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leviathanmirror
Title: Costa Del Sol
Summary: Yuffie and Vincent just don't stop arguing. It's a damn miracle he hasn't transformed in the field, yet... or is it? (Early Materials AU)
Notes: I said I'd wait to write it until I got more done on Catch Me, and I've gotten some stuff done on Catch me, so it was time.
Wordcount: ~550
Tifa looked down at the rum and cola in front of her. The ice was already melting, watering the drink down. She couldn't say she approved of any bartender who would serve a drink that would water down so quickly, but this was Costa Del Sol.
She looked back up at the bartender. The bartender gave her a shrug and a look that read, 'What can I do?' His gaze slanted to encompass the tower of a man who was leaning next to her, but Barret was happy with his bottle of cheap beer.
She went back to her sweating, watery drink and took a sip. Not bad, despite the ice.
"Come on, gorgeous, you can't say that wasn't a good one," Vincent's low murmur carried across the bar.
"I can say anything I damn well please," Yuffie said, voice loud and harsh, "and I don't have to admit a damned thing."
Tifa looked up and over at them just in time to see a faintly perterbed expression cross Vincent's face. He looked entirely put out that Yuffie was completely unmoved by him.
Next to her, Barret let out a surprised guffaw. "Little girl's really stickin' it to 'im."
Of course, that little girl wasn't quite so little. She was actually older than Tifa was, was lean and hard and not remotely feminine. Not out in the open, anyway.
What exactly Vincent saw in her, none of them could guess, considering that she rebuffed his every advance with brutal force. Maybe it only mattered that she was female. Maybe he was obsessed because she was the only woman who ever told him no (that was Aeris's theory and it wasn't such a terrible one).
There was a low, intent murmur from that corner of the bar again. When she looked over, she saw Yuffie seated spread-kneed on a barstool with her elbows on the bar. It was a carelessly masculine pose and yet Vincent was leaning in close to her, clearly entranced.
After a few moments, Yuffie rolled her eyes, let out an explosive sigh, and shoved him away by putting her palm on his forehead.
Vincent allowed it, but he scooted a barstool over and settled in beside her. He settled his right elbow on the bar and tilted his head to watch her. Tifa could see the genuine affection on his face.
Yuffie seemed to be ignoring it. Ignoring him.
"Got t' be kiddin' me," Barret groused.
Yuffie called out a short string of syllables in a perfect mimicracy of the Del Sol accent. The bartender rolled his eyes, but grabbed three bottles of liquor and four fruit juices. He began to layer them in a tall glass, carefully and with showmanship.
Well, at least he could make a decent multi-colored cocktail. Tifa watched him, then shifted her gaze to Vincent.
He was watching, too. There was a crease on his brow that said he was perplexed. And he was right to be perplexed: fruity drinks were notoriously for chicks and Yuffie was many things, had clearly worn many guises, but she was definitely not a chick. Probably had never even pretended to be one.
The bartender ceremoniously dropped the paper umbrella in and then offered her the drink.
With a lazy, uncaring grin, Yuffie pointed to Vincent.
With his eyes on Yuffie, Vincent picked the drink up in his good hand and began to drink it.
***
END
Summary: Yuffie and Vincent just don't stop arguing. It's a damn miracle he hasn't transformed in the field, yet... or is it? (Early Materials AU)
Notes: I said I'd wait to write it until I got more done on Catch Me, and I've gotten some stuff done on Catch me, so it was time.
Wordcount: ~550
Tifa looked down at the rum and cola in front of her. The ice was already melting, watering the drink down. She couldn't say she approved of any bartender who would serve a drink that would water down so quickly, but this was Costa Del Sol.
She looked back up at the bartender. The bartender gave her a shrug and a look that read, 'What can I do?' His gaze slanted to encompass the tower of a man who was leaning next to her, but Barret was happy with his bottle of cheap beer.
She went back to her sweating, watery drink and took a sip. Not bad, despite the ice.
"Come on, gorgeous, you can't say that wasn't a good one," Vincent's low murmur carried across the bar.
"I can say anything I damn well please," Yuffie said, voice loud and harsh, "and I don't have to admit a damned thing."
Tifa looked up and over at them just in time to see a faintly perterbed expression cross Vincent's face. He looked entirely put out that Yuffie was completely unmoved by him.
Next to her, Barret let out a surprised guffaw. "Little girl's really stickin' it to 'im."
Of course, that little girl wasn't quite so little. She was actually older than Tifa was, was lean and hard and not remotely feminine. Not out in the open, anyway.
What exactly Vincent saw in her, none of them could guess, considering that she rebuffed his every advance with brutal force. Maybe it only mattered that she was female. Maybe he was obsessed because she was the only woman who ever told him no (that was Aeris's theory and it wasn't such a terrible one).
There was a low, intent murmur from that corner of the bar again. When she looked over, she saw Yuffie seated spread-kneed on a barstool with her elbows on the bar. It was a carelessly masculine pose and yet Vincent was leaning in close to her, clearly entranced.
After a few moments, Yuffie rolled her eyes, let out an explosive sigh, and shoved him away by putting her palm on his forehead.
Vincent allowed it, but he scooted a barstool over and settled in beside her. He settled his right elbow on the bar and tilted his head to watch her. Tifa could see the genuine affection on his face.
Yuffie seemed to be ignoring it. Ignoring him.
"Got t' be kiddin' me," Barret groused.
Yuffie called out a short string of syllables in a perfect mimicracy of the Del Sol accent. The bartender rolled his eyes, but grabbed three bottles of liquor and four fruit juices. He began to layer them in a tall glass, carefully and with showmanship.
Well, at least he could make a decent multi-colored cocktail. Tifa watched him, then shifted her gaze to Vincent.
He was watching, too. There was a crease on his brow that said he was perplexed. And he was right to be perplexed: fruity drinks were notoriously for chicks and Yuffie was many things, had clearly worn many guises, but she was definitely not a chick. Probably had never even pretended to be one.
The bartender ceremoniously dropped the paper umbrella in and then offered her the drink.
With a lazy, uncaring grin, Yuffie pointed to Vincent.
With his eyes on Yuffie, Vincent picked the drink up in his good hand and began to drink it.
***
END
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