbing his temples, "I'm gonna go change. 'Nough kickin' back, we still got a job to do." He began to trudge back to the bathroom with clothes underarm, pausing only to pick up his thrown sailor cap from the hard vinyl floor.
Nanaki softly called at the built man's back over Yuffie's snores, "I suggest you return your current outfit to Lost and Found, unless you truly wish to keep it...?"
Barret paused and turned slightly as if he were about to say something. A terse moment; then a sigh later, the gruff man continued on his way.
As Red XIII began to rouse Yuffie from the throws of intoxication and busy himself preparing for the journey ahead, so did Tifa, the fighter finally departing from the inn to return to Cloud's Villa - or Villa Cloud as it was so aptly named. The morning breeze was warm and welcome on her skin, as was the laughter of children to her ears as they played ball somewhere in the town square. The wind gently passed through the folds of her leather attire, enticing the smell of fresh linen from her undershirt and the scent of shampoo from her hair to be carried away on the Planet's breath. She breathed deeply as she walked, savouring the air taken into her lungs and how pain no longer plagued her.
Jogging up the parched steps that lead to Costa del Sol's only bridge, her heels kicking up dust as she climbed, Tifa found her eyes inexplicably drawn towards the mountains that stood proudly against the horizon. She faltered outside the villa door, key in hand as she gazed over the rolling plains towards the peak she knew to be Mt. Corel. Russet eyes rising to lofty heights, she regarded the tallest mountain with a still respect one could only hold for Mother Nature. Her mind was suddenly drawn to the recollection of Vincent turning towards the very same mountain three days ago. Her delicate brows furrowed.
'When did I become so paranoid?' Though she didn't want to admit it, she already knew the answer. Refusing to acknowledge her suspicions on Vincent attempting to leave the party, (and that two weeks had now passed since Cloud himself disappeared,) Tifa twisted the key in the lock and, with a heavy heart, pushed open the villa door. She was greeted to the sight of Marlene and Denzel sitting at the centre table of the lounge suite, two bowls of cereal placed between them. The face of the former immediately brightened and the little girl hopped off her chair to run up and greet the fighter.
"How's Daddy?" Marlene asked eagerly, looking up with wide, soft brown eyes. "Is he okay?"
"He's just fine, Marlene." Tifa gently placed her hand on the girl's shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. "Your Dad can look after himself, just like you." Marlene visibly glowed at this, the golden condor feather laced through her hair shifting as she puffed out her chest. Tifa reached down and tucked the glittering plumage back behind her left ear, unable to help but compare the little girl to the proud birds that grew such beautiful feathers.
"We're going soon, right?" Denzel piped up around a mouthful of cereal, audibly crunching away at his wheat hoops. Tifa refrained from telling him not to speak with his mouth full - as usual - and instead took a rare moment to simply enjoy the boyish behaviour. Even though it was just the way he ate his breakfast, the oblivious fashion in which he chewed at his cereal coupled with the blatant disregard for manners while slurping his milk...
It reminded her of Cloud.
Denzel blinked rapidly over the spoon in his mouth, suddenly aware of the fighter's yearnful and lingering gaze. Before he had the chance to swallow down his hoops and ask questions, Tifa took on a thin, veneered smile. "Come on," she ushered, handing Marlene her folded cotton skirt and white turtleneck from under her arm. "Out of those pyjamas, the pair of you. We've got a lot of ground to cover today."
"And more monsters' butts to kick, right?" Marlene asked, taking her offered clothes. On noticing Tifa's surprised visage, the little girl hurriedly explained herself with flushed cheeks. "That's what Daddy says, anyway..." She focused all of her attention on avoiding the older woman's eyes and pulling at the hem of her blue, bunny rabbit patterned sleepwear.
'She really is just like her father,' Tifa thought with an upturned lip. 'Neither are them are dressed yet. And both of them have an interesting taste in nightwear to boot.'
"You sure that's what your dad says?" Denzel asked Marlene, spoon clattering as he dropped it into his emptied bowl. "I'm sure he says something else instead of 'butts.' More like, 'Gonna kick some monster as-'"
"Denzel!"
The orphan gave a sharp jolt at Tifa's snap and quickly fell in line with Marlene, deciding his dark grey sweatpants had some interesting lint to pick at from between the baggy folds. Tifa shook her head and moved towards the messy-haired boy, untucking the last bundle of clothes from beneath her right arm. When Denzel held his gaze resolutely on the creases in his trouser bottoms, Tifa waved his folded dark green hoodie and button up shirt beneath his nose. Marlene stifled a laugh from between two balled fists behind them.
"Let's go, mister. Time to get ready." When Denzel continued to ignore her, Tifa tilted her head to try and catch his gaze. Noticing this, the boy simply turned away to now stare into his empty cereal bowl. "Oh, don't be like that," she gently coaxed. "Besides, you're right." She tried to keep a straight tone, but a few chuckles bubbled up from beneath it – ones which weren't lost to the orphan's ears. "Barret may say things like that, but that doesn't mean you should."
Denzel appeared to think about this before he finally turned to meet Tifa's gaze. "But you guys say stuff like that all the time, so why can't I?"
The amused quirk to the fighter's lip fell into an empathetic one as she appraised the orphan with soft eyes. She reconsidered Nanaki's past words and certainly had to agree with them; Denzel was unpredictable at best. 'And I suppose troubled at worst,' she thought. Tifa easily understood Denzel's confusion. As a child of the slums, and having grown up there as a teenager herself, it certainly wasn't unusual to hear that kind of language. But while Marlene was more conscious of manners despite her father's occasional vulgar tongue, Denzel didn't have any parental guidance for years of his young life.
That's why she sorely wished for him to follow in Cloud's footsteps. Not chase after them.
"Well," Tifa began, "we don't all talk like that. Have you ever heard me or Nanaki swear?" Denzel frowned for a moment before shaking his head. "See?" she smiled and lightly ruffled his hair. "Swearing doesn't make you any more adult than anyone else, but sometimes I guess it's the only way for us to say how we really feel. But that doesn't make it anymore right. Right?"
The boy thought about this for a moment before giving an affirmative nod. "... Right!" With a rare grin, Denzel hopped down from his stool to join Marlene, his socked feet slipping on the floor rug as he scurried off after the girl with clothes in hand. Tifa watched him go with barely concealed surprise, secretly taken aback by how easily he'd accepted her explanation. It was a difficult subject to address and the fighter couldn't help but wonder if she'd chosen the right discourse. Giving a light shake of her head, Tifa shook off her doubts and made to ensure all her belongings were packed for the journey ahead. As she passed by the modest lounge and moved towards the beds, a dim light caught the corner of her eye.
Turning towards the source, she peered down the stone stairs that lead into the mouth of the basement. A soft glow beckoned with enticing warmth and her thoughts immediately turned to Red XIII, before equally as quick she realised the fire-dog was currently at the resort's inn. Brow knitted, Tifa silently tugged her fighting gloves on tighter. The cellar had been dark during their entire stay... until now. Placing her foot lightly on the first step with fists tightly clenched, the fighter began to descend as quietly as possible with delicate footwork. The air noticeably cooled from one stair to the next despite the warm wash of amber across the granite brick walls, but it wasn't as cold as the ill feeling that pooled in the pit of Tifa's stomach. On reaching the stone landing, a fierce chill took hold that made the hairs on the nape of her neck prickle. Pausing behind the final corner, the fighter took a steady breath and raised her fists slightly.
Tifa didn't know what was down here, but she did know when to trust her instincts.
After some considerable mental steeling, Tifa slowly turned past the wall and crept her way down the last small set of steps. Unbeknownst to the fighter, she wasn't the only one at great disquietude.
'The hunt hassss been lacking. I long for prey.'
'Go-o baa-ck to the sinn-ner's hold. Fin-issh wha-at you star-rted.'
'This is a great place a MARVELLOUS place to hide all the dead, gashed bodies! We can sit and talk to them as we watch them rot! What tales they tell with their festering stares! Their putrid eyes! I can almost TASTE the decay!'
'RETURN TO WHENCE YOU FIRST PERISHED. THEN YOU SHALL KNOW THE TRUE TRUCULENCE OF MAN.'
Tifa took her first tentative step forward, glancing towards the lantern that hung from the centre of the ceiling before quickly averting her eyes to squint into the darkness that lay beyond. A sudden shimmer in the black caught her eye and she clenched her fists tighter, before freezing with dreaded realisation. It was too late. The leather of her gloves crunched loudly from the instinctive reaction and the sound echoed loudly in the enclosed underground. The earlier shimmer disappeared and Tifa bristled when a sound similar to her own scrunching gloves met her ears from the darkness.
'We ha-ave com-paa-ny.'
A shadow within shadows suddenly emerged to meet Tifa's eye and she slowly stepped back under the solace of the lantern light, the shape rising to its full height and turning to follow the fighter as she did so. Suddenly, a pair of blood-red eyes materialized from the darkness to loom over her. The initial spike of fear in her breast instantly gave way to soothing relief when the fighter recognised the crimson glow that bled into the surrounding black. Vincent unveiled himself from the shadows, his silver buckles and gold sabatons glimmering as he slowly stepped into the dim light. Tifa took a step back in turn, taking note of his paler-than-usual complexion.
"I didn't know you were down here, Vincent," she breathed out, lowering her fists. "You should really tell someone next time." Potential danger passed, Tifa took the opportunity to appraise her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The basement appeared unchanged from what little she could remember of it. A lone desk lay pressed against the far wall, an odd inkwell and quill perched upon its worn wood finish in place of the modern pen. To the corner over Vincent's right shoulder, numerous crates lay stacked high towards the ceiling like a pale timber imitation of Mt. Corel. Realising her unexpected company had been ensconced behind the wooden made refuge and equally realising Vincent stood in continued silence, Tifa turned back to him with a tilt of her head.
Blinking as if coming to, the gunslinger finally spoke. "I expected a repeated blow from your fists, rather than your tongue."
Tifa immediately felt sheepish, not missing his reference to the incident in Junon. The event instantly conjured in her head and she turned away, weaving through the boxes, barrels and occasional bottle strewn about the floor. "... I never did get the chance to apologise for that," she murmured, reaching the desk and running her hand along the rim. Dust cleared in her wake.
Vincent crossed his arms, his gold talons glittering under the lantern. "Do not concern yourself. It was a strike made in error."
Tifa gave a slight nod and conceded, though it did nothing to lessen her guilt. Her fingertips suddenly brushed against a small leather-bound book and she picked it up, idly realising it was the only thing left untouched by a mantle of grey matter. Turning over the red hardback, she swept her thumb across the fore-edge in thought. She couldn't ignore the relief she felt having found Vincent, her concern towards his welfare only waxing from Nanaki's earlier words. Recalling the conversation, she snapped her gaze back to the gunslinger. "Wait, did you sleep down here?!"
"My sleeping arrangements were... preoccupied." Vincent tucked his chin further into his cowl, his cape drifting with the cool currents of air that carried across the slate stone floor. "I did not wish to disturb you nor the children."
"You're never a disturbance, Vincent." Despite her words, Tifa couldn't help but feel like she was lying through her teeth. While she knew Vincent never actively sought to cause distress, his recent behaviour and uncanny ability to cloak himself in total darkness was nothing short of perturbing.
And then there was his 'episodes.'
Her heart quivered under the uninhibited image of huge bloodstained teeth held in the gaping maw of a yellow-eyed beast. Physically shaking the sight from her head, she quickly turned back to the odd article held in her hand. Unclasping the little latch held across the book with curiosity, she opened the soft leather cover to find the contents to contain that of a ledger. Numerous numbers were scribbled down the paper in columns, some awkwardly inked at an angle to make them appear as if they were tumbling down the margin. Squinting down at the bottom of the page, an incredibly familiar scrawl across the signature line jumped out at her in the gloom.
Cloud Strife._
Tifa stopped breathing.
She stared blankly at the Chocobo scratch only her childhood friend could achieve, her lips parted as result of her slack jaw. Recovering with a quick intake of air, she scoured the document with newfound intent. On closer inspection, it was an invoice for renovations carried out on the villa a little over a month ago. Her eyes darted to the top corner of the page. What she found held her breath prisoner in her throat.
The payment was dated four days ago.
The sheer surreality of the situation hit her and she let the book hang limp from her hand. Cloud was never one for paperwork, preferring to pick up a sword than a pen. Despite him running his own delivery business, he let Tifa manage most of the finances since her experience in running a bar left her in good stead. All he had to do was sign the occasional form. Yet here she stood, holding a business transaction completely unfiled by herself.
A sound floated by somewhere in the distance but it was drown out by her own thoughts. Another resonance, muffled and lost to the snares of her internal dilemma. Finally, a deep timbre permeated her mental fog and she blinked rapidly, spinning towards Vincent with a start. The man now stood two steps behind her.
"Tifa." His voice was a firm baritone, eyes hard. Tifa just stared at his half-cowled face, not quite seeing it. She had her head in the clouds – or at least, on a rather specific one. When the gunslinger raised a delicate eyebrow towards the edge of his bandanna, Tifa suddenly sprang to life.
"I've got to go," she blurted out, immediately sprinting for the stairs before Vincent could utter a single word. She took the steps three at a time, clutching the little red ledger tightly as her duster slapped against her calves. Flying past granite brick and once more embraced by the warmth of the upper floor, Tifa turned the corner hard where she felt like she slammed into a wall she just passed.
"Whoa! Where's tha' fire?" Barret chuckled, enveloping her shoulders with giant hands. "Got another kid ta save?" Stepping back from his chest, Tifa shook to her senses and thrust the book out to her old friend. The man simply raised a colossal eyebrow and took the little leather-bound from her hand. "Whaz'zis?" When the fighter didn't respond, he unclasped the latch and flicked through the pages. As he did, the clink of metal on stone caught Tifa's ear and she turned to see Vincent calmly emerge from the basement, having climbed the last step.
As the crimson-caped man moved further into the room, the sun that spilled through the villa windows caught his attire and brought his buckles and sabatons to a brilliant shine. It was then Tifa noted that herself and Barret weren't the only ones to have cleaned themselves up, if the smell of treated leather and boot polish was anything to go by. A mix of turpentine, beeswax and resin floated from the gunslinger which caused her to fall momentarily distracted; blended together, they made a subtle yet warm intoxicating smell she could only describe as masculine.
A grunt from Barret snapped her to attention and she turned to just catch him fighting with his emotions, his brow rising with a jump before quickly falling to a furrow. "What the fu-" Just as he was about to curse, Marlene and Denzel both came running from the bathroom and Barret quickly changed his course of language, "-uuudge!?" His eyes of burnt umber locked with the russet ones of Tifa and she gave a stern nod in response.
"Hey Daddy!" Marlene cried, pulling on Barret's green cargo pants. "I missed you! Did you miss me?"
"'Course I did, baby girl," Barret gave a small albeit troubled grin before reaching down to slightly ruffle his little girl's hair. "But you know I was right round the corner if ya needed me, don't cha?"
"That's what I kept telling you..." Denzel muttered from behind Marlene, tugging on the tassels of his dark green hoodie. His remark earned him a rare stuck out tongue from the usually sensible seven-year-old. Denzel opened his mouth to say something else but the abrupt slam of the villa door turned all eyes to the sudden newcomer.
"Urrrrrrrgh...!" Yuffie groaned, her arm draped melodramatically over her eyes before she slid from the doorframe and tottered further into the room. Barret shook his head while Tifa cocked a brow at the ninja. She was growing increasingly dithered by the constant interruptions, as was Barret judging by the way he folded his huge arms. "Are you guys done already?!" the teen exclaimed, squinting through her no doubt heavy hangover. "Red and Cait Sith told me to wait outside, but the sun's killing me!"
"Perhaps you could use some air," Vincent dryly commented, surprising most in the room (but especially Barret) at his sudden rumble as he brushed past Tifa and made his way to the door. The fighter had a sneaking suspicion Vincent was creating an opportunity and, rather than let it slip, she decided to grasp it.
"Hey," Tifa turned towards Denzel and Marlene, "why don't you two go and show Yuffie how to really get some fresh air? I've heard tag's a good way."
The ninja in question froze in horror while the children beamed. "W-wait, you're kidding... right?" she stuttered. When Vincent continued to walk out the door with the youngsters grinning at his heels, Yuffie stumbled after the flutter of his crimson cape with a hungover wail. "It's not like I've been standing outside for thirty minutes already!"
Before the gunslinger stepped out of earshot, Tifa just caught his response of, "Then maybe you should run for thirty minutes more."
She silently thanked Vincent and once they were gone, Barret wasted no time in flapping the ledger in front of the fighter's face. "Where the hell d'you find this, Tif'?"
"In the basement." Barret opened his mouth, but Tifa beat him to it. "And before you ask, I don't know why it was down there. Guess he needed somewhere to put things during the renovation."
Barret raised his arms and was about to stomp his foot when he caught himself. Glancing at the open door, he instead chose to grit his teeth before hissing out, "You tellin' me he bailed 'cuz he needed ta do some f***in' decorating!?"
Tifa tutted and crossed her arms. "You know that's ridiculous. If that really was the case, why all this mystery?" She turned away and clenched her fists, gaining some comfort from the familiar crunch of leather. "... He would have answered his phone by now."
"Yeah," Barret swept a burly hand over his cornrow styled hair. "An' he would'a probably been heading back ta Edge by now too. If he were, we'd 'ave run into him on the way here."
Tifa brought up a hand to gently hold her chin, trying to fit some of the puzzle pieces that was her childhood friend together. Eventually, she began to muse out loud. "If he really was said to have been spotted three days ago when we left Junon, but that ledger is signed and dated four days ago... then were we actually one step behind him when we arrived?" Barret blinked, but Tifa continued. "But we stayed in Costa del Sol for three extra days. So... we're now four days behind him... right?" The fighter turned with hopeful eyes towards her old friend who simply gave a blank stare.
"Err, mebbe?" Barret scratched at the thick beard hugging his chin. "About that, yeah." The dark-skinned man's uncertainty passed on to Tifa and she hesitated briefly, going over her train of thought once more. All she knew was if the party had stayed in Costa del Sol for three extra days, and Cloud had signed the ledger four days ago, then they must have just missed him when they arrived.
Then there was the matter of Yuffie. How long had she been in Costa del Sol? Surely she would have seen Cloud?
There were simply too many unanswered questions.
The sudden snap of fingers turned Tifa's attention to Barret, who was now standing with the look of an inventor who had just reached an epiphany. "Yo, Priscilla's father mentioned she saw 'im on a motorbike, right?"
Tifa furrowed her brow. "Well, that's what you told me, Barret. His bike's definitely gone from the back of Seventh Heaven. I don't see what this has to do with anything, apart from the fact he's probably miles ahead of us by now..." She bit her lip at the notion. Just when she thought she had a lead, the reality of the situation made it slip further from her grasp.
"You ain't thinkin', Tif'." Barret tapped a giant index finger against his temple. "Motorbike, van, car... they all got one thang in common." The fighter turned towards her old friend with a puzzled expression, the image of Cloud speeding away from her with a few revs of his bike haunting the forefront of her mind. Seeing Tifa thoroughly preoccupied, he answered for her.
"They all gotta refuel."
Tifa's eyes widened in realisation. There were very few vehicles that ran off gasoline, almost all of their engines designed around and accustomed to utilising Mako. As such, the very few rarities that had redesigned engines equally had very few refuel stations.
"Where's the nearest station?" she asked urgently. Suddenly, the image of Cloud driving away wasn't so dire.
Barret answered almost immediately. "Corel. … Home."
Tifa nodded and took the ledger from Barret, pocketing it securely in the front of her duster alongside her keys to the villa. With that, she began to stride out the door with Barret following close behind without a word, her mind moving as swiftly as her feet.
Would she really find her lost childhood friend? Or was the attempt itself as futile as chasing clouds? There was only one way to find out.
And Tifa was going to catch this Cloud.
