Looking way up, Tifa has to grin back. "I'm glad you think so."
She certainly does.
"Creature of habit, are you? How about a Vodka Orange?" He must be okay with vodka. He was good with the martini he drank last time. Or... the martini his tentacle drank. "It's pretty simple, but if you like orange..."
Yeah, yeah, yeah, she's gonna be all sorts of happy to see him, ain't she. Hopefully he walks out of here tonight without her dumping a beer all over him 'cause like he said last time, what a waste of good beer. And then there was the whole cleaning-the-work-suit thing and that sucked 'cause he had to use a backup and it was friggin' ironed and he hates that.
So tonight, he'll be a little more careful cracking jokes about Sector 7. Anyway, he ain't in the mood for jokes tonight. He came here for a reason that has nothing to do with Tifa and everything to do with getting the fuck away from Midgar for just one. Friggin'. Night.
As much as she still hasn't been forget the joke he made at Sector 7's expense and as thrilled as she really isn't that he's the person she knows who's decided to show up this early into her shift, she manages -- calling upon every once of strength in her -- to smile politely at him.
For now.
"Something strong, huh?" Does Reno seem a little subdued tonight? It's too soon to tell. "Not your usual?"
He likes the Wutai Pale, she knows.
She never really thought she'd one day be privy to the drinks of choice for any of the Turks, but here she is.
Reaching over to the supplies, he grabs two coasters and sets them down in front of himself about six inches apart. "I could drink ale all friggin' night and the only thing that'd happen is I'd have to take a piss every once in a while. No, that ain't strong enough. Whatever you got that ain't Atlantean, and I don't care what it costs as long as it's strong and there's two of 'em." The pile of gil he sets down on the bar is impressive enough by itself.
"And keep 'em coming."
He'd like to drink till he passes right the fuck out.
Her eyebrows knit. He rules out both his usual and the single strongest drink she knows of right off the bat, and he's got that it's been a long day, so let me sit and drink bit down pat.
Well, her job's to give the guy what he wants.
"I hope you like whiskey."
Of the rows of bottles behind her, there's a stout clear one with a shiny black-and-gold label, and she reaches for it with one hand with the other hand carefully collects a tumbler. Something tells her he'll appreciate the whiskey's plain strength more than something mixed and made pretty in cocktail glass.
She sets a second tumbler by the first, one on each of the coasters he felt free to help himself to, and chucks a few ice cubes in both. "Did something happen?"
Behind the bar, it's just a matter of blending hot tea with some brandy, a tablespoon of honey, and a little bit of lemon. She can't help thinking she should have one later herself, and she smiles as she places the mug on the bar.
"There you go. It's the perfect time of night for it."
Now that she's gotten over the surprise (mostly), she's a little bit fascinated. Yrael's confirmed he's not stuck in one shape and she can't say she's never known a shapeshifter, but... a female Yrael -- and if it's not him, the resemblance is ridiculous -- is kind of uncanny.
Well, uncannier.
"Well, I'll be glad this brother of yours doesn't come around. I'd hate to have to break out my gloves." Although the first statement isn't a lie, the second is. But it's goodnatured and said with a grin. "What can I get for you?"
She'll wait until there's a drink involved before she pries for answers.
From across the room, he watches the woman behind the bar. She moves gracefully, as if this work she does is an art. He's told her how much he admires the way she does her job, but he's not sure she appreciated it fully.
Slowly but surely, this place is starting to close in on him. It's nowhere near as small a space as his coffin in the Shinra Manor basement, but it's a prison nonetheless. The only thing keeping him sane, he thinks, is the fact that he's got one friend here.
He's almost content to watch her from afar but really, as comfortable as he says he is being alone, he's human -- mostly -- and every once in a while he needs his friends. Here, that means Tifa and ignoring Reno, he takes a surreptitious seat at the far end of the bar.
This... is as close as he'll ever get to an admission of loneliness. Since they returned, he's been filled with increasing feelings of despair. The questions he asks have gone from where is Lucrecia to why is she gone to after all this time, not even a word? This feels even more like a slap in the face than it did thirty years ago because... well... she'd stopped teasing.
And that gave him hope. He's discussed this with no one, but it's been eating at him. That little bit of hope went so far toward eroding the darkness he'd been living with but now it's dashed.
For that, he feels even more remorse than before. He's tired of it.
It's almost enough to make her heart ache. For him this time.
"For you, I can spare a lot."
It's very rare for Vincent to seek out company. And it's even rarer that he admits that he is, but... there's nothing wrong with it. He needs friends just like everybody else, and she's lucky enough to be one of the few he considers one.
Cloud has gotten almost as bad as Vincent lately, she thinks. Sometimes worse. While even as recently as eight months ago she wouldn't have imagined Vincent asking for company like this, she really can't imagine Cloud doing it now.
The thought would break her heart if she let it, but she doesn't have the time to right now.
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She certainly does.
"Creature of habit, are you? How about a Vodka Orange?" He must be okay with vodka. He was good with the martini he drank last time. Or... the martini his tentacle drank. "It's pretty simple, but if you like orange..."
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(OOC: Going to be going out pretty soon, hope you don't mind.)
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Absolut, the label on the vodka says, and once she adds orange juice, she shakes it all together and pours it over ice in a nice big cocktail glass.
"There you go. I hope you like it."
(ooc: Not a problem!)
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Yeah, yeah, yeah, she's gonna be all sorts of happy to see him, ain't she. Hopefully he walks out of here tonight without her dumping a beer all over him 'cause like he said last time, what a waste of good beer. And then there was the whole cleaning-the-work-suit thing and that sucked 'cause he had to use a backup and it was friggin' ironed and he hates that.
So tonight, he'll be a little more careful cracking jokes about Sector 7. Anyway, he ain't in the mood for jokes tonight. He came here for a reason that has nothing to do with Tifa and everything to do with getting the fuck away from Midgar for just one. Friggin'. Night.
This night.
"Two somethings strong."
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For now.
"Something strong, huh?" Does Reno seem a little subdued tonight? It's too soon to tell. "Not your usual?"
He likes the Wutai Pale, she knows.
She never really thought she'd one day be privy to the drinks of choice for any of the Turks, but here she is.
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Reaching over to the supplies, he grabs two coasters and sets them down in front of himself about six inches apart. "I could drink ale all friggin' night and the only thing that'd happen is I'd have to take a piss every once in a while. No, that ain't strong enough. Whatever you got that ain't Atlantean, and I don't care what it costs as long as it's strong and there's two of 'em." The pile of gil he sets down on the bar is impressive enough by itself.
"And keep 'em coming."
He'd like to drink till he passes right the fuck out.
It's a special night.
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Well, her job's to give the guy what he wants.
"I hope you like whiskey."
Of the rows of bottles behind her, there's a stout clear one with a shiny black-and-gold label, and she reaches for it with one hand with the other hand carefully collects a tumbler. Something tells her he'll appreciate the whiskey's plain strength more than something mixed and made pretty in cocktail glass.
She sets a second tumbler by the first, one on each of the coasters he felt free to help himself to, and chucks a few ice cubes in both. "Did something happen?"
She's almost afraid to ask.
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Behind the bar, it's just a matter of blending hot tea with some brandy, a tablespoon of honey, and a little bit of lemon. She can't help thinking she should have one later herself, and she smiles as she places the mug on the bar.
"There you go. It's the perfect time of night for it."
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She stares absently into space for a few moments, shaking herself out of it before anyone can stare.
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She hesitates, noting how the woman seems lost in thought for a moment.
"Can I get you anything else?"
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To say there's something familiar about this woman would be an understatement. In fact, she comes just short of staring.
She almost grins. "I don't guess you have a brother who comes here often, do you?"
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Yes, Yrael. The Destroyer of Worlds can be a real ass.
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Well, uncannier.
"Well, I'll be glad this brother of yours doesn't come around. I'd hate to have to break out my gloves." Although the first statement isn't a lie, the second is. But it's goodnatured and said with a grin. "What can I get for you?"
She'll wait until there's a drink involved before she pries for answers.
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Slowly but surely, this place is starting to close in on him. It's nowhere near as small a space as his coffin in the Shinra Manor basement, but it's a prison nonetheless. The only thing keeping him sane, he thinks, is the fact that he's got one friend here.
He's almost content to watch her from afar but really, as comfortable as he says he is being alone, he's human -- mostly -- and every once in a while he needs his friends. Here, that means Tifa and ignoring Reno, he takes a surreptitious seat at the far end of the bar.
The shadows are a comfort to him.
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And slowly but surely, wiping the bar down as she goes, she strolls over toward him until she's standing across from him.
"Hi, Vincent." She gives him a big smile. It's no secret that she's glad to see him. "What can I get for you tonight?"
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This... is as close as he'll ever get to an admission of loneliness. Since they returned, he's been filled with increasing feelings of despair. The questions he asks have gone from where is Lucrecia to why is she gone to after all this time, not even a word? This feels even more like a slap in the face than it did thirty years ago because... well... she'd stopped teasing.
And that gave him hope. He's discussed this with no one, but it's been eating at him. That little bit of hope went so far toward eroding the darkness he'd been living with but now it's dashed.
For that, he feels even more remorse than before. He's tired of it.
Tired of it all.
"If you have some to spare."
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"For you, I can spare a lot."
It's very rare for Vincent to seek out company. And it's even rarer that he admits that he is, but... there's nothing wrong with it. He needs friends just like everybody else, and she's lucky enough to be one of the few he considers one.
Cloud has gotten almost as bad as Vincent lately, she thinks. Sometimes worse. While even as recently as eight months ago she wouldn't have imagined Vincent asking for company like this, she really can't imagine Cloud doing it now.
The thought would break her heart if she let it, but she doesn't have the time to right now.
"Can I get you a drink along with it?"
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