candybox | OPEN POST: Tifa Lockhart

Aleifr's eyes slowly scan the interior of the bar, taking it in as though he's simply appraising it as a new customer. It's got the same atmosphere as the exterior, but there was something that jumped out at him -- namely how clean everything was. It wasn't that he expected a pigsty, but the sorts of bars where people congregate after a long shift to celebrate or commiserate have certain hallmarks. Scratches, stains, bent floorboards ... they were something of an inevitability, but Seventh Heaven was virtually spotless.

It told him the clientele had a certain level of respect for the proprietor. Maybe they liked her, maybe they didn't want to get on her bad side ... his guess was that it was probably an even split. She was pretty, very much so, but looking a little further down?

She had armored gauntlets on her hands that were dented and scratched from use. She knew how to throw a punch, and probably wouldn't hesitate to do so if she had to.

"Whiskey would be nice." He answers, casual despite the fact that his voice has a distinctly growl-like edge by default. "Something local, if you have it."

He slowly crosses the taproom before settling into one of the open seats at the bar.

She's not outwardly fazed by him in the least, not by that growling voice or the sheer size of him. Instead, she offers a small smile. "Sure thing." As he approaches, she turns and selects a bottle, showing him it briefly so he can see the label. "This one's from a distillery in Kalm."

And maybe it's betraying a little of the country girl in her, but that's her idea of the local good stuff -- not much of anything made in Midgar itself impresses her. She fetches a glass and sets it on the bar.

"Neat or on the rocks?"

"Neat suits me just fine." He replies, nodding his approval as he eases down onto the stool and leans his elbows onto the bar top.

Another cursory glance around the bar. Looking for faces he'd recognize and finding none.

"Nice place." He comments as he turns back towards the bartender. "Can see why the locals like it so much."

"Thanks," she smiles, pouring his drink and sliding it across the bar. Money can often be tight, but they do good business here, and that's more than a lot of people in the slums can say. In that regard, she feels very lucky.

"We serve food here, too, so if you get hungry just give me a shout."

Aleifr gives her a small nod of thanks, raises the glass to his lips, and takes an experimental sip ... and he lifts the glass in an appreciative toast. He's genuinely impressed, and might have to track this down for himself.

A longer sip and he sets down the half-empty glass.

"Might take you up on that. Could end up being here for a little while." He replies. "Hoping to run into a friend of mine that's apparently a regular of yours."

"Ah, I see," Tifa tilts her head with a smile. She doesn't tend to poke her nose into her customers' business, but since he was the one to bring it up... "Maybe you could describe him? Then I could tell you whether he's been here today already or not."

She might not know all her regulars by name, but she rarely forgets a face.

"Big fellow by the name of Barret." Aleifr replies with a grunt, idly turning the glass on the bar round and round. "Little shorter than me, little broader, big damn gun on his hand ..."

The man's hard to miss, essentially. If he's been here - and Aleifr knows that he has - she'll have seen him ... and Aleifr's curious to see what sort of reaction Barret's name provokes.

Her eyes widen in surprise and apprehension; if he wants Barret, that's probably related to one thing only. Still, she soon conceals it with a short laugh.

"Barret being shorter than anyone? That's something I'll have to see for myself." Barret would object to that description and insist he's taller, too, she thinks. "I haven't seen him today, but if you stick around, he might drop by just before closing time."

So she does know Barret and his business ... the question then becomes how involved she is. Odds are, he'll wind up needing to talk to her as well.

"I see."

Longer than he was hoping this would take, but if that's what the situation demands, so be it. He picks up his glass again and drains the last of the whiskey in one pull before depositing it back down on the bar top.

"More of this, please." He taps a finger on the rim of the glass.

A beat, then he adds: "And a menu, I suppose. Seems I'll be here for a little while."

"Sure thing." She slides a menu towards him (a lot of junk food, but all of it homemade), then takes the glass, pouring him another drink. As she does so she absently hums the Stamp theme tune, a quiet tell to see if his reaction is someone to trust or not.

"Here you go," she sets down a fresh glass of whiskey for him, red eyes searching his expression.

It's hard to read through the vaguely annoyed scowl that seems to be his default expression, and indeed, there's very little visible reaction to the familiar tune ... but his eyes do flick up from the menu, locking with hers for a brief moment.

"Thanks." He replies as she sets the refilled glass down next to him, and his attention returns to the menu in his hand.

His free hand, though, doesn't go for the whiskey just yet. Instead, he drums his fingers against the laquered wood of the bar, beating out the Stamp theme tune from the note she'd left off at.

That answers his questions about her involvement, at the very least.

That response would go a ways to settling the uneasy feeling in her chest, but it wouldn't last long. When the man he's been waiting for finally shows, she closes up the bar for the night so they can go downstairs to the hideout and hold an impromptu meeting.

It's nothing short of disastrous, and confirms every kind of fear Tifa had when she'd signed up to Avalanche. It's hard not to sympathise with him against Barret's bullheadedness, but she tries to set her own feelings aside enough to try and diffuse the argument before it escalated to blows or worse. They made a mistake. They won't make it next time, Jessie had already promised that much.

When the meeting is over and Barret has stormed off back home with little Marlene in tow, Tifa takes herself to the bar and pours a shot of vodka. She doesn't expect Aleifr to linger, but either way she doesn't particularly care about keeping up appearances right now.

Aleifr hadn't been expecting for the meeting to go smoothly. He knew Barret more by reputation than first hand experience, and everything he'd heard painted the picture of an extremely stubborn man - someone who'd accept that collateral damage if it meant hurting Shinra.

Barret had lived up to that. His team seemed horrified by the damage they'd done with the blast, but Barret ... Barret's mind was already on the next reactor and that had worked it's way under Aleifr's skin damn near immediately. It set his blood boiling seeing how quickly Barret could justify it all, and if it weren't for Tifa's efforts to disarm the situation, they likely would have come to blows.

The tension was only deescalated, though, not diffused. Barret was gone the moment the meeting was over, leaving his team to dejectedly disperse back to their own homes.

Maybe the lot of them would be able to temper Barret's extremism. Maybe they wouldn't. Either way, headquarters needed to hear about this and understand what a bloody timebomb they may be sitting on with someone like Barret leading strikes against Shinra.

He's already sorting through the details of the meeting and planning his report as he exits the hideout under Seventh Heaven. He's about to head for the door, leave this place behind as quickly as Barret had, but he's given momentary pause as Tifa walks up to the bar, retrieves a bottle of vodka, and pours herself a shot.

She looks exhausted.

Aleifr hesitates for a moment, lingering in the taproom, halfway between the bar and the door. Eventually, he turns towards the former.

"Think I could get some of that too?"

He doesn't make a move towards the bar to join her - not yet, at least.

She might tell him to fuck off. He wouldn't blame her.

She looks over her shoulder, eyes wide in surprise, but then nods.

"Yeah, sure." Her voice still has a tremble to it, despite her best efforts. He could use the drink more than she could, she supposes. She gets to her feet from the stool she'd been sitting on, taking out another shot glass and pouring him a drink -- as well as a refill for herself.

"I didn't want to say this in front of Barret, but... I'm sorry."

It's a gesture that seems to take Aleifr by surprise. It's not shocking given the remorse she showed during the meeting, but ... he hadn't expected her to actually voice it.

Some of the frustration still simmering under the surface cools, his scowl softens a little, and - while he doesn't thank her for it verbally - he responds with a small nod of acceptance. His eyes linger on her for a moment before his attention turns to the shot, which he plucks off the counter, drains without so much as a flinch, and replaces on the bartop.

He's quiet for a few, long moments before drawing in a long breath and exhaling it through his nose.

"What went wrong, do you think?"

He turns towards her. His expression isn't exactly inviting considering 'vaguely annoyed' just seems to be how his face sits ... but there's no hostility to it. It's not a demand for an answer or an accusation. He's leveling with her. Asking her plainly.

"I don't know for sure. Maybe someone made a mistake. Maybe Jessie..."

She doesn't want to lay all the blame at poor Jessie's feet, considering Jessie was blaming herself too. She grips the bartop and takes a steadying breath.

"The bomb was only supposed to disable the reactor. Internal damage, nothing else. They even made sure to sneak in at a time when no one would get hurt except Shinra security staff..." She trails off helplessly. She doesn't want to say it was a freak accident, because that would be the same as trying to avoid blame, so maybe human error really was the only explanation.

Aleifr nods again, silent as he processes what she's saying and mulls it over, trying to decide which option he believes to be more likely.

"My little sister lives in Sector One." He says, finally breaking his silence. "My family's from the slums, but Tyra's clever and talented enough that she got a good job topside. She designs clothes."

Without asking, Aleifr reaches for the bottle of vodka and refills his shot glass.

"The reactor blew maybe ten minutes after the end of her shift. She was on her way home, suddenly the whole fucking world was on fire ..."

He raises the shotglass to his lips. Down the hatch. Glass back to the counter.

"She's fine. Shaken, but nothing more than a few scratches from shattering windows. The shop she worked at ... less so. Not much of it left."

Aleifr stops looking off into space and turns his attention back towards Tifa.

"If she'd had to work late for any reason, or if she had a project she was trying to finish, she'd be gone." He pauses for a beat. "Ten. Damn. Minutes."

He sighs. He doesn't want to think about it, but he can't help it. It's one of the reasons he came here so angry, why Barret's moralizing justifications pissed him off so damn much and why he was so eager to try and beat some perspective into him.

That isn't all of it. No matter how evil Shinra is, no matter how badly they need to be stopped, the people who aren't a part of the fight don't deserve to be caught in the middle of it if it can be avoided.

His sister very nearly being one of the casualties just made it all the rawer.

Edited 2020-10-08 11:27 (UTC)

OPEN POST: Tifa Lockhart - Final Fantasy VII

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