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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.	By : Nickamano Category: Final Fantasy VII > General Views: 7312 -:- 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.

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26. Seven.
The Seventh Heaven Bar was in a surprisingly prime spot, in the centre of a little mixture of shopping and domicile areas with wide thoroughfares surrounding it. It was clean and as well maintained as any of the buildings in the slums, except maybe the most lucrative of the shops in the Wall Market.

It was basically a square three-storey building of a brick foundation and wooden walls. And it sported a good quality tiled roof which was backed up by an additional covering of wooden boards and salvaged sheet metal. This was partly to make it fit in with the surrounding buildings and also to stop people stealing the concealed tiles for their own places.

The exterior ground floor, raised up above street level, was surrounded by a little veranda, for sitting outside when the interior was at capacity, and had wooden plank awnings around both sides. While to the rear, exterior switch-back stairs led to the upper floors, the middle floor being the domicile rooms, while the upper storey constituted a spacious supply room. This room had a reinforced metal door with rotary as well as electronic locks, to keep its precious contents safe.

Also, during Tifa’s short introduction to the layout, she had pointed out to her a ceiling hatch with accompanying ladder. It provided a quick way from the bar to the living and sleeping areas above, and was concealed in the ceiling above the counter. And also, there was a cellar hatch under the tiled kitchen floor that itself led to the rear exit, beside the exterior stairs.

She had ascended the steps to the barn-sized double door entrance to the inn, ignoring the comments and whistles tossed her way by layabouts hanging around the bar, and knocked.

“It’s open, dear.” Came a croaky but audibly excited voice from inside.

Tifa pushed gingerly on the right-side door, which she found opened easily with a well-oiled power-assisted hinge. The double door main entrance led into a kind of bottleneck, a little vestibule or cloak room with hooks on both side walls and even an old hat stand in one corner. Facing the entrance was a smaller inner door which she pushed open, also well-oiled, and then stepped into the bar proper.

On taking in the interior of the bar’s layout and lighting, she found it actually quite pleasant, not quite the dive that Barret had suggested. It divined a nice atmosphere and was obviously well looked after, clean and tidy. Though it was slightly dingy and a little too industrial for Tifa’s taste, too many visible pipes and stuff. Though she supposed being in the slums there was very little to work with.

And then she cast her eyes across the owner. He was lying across the long wooden counter, on his side with his head propped up with one hand, while the other stroked up and down one thigh. He wore royal blue trousers that were way too tight for him and not leaving anything to the imagination, so much so that Tifa felt herself blushing and had to avert her eyes. He had little soft tartan slippers on his feet. And a short-sleeved white shirt that was unbuttoned to his midriff showing off a grey forest of chest hair. He had heavily receded grey-white hair, golden rimmed spectacles and a little goatee beard framing a full lipped and altogether lascivious smile. He was rake thin, almost emaciated, though he projected an aura of age-defying vigour and passion, it oozed from him like some kind of perverse tar. It also made estimating his age very difficult, he could have been anywhere between fifty and ninety.

On seeing Tifa enter, his eyes almost popped out of his skull, he immediately swung himself up into a seated position on the counter and shoved his glasses hard up his nose, his bugged-out eyes roving over her heart-breaking beauty, and her prodigious curves.

“Holy crap!” The old man said, aghast at the stunning young woman who stood opposite him. “Hell! You got the damned job, sweet stuff!”

Tifa laughed.

“We haven’t had the interview yet!” She countered.
“Don’t matter none! Position’s yours if you want it. You’re amazing!”
“Thank you. I would like to discuss a few things first, if you don’t mind.”

A frown passed across his face for the shortest of moments but then, possibly, his hesitance was once again countered by Tifa’s looks and body and the smile returned.

“Sure Honey, anything you like.”
He hopped down off the counter and again, Tifa couldn’t help but glance down at the thick and prominent tube of a bulge that was obvious in the immodestly tight crotch of his blue trousers. She averted her eyes quickly and passed them instead around the bar.

The wood panelling was dark and smoky, and everything made of that same wood. There was no contrast at all. That might be what it was, she thought to herself, not enough contrast in the brown tones. The counter, the bare floorboards and the couple of park-style picnic benches, that had found their way into the bar, were all of that same dark smoky hue.

The counter, with its four green vinyl and chrome stools, stretched from the left-hand wall right to the centre line of the room. There was one large picnic table on the left and another to the right of the entryway, plus enough stools and benches dotted around both tables to cater to twenty customers. Though if twenty people were to occupy the space at the same time cat-swinging would have to be prohibited. Not that Tifa would allow that kind of behaviour anyway. Behind the counter was a long double shelf unit with a vast assortment of bottles of drinks on display, almost all of which were alcoholic, of course. There was also a precariously balanced television set in the upper left corner, that appeared to have been wedged between the ceiling and the uppermost shelf.

Beyond the counter, in the far right of the room, behind a half-partition was the kitchen area. It appeared tiny but well organised, a large fridge-freezer. It looked old and well used but by the low, smooth rumble coming from it, well maintained and working efficiently. It created the buffer between counter and kitchen and there was another shelf unit with a large stack of white china plates and bowls alongside it. Then there was a sink and oven, work station with drawers and cupboard space beneath. And above the sink and oven and all but filling the rear-right wall was a large extractor fan.

Along the right wall from the half-partition to the corner behind Tifa’s right shoulder was a wall of vertical pipes of varying degrees of girth. However, past the pipes there was a small old pinball game - Chocobo racing. And next to it a large though equally old jukebox with old seven-inch vinyl records visible within its domed glass display front. A couple of neon advertisements, probably advertising the most popular drinks available, took up the wall space above the jukebox and then filling in the corner, to the furthest right, was a small collection of framed photographs. Many of which Tifa could recognise as images of the owner standing there grinning widely with an arm around a beautiful girl or woman. Maybe ex’s or more likely ex-employees?

She shrugged and turned back to the owner who was sitting at the counter on one of the well-maintained swivel-stools and patting the green vinyl seat of the one next to it. Tifa took it, making sure to turn her body towards him and deliberately cross her eminently long legs, ensuring the shadow at the crux of her thighs was as enticing as it was concealing.

She watched him closely. His eyes losing themselves in her curves. Her crossed thighs, her slender waist, and then straight into the cleavage window and the dark valley of mouth-watering shadow revealed by it. And within which he lost himself in for far too long. Tifa sat there in silence until she felt uncomfortable and then she stretched her back a little, straightening her posture. As hoped, the movement drew him back out of her cleavage. And his eyes finally slid up to hers. Where she lost him again. She gave him her best smile and then using her softest and most intimate voice drew him around to her points and questions.

“We should get wages out of the way first, I guess.” She suggested.
“I’m offering two hundred Gil a week.”
“Aren’t I worth more than that?”
“More than likely, but until I see for myself…”
“I would like to cook you something, maybe mix you a couple of drinks. I want you to see some of my skills in action.”

She gave a little lopsided smile at his inuendo-ridden blush, though he didn’t make any jokes or comments himself, he simply nodded and extended an arm that invited her to the counter and the kitchen.

“Okay. If you pass muster, I’ll add another fifty Gil a week.” He said with a noncommittal shrug.
“I have ‘chef’s whites’ hanging on the side of the fridge with some aprons if you want to protect your beautiful dress.”

His offer about the chef’s whites, surprised Tifa a little, as it was the first hint of him possibly being a little more thoughtful than the simple old letch that he had been painting himself out to be. She thanked him and pulled on the white chef’s coat which buttoned up to her collar and reached down to her mid thighs. She even had to roll the sleeves up once. She kicked off her shoes and made a start.

Finding her way around the kitchen was as straight forward as it was fun. Everything seemed to be in a logical place, exactly where she would have stored it. And he had all the staples readily available in a small larder behind the fridge as well as in the fridge itself.

She whipped up a quick pastry and then piled together some fresh vegetables and some diced meat. Then she mixed a stock while the meat was browning off before looking across at the choice of seasoning. Seasoning and flavour combinations being her speciality, Tifa wanted to go all out and was relieved to find he had a good cross-section of herbs and spices available to her.

She worked her stock and the meat together and then threw them into the pan to work the stock-flavours into the ingredients, before putting them into the pastry base to finish off in the oven.

And then, while the oven finished off her dish for her, Tifa looked across the available drinks behind the bar. She grabbed three and a couple of pieces of fruit and some honey water from the refrigerator and mixed up one of her home-devised cocktails.

While she was doing so, she marvelled at the grace and dexterity of the owner as he bounced around in the background, setting the table, pulling napkins and plates together, drawing some lovely silver cutlery from the back of a drawer and even threw together some freshly baked mini loaves. Sliding around her in the kitchen as she worked, without once blocking her progress or getting in her way.

Finally, Tifa brought the drinks and then dished out the meat tart with an extra sprinkle of the stock and a little extra garnish. And they sat down together to eat. Of course, the owner was blown away and almost immediately gave her carte blanch to add to his menu and experiment as much as she liked.

“Oh, you might struggle to get most of my regulars to try new things, they tend to be pretty stuck in their ways.” He commented.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll have everyone who comes in here eating out of my hand.” Tifa replied with a knowledgeable grin.
“I don’t doubt it for a second, Tifa.”

They exchanged questions and light hearted negotiations over the meal. And Tifa was relieved and gratified that, although he presented himself and came across as a colossal pervert, in actual fact she saw through the slimy veneer on numerous occasions where he revealed himself to be both kind and thoughtful and relatively professionally minded. And even the overt sexual comments and constant ogling proved to be essentially harmless and all in all tolerable. In fact, after they had spoken about their mutual interests, after the first half hour or so, Tifa recognised that the ogling had mostly died a death. He looked into her eyes and spoke to her with earnest respect, listening to her views and discussing them with her as an equal.

Although he did make a number of lewd uniform requests of her, by way of showing some sketches of a girl with long legs and big breasts, a ‘to die for waitress’ as he put it, in a number of potential uniform designs that had Tifa blushing and outright refusing to wear. Soon enough, and with hardly any complaint or push back, he backed down and threw out the prospect of a uniform altogether, which had Tifa thinking it might have been another one of his lewd and suggestive jokes all along, maybe with a vain hope she would fall for it and agree to one of the examples offered.

After the meal the owner insisted on washing up, while he asked Tifa to look over his books. She recognised at once that it was more than likely to be a test of her basic accounting and mathematical skills and she worked hard to search through the undoubtedly faked accounting pages for pit-falls and tricks and found three. It turned out that only two of which had been deliberate while the third, in his hurry to arrange the mocked-up accounting documents, the owner himself had missed.

“I never asked you, Tifa.” The owner said. “Where are you living? Will it take you long to get to work each day?”
“To be honest, I’ve only just arrived in Midgar. I don’t have anywhere to stay, just tonight on the couch of a brand-new friend.”
“You talking about Barret Wallace, the man-mountain?”
“Mm-hmm. We met just last night but he seems really nice.”
“Oh, he is, as long as you stay on his good side… You and him… You two…?”
“Not at all. We have things in common and he’s kind to me. That’s all.”
“Really? Given what they say about black guys…?”
“No, what’s that…?” Tifa asked with a blank expression and a half-smile. Knowing where the owner was going all too well.
“They all have dicks big as tree branches. Everyone knows it… And it’s too late now you know, I’m gonna be thinking about you and him from now on, picturing you two screwing away, like… I don’t know what. I just know it’s going to give me a heart attack, finish me off.”
“That’s just a stereotype. And neither of us is interested in each other in that way…”

She paused, just for a second, trying to keep her face straight.

“Saying that… If you did keel over, thinking about me doing all kinds of filthy things with men, who would get this place?” She asked with as much mock-innocence as she could muster.
“Oh, I see your game!” He said, with an almighty guffaw. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you girl!”

They laughed a little and then Tifa mixed them both another cocktail of her own making. This one tart and strong with a mind bending bitter-sweet aftertaste.

“If you would like a place to stay, I do have a spare bedroom/bathroom… And before you say anything it has a lock and I have only the one key which would be yours. It’d be yours completely and you wouldn’t have to worry about me rummaging through your underwear drawer. As long as you kept it locked. ‘Course if you don’t, it’s open season… And I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t try and spy on you in the shower, either.”
“Shouldn’t you at least employ me of a trial basis before you starting handing me keys and the rest…?” She asked grinning.

She didn’t know why she was questioning his generous offer. She should have just taken him up on it.

“I have no concerns on that front, none whatsoever. I feel we get along and you have the skills and intelligence to do the job, ignoring the looks and the body.” He added a long whistle.

It made Tifa smile, despite the number of whistles that had been directed at her since her journey had begun.

“So, what do you say, Tifa? The room’s on the house. And to be honest it’d be nice to have some company around the place. And I’m willing to pay you three hundred a week, so long as we get the punters in to cover it.”
“Thank you, boss.” She said with her best smile. “That’s very generous of you. I won’t let you down.”

She bounced to attention gave him a little playful salute, knowing exactly what the sudden action would do to her breasts, and she grinned as his eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

“Damn girl, you’re gonna be the death of me. Start tomorrow? We open at five.”
“Five on the dot!” She sang.
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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.