Remember this fic, and this one? Well, after two yearsa sadly long time I've finally finished the next chapter, and man, is it long and complicated. 18 pages of 12px font! This new record will probably only be broken by my last roads_diverged submission, still carefully stewing and being stirred every week or so.

I may have said this before - I'm a slow writer.


(Betaed by artimusdin)

Tifa Heart

            It had started slowly. Just a random comment here, an overheard argument there, a guy setting up a betting poll… But Zack was quite sure the latest MidStar season was having an alarming growth in popularity, and it had everything to do with the amount of booty in it – mostly brought by a single person.

h8erman	look at this leaekd pic of Tifa!!!!!!! Ttly nakey bakstage!!!!!!!!!!!
	Snarkamole	It's manipped
	Counsel2nd	that’s a manip!
	fox_head	hot manip!
		h8erman	Thx

            The rumors and theories had started just as soon as he had expected them to, though they had taken a while to really spread; there had been a huge influx of fake information after the second round, though. A pattern had started to show for her songs.

How far we are from morning,
How far are we
And the stars shining through the darkness,
Falling in the air.

            “She’s singing about herself, of course—” 
            “I dunno, the songs seem like a message to someone or summat.” 
            Zack glanced sideways at the two SOLDIERs discussing in the 50th floor cafeteria. The amount of people who seemed to have watched the elimination rounds was surprisingly big – most of them people who’d loudly proclaim to never touch the program with a hundred foot pole before – and an equally big number had scoured the internet for videos.

rosenkrank	i bet her dadr aped her so she ran away from home!
	cloudcuckolander	no way in hell
		rosenkrank	how’d u even now?
	gilgasmash	Sick. D:

            The military forums, SOLDIER forums and community blogs were boiling; some loved her, some lusted after her, some hated her, some hated and lusted after her – but everyone had something to say about Tifa Lockheart, or, as she had started being informally called, Tifa Heart.

gilgasmash (banned user)	Tifa’s hot and a good singer and all, but I kinda like Elisa better. She’s classy and confident, and Tifa’s too much the rebellious teenager stereotype for my taste. Also, her story seems kinda like it was setup to call attention. Ran away from home? Oh, the drama.
	cloudcuckolander	why was gilga banned? He’s an alright guy and never even got warnings…
		rosenkrank	fanboy mod, I bet………

            Zack had seen it all before, though in a lesser scale, and most times he’d just raise an eyebrow, and maybe join a flame war just to add fuel. All for the “lulz”.
            Yet, he couldn’t help but grin whenever he caught sight of a familiar screen name, actively taking part in the online discussions - not lurking, or only dropping the occasional comments, but actually engaging in conversation; impersonal as the forums were, any socialization from Cloud’s side was a bonus.

cloudcuckolander	Tifa didn’t actually say she ran away from home, she just said she’d had a fallingout with her dad. I think there’s a huge difference. I think leaving home with full warning is more her style. She’d probably say right to his face what her problem was. Prolly was a huge fight, I hae no clue what’d make her angry enough to leave home though.
	cloudcuckolander	like it jsut doesnt fit wit her begavior so far, right?? she seemsliek the blunt type or sumthing when u see her on tv
	cloudcuckolander	srry for typos, typing from phs
		Counsel2nd	Yeah I see. It could be anything. Maybe there’s not even any right side on the argument. Maybe she’s trying to apologise to her dad with her music?
			cloudcuckolander	Yeah makes sense, those are some pretty wistful songs. maybe she’s feeling guilty, she’s not one to carry grudges! She’s always been a gentle girl
				rosenkrank	yeah tifa hjeart would never hurt anyone on purpose!!!!!! she looks tough like that but shes actually a real sweetie inside, real delicate she’s a flwoer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! shes relly suffering u now, i talked to her u now, my uncle works in midstar he let me tlak to her she gave me her phone an said to call her! she said not to give it to anyone else tho
					cloudcuckolander	if u have her phone how’s she gonna answer it? srsly give it back XD
						rosenkrank	stfu fag

            Zack snorted, sitting on a stall by the bar counter and closing his PHS’ browser. That was more or less how Cloud’s sense of humor went – usually going into a tangent, and sometimes requiring a few seconds to understand. 
            Far more amusing than that, though, was the fact that Cloud seemed to be developing a bad habit most boys with crushes seemed to fall into: idealize their crush’s personality and actually believe it was real. He, too, had had problems with that – swearing up and down that Aeris was a delicate, pure crystal flower till that day she… hoo-boy. 
            “Hey there, fancy seeing you around!” a peppy voice called him from behind – followed by Reno sitting his ass in the stall to Zack’s left, leaning on the counter and waving a finger to the tender. Rude, as always, sat by his friend in complete and utter silence. 
            Cissnei sat at the counter as well, on his other side; she, however, left a stall between them, and Zack couldn’t hold back a grin. 
            “He’s coming, right? I really want to see him in person,” she said, smiling. 
            “Oh, he wouldn’t lose this for the world,” he answered. “Hell, his officer wouldn’t lose this for the world. And his officer’s officer…”
            “Yeah, MidStar is finally living up to its potential,” said Reno, in an almost respectful whisper; he, much like Zack, had been a first-generation fan. “I always knew it would make it to top-of-audience someday.” 
            Zack nodded his agreement, downing some of the drink the bartender had sat in front of him. His ears detected a quiet set of footsteps approaching his back, and he grinned, waiting a few seconds before rotating his stool to face the newcomer. 
            “Heeeeey,” he called, even though Cloud was less than three steps away. The boy didn’t seem to mind, though, and simply answered with a subdued smile; most people would call him overly serious, or depressingly emo, but Zack knew the best way to gauge Cloud’s mood was by checking his eyes, and they were crinkled just as much as to show he was amused. 
            The blond paused by the empty stool long enough to broadcast a silent question to anyone nearby; when nobody raised protests, he climbed on it, leaning back onto the counter and looking around at the packed cafeteria. 
            Zack could see some of Cloud’s squadmates maneuvering through the tables and chairs towards their respective groups, cheering along with suited accountants, officers, SOLDIERs and the eventual Turk. Chairs were already being dragged around, and other stools also started rotating; the low-key chatter that had dominated the ambient died down as the lights dimmed, and the four flat-screen TVs hanging from the center of the ceiling became the general focus of attention. 
            “We’ve never had this many people here, not even in free movie nights, have we?” muttered Cissnei, while the ending credits for Midgar Evening News scrolled over the plasma screens. 
            Cloud’s little smile widened, and Zack’s trained eyes detected pride in that expression. The older boy shook his head slowly. Poor Cloud. 
            After some boring commercials, a dramatic orchestral jingle started playing; the MidStar Logo started swirling on the screen, and everyone froze on their chairs. 
            Those were the semifinals, after all.

-------------------------------

            Tifa rested her back against the wall with a sigh; the program was just getting started, the host was making his usual peppy introductory speech, and she was already dressed up even though she would be the third to walk in. She just hated leaving things for later; it would have made her antsier to wait for the break. 
            Her clothes didn’t really please her, though. A long silk skirt, covered with a shimmery red gauze, and an extremely flimsy silk top that didn’t actually close all the way, being fastened over her cleavage with several thin ribbons instead of providing actual cover. To complement the look, a ridiculously long shawl made of the same gaudy red gauze, plus her hair piled on top of her head in many threads. Apparently red was her official color.
            The getup made her feel indecent. 
            Elisa walked in first; she was a short, stocky woman nearing her thirties, with a long history of musical studies, and perfectly friendly; she made a sympathetic face while passing by, and Tifa could only smile sheepishly in return. She liked Elisa well enough, and hoped she’d win against the odds – the odds being the other contestants, including Tifa herself, who were younger, thinner and taller than she was. 
            Tifa sighed; she had no illusions about the function of her top, or lack of it. Her selling point was her chest, just like Joyce’s were her legs, and Maryleen’s, her chest and her perky behind. It was depressing, but she’d have to deal with it – all for the sake of getting that message across. 
            Elisa’s song started, her booming voice immediately holding the assembly captive, and Tifa settled back to enjoy it. 
            “Hmm, looking purdy…” someone drawled by her, and Tifa spared a glance to confirm that, yes, it was Maryleen, looking like the Reaper’s bride in a black satin dress with cleavage that reached down to her underbelly… and quite comfortable in it. 
            “Thanks,” she said, neutrally. “You look good in yours as well.”
            “Thanks,” smiled the girl, sitting down by Tifa while making an exaggerated display of settling her slit tube skirt on the bench. 
            A few minutes of silence followed, during which Elisa’s song was finished, thunderous clapping ensued, and the host settled down with the woman on a completely incongruous sofa for a small interview. Elisa was talking about her difficulties with a harassing flute teacher in her childhood when Maryleen suddenly shifted by Tifa. 
            “She’s such a greaseball, isn’t she?” she said, leaning on a hand with a distasteful frown. 
            Tifa did a double-take, staring wide-eyed at the girl. What had brought that on? 
            Maryleen merely raised an eyebrow at her. “Come on, it’s true,” she said. “Just look at her. A big ball of lard. It’s amazing she can even walk on her legs,” the girl turned back to look at the stage. “You’d think it would be easier to for her to roll around…” 
            And then she made rolling motions with her hands, chuckling as if she had just come up with a silly little joke. Tifa could only look back to the stage; she would have never called Elisa fat – maybe chubby, or plump, but the woman was far from being obese. In fact the wardrobe she had been provided with made her look very dainty and elegant; for the life of her Tifa couldn’t tell who could be this morbidly obese woman Maryleen was busy mocking. 
            She tried to think of something to answer – a defusing sentence to make her change topics, a scathing remark to drive her into silence – but ended up not saying anything. Let Maryleen think whatever she wanted; she had never had the patience for arguments. 
            “You’re such a cold bitch,” Maryleen started again, some minutes later. “Can’t even have a friendly conversation. You’ll never have friends that way.” 
            Tifa sighed. Maybe Maryleen would go away if she made it obvious that the girl was a pain. 
            “Everyone’ll know you as a frigid bitch,” continued the girl. “In fact, I’ll tell everyone that you are a frigid bitch.”
            Tifa could only figure “frigid” was related to being an Ice Queen. Not very impressive as insults went. 
            “You need more sex in your life. Talk to your boyfriend about that… if you even have one,” the girl said, drolly. “If not, maybe a cousin will do…”
            Tifa figured the interview would be over in a couple of minutes; then there would be the commercials, and Maryleen would be forced to quit and go onstage. 
            “Oh, that’s right…” the girl gasped. “You used to be raped by your father, right? I’m awfully sorry about that. I forget not everyone was lucky enough to have a decent upbringing, sometimes.”
            Tifa was even more confused about that comment than she was about the one concerning Elisa’s weight – but chalked it up to the source, and dismissed it.
            Clapping ensued from outside, and Tifa looked up, finding the host was announcing the commercial break and Elisa was walking their way.
            She strode in with a smile. “That was a little intimidating,” the older woman said, breathlessly.
            “Yeah, when there might be whale hunters on the prowl,” Maryleen quipped, standing up. “Actually, we were just talking about how fat you are— I mean, how brave you are to walk in public… when you’re so fat,” she giggled, slapping Elisa’s arm as if to take the sting off the insult. “Well, I better post myself at the entrance… my turn comes next. Tata…”
            And she posted herself at the entrance, soon crossing her arms and leaning heavily on a leg in a display of boredom.
            Tifa wanted to sink into the floor; she couldn’t believe Maryleen had said that to Elisa’s face, or that she would imply Tifa had had any part in it. She couldn’t possibly be oblivious to the things she was saying – though, for the life of her, Tifa couldn’t imagine why a person would be so gratuitously unpleasant. 
            Then again, Nibelheim had been rather gratuitously unpleasant to Cloud, and she had been blithely clueless about it. The thought made her feel worse. 
            Elisa sat by her, and Tifa almost wanted to cover her face. She felt like she had been caught doing something illegal, like smoking; part of her said she was overreacting, but the other part was overreacting too much to pay attention. 
            “Never mind her,” Elisa whispered. “She thinks the world is high school, and that she’s the prom queen.”
            Tifa wouldn’t know; all she knew about midgarian high schools came from over-the-top TV series. 
            A few minutes of silence passed, and then the commercial break was over; the host strode in cheerfully to announce the end of break, then announced Maryleen’s entrance; she walked in, swinging her hips, bent her knees to blow a kiss to the audience and put on a sickeningly sweet smile. 
            “Thank you, thank you… very… much!” she squealed, even as the orchestra started playing her song. She still found time to blow another couple of kisses before she started singing in earnest; Elisa shook her head.
            “See that? Prom queen behavior, right there. Look at me! Look at my fancy dress! I screamed at my parents till they bought it!” the older woman chuckled. “Highly unprofessional, in fact. But I don’t know, maybe that’s what they want for an idol.”
            Tifa scrunched up her nose. “She’s… well… an asshole.”
            Elisa laughed. “Yes, she is… the perfect kind of star; the kind that crashes and burns in a couple years. Drugs, scandals, piss-spending her money in increasingly idiotic ways… and then she’d end up overdosing or shaving her head for attention after a year of being completely forgotten.”
            Tifa took that in, silently, then settled back to listen to the song. Maryleen wasn’t a bad singer at all; her song was another matter entirely. 
            “What’s she even singing about?” asked Tifa, raising an eyebrow.
            “What did you pick up?” Elisa asked back.
            “Well…” Tifa trailed, listening for the next verse before answering. “This woman is begging this guy to come back and make love all night long with her. And… stars and beds on fire.”
            “That’s exactly it,” said Elisa, smiling. “It’s a popular song.”
            “…maybe when I make love I’ll see the appeal of this song,” Tifa gave a nervous chuckle. “Right now it just sounds kind of silly…”
            “Actually, the problem with it is very simple,” said Elisa, patiently. “It’s sung by a woman, but it was written by a man. If a song reduces a relationship to ‘making lots of sex all the time, plus figures of speech for flavor’, then, eighty-percent of the time, it was written by a man.”
            Tifa blinked at Elisa, who just grinned at her. 
            “Not that… there aren’t women full of sex in the brain either,” continued the older woman, with a vague gesture, “Or that there isn’t a man who could hold a relationship in a bucket. But the latter would hardly get classified as a ‘popular’ musician. And that’s because such a man would know how to write a better song.”
            Tifa nodded, grinning; she felt she would have liked to have Elisa as a music teacher. Old Mrs. Tartessa had been good enough, but… not very engaging. 
            She turned back to the stage, and was surprised to find the song was already over, and that Maryleen was dancing towards the interviewing sofa. 
            She didn’t know if she wanted to actually listen to an interview with her.
            “Now, Maryleen, if you could answer a few questions about yourself – what made you pursue a career in music?”
            “Oh, I’ve always wanted to be a singer,” the girl answered, dreamily. “My parents were awfully encouraging. When I was twelve, they hired a private teacher to give singing classes for me alone! Because, you know, the school teachers were awfully boring, and it’s not like I wanted to be seen with those nerds at band.” 
            She made a grand display of shuddering, which raised a few distant giggles from the gallery. Tifa’s chin dropped again, but this time at the sheer stupidity – didn’t the girl have any clue that she’d be evaluated by former band “nerds”?
            The host nodded with a brilliant smile, moving on to the next question as if he wanted to erase the last one from people’s memories. 
            “Were there any difficulties in your way?”
            “Not really,” she said, shrugging vaguely. “My parents gave me all the encouragement I needed, and the teacher learned to follow my rhythm pretty quickly. My father always said that talent makes the way easy. The worst part of it was conciliating the classes with cheerleading practice.”
            “So there really are cheerleaders at schools here?” asked Tifa, glancing back at Elisa. “I mean, they’re really not an invention of TV writers to give the heroines an enemy at school dramas?”
            “Oh, they’re not bad people in general,” said Elisa. “Just teenage girls like any other. It’s only a problem when they give it too much importance.”
            Tifa nodded, looking back to the stage. She had missed the question, and Maryleen was already halfway through her answer. 
            “…like those nasty anonymous notes I’ve been receiving lately, yeah… but I guess you can’t blame people for being envious when they make their way to popularity through their bodies—”
            “Now for a quick question game,” interrupted the host. “Talent?”
            “Many.”
            “Love?”
            “Everything.”
            “Happiness?”
            “Being here,” she winked at the camera.
            “Star?”
            “Me!”
            “Future?”
            “Success,” she once again winked at the camera.
            “Thank you very much for this interview,” said the host, standing up and turning to the camera. “We’ll be back in five minutes with our next contestant, Tifa Heart!”
            “What?” Tifa blurted out, while Elisa snorted in laugher. “They mangled my name!”
            “Oh, no, dear,” the older woman patted her shoulder, shaking with mirth. “That’s your nickname now… they think it’s cute!” 
            “Well, I think it’s dumb,” drawled Maryleen, striding in with the confidence of a winner. 
            “Yes, it’s completely dumb,” agreed Tifa, frowning, “who came up with it?”
            “Are you mocking me?” Maryleen’s eyes flashed. 
            “Was it you?” Tifa did a double-take; a cutesy nickname was the last thing she had expected to receive from her. 
            “Me what?!” Maryleen stepped back, suddenly defensive. “I didn’t do anything!”
            “Then don’t say strange things!” Tifa waved her way irritably. “You gave me a scare.”
            “I didn’t do anything!” the girl repeated, turning a delicate shade of red. “Stop accusing me!”
            “I’m not accusing you!” said Tifa, frowning in confusion. “Why are you flipping out like that?”
            “It’s probably because of the menacing notes she put in your dressing room,” said Elisa, calmly crossing her legs. “She put the same in mine.”
            “I didn’t— I didn’t— stop accusing me!” the girl stomped, waving her fists around. “I’m innocent! There’s people wanting to kill me too, you know!”
            “Oh, how did you know our notes had murder threats in them as well?” asked Elisa, grinning widely; she seemed to be enjoying Maryleen’s agitation immensely. 
            Tifa herself couldn’t help being a little amused when she understood what was going on – mostly, though, she was annoyed.
            “You mean, those little notebook scribbles spelling ‘assassinate’ wrong?” she snorted. “What a joke. I’d be more afraid of a literate murderer; it’d mean they had the brains to come through.”
            Maryleen’s eyes widened enough to pop out, her eyebrows scrunching together; she ground her teeth, and her wine-colored lower tip twisted far enough to the side that Tifa could see her gums. It was a monstrous transformation; the stage hands loitering around froze at the sight of the twisted face, and remained frozen as she jumped, manicured claws at the ready, towards Tifa’s face. 
            Tifa never froze. Well trained hands blocked every advance, every swipe of nails, and finished by grasping the girl’s arm and twisting it at her back – not hard enough to hurt, though; the least she wanted was to give the girl an actual reason to act the victim. 
            A stage hand stepped forward, mute with surprise, to take the crying girl (“She’s breaking my arm! She’s breaking my arm!) from Tifa’s hands. She was glad to let go; turning to the shocked Elisa, she gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. 
            A very sudden, very unwelcome feeling hit her chest, however. 
            Heavy. Cold.
            Drafty.
            She looked down fast enough to see her top hit the dusty floor, flimsy ribbons pathetically frayed. There was a heavy, pregnant pause in which she could feel every gaze converge to her; Maryleen’s shrill cackle smashed through the silence like an anvil.
            “Hahaha! Try singing on TV wearing that, bitch!” 
            At those words, time seemed to start running on the double around her; the stage hand finally dragged her off to the dressing rooms (“Try losing the skirt! It’ll look good off of you!”); another one pulled a cell-phone, screaming for another top; Elisa hastily stood up, wobbled on her feet… and then it dawned on Tifa that she was topless in public. 
            She gathered her shawl on her front, her brain numbly pointing out that it was a little too late for that. 
            “Oh, my dear,” Elisa mumbled, completely white; she seemed at a complete loss, until she finally hugged Tifa, keeping her bosom squished against the rough fabric of her cutsew. “Where’s the damn top!” she screamed, turning to a stage hand that stopped to look. 
            “Oh my god!” someone squeaked, and Tifa looked past Elisa’s head to see Joyce, the last contestant for the day; she looked radiant in a tight, short, silvery white dress and the scintillating oil they had rubbed on her dark skin. She also looked completely horrified.
            Elisa bent her neck back just enough to look at the girl. “Maryleen flipped out on us,” she said, and left it at that; it seemed to be enough for Joyce, though, as she immediately grimaced. 
            “There’s no time,” moaned a stage hand, suddenly. “We’re going to air in thirty seconds! Anyone, give her a shirt! You—” he turned to Joyce, “Can’t you trade dresses or something?”
            “Wait,” said Tifa, her eyes trained on Joyce’s shawl. It was shorter than her own, and tied around the girl’s neck like an aviator scarf, but most importantly – it was opaque and white, matching her dress. 
            Joyce looked down, and, blinking in understanding, quickly untied it from her neck, handing it to Tifa. The latter stepped back from Elisa’s protective shielding; it wasn’t like everybody present hadn’t seen more than enough. 
            She wrapped the shawl over her chest in an X; Joyce quickly stepped forward to make a sturdy knot at the back of her neck, moaning anxiously as the return jingle started playing outside. Elisa joined in the effort, covering the white cloth with Tifa’s own translucent red shawl, and flipped the tips over to the other girl as the host announced their return. 
            Joyce wrapped the knot with the translucent shawl as the host made small talk about the previous contestants. Tifa stepped back and raised her arms experimentally. Elisa gave a thumbs up. A couple of stage hands came to check, and one of them made a sign to the host. 
            The host announced her in, and Tifa strode proudly onstage, the long tails of her shawl fluttering behind her.

Part two