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See No Evil: Brazing (ch.12)
🕑 Added 2020-09-09 15:04:15 +0000 UTC
The pamphlet of papers felt like they weighed like the plate above Midgar, Tifa reflected as she looked down at them. Her eyes followed the words, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually read them. They were details that outlined her life in this new world. Details of a fake life that she had never lived. Writing the truth -- that she was from Nibelheim, a small village out in the boonies that was destroyed by a mad man, she then lived in the Midgar Slums, before being taken to Gotham… it was so very tempting.
Because it was the truth. It was her past. It was the things she endured, Yet, Tifa knew that wasn’t an option. That kind of thing could be tracked. There was no Nibelheim in this world -- well, there was a cottage in South Africa, but the point still stood -- so she couldn’t use it. She couldn’t use the truth. That was the point of having a false identity, but… Tifa didn’t know. Despite everything she told Vergil, that pill was harder to swallow than she thought it would be.
Tifa let out a quiet sigh as she set the pamphlet onto the chair that served as her bed in the train car. Hers was next to Vergil’s at the end of it, little more than a sheet to give her the idea of privacy. The next step was to add some cardboard walls, but that wouldn’t help much with the noise. Vergil said he was looking into it, but given how much was on his plate, Tifa couldn’t blame him for forgetting. For the longest time, it had been an honest question of why he bothered with a bed at all considering he never seemed to use it.
“I’m not going home,” Tifa spoke the words out loud, trying to make them sink in. She wouldn’t see Barrett again. Or Jessie. Or Biggs and Wedge. Vergil promised that he would find a way, twice even, and as much as Tifa wanted to believe in those promises, she couldn’t bring herself to. Or want to. Everything she had said was the truth -- this is where Tifa felt like she belonged, and if a choice was presented before her, Tifa had absolutely no clue what she would choose.
Taking in a slow breath, Tifa refocused her eyes and looked through the pamphlet. With her new identity, she would be eighteen. Old enough to be considered an adult. Originally, her identity made her sixteen, but Tifa didn’t think she could pull that off. Vergil could, though. Once some of the harshnesses of his face was smoothed away with food and sleep, Tifa figured that he was probably sixteen to begin with but he just said he was eighteen to be taken seriously.
Her parents were dead -- her mother died of a sickness when she was young and her father was murdered, so at least that much was true. She lived in a small town in a country called Canada before she came to Gotham. Then there were details like part-time jobs that she had never worked, and false reasons why she came to Gotham. There was no mention that Penguin had ripped her from her home and put her into a box to be sold like a Chocobo…!
It was a real twist of fate that the man that once tried to sell her was now crafting her a new identity.
“It can’t be helped,” Tifa muttered to herself before she clapped her hands against her cheeks to help her focus. She would never like Penguin. If she ever had the chance, Tifa wouldn’t hesitate to take him down and take him down hard. But Vergil wasn’t wrong to fear him. In the past month, Tifa had researched the man that nearly sold her to figure out how he managed to rip her from her home and how she ended up in that box.
The Penguin was an international crime lord. Details were sketchy, but his reach could be felt all across America and in several places in Europe. His mob wasn’t especially big, but when it came to smuggling things, weapons, or drug deals, he was a well known and powerful man. Tifa had little doubt that if they had fled the city, then they would have been found eventually. If not by his mob, then by whoever he hired to hunt them down. One of the few things that were well known about the Penguin was the extreme lengths he was willing to go to reclaim things he deemed his.
And she was getting distracted again.
Tifa let out another sigh before she decided to fold the papers and stuffed them into one of her jacket pockets. She was just wasting time at this point. After quickly checking her appearance in a small mirror that was given to her by a member of the community, Tifa shoved the sheet to the side. Vergil’s room was left open, revealing not a single personal artifact within.
Because of the cards, Tifa told herself. He kept everything in those cards of his that he went everywhere with. Those cards, this world, still puzzled her every once and awhile, but in the end it was the lack of Materia that really bothered her. This world held things that she hadn't thought possible, but most of the time those things had absolutely nothing to do with everyday life barring Vergil using his cards. It made the lack of even the most basic of Materia stand out that much more and it had never been more clear just how much she relied on Materia until it was gone.
Like using a Water Materia to wash off, or a Heal to treat minor injuries. Vergil was confined to a bed for a week. During the first few days, if it wasn't for Dr. Thompkins coming down to treat him, Vergil would have died. A basic Heal Materia could have healed his wounds within a day. A mastered Heal could have had Vergil on his feet within a few minutes. Just small little things that she had never really thought about until they weren't possible anymore.
Walking out of the train car, Tifa looked over the 7th Heaven Mark II. It was rougher than the bar/restaurant that she owned before, but that was fine with her. People looked up and smiled at her as they ate and talked, others spoke amongst themselves, and those that walked by offered nods and more smiles. It reminded her of the Slums, in the best way possible. There was a real sense of community growing that she had missed.
Jack waved at her as he sat at his usual spot, letting her know that he had seen her. She wandered over, her gaze sliding over the thirty or so people that lived in 7th Heaven, with more on the way. Aaron, the young boy that had wandered in earlier was smiling ear to ear as he munched on a candy bar under the watchful eye of Margarette -- a woman in her late forties that had lost her children and grandchildren to the Scarecrow.
He saw her and offered an enthusiastic wave and an even happier smile, and despite the worries that seemed to suffocate her, Tifa found herself smiling and waving back as she made her way to Jack.
“Vergil and Waylon are out,” Jack informed her, and that was little surprise. Vergil was always out doing something. Waylon going with him was unusual, though. Given the timing, Tifa couldn't help but wonder if he was avoiding her.
Had that kiss on the cheek been too much? Tifa didn't think so. No… no, he wasn't avoiding her. Odds were it was just a case of Vergil needing Waylon for something.
“Alright. I was going to head out too so I could run some errands. Hold the fort down for me?” She requested, giving Jack a look that most men had trouble saying no to. Jack just let out a huff as he nodded, taking a bite out of his cereal bar and savored the taste. That got a smile out of Tifa, and in recent weeks, despite everything, Tifa found herself doing it more than she ever had back in Midgar. There were just more reasons to, it seemed.
“As well as a one-armed man can,” Jack agreed easily. “Take care up top. You’re likely to find more trouble than me,” he added. And it was easy to see why Vergil trusted Jack as much as he did -- he was just that insightful that he seemed to know exactly what she was planning to do. “I’ll let the kid know if he gets back before you do.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you later Jack,” Tifa said before she went to leave the 7th Heaven. She took one last glance over her shoulder before she left, soaking the sight in and she allowed herself to feel pride. They were doing something good here. People were happy, they were being fed and they were warm when up above they would be miserable, starving, and freezing. If only the methods they were being kept afloat were easier to swallow.
It didn’t make sense, Tifa thought to herself as she walked through the metro tunnels. She had been a member of a terrorist organization. She had beaten people to death with her bare hands, she had aided in the death of others… innocent blood was on her hands, and it was never going to wash off. Yet selling drugs was an issue. It was a weird line that she should have already passed ages ago, but mortality wasn’t a straight line.
It was more of a circle. You could step over the line in one place, but you could remain inside for other things.
Vergil had been a saving grace in that regard and a curse. He was the one paving the way, who was really getting his hands dirty. The others brought in what they could, as did she, but Vergil made up the bulk of the income. And because of it, the 7th Heaven could afford to support over thirty people with more on the way. They could buy food, medicine, cheap clothes for Vergil to combine into better ones.
And it was a curse because he hated himself for it. Vergil had expressive eyes even if the rest of his face was set into a near-permanent scowl. Everyone could see that he hated selling drugs, especially now that he moved into harder stuff. Worse, Vergil made the conscious choice not to see the good that he was doing and instead of focused on the bad -- He was selling drugs for money, he was being a hypocrite for selling something that he hated, and so on.
Never mind that the dinner he treated her two was the first time Tifa had seen him spend money on himself before, every other penny went to the 7th Heaven. Or that debt he took for her and the 7th Heaven’s sake. It was why everyone avoided him, something that Vergil misunderstood. People didn’t know how to approach someone that was doing something he despised for their sake when he barely knew them. Who was working himself down to the bone so that they could be fed, warm, and happy.
And when he asked for nothing in return. Not even a thank you.
Vergil would rather believe that his action were irredeemably evil, blatantly ignoring all context, because he found that lie was somehow easier to swallow than the truth -- he was a good person whose hand was being pushed again and again. Not for his sake, but for others. That the root of all of his suffering was because he helped others -- herself, Jack, and everyone that would find themselves in 7th Heaven. He had risked his life to save hers. If he hadn't done that, if he had just ignored her pleas for help… then Vergil would be free and happy.
Another heavy sigh escaped Tifa as she finally made her way out of the tunnels. There were a few that gave her puzzled looks as she jumped onto the platform, but experience taught her that no one would ask. Except the action was noticed by a rough-looking man and woman, who eyed her with desperate hope. Tifa offered them a smile and a nod, knowing that they were hoping that 7th Heaven was real. And she knew that she would see them later when she got back.
7th Heaven was expanding rapidly the colder it got. And it wouldn't be long before they hit capacity. Tifa had no clue what they would do then.
Making her way back to the surface, Tifa took in a deep breath of the frigid Gotham air. It wasn’t exactly clean, but she hadn’t realized how much she had missed the cold since Midgar didn’t exactly do winter. From what everyone said, Gotham suffered brutal winters and it was worse for the homeless, so that took an edge off her longing to see snow again.
Her jacket -- well, Vergil’s leather jacket -- was pretty good at keeping the chill out. As were her leggings that ran underneath her miniskirt. Her movements were a little restrained in it, but given that she wouldn’t be wearing it where she was going, that was fine. She looked down at her phone, a gift from Vergil, and she Lexed the address that she had been… given. A path was marked out for her, an invaluable took in a city like Gotham, and she followed it into the city.
It was rather easy to find the good parts of Gotham from the bad. If it looked new, shiny, and well cared for, then it was a good part of town. If it looked rundown, peppered with bullet holes, and on the verge of being condemned, then it was a bad part of town. Oddly, bad blocks and good blocks could be right next to each other. Tifa learned not to question it -- very little about Gotham made any sense.
Her destination was in the bad part of town. She stood in front of a run-down bar that was simply labeled Bar as its name. A bell announced her entrance, prompting the patrons to cast a glance at her. The bar was filled with the absolute roughest sorts -- tattoos everywhere, all of them clearly carrying guns, callused knuckles, and hard eyes.
“You’re better off finding another bar,” the Bartender informed, looking just as rough as his patrons. A tattoo of a demon covered his neck to make it look like the demon was opening its mouth to swallow his head.
Tifa strode forward, very aware of how every eye was on her. Their gazes made her skin crawl. This place reminded her of the worst spots in the Slums. The places where what was right was determined by the size of your gun or, in her case, her left hook. She reached the counter and pulled out a small bundle of bills. "I'd like to go downstairs please," She said, meeting the Bartender's leering gaze.
The Bartender looked down at the bills for a moment, "Head down then. Hope you know what you're in for."
Tifa's lips thinned as she strode towards the door that led to the basement. Swinging the door open, she was hit with the sound of cheering and shouting. Walking down the concrete steps that were covered in old bloodstains, she saw her destination.
A large open area that was made of three different basements put together. At its center was a square ring that was elevated just a bit so everyone could view inside. Instead of ropes to lean against, there was barbed wire. Tables filled with people surrounded the ring while one wall acted as a bar and betting area. The place was packed, somewhere around thirty people not counting the two that looked like they were beating each other to death in the ring. Tifa swallowed thickly as she fully descended into the fight club.
She heard about this place from someone back at 7th Heaven. There was a tournament being held today and whoever was hosting it was looking for homeless people to assault during the opening act. Something to get people's blood up. And, as she walked to the bar, Tifa saw a man getting carried up the same steps she just walked down from. It didn't look like he was still breathing.
Walking up to the second Barman, she took out another bundle of bills. Her savings that she earned from those that tried to mug or assault her. Try as she might, Tifa wasn't Vergil. The couple hundred bills were a 'just in case' fund. That just in case is having to leave the city at the start while later it became just in case something happened to Vergil. Slapping them onto the counter, she met his judging gaze, "Five hundred on myself. Jessie."
Figured it would be a bad idea to use her new name on something like this. The Barman looked down at the bills, then at her. Tifa heard someone snort and she glanced over to see it was another woman. Her violet hair was done up in a ponytail, while her amber-brown eyes looked right back at Tifa. She wore a black turtle neck with a gun holster holding two pistols, one on each side. A short red skirt was over black leggings and they funneled into a cute pair of furry brown boots.
There was a slasher grin on her face as she took a sip of her straight whiskey, her gaze judging. "I thought it was just going to be a straight sausage fest in this dump," she said in accented English before she reached down her turtleneck to grab a few crinkled bills from her cleavage. "Put that on 'Jessie,'" she said, tossing the bills at the guy and Tifa could practically hear the air quotes.
"Girls sticking together?" Tifa questioned over the roaring crowd when one of the guys went down.
"Yer here, in this festering shit hole of a club, alone. You're either a moron that's going to be beaten to death, or you can handle yourself. So, I either make free money or I get to watch a moron die. It's a win-win for me," the woman answered, making Tifa frown. What was with this city?
"Which are you?" Tifa questioned, a sharp edge in her tone that made the woman smile. It didn't reach her eyes, and she didn't answer. Tifa met her gaze unblinking, and she idly noted that the woman couldn't be much older than her. Maybe her mid-twenties at her oldest.
Then her smile grew, "Yeah, you can handle yourself. Try not to lose, Jessie. Some of these guys will rape your corpse before tossing your body out."
"Then I have nothing to worry about then," Tifa retorted, glancing at the Barman to see that he wrote her name upon the board. She had bad odds. The worst on the board of a dozen names. But, should she win, that five hundred would become ten thousand. The woman just chuckled while alternating smoking a cigarette and sipping her drink.
Despite the unpleasant woman, Tifa stuck near her. She rather deal with a bad attitude than some of the guys that surrounded them. Whoever she was, it was enough to scare off the men.
They looked at her like she was a hunk of meat and they were starving. It made her skin crawl.
Eventually, her name was called. Tifa took off her leather jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, giving the woman a pointed look. She just waved her off, and Tifa took that as a confirmation that she would make sure that her jacket was kept safe. There were wolf whistles as she revealed her white tank top over her black sports bra. Fighting in anything else just felt weird. Ignoring them, Tifa stepped into the ring across from a massive slab of muscle equal to Barette.
He smiled down at her, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what he was thinking about.
Then the bell rang, which was almost drowned out by the crowd screaming for blood. The guy moved, but so slowly. He lunged for her like a lumbering bear, his hands outstretched to grab hold of her. With utter ease, Tifa slipped behind him, grabbing a wrist as she did so before she slammed a fist into his elbow. Tendons and ligaments gave way, bending the limb the exact opposite way it was supposed to go. The guy screamed as he dropped to a knee, clutching at his arm. Tifa silenced him with a roundhouse kick to the side of the head that put him out like a light.
Despite her sudden victory, the crowd roared -- there was plenty of booing from those that lost their money, but most people were just happy to see blood. It was disgusting.
Her gaze slid to the woman, who simply raised a glass to her, that sharp smile that was filled with teeth still present on her face. Tifa's attention was stolen when another man got into the ring. He was covered from head to toe in tattoos, which she could see because he only wore a small pair of spats to preserve his modesty. Bindings covered his feet and hands, which spoke of material arts training, but the broken glass embedded in the bindings told a different story.
The bell rang once again and the man sprung into action. He launched himself at her with a high kick as he jumped across the ring to get to her. Tifa ducked underneath the high kick, then blocked the follow-up blow when he spun sharply in the air and tried to tag her with a frontal kick. Her forearms absorbed the blow before she pushed up, making the man flip.
Something that she had learned during her weeks of patrolling the worst parts of Gotham -- people in Gotham, in this world, were… fragile. Perhaps that wasn't the right word for it because it was hardly like it was impossible for her bones to break, but it was more of that they hit their limit faster. A blow that would knock the wind out of her would knock them out of the fight, an attack that could be used safely in sparring could kill a person if she wasn't careful.
The guy landed hard, his back bending as he landed on his head. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying dangerously, only to be put back down when Tifa delivered a brutal spinning high kick to the side of his head. Again, the crowd roared. And again, another man stepped into the ring. And again he was dragged out of it.
Each fight was short, simple, and they ended with only Tifa left standing in the ring. The crowd loved and hated it -- they were here to… to watch people die. To be beaten to death in the name of sport. For there to be blood and spit and sweat.
Tifa grit her teeth and stepped out of the ring. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as men moved out of her way towards the Barman. Blood dripped from her gloves, a familiar feeling that she wished was less so at times. This wasn't one of those times. When she fought Shinra employees, there was always a sense of shame in it. There were more than a few that deserved everything that they got and more, but most took the job because it was a stable income to support a family.
Everyone around her? Tifa got the feeling that they all deserved an ass-kicking.
Approaching the Barman, she grabbed her jacket that was left on the back of the chair. A quick check of her pockets proved everything was there. "I'd like my winnings, please," she told the Barman, who simply nodded like he couldn't care less before going to grab it.
"So I made some free money," the woman who nursed another glass of whiskey remarked. "And I'd look out behind you," she warned, prompting Tifa to turn around just in time to see a man winding up to slap her ass. He froze still when her unimpressed gaze met his, but he quickly cleared his throat.
"Those were some nice moves there, Jessie. How about you come work for me? The Local Loco's will treat you right," then his smile grew a fraction, "and I'd treat a girl like you right." Tifa met his gaze and in her peripheral vision, she saw that the three men surrounding her all wore matching skull and crossbones tattoos with flowers engraved into the skulls. He was well dressed despite his demeanor -- silk dress shirt, blue jacket, and pants with black shoes.
"I'll pass," Tifa answered curtly. That just made his smile grow that much wider before he leaned in.
"Jessie, in a situation like this, saying no really isn’t in the cards, you know?" He informed and she could still hear the smile in his voice. "You'll be working for us from now on. We'll make it worth your while. So, what's better? Getting murdered here and now, or working as my personal bodyguard? That's why you're here, isn’t it? To get noticed by little old me, flash a few impressive moves and boom -- you never have to worry about a thing ever again."
So this had been something like an audition for a bodyguard position, hadn't it?
"No," Tifa refuted firmly, placing a hand on his chest and forcing him away. "I'm just here for my winnings." Except that it wouldn't be that easy. Guys like him didn't like hearing the word no.
"I'm afraid I have to insist-" he started, only to be cut off when Tifa yanked him forward and slammed his head into the counter. He collapsed into a heap while the other three guys lunged at her. Tifa lashed out with a fist that left one heavyset man spitting out broken teeth while she buried a foot in another's stomach, folding him in half. Spinning sharply, Tifa used him as a platform to kick him in the face before retracting the foot that was buried in his gut, following through with her established momentum, and using it to deliver a devastating blow to the third guy's head.
Almost as one, they dropped to the floor, barely realizing what had happened. The bystanders looked angry rather than amused or happy. That could be a problem.
"I'm just here for my money. That I won fair and square. Look for someone else if you want a bodyguard," Tifa told the guy that made the offer, her voice only drowned out by the woman from earlier laughing loudly as she slapped a hand on the counter. The guy was holding his busted nose, hate, and vengeance in his eyes.
"Kill this bitch," He snarled, a hand going for a gun in his belt. A gunshot did ring out, only it wasn't from his gun. A silver pistol was pressed against his temple and it bucked as a bullet was fired. Blood splattered over the bar counter and the sound was deafeningly loud.
Tifa glanced at the woman, a content smile on her face, and this time it reached her eyes. She offered Tifa a wink, "Girls gotta stick together in Gotham," she informed before she turned her twin guns in the direction of the crowd. Tifa looked around to see them scrambling to pull out their guns, making it clear that the woman drew first before she started firing.
There was a clear side to be picked, and Tifa didn't hesitate to. She saw too much of this place too.
Tifa threw herself forward, jumping into the air and slamming an elbow onto a man's collarbone when he went to point a gun at the woman. As he recoiled, she kicked out with a foot that sent him into the crowd that was gathering. The woman was on the move, diving behind the bar counter as she fired away, but Tifa noticed her targets. Every other bullet was aimed at the few that attempted to flee up the stairs. And every single one of them died.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Tifa surged forward, launching herself at a group of men. She broke a wrist holding a pistol pointed at her before she slammed a foot into another’s knee, sending both men to the ground. Tifa ducked underneath a wild haymaker, retaliating with an uppercut to the jaw before she moved on to the next target with a high knee that caught the fourth man in the diaphragm.
The fight club became a mess of violence and noise. With the place being so crowded worked to her benefit -- it was next to impossible to get a clean shot on her, and with the other woman serving as a distraction, it fell to Tifa to simply mop up. Each blow she delivered was debilitating, taking them out of the fight as she left devastation in her wake.
There were bodies on the ground from the woman, who went for nothing less than kill shots. And in a situation like this, it was like shooting fish in a small overcrowded barrel. One fell over onto a table, tipping it over and Tifa placed her foot on the centerpiece for its legs and kicked it. The small square dining table skidded forward, taking out the legs of three men, giving her some breathing room to flatten the noses of three others before she beat them into unconsciousness.
Despite their numbers, Tifa and the woman cleared through them. Bodies, both alive and dead, were left on the ground. Heavy music played, almost drowning out the groaning, but Tifa noticed that no one came down from upstairs. Looking around, she saw that she and the other woman were the only ones left standing after only a few short minutes of fighting.
“That was fun,” the woman remarked before she aimed one of her pistols at one of the people that was left conscious if sporting two broken arms.
“Stop!” Tifa shouted, making the woman stop. She turned her attention to Tifa, a questioning look on her face as a cigarette hung from her lips. “What are you doing? They’ve already been beaten.”
“Yeah, but they’re witnesses,” The woman argued. “Better to just kill them all now, torch the place to get rid of all the evidence, then go on our merry way. Anything less than that, and these kinds of assholes are going to be showing their ugly mugs again.”
Tifa’s hands curled into fists as she glared at the woman that was about to execute someone. A memory of Vergil flashed in her mind, one of her most recent regrets. She had underestimated the rage in Vergil after they had stumbled across the assault on Jack and the other homeless that helped him. And because of that, Vergil beat a man to death.
She was no stranger to death, but… but Tifa learned that she hated senseless death. And senseless murderers. She would kill if she had to, but she didn’t have to kill these people. Or stand by while they were executed in cold-blood.
“Oh, don’t be like that. Talk about cold feet,” The woman groaned before turning sharply and putting a bullet in a man that had managed to grab a gun and take aim at her. A bullet hole appeared in his forehead before he slumped to the ground. Tifa hadn’t even seen him move. “Just call it preemptive self-defense, if you gotta. We kill them now, so we don’t have to later. You get your winnings, I get everything else and everyone’s happy.”
“You killed people that were running away,” there was an accusation in Tifa’s voice. One that simply got a careless shrug from the purple-haired woman.
She looked thoroughly disappointed. “This place is completely soundproof. The guys up top have no clue what’s going on down here. No security camera because of Batman. And since you made such quick work of the people here, we leave now, they won’t think to suspect us.” She shook her head as she sighed, “Don’t be so soft-hearted, Tifa. Especially not on trash like this lot.”
Tifa glared in response, ready to launch herself at the woman. She knew her name. The only way she could have learned that was by going through the papers in her jacket pocket.
Then the woman lifted her guns up in a shrugging motion before holstering them. “Whatever. Gotham has been pretty boring during my return trip home, I could use something to spice things up a bit.” The sudden shift in demeanor caught Tifa off guard. More so because deep down, Tifa worried that she might be right. She had no clue whose toes that she had just stepped on.
“Who are you?” Tifa snapped, annoyed at getting jerked around.
“Revy,” Revy answered before she hopped across the bar counter and grabbed a beat-up metal box. She popped it open to reveal that it was utterly stuffed with money. Not anywhere near what selling the drugs brought in, but enough to help ease the burden on Vergil’s shoulders. “Ten thousand for you, and the rest for me. Consider it a bodyguard fee.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Tifa pointed out, gesturing to the people around her. Because, in the end, there were more unconscious people than dead.
To that, Revy tipped her hand back and forth. “Kicking ass isn’t all you need to survive in this city. The smart move is to kill everyone here, cover our tracks, and let those up top or the cops sweep this under the rug. Batman won’t care about something like this. We’d be in the clear. And you know it too, but you won’t do it because of that bleeding heart of yours.”
“Because I’m not a gun-toting psychopath?” Tifa questioned, kicking a man in the face when he started to regain consciousness. “If you’re going to judge me for that, then why bother helping at all?”
“Because I’m bored. Mostly. The rest -- you move like Batman,” Revy informed. “You don’t fight like him, but you definitely move like him. So, unless there’s been a female Robin while I’ve been abroad, you can color me curious.” Her smile grew as she snuffed out a cigarette onto the counter. “How about it? Do you really want to be facing everyone all by your lonesome when they come looking for you?”
This got unexpectedly messy. Tifa had been hoping to make some quick cash with a few good bets, and it turned into this mess. She should have held back. Because if Revy had made the comparison to Batman, then others would as well. And, despite her unpleasant demeanor, Revy had helped her. Just like whoever would be coming after her, they would be coming after Revy as well.
Tifa took in a slow breath and nodded, “Girls have to stick together in Gotham, right?” She would see how this would play out. These people didn't have her real name, much less her address. Those that she had reversed mugged still hadn't found her yet, so it was a real possibility that they wouldn't find her at all. Gotham was a big city. Not to mention that this level of beat down, in her experience, was enough to convince low-life thugs to try their luck elsewhere.
But, if she was wrong… then they would have made their choice. Tifa would do what she could to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, but if they chose to come after her after this, if they endangered the 7th Heaven…
Then she would do what she had to do.
...
Not sure how I feel about this chapter looking back on it. It does what I want -- introduce Revy, but I can't help but feel like it's missing something. Let me know what you think.
Comments
Benjamin Lawton
Would that "something missing" be a black dude, a blond hacker, and a Japanese salaryman, by any chance? ;p
