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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.	By : Nickamano Category: Final Fantasy VII > General Views: 7306 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is created and owned by Squaresoft, now Square-Enix. Nothing here is owned by me. It was created for entertainment purposes, and I am not profiting financially from the creation and online presentation of this story.

Chapter List
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PART THREE - JOURNEY’S END.
Midgar, finally. At last, she had made it to the Capital City.
And it was horrible.
Because of the extent of the plate above, the slums were perpetually submerged in deep, near midnight shadow, where the only sunlight seeped in from the lowest horizons, creeping in beneath the plate. And seeing as to the South and West, the mountains there essentially blocked the horizon, even less light leaked into the slums between Sectors Three and Seven. What little light there was came from the plentiful Mako-fuelled electric bulbs which seemed to Tifa to be utterly underpowered.

And then there was the stink. At least it was a stink compared to what Tifa had been used to out in the wilderness. There was none of those natural, sweet aromas that infused the wild country. No dew-wet grass, or the heady saccharine scents of the forests, or the more subtle, wind-swept scents of the rocks and shrubs of the mountains.

In Midgar there was an ever-present and heavy chemical-like smell, of condensed Mako that suffused everything. The air itself was stained with it, along with of course the dry, choking dust. There was the smell of Humans living in close proximity, without proper living conditions. And the smell of discarded trash and filth and detritus piled up everywhere. Which was rumoured to be dumped down in the slums by the upper plate’s refuse management.

Tifa looked around her through the gloom, waiting for her eyes to make the adjustment so she would at least be able to see properly. She found herself wishing she could do the same for her nose, which she realised she was crinkling against the assault on her sense of smell. Maybe she would get used to that too, in time. She could only hope.

She looked around the dimly illuminated squalor, trying to get an idea of what kind of area Roja had left her in. There was very little around, just the dusty cleared pathway that amounted to a road. Everything to her left was essentially a trash heap. There was construction junk, abandoned machines and old robotic apparatus. No doubt all of which had long since been stripped of all useable parts, the remainder left to rot. And piled on top of it was all kinds of other rubbish. Waste, litter, wrappings, rotting paper and cardboard, plastics, everything imaginable.

The tiny little buildings on her right were ramshackle, home constructions made from scraps of wood, corrugated and sheet metal, and water-resistant hardboard. Though she assumed there was little need for acceptable waterproofing down here.

That was another sad element of the Midgar slums, it would never rain down here, there was no chance of all of this accumulated dust and grime being washed away. The only rainfall they might get would be random droplets finding their way down from gaps in the upper plate, not unlike rainfall in thick forests, the only drops felt were ones that made it through gaps in the tree canopy. Though of course, leaves and the smallest of branches had a certain degree of malleability and the weight of water could force its way through. Unlike the concrete and steel construction of Midgar’s upper plate. The only other potential source would be from broken guttering, also from the upper plate. She was assuming the upper plates’ sewerage at least by-passed the slums and disappeared under the earth, or maybe to recycling centres of some description on the plate itself.

Not having any other ideas or even a sound sense of direction, Tifa wandered ahead, along the dirt road, keeping her eyes and ears alert for signs of potential danger. The road was arcing smoothly around to her right, forming a buffer between the continual piles of abandoned trash on her left and the makeshift housing on her right. Some of the buildings seemed to have better quality construction than others. Some had concrete walls, some bricks and mortar. However, all of them had jury-rigged sections, roofs, a wall here, a door there.

She came across a narrow side-street on her left, cutting through the piles of trash and she paused to look, seeing if that road was offering her any more promise. However, the road narrowed here and there, due to collapses of the random piles of trash, making it appear to zolom back and forth, zigzagging right and left. The path’s visibility essentially petered-out into the distance. And there was little in the way of illumination, the dun colour of the all-enveloping dust seeped into whatever details there were, making the path turn translucent, almost fog-like. With a mental shrug, Tifa carried on along her rightward curving road.

She met a man along the road after about ten minutes of having seen no one at all. He was sitting on the step of what she assumed was his house. The front door, unfortunately oriented to face the trash piles, had its own little crooked veranda and he was sat casually on a rickety, hand repaired rocking chair, with a cute little white dog lying down beside him. They were both watching her approach.

The man was middle aged. And, though greying rapidly his full head of hair still had hints of the mousey brown colouring of his youth. He had a round face, quite pleasant and surprisingly youthful looking. He wore a thick knitted top that was buttoned up to his collar and dark coloured trousers and boots, though Tifa could see one of the boots had been wrapped up with waterproof adhesive tape. More handmade repairs. He had a mug of something steaming in one hand and a large hardback book open in his lap.

“Good morning.” He said pleasantly, smiling at Tifa with his mug raised in a kind of salute.
“Good morning.” She replied, smiling back and pausing in the road.
“Haven’t seen you around these parts… Are you new to Midgar?”
“Yes, I just got here.”
“Where’re you from?”
“Nibelheim.”
“Never heard of it.” The man laughed.
“It’s on the other continent, west of the Gold Saucer. Well, it was.”
“Was? What happened?”
“The Shin-Ra burned it down a couple of years ago.”

Tifa came closer to his front porch as she filled him in. The little dog sidled over its tail wagging ferociously. She was momentarily reminded of wolf-Cloud and it saddened her initial smile. She rose to her feet and was about to lean on one of the veranda’s square wooden pillars but the man shook his head in casual warning. So, instead Tifa slipped her hands behind her back and put her weight onto one leg, a casual mog-stance. Comfortable and yet martially prepared, just in case.

She was aware that putting her hands behind her back jutted her breasts forward and she watched as, as expected, the man’s eyes dipped for a second, taking in their size and her overall attractiveness, and yet it didn’t change his manner or his interaction with her, which Tifa found gratifying.

“Damn Shinra… Why doesn’t that surprise me…” He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Just so you know, we call them the ‘Shinra’ in these parts due to it being the surname of the big boss, El Presidente... So, you here for revenge? Gonna tear ‘em down?”
“No.” Tifa said with a smile. “Nothing like that.”
“Plenty come here for that, then get nowhere on account of the Shinra being so damned powerful, so then they settle here ‘cause they’ve nowhere else to go. Lots of redundant resentment in the slums.”
“I bet. No, I’m actually looking for someone. Some young kid, called Piran, a martial arts student.”
“Piran? I’ve heard of a Piran. If it’s the same guy, you’ll likely find him in Sector Three, where most of the gambling takes place. I think Piran’s one of the champions.”
“A gambling champion?” Tifa asked, frowning.
“Prize fighter.”
“That makes more sense… Thank you. That was surprisingly easy, I was having visions of wandering around here for weeks trying to find him. So, any idea how I get to Sector Three from here?”
“Hmmm… That's actually not as easy as you'd think. The Shinra are trying to control sector emigration and free movement, they have erected these big concrete walls between the Sectors. Each has a gate that is guarded by their infantry, you have to have a pass to travel between the sectors. Legally at least.”

Tifa was about to ask him about getting hold of a pass, but he held up a hand to silence her.

“However, we slum-folk don't give a fuck, and we've knocked holes in the walls in most of the sectors so you can get through, though finding the holes can be pretty tricky if you don't already know where to look. Keeps Shinra from filling them in again. You can pay for a guide of course, but make sure you don't get ripped off.”
“Okay. So Piran’s in Sector Three. Which is that way?” She asked pointing to her right.

He nodded.

“Like I said I think he’s one of the prize-fighter champions, fighting people for money. You see, betting on, well just about anything, is one of the big past-times in the slums, there isn't much else to do, plus it gives people the age old ‘get rich quick’ hope. Course, the only ones who do get rich are the bookies and the organisers.”
“I believe Piran's one of the junior champions.” He went on. “Though I’ve heard sometimes he's like a circus performer, displays feats of agility, balancing acts, all that crap. Makes a reasonable living from what I hear.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome dear. Just follow this road. You’ll come across a little group of men. Ask for Tequila, he should be able to guide you, or at least know someone who can. Just, watch yourself around them.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
“Hope you find him.”

Tifa followed his instructions. He seemed like a nice enough man, but she knew better than to take everyone purely at their word. There was something about this place that she didn’t like or particularly trust. Maybe it was just the fact that it was so alien to her prior experience, or the fact that even though she had only met one person and his dog so far, she was well aware how many thousands of people lived in these slums. So where was everyone?

Up ahead, the curving road opened out into a little square offset on her right. There were plenty more buildings dotted around, some of them two and three storeys high. And there were maybe a couple of dozen people milling around too, though their collective movements seemed somewhat aimless to Tifa, directionless, as though they had nothing in particular to occupy their time.

In the middle of the square, there was some kind of nine or ten-foot tall artistic sculpture that appeared to have been constructed out of the countless trash piles. She cast her big expressive eyes over it, and yet couldn’t make out what it was meant to be for the life of her. However, as her eyes unfocussed from the statue, she became aware of something else.

In the background, faded into the darkness by shadows and clouds of dust hanging in the air, was the dim shadowy form of the great concrete wall that the man on his porch had mentioned. It emerged from the gloom, becoming apparent by a few circles of dim electric light passing over its dirty grey surface, which was pocked marked and savaged by gaudily coloured graffiti. However, away from the dirty yellow light, it once again submerged into the dull periphery of shadow and darkness, essentially becoming invisible.

That light or lack of light, seemed to infuse the entirety of Midgar’s slums as Tifa had experienced them so far. It was like she was looking through a halo of cleaned window glass, while the outer edges were smeared with grease and grime so thick that everything outside of the cleaned halo was nothing but a brown-grey fog without detail. Just shadow and gloom.

Off to her left, loitering around the side of a building that was a little larger than the others, was a small group of young men. There were six of them in all and she assumed this was the group that the man on the porch had mentioned. So, she had to speak to the one called Tequila…

“Hey babe!”

One of them shouted to her, waving an arm, his brown skinned face all smiles. For his trouble, he was cuffed mildly across the back of the head, his cloth cap knocked askew and he turned in shock to look at another of their number. This individual seemed a little older. He was from the Wutai continent, by the shape of his features and his complexion. He was short and either rotund or stocky, it was hard to tell with the long jacket, loose fitted shirt and loose trousers he was wearing.

“Don't call her that, show a little respect you asshole!” He snapped.

The now sheepish younger companion blushed as he rearranging the cloth cap on his head, and meagrely glanced back at Tifa as she approached. She smiled at him to show she hadn’t taken offence and then turned back to the older man, as she realised that he was addressing her now.

“What's your name, love?”

She looked him in the eye. He was quite pleasant looking, maybe twice her age, soft round features, fleshy but not overweight. His smile was kind and somewhat infectious. She ignored the potential that ‘babe’ and ‘love’ could be equally disrespectful to the wrong woman.

“Tifa.” She replied.
“I’m guessing you’re new to these parts. What can we do for ya, Tifa?”
“Are you Tequila?”
“Mm hmm.” He replied easily.

The other four in the gang were all young like the kid in the cloth cap, all dressed in a strange amalgam of styles - some rags, some second hand yet still acceptable and one or two newer looking items. They all seemed to be more the wide-eyed inquisitive type than the aggressive street-thugs she had been initially concerned about. Like nothing more than a group of friends hanging around together chatting, rather than hassling the locals and getting into fights.

“I'm trying to find the way to Sector Three.” She said. “I was told you could show me the way through the wall...?”
“Sure, but it'll cost ya...”
“How much? I don't have much Gil left.”

She heard one of the lads at the back mutter something about ‘other ways to pay’ and she watched Tequila’s cheeks flush and a shadow appear across his expression but he didn’t say anything. Tifa envisioned one of his hangers-one getting a tongue lashing a little later.
“Sorry about the hormonal children behind me. Call it, 5 Gil?”
She nodded acceptance of his proxy-apology but then, not wanting to reveal she might have stuff worth stealing in her backpack or hip pouch, she tried something.

“Are there any shops around here? I might have enough crap to scrape together five Gil… I’ve not much else of worth to sell…”

Sniggers, and darkly comical looks passed between the lads.

“Boys, now behave! It’s like you’ve never seen a pretty girl before.”
“Not around these parts!” One of them countered.
“Well, how would you like it if it was your sister or your mother being spoken about that way…?”

He turned back to Tifa, giving her an apologetic shrug.

“There's a market, just through there.” He nodded his head in the direction of the unidentifiable sculpture. “Across the square to the right, a little side street will take you straight there.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

On Tifa’s way through to the market she started to realise that the constant attention she had received, especially on the ocean ferry and then since she got to Kalm and then Midgar was starting to grate on her, it was growing rather tiresome. Even the respectful and complimentary attention was starting to grate on her nerves a little.

It was constant, the stares, the lusty looks, the young and middle-aged men approaching her, constantly telling her own beautiful she was, what a fantastic figure she had - as if she had designed it herself. It was really all down to the genes of her parents, and more her mother than her father, along with a roll of the dice. And yet the compliments came to her in waves.

And walking across the square there were stares, smiles, whistles, murmurs of desire. Some more derogatory comments or looks, a number of jealous looks from women and even a couple of mutterings of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’. And all she was doing was walking across the square. She found more of the same when she entered the small market. Though at least the sellers had to behave themselves.

The particular market stall holder’s eyes were all over her, bright and large, taking her in, his cheeks flushed, and a wide welcoming smile on his lips. However, he was respectful and kind in his manner, and Tifa thought he had been overly generous with what he offered her for the goods. Which was admittedly one of the advantages of her beauty and her body. Though the generosity felt veiled, as though behind it was the hope that kindness and generosity might lead to her showing her gratitude, and somehow expressing it?

She didn’t really know what the men (and sometimes women) got from these displays of generosity, beyond a smile from Tifa and a little verbal expression of gratitude. Maybe them thinking they had made her happy was enough for them? Or maybe they harboured unrealistic expectations of her response to their generosity. Did they real expect a date or some seedy sexual encounter to be offered in return for kindness and generosity? Surely not, they weren’t fools, after all.

She sold a few items, made a hundred Gil. Though after that she was really just down to her spare clothing and a couple of pieces of Materia that she could sell off. She would have to think of something.

Tifa headed back to Tequila and his gang, though as she did so, one old guy followed her all the way back from the market and three younger guys, one barely her age if that, and two men old enough to be her father asked Tifa to get together over a drink. After shutting them all down, which was a struggle because the old guy was annoying and creepy, the youngest lad got angry and started to get offensive and the two in the middle weren’t for simply taking ‘no’ for an answer, at first.

Eventually, after far too much hassle for her liking, Tifa made it back to Tequila. She paid the five Gil, watching the little gang carefully for signs of attack, but there was just lust and desire in their minds as far as she could tell. It bothered her, as she was still bothered by the male attention she had only just managed to shake off. However, in this case, she decided that looks of desire and lust were better than recognising the intent to attack her and rob her, or worse. She thought back to Roja, who had flirted with her throughout the whole journey from Kalm, and yet that hadn’t bothered her at all. Maybe it was being here in the depressing dark dustiness of Midgar that was sapping her patience, and her usual good nature.

Tequila led her through a narrow maze of alleys, chatting to her all the way, And Tifa was relieved to find that only two of his younger minions had come along. Tequila was explaining that they always tried to make the holes, that they bashed through the concrete divides, well-concealed.

And then he spent the rest of the journey decrying the Shinra, and then explained to her than he used to be a police detective in the olden days before Shinra was offered the contract to run the city. Their private military force took over policing duties and he and all his colleagues were suddenly, more or less overnight, out of a job. He did his best to maintain order and a level of justice within his own community but other than that there was little left in his life.

And then they were at the hole in the wall. It was covered by a nailed up industrial-blue tarpaulin which was kept concealed by a metal wire-rectangle of fence and a couple of old-style metal bins. These were all located in the back yard of a domicile that was itself blocked in by other newer ramshackle constructions.

Tifa thanked the group, still keeping her eyes and her senses keen, but she didn’t sense any animosity or ill intent and they dragged the obstacles out of the way and pulled the tarpaulin back, then she ducked her head down and stepped through into Sector Four.
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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.