The thing that's most different for him about this place is the sameness of everyday existence here. At home he travels. A continent a week sometimes, just to keep moving because... well... he's restless and has nothing that ties him to any one place for very long, although he's got ties to many places now. But here...
It's still bigger than his coffin in the basement at Shinra Manor, and at those times when he starts to feel a bit closed in, he reminds himself of that and is grateful for the expanse of forest beyond the lake and the clear space over the lake, for the mountain rising above it all, for his room here.
And most of all, he's grateful for his friends... or friend, as the case seems to be; he doesn't do relationships readily. So when Tifa works, he... likes to be there with her. Somewhere deep down inside she makes him smile, even if he generally chooses not to let that show.
He's not big on champagne, but if Tifa's making champagne cocktails, he'll try one. And so he sits lightly on a stool at the very end of the bar, furthest from the noise and crowd. Hopefully he won't be babysitting Reno again tonight but if he does... he does.
"Tifa."
He's so glad to see her, although that doesn't show. Staying as impassive as he generally does is its own art form.
She spots him when she's mid-stretch, fingers clasped and arms angled out behind her. A smile spreads across her face, and letting her arms drop back down to her sides, she steps up to the bar as if to meet him and then props her chin on her hand attentively.
"Vincent." Their stoic Vincent is always a welcome customer. "Can I get you something?"
It contents her that he's made his way over after seeing her behind the bar. It's just the kind of thing friends do, and despite the fact that she's thought of him as a friend for some time now, Vincent... hasn't always been somebody she'd thought would do something like that.
A dose of self-esteem would be nice. Unfortunately that doesn't come out of a bottle, and so he looks over at the specials board and shrugs. "Surprise me."
He... likes her new Seventh Heaven in Edge, the one she's just opened. Seeing it in person now that it's a going concern will happen some day, he's sure, even if it was not to be this time around. Behind the bar she's so fluid and graceful not that she doesn't behave similarly all the time. It's just that much more noticeable when she's busy doing what she does so well.
His level of need for food and drink is still far lower than average. That he survived those thirty years on nothing but air still surprises him when he thinks about it... although that's something he tries not to do. At any rate, he trusts Tifa to come up with something he'll like... not that he's terribly picky about that sort of thing. He even ate Marlene's cupcakes that one time.
She'll stick with her special, but she watches him very consideringly for a second or two before she -- with a little bit of a mischievous gleam in her eye -- picks up the bar's book of drinks just long enough to check one thing and then starts by getting out a champagne saucer.
A little champagne and a little red Burgundy -- he should like that, she's sure -- later, she's presenting him with the glass, garnished with a mint leaf.
Picking up the saucer, he examines its contents in the light. It's got a red tinge to it -- he has to like that -- and tiny bubbles pop and send minuscule sprays of champagne up into the air. They'll tickle his nose, he knows. As he holds it to his mouth, the pungent scent of mint fills the space: without even drinking it, he has to approve on the sense-related aspects of it alone.
And then he takes a taste and there's nothing about it with which he can find fault: it's not sweet but it's quite delicious, and the champagne offsets the red wine while the mint makes a delightful aftertaste.
"What... is it called? So I might order it again; it's very good."
It's almost as if he's got discriminating taste in alcohol.
Her eyes stay on him the whole time he acquaints himself with the drink, studies it, holds it up, tastes it. It's not until he weighs in and tells her that it's good that she glances away, smile widening.
She leans her elbows on the bar in a way that isn't really conspiratorial, but does probably hint at it.
"Turk's Blood."
If not for the stubbornly lingering smile, she'd be the picture of innocence.
"Stop that." His words are entirely invalidated by the sly smile on his face. "I prefer not to have to smile in public. It wreaks havoc on my reputation."
None of this stops him either smiling or drinking the Turk's Blood, however, and he wonders if she chose it as a reference to his do I look like a vampire to you? question for her during one of her last bartending stints. Or perhaps it's in reference to Reno, not that he has a particular taste for that man's blood.
His voice still tends to lack inflection, but his smile is worth a hundred Turk's Bloods in priceless crystal glasses.
It just seemed like the perfect drink all the way around. Champagne for the special, red Burgundy to suit Vincent's typical taste in drinks, and a name that seemed guaranteed to bring a smirk -- even if quickly hidden -- to his face.
It's certainly brought one to hers.
"I'm afraid you'll have to make me, Mr. Valentine, and I'm one tough customer."
Sooner or later he'll dissect this... effect Tifa has on him, forcing smiles and laughter. He only knew her a little before they got to this place but now... now he considers her his most trusted friend. Odds are it's the proximity and the fact that save for Lucrecia and Reno, there are no others here from their world.
It's a curious thing that he likes her as well as he does and that comes with the proximity as well. He's never considered himself to be friendship material but... Tifa does.
He's learned more from her in the months they've been here than from anybody else in a long, long time. One day, he'll share that fact with her.
Her voice is firm, but she's grinning all over again.
"You know, that was the kind of sentiment that Barret and I first became friends over." She can hear fondness creep into her voice, and she doesn't stop it. Other than Cloud, Barret's her oldest friend, and they've stood by each other through a lot. "Back when the original Seventh Heaven wasn't mine. It wasn't even Seventh Heaven yet. It was still called Sector 7 Spirits, and a guy named Patrick owned it."
He didn't know her then. He didn't know any of them then: he was too busy feeling sorry for himself, wasting away the days and months and years in a coffin... not that being there was his choice, particularly. Except by that point it was, and it was old habit, and it was comfortable and a perfect place for atoning or being remorseful or repenting in private.
"And you were how old then?" The Turk's Blood is good; he takes another sip of it but sets it down and leans forward, intertwining his gloved fingers with the armored ones carefully. He knows so little, really, about Tifa's past. She's young, and that's led to the assumption that perhaps she hasn't really done so very much living. But that's unfair: time may be irrelevant to him but it isn't to most people and Tifa's no exception to that rule.
"If you care to tell me about that time, I... would like to hear it."
Four years ago now. Sometimes it feels like much longer, and she laughs goodnaturedly. If Vincent wants to hear about it, she's more than happy to tell him. Somehow it makes Barret seem that much closer to talk about it.
"I was fifteen when Sephiroth went to Nibelheim and I almost got killed by him. I hadn't known it was Zangan who got me to Midgar, but he left me enough gil to find a place to stay once I was done recovering. And where I found a place to stay was in Sector 7, right around the corner from Sector 7 Spirits. I got a job babysitting Patrick's daughter after a while, and then he hired me to wait tables at the bar. One night about a year and a half later, one of the customers starts giving me a rough time. He's had too much to drink and starts hitting on me while I'm working. Barret was a semi-regular there back then, and he stood up to take up for me. You know what he's like."
She can practically hear him: What the hell you doin', blondie? She don't want a drunk like you!
"Big and broad, he growled and took off his coat to show off his gun arm." She grins slowly at the memory. "But a good punch followed an even better kick was all it took for me to stop the harassment. You should've seen the look on Barret's face."
She almost laughs again. "He helped me drag the man outside, and we've been good friends ever since. After I took over the bar" -- at eighteen, she was barely old enough to drink what she served, but that's never been a problem for the customers -- "it wasn't long before I offered the basement to Barret for AVALANCHE meetings." She pauses for a moment, her smile wry. "And then I joined it myself. I always tried to tell myself it was because I believed in the cause and wanted to save the planet, but..."
She looks at Vincent, glances down for a second, and then meets his eyes again with a certain self-awareness in her smile. "A lot of us wanted revenge for something at the start of things, didn't we?"
That's an easy answer and he has no reason to lie about it to Tifa; she was there with Cloud in the basement when he awoke. "And some of us have learned against our better judgment that revenge, perhaps, isn't as sweet as it's supposed to be."
Rest in peace. That's what he said to Hojo, finally, at the end... when it was too late for him to hear the words. At the end he had no more desire for revenge: all he felt was... pity.
How strange.
But Tifa's woven him a story and it's one he likes very much. Usually he has little patience for stories but he can see this one so clearly: a very young -- and very pretty -- Tifa, a loud customer, and a louder Barret. It's no surprise to him that she didn't need Barret's help to take care of things any more than she's ever needed his assistance. And knowing the two of them as much as he does -- Tifa, of course, more than Barret -- it makes sense, adds a dimension to the richness of their friendship.
He's very happy for the both of them that they have this... past. Perhaps in another five or six years he'll be sharing similar stories (but hopefully without the obnoxious customer) about his days here with Tifa. That... would be nice and he... doesn't deserve to have the thought.
He hasn't earned the right to regain that kind of hope yet.
She casts her eyes downward again, just for a heartbeat.
For two.
"Yeah."
He's right. She's one of the ones who's learned that. Barret, too.
Suddenly, she feels almost awkward. Subdued. Self-conscious. She almost feels like Vincent should think she's silly. He is technically over twice her age, even though he doesn't sound it, may never look it, and doesn't exactly act like it.
But he's given no indication that he does. It's just that...
She guesses she touched a little too close to the one of the things that's been weighing so heavily on her mind since she and Cloud and Barret returned to Midgar after they all split up. And she's not used to talking much about it.
She's stronger than that. Or she tries to be.
She's more comfortable being the one people tell things to than the one who needs to open up.
"Have you been to see Lucrecia?"
She was just wondering earlier today. He must have seen her by now.
It's a sudden change in topic but... well... that's all right. He doesn't mind so much, and if Tifa is finished discussing the past so be it: he's finished discussing it too. He's glad enough to be privy to the parts of it she does share.
And she can ask him whatever questions she likes; he may or may not answer them. This is one he can and will answer. Lucrecia's room is next door; the flowers she planted are growing, but... he hasn't seen her. He will eventually.
"Not yet." That's the best answer to that question. Whether or not Lucrecia is still here is open for debate, but... as repentant and humble as he tries to be, he still likes to think that she at least would have left him a note. But that's pride speaking and... pride is something he can't and won't allow himself.
And now it's his turn to change the subject. "No more visits from any current Turks, I trust?"
She hasn't seen Lucrecia since they got back, but that doesn't mean anything. She only ran into her once before they left as it was.
Vincent's hard to read on the subject, and she's sorry she brought it up. She can only guess what's going through his head.
Well, that was all she's ever been able to do, and she had a lot less to go on for the first six months they knew each other. But she knows he's loved Lucrecia -- and her memory -- with everything he has, and her heart aches at the idea that might feel at a loss here.
At her core, she knows she's a romantic.
When he asks her an unrelated question, she doesn't mind going along with it. She shakes her head. "Not yet." She smiles quietly. "If Reno's smart, he's giving me time to cool off."
It's still bigger than his coffin in the basement at Shinra Manor, and at those times when he starts to feel a bit closed in, he reminds himself of that and is grateful for the expanse of forest beyond the lake and the clear space over the lake, for the mountain rising above it all, for his room here.
And most of all, he's grateful for his friends... or friend, as the case seems to be; he doesn't do relationships readily. So when Tifa works, he... likes to be there with her. Somewhere deep down inside she makes him smile, even if he generally chooses not to let that show.
He's not big on champagne, but if Tifa's making champagne cocktails, he'll try one. And so he sits lightly on a stool at the very end of the bar, furthest from the noise and crowd. Hopefully he won't be babysitting Reno again tonight but if he does... he does.
"Tifa."
He's so glad to see her, although that doesn't show. Staying as impassive as he generally does is its own art form.
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She spots him when she's mid-stretch, fingers clasped and arms angled out behind her. A smile spreads across her face, and letting her arms drop back down to her sides, she steps up to the bar as if to meet him and then props her chin on her hand attentively.
"Vincent." Their stoic Vincent is always a welcome customer. "Can I get you something?"
It contents her that he's made his way over after seeing her behind the bar. It's just the kind of thing friends do, and despite the fact that she's thought of him as a friend for some time now, Vincent... hasn't always been somebody she'd thought would do something like that.
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He... likes her new Seventh Heaven in Edge, the one she's just opened. Seeing it in person now that it's a going concern will happen some day, he's sure, even if it was not to be this time around. Behind the bar she's so fluid and graceful not that she doesn't behave similarly all the time. It's just that much more noticeable when she's busy doing what she does so well.
His level of need for food and drink is still far lower than average. That he survived those thirty years on nothing but air still surprises him when he thinks about it... although that's something he tries not to do. At any rate, he trusts Tifa to come up with something he'll like... not that he's terribly picky about that sort of thing. He even ate Marlene's cupcakes that one time.
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She'll stick with her special, but she watches him very consideringly for a second or two before she -- with a little bit of a mischievous gleam in her eye -- picks up the bar's book of drinks just long enough to check one thing and then starts by getting out a champagne saucer.
A little champagne and a little red Burgundy -- he should like that, she's sure -- later, she's presenting him with the glass, garnished with a mint leaf.
"Okay, Vincent. Tell me what you think."
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And then he takes a taste and there's nothing about it with which he can find fault: it's not sweet but it's quite delicious, and the champagne offsets the red wine while the mint makes a delightful aftertaste.
"What... is it called? So I might order it again; it's very good."
It's almost as if he's got discriminating taste in alcohol.
(Almost.)
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She leans her elbows on the bar in a way that isn't really conspiratorial, but does probably hint at it.
"Turk's Blood."
If not for the stubbornly lingering smile, she'd be the picture of innocence.
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None of this stops him either smiling or drinking the Turk's Blood, however, and he wonders if she chose it as a reference to his do I look like a vampire to you? question for her during one of her last bartending stints. Or perhaps it's in reference to Reno, not that he has a particular taste for that man's blood.
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His voice still tends to lack inflection, but his smile is worth a hundred Turk's Bloods in priceless crystal glasses.
It just seemed like the perfect drink all the way around. Champagne for the special, red Burgundy to suit Vincent's typical taste in drinks, and a name that seemed guaranteed to bring a smirk -- even if quickly hidden -- to his face.
It's certainly brought one to hers.
"I'm afraid you'll have to make me, Mr. Valentine, and I'm one tough customer."
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Sooner or later he'll dissect this... effect Tifa has on him, forcing smiles and laughter. He only knew her a little before they got to this place but now... now he considers her his most trusted friend. Odds are it's the proximity and the fact that save for Lucrecia and Reno, there are no others here from their world.
It's a curious thing that he likes her as well as he does and that comes with the proximity as well. He's never considered himself to be friendship material but... Tifa does.
He's learned more from her in the months they've been here than from anybody else in a long, long time. One day, he'll share that fact with her.
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Her voice is firm, but she's grinning all over again.
"You know, that was the kind of sentiment that Barret and I first became friends over." She can hear fondness creep into her voice, and she doesn't stop it. Other than Cloud, Barret's her oldest friend, and they've stood by each other through a lot. "Back when the original Seventh Heaven wasn't mine. It wasn't even Seventh Heaven yet. It was still called Sector 7 Spirits, and a guy named Patrick owned it."
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"And you were how old then?" The Turk's Blood is good; he takes another sip of it but sets it down and leans forward, intertwining his gloved fingers with the armored ones carefully. He knows so little, really, about Tifa's past. She's young, and that's led to the assumption that perhaps she hasn't really done so very much living. But that's unfair: time may be irrelevant to him but it isn't to most people and Tifa's no exception to that rule.
"If you care to tell me about that time, I... would like to hear it."
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Four years ago now. Sometimes it feels like much longer, and she laughs goodnaturedly. If Vincent wants to hear about it, she's more than happy to tell him. Somehow it makes Barret seem that much closer to talk about it.
"I was fifteen when Sephiroth went to Nibelheim and I almost got killed by him. I hadn't known it was Zangan who got me to Midgar, but he left me enough gil to find a place to stay once I was done recovering. And where I found a place to stay was in Sector 7, right around the corner from Sector 7 Spirits. I got a job babysitting Patrick's daughter after a while, and then he hired me to wait tables at the bar. One night about a year and a half later, one of the customers starts giving me a rough time. He's had too much to drink and starts hitting on me while I'm working. Barret was a semi-regular there back then, and he stood up to take up for me. You know what he's like."
She can practically hear him: What the hell you doin', blondie? She don't want a drunk like you!
"Big and broad, he growled and took off his coat to show off his gun arm." She grins slowly at the memory. "But a good punch followed an even better kick was all it took for me to stop the harassment. You should've seen the look on Barret's face."
She almost laughs again. "He helped me drag the man outside, and we've been good friends ever since. After I took over the bar" -- at eighteen, she was barely old enough to drink what she served, but that's never been a problem for the customers -- "it wasn't long before I offered the basement to Barret for AVALANCHE meetings." She pauses for a moment, her smile wry. "And then I joined it myself. I always tried to tell myself it was because I believed in the cause and wanted to save the planet, but..."
She looks at Vincent, glances down for a second, and then meets his eyes again with a certain self-awareness in her smile. "A lot of us wanted revenge for something at the start of things, didn't we?"
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That's an easy answer and he has no reason to lie about it to Tifa; she was there with Cloud in the basement when he awoke. "And some of us have learned against our better judgment that revenge, perhaps, isn't as sweet as it's supposed to be."
Rest in peace. That's what he said to Hojo, finally, at the end... when it was too late for him to hear the words. At the end he had no more desire for revenge: all he felt was... pity.
How strange.
But Tifa's woven him a story and it's one he likes very much. Usually he has little patience for stories but he can see this one so clearly: a very young -- and very pretty -- Tifa, a loud customer, and a louder Barret. It's no surprise to him that she didn't need Barret's help to take care of things any more than she's ever needed his assistance. And knowing the two of them as much as he does -- Tifa, of course, more than Barret -- it makes sense, adds a dimension to the richness of their friendship.
He's very happy for the both of them that they have this... past. Perhaps in another five or six years he'll be sharing similar stories (but hopefully without the obnoxious customer) about his days here with Tifa. That... would be nice and he... doesn't deserve to have the thought.
He hasn't earned the right to regain that kind of hope yet.
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For two.
"Yeah."
He's right. She's one of the ones who's learned that. Barret, too.
Suddenly, she feels almost awkward. Subdued. Self-conscious. She almost feels like Vincent should think she's silly. He is technically over twice her age, even though he doesn't sound it, may never look it, and doesn't exactly act like it.
But he's given no indication that he does. It's just that...
She guesses she touched a little too close to the one of the things that's been weighing so heavily on her mind since she and Cloud and Barret returned to Midgar after they all split up. And she's not used to talking much about it.
She's stronger than that. Or she tries to be.
She's more comfortable being the one people tell things to than the one who needs to open up.
"Have you been to see Lucrecia?"
She was just wondering earlier today. He must have seen her by now.
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And she can ask him whatever questions she likes; he may or may not answer them. This is one he can and will answer. Lucrecia's room is next door; the flowers she planted are growing, but... he hasn't seen her. He will eventually.
"Not yet." That's the best answer to that question. Whether or not Lucrecia is still here is open for debate, but... as repentant and humble as he tries to be, he still likes to think that she at least would have left him a note. But that's pride speaking and... pride is something he can't and won't allow himself.
And now it's his turn to change the subject. "No more visits from any current Turks, I trust?"
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She hasn't seen Lucrecia since they got back, but that doesn't mean anything. She only ran into her once before they left as it was.
Vincent's hard to read on the subject, and she's sorry she brought it up. She can only guess what's going through his head.
Well, that was all she's ever been able to do, and she had a lot less to go on for the first six months they knew each other. But she knows he's loved Lucrecia -- and her memory -- with everything he has, and her heart aches at the idea that might feel at a loss here.
At her core, she knows she's a romantic.
When he asks her an unrelated question, she doesn't mind going along with it. She shakes her head. "Not yet." She smiles quietly. "If Reno's smart, he's giving me time to cool off."
How smart he can possibly be is up for grabs.
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