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depressionnap
Mar. 28th, 2024 01:37 pmhartbeatsIt was supposed to be her day off, but the trek up to the Northern Continent from Edge isn’t any less arduous than staying behind the bar at Seventh Heaven. There are no needy patrons pestering her for another round of drinks, which is a relief—no rowdy drunks to misinterpret her forced customer service smile as her being receptive to their advances, no sticky tables to wipe down, no stock to inventory. Small mercies, she supposes.
Finding Vincent should be easier than finding Cloud, at least. He might not have a phone, but he’s a creature of habit, and she knows his haunts, whereas Cloud is prone to wandering from one continent to the next, never in one place for too long. (Reno had once offered to discreetly lowjack Fenrir for her after the situation with the Remnants one night when the newly-friendly Turks were shooting the shit at the bar, and Tifa had been appalled with herself when she hadn’t rejected his offer outright, and had in fact considered taking him up on it.)
Convincing him to step away from his self-imposed solitude will be the real challenge—he was never the most social member of their little ragtag band, but there was a sort of unwavering quality to his presence when he hovered at the fringes of the group—yet, convince him she must. Loathe as she is to disturb (inconvenience) him, he’s the only one of her friends that hasn’t… moved on? Barret, Yuffie, Cid, Reeve—all of them are busy with work, with new endeavors, and Nanaki would help if he could but he has no thumbs, bless him. Cloud is wandering, working on himself, putting together the pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way. Tifa understands, she really does; her life has been difficult, too, in ways distinct from his experiences, and as nice as it would be to let herself take the time to process everything, she simply doesn’t have the luxury.
She can’t deny it, though: she is at the end of her fraying rope. She’s so tired, every waking moment spent running her business, running her household, raising two children that both are and aren’t hers after having helped to save the world more than once, all before the age of twenty-three. It’s a lot to ask of one person, especially someone as reluctant to share the load as she is, but she can’t deny that she needs help before the rope snaps altogether.
So, here she is, driving a rented jeep through the northern forest and hoping to cross paths with a ghost before she has to turn around to make it home in time to relieve the babysitter she hired to look after the kids while she’s off on this last-ditch errand.
Finding Vincent should be easier than finding Cloud, at least. He might not have a phone, but he’s a creature of habit, and she knows his haunts, whereas Cloud is prone to wandering from one continent to the next, never in one place for too long. (Reno had once offered to discreetly lowjack Fenrir for her after the situation with the Remnants one night when the newly-friendly Turks were shooting the shit at the bar, and Tifa had been appalled with herself when she hadn’t rejected his offer outright, and had in fact considered taking him up on it.)
Convincing him to step away from his self-imposed solitude will be the real challenge—he was never the most social member of their little ragtag band, but there was a sort of unwavering quality to his presence when he hovered at the fringes of the group—yet, convince him she must. Loathe as she is to disturb (inconvenience) him, he’s the only one of her friends that hasn’t… moved on? Barret, Yuffie, Cid, Reeve—all of them are busy with work, with new endeavors, and Nanaki would help if he could but he has no thumbs, bless him. Cloud is wandering, working on himself, putting together the pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way. Tifa understands, she really does; her life has been difficult, too, in ways distinct from his experiences, and as nice as it would be to let herself take the time to process everything, she simply doesn’t have the luxury.
She can’t deny it, though: she is at the end of her fraying rope. She’s so tired, every waking moment spent running her business, running her household, raising two children that both are and aren’t hers after having helped to save the world more than once, all before the age of twenty-three. It’s a lot to ask of one person, especially someone as reluctant to share the load as she is, but she can’t deny that she needs help before the rope snaps altogether.
So, here she is, driving a rented jeep through the northern forest and hoping to cross paths with a ghost before she has to turn around to make it home in time to relieve the babysitter she hired to look after the kids while she’s off on this last-ditch errand.
