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

            “Eugh, gods,” Zack scrunched his face up in disgust, even as he phoned his fourth zero to Maryleen’s voting line. “How can a girl make such a bitch of herself in so few minutes of air time?”
            “It’s what happens when you apply your principles to other people,” said Cloud, quietly. He hadn’t voted. “She thought the things that impressed her would impress everyone.”
            “You mean she’s impressed by overconfident jerks with planet-sized egos and fake cutesy poses?” asked Reno; he had been extremely disappointed in Maryleen, and had quickly put the “2” voting line on speed dial (for her breasts).
            “He means she’s impressed by jocks and Suzy the Kittykat dolls,” clarified Zack. “Which are just as you described. Tifa’s coming next, right?”
            Cloud nodded, grinning; Zack couldn’t help but grin as well, even as part of him pointed out, with a pang, that crushing on celebrities was a bad thing.
            Cissnei seemed to catch on; she glanced at Cloud, then at Zack, and started sputtering furiously, covering her mouth with a hand. The return jingle started playing before Zack could slap her upside the head, though.
            “Welcome back to the third segment of Midgarian Star!” started the host; the last dregs of conversation died out. “We have some tough competition this season. Elisa Kopf has blown the public away with the result of twenty years of musical studies, but Maryleen Olsen enjoys great popularity with our younger viewers…”
            “Something happened backstage,” muttered Reno, frowning.
            “And now, without further ado, I present our third contestant, Tifa Heart!”
            “…or maybe not,” the redhead added, raising an eyebrow.
            The gallery clapped as the girl walked onstage, in a flutter of sparkly gauze as she kicked her skirt with every determined step, and slowly trailed by the two gauzy tails that… seemed to be the only thing covering her breasts.
            The cafeteria was suddenly filled with the sound of every heterosexual male freezing mid-breath; from Reno’s side, Zack thought he could hear a very low “squeee” sound.
            He really wanted to glance sideways at Cloud, but it was really, really hard to look away from the TV. And there was no time; as soon as the clapping faded, the orchestra played for all of two seconds before Tifa started singing, her voice hushed as if telling a secret.

The days were brighter, gardens more blooming
The nights had more hope in their silence

            She had lowered her eyes, lightly touching the microphone stand with both hands. Some kids in the chairs started whistling and snickering, but to Zack, it seemed like an unconscious attempt to shield her chest from the camera. He knew the contestant’s clothes were chosen by the production crew, after all.

The wild was calling, wishes were whispering
The time was there, but without a meaning

            He glanced sideways at Cloud. His eyes were bugging out and his mouth was half-open; in fact, his expression would be closer to horror if it weren't for the fact that every inch of his face was a glowing red.
            Suddenly, the orchestra swelled audibly, and Tifa’s hushed whisper rose into an almost operatic voice. A chair was jostled among the tables; some poor kid was probably surprised in the middle of some fantasy.

Away, away, away in time
Every dream is a journey away
Away, away to a home away from care
Everywhere´s just a journey away

            “Now everybody’s listening,” muttered Cissnei, with a note of bitterness. The chorus had come in good time; the orchestra lowered into a soft background tune, while Tifa went back to the whispery deliver, but this time, everyone really seemed to be paying attention.

The days departed, gardens deserted
This frail world, my only rest?
The wild calls no more, wishes so hollow
The Barefoot Boy weeping in an empty night

            Zack felt his eyebrows scrunch together without his meaning to. True, ShinraNet was full of nuts trying to see a pattern in her songs, thanks to her cryptic dedication during the elimination rounds – but he had to admit all her songs so far seemed to talk about someone or something having gone away.
            Was it her dead mother? Then the songs would be about death, wouldn’t they? Then again, those tended to be too sad to be popular in a broadcast contest, except for a very select niche of listeners who’d appreciate songs for either quality or ability to depress.
            Tifa repeated the operatic chorus, and then started on another vocal undulation; they seemed to be her trademark. Zack took the time to turn to Cloud.
            “Hey, do you buy that stuff about her songs being a message?” he whispered, leaning down.
            “They could be,” Cloud whispered back, without taking his eyes off the TV. “But I still can’t tell who they’d be for.”
            Zack raised an eyebrow, and was about to ask how he expected to discover a single person through a bunch of selected songs with a very thin connective thread when Cloud suddenly hushed him. The vocal solo had stopped and the orchestra had faded down; the song was restarting.

Cherish the moment, tower the skies
Don´t let the dreamer fade to grey like grass
No falling for life, a gain for every loss
Time gathered me, but kept me flying

            The chorus restarted, but this time, the key seemed to shift higher as she repeated it; the orchestra started to fade out, signaling the end of the song. Clapping ensued, and the host walked back onstage.
            “Fantastic!” he said, with a glowing smile, and motioned to the completely incongruous sofa, previously obscured on the back of the set. “Now if you’ll please… time for an interview with the third contestant, Tifa Heart!”
            “That sofa always cracks me up,” confessed Reno. “They hide it during the song, but when it’s over they just… shine this huge spotlight on it, like… it suddenly just jumps out of the darkness! Like an evil, magical sofa.”
            Cloud snickered a little, once again without taking his eyes off the back of the contestant as she strode to the sofa, kicking her sparkly skirt.
            “Now those are some clothes they put her in,” said Cissnei, frowning.
            “Fuck, yeah,” said Reno. “I love those guys.”
            “They don’t fit her image at all,” continued her, narrowing her eyes just slightly at Reno.
            “What?! I beg to differ!” Reno stretched his back, in a show of indignation. “She could only look better if her skirt was also transparent!”
            “Actually, she has some white cloth under the tulle,” said Cloud, glaring at Reno with a far more menacing expression than his face should be able to make… while pointing vaguely at his own chest.
            “She’s a tomboy!” said Cissnei, looking as indignant as Reno, though probably for real. “And a minor. So she’s on display and still acting like a tomboy. It looks retarded!”
            “Now, Tifa, if you could answer a few questions about yourself…”
            A great deal of hushing echoed on the room – including from Cloud, who irritably waved a hand at the two Turks in a request to tone their argument down. Zack could only look on bemusedly; turning Cloud into a rampaging fanboy was a way to make him interact with like-minded people… just not the one he’d choose.

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

            “…what made you pursue a career in music?”
            “A… a desire to be heard, you could say,” answered Tifa, as vaguely as she could; it was a perfect moment to spill it all out, but she had been instructed backstage to be as vague as possible – no going into details, no mentioning her hometown’s name, no dropping names at all. She had to admit it kept things fair… for a relative degree of fairness. “The fact that I could make a comfortable living out of it helped the decision a lot, though.”
            The host chuckled at that, even though her smile was rather rueful.
            “Were there any difficulties in your way?” he asked again, with the exact same tone he had asked Maryleen. Part of her felt a little offended by that.
            “The trip here was pretty long and tiresome,” she said. “And I had left home with barely any money. I really have to thank my martial arts master, who supported me all the way here even though most people his age aren’t up to such long trips. Thanks to him, we made enough money through beast bounties to arrive here and settle in an inn without any major setbacks.”
            “Oh, so you’re a martial artist!”

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

            “That explains her abs,” muttered Cissnei.

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

            “How long have you studied martial arts for?” he asked. Tifa caught herself before raising an eyebrow; that wasn’t part of the set of questions.
            “…for about two years,” she mumbled, then hurriedly added, “That’s really not very long, actually.”
            “What about music? Have you studied it, or are you a natural?”
            “No, I definitely studied it. My mother started teaching me the piano when I was five, and, after she died, my father hired a music teacher. I had classes three times a week until I left.”
            “Now for a quick question game!” announced the host. “Talent?”
            “Depends on effort,” she answered.
            “Love?”
            “Cooking.”

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

            “Cooking?!” Reno echoed, incredulously. “That’s it. I’m introducing myself to her.”

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

            “Happiness?”
            “Being at peace with myself.”
            “Star?”
            She shrugged, grinning. “On the sky?”
            “Future?”
            “A little too far for me to see,” she shrugged again.
            “Thank you very much for this interview,” the host nodded to her, and stood up, shining a brilliant smile towards the camera. “We’ll be back in five minutes with the last contestant of the day, Joyce Lene!”
            She stood up, walking to the back of the studio with a small wave to the clapping gallery; Joyce was waiting for her with her bag of clothes.
            “Guess they mangled my name too,” she said, grinning, while they walked to the dressing room.
            “At least it’s not as cutesy-tarded as mine,” Tifa grinned back, fumbling with the knot on the back of her neck; Joyce joined her effort, and by the time they arrived at the dressing room, the shawl was already off, and the scarf soon went its way.
            “Finally, I can feel like a person again!” the girl sighed, putting on her tank top and unfastening the gaudy skirt. Joyce started tying the scarf around her neck, helped by the costumer; Tifa raised an eyebrow. “The tips are wrinkled.”
            “Don’t worry about that,” the costumer grinned, pulling two rings from a box on the counter; with the help of a thread, she soon had the wrinkled ends of the scarf inside the rings, forming golden little tassels. “There you go! Now hurry up, you’ll be going in a couple of minutes.”
            The girl stumbled up to the door, almost tripping on the skirt Tifa had just discarded, but somehow made it to the door without incident.
            “Good luck!” called Tifa, hopping into a pant leg.
            “Thanks!” she called back, fumbling at the door for a few seconds before she hurried out.
            The costumer turned to Tifa afterwards. “Sorry I couldn’t help when you had your… accident,” she started, awkwardly. “They kind of caught me in the bathroom, and…”
            Tifa clicked her tongue. “It worked out in the end, don’t beat yourself over it.”
            “Hm…” the costumer continued, hesitantly. “Why are you putting your clothes back on?”
            “Uh?” Tifa paused halfway through buttoning her pants. “Well, my part is over, isn’t it? Don’t I go home now?”
            “No, no, no!” the woman’s eyes widened. “You still have to go back onstage for the voting results!”
            “…what?” Tifa’s shoulders dropped. “Don’t tell me I have to put that on again!”

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

            The cafeteria was filled with the hum of talking as soon as the program paused for the commercials.
            “Well…” started Zack, dubiously, even as he flipped his phone open. “I know the semifinal interviews aren’t supposed to reveal too much, and the singers are instructed to say a lot without telling anything, but… that was vague.”
            “The questions were stupid, too,” frowned Cloud, already dialing for the grading hotline. “If they don’t want the contestants to say anything of value, why even interview them?”
            “It’s all about showing them off, boy, all about shining an extra spotlight on them!” said Reno, waving his own PHS around as if explaining something obvious to a child. “The lay people out there have no idea the questions are meaningless and the answers are empty, all they see is the idol on the sofa showing how her voice sounds like when she’s not singing.”
            Cloud grimaced; it looked like he had chewed on those thoughts and not liked their taste.
            “The contestants still end up giving personal information, though,” said Cissnei, seriously. She only voted once for each singer. “And it is information that sways votes. Elisa talked about a teacher that seemed damn close to being a predator, and a fiancé who wanted her to drop everything she liked and devote herself exclusively to him. She also completed all her studies through scholarship. Maryleen made it pretty clear that she was an insufferable twit that always got her way – and her parents, who hired a music teacher just to appease her desire to keep an image at school, obviously could afford not saying no. As for Tifa… she also seems to have been wealthy – enough to afford a music and a martial arts teacher – but she lost her mother early on and had a nasty enough falling out with her father that it drove her out of home without money. And she is reticent enough about it to incite all sorts of nasty scenarios in people’s heads.”
            She rotated her chair to one side, then the other, thoughtfully, before starting again.
            “Tifa is going to win first place, Elisa will be a close second, and Joyce will be third – unless she can come up with a huge sob story of prejudice to capitalize on her skin color, and not sound like a drama queen while delivering it. Maryleen shot herself on the foot so badly there’ll probably be a huge margin between her final grade and Joyce’s.”
            Reno and Rude nodded, the former more emphatically than the latter. “Yeah, that’s really the most probable result,” agreed Reno. “And Tifa has that whole ‘there’s this person I’m not gonna say anything about’ thing, and it just feeds people’s romantic fantasies. It’s what makes her popular with the female demographics… at least the non-lesbian demographics, who cares about other things of hers.”
            The theme started playing again, signaling the end of the commercial break, and the cafeteria quieted down for Joyce Lene’s entrance. She was a very good singer, with a full voice, and chose an old cabaret classic which she performed superbly – going so far as invading the orchestra pit and lying on the piano; but it turned out that her parents were both alive and musicians, and she had had a perfectly happy childhood; even the tales about the minor signs of prejudice she suffered for her color were more like amusing anecdotes than serious breeches of human rights, like the man who mistook her for a clerk in a store even though she was conspicuously not wearing the local uniform. She apparently thought all those situations were hilarious.
            “I don’t really feel offended,” she said. “More like sorry. The moment when you realized you had no reason to expect a behavior or reaction from a person but still did… it’s very humiliating. I certainly will never forget the day I sat by an old woman in a train, who was wearing a tweed jacked and a long flowery skirt, and she asked me for the time. When I answered, she put down her crotchet, pulled out a notebook from her basket-weave bag, and started playing Diabolus V… what’s with the look? Did you think it was a school notebook? Yes, she asked me the time because she had arranged to meet her party for a dungeon crawl – yes, it was the online version!”
            She did have a great sense of humor, though, and was good at telling stories.
            The commercial break came again, but the muttering afterwards was a lot more subdued. There was little to talk about; Joyce was, by far, the most normal of the contestants, and made no attempt to hide that.
            “Well, I’m pleasantly surprised,” said Reno, dialing her voting hotline. “I thought she was going to try and advertise her minority, but she was cool about it.”
            “The producers did try to capitalize on it, though,” pointed out Cissnei. “What the hell did they rub on her skin?”
            Cloud nodded, crossing his arms. “It makes her look like she’s in a rubber bodysuit… or badly in need of a bath. I don’t know which would be worse.”
            “It brings out her curves,” pointed Reno. “And I thought it made her look sexy until you brought the ‘in need of a bath’ up. Thanks a lot, kiddo.”
            The break ended quickly enough, and a “retrospective” collage on each contestant was broadcast, along with their voting numbers, net poll addresses and a countdown to the end of the voting time. Zack wasn’t sure, but it seemed to him that Maryleen’s retrospective didn’t exactly show her best moments, or paint her in a very good light; apparently even the producers wanted to get rid of her.
            The retrospective abruptly ended; the screen went black, displaying only the countdown clock (at 15 seconds) in huge, white characters, with a loud ticking noise. The cafeteria exploded in noise as its patrons started placing bets, screaming their preferences, desperately fussing over their PHS’ or just making a racket to raise the tension.
            Cloud was in the desperate callers’ group, hanging up as soon as the confirmation jingle started to play, and pressing redial. And he had been doing that since the start of the retrospective.
            Then the countdown reached zero, and the patrons fell silent as the screen went completely black; a pulse-like sound started beating out of the speakers.
            “Now that’s just stupid,” mumbled Cloud. Zack shrugged in response; he could see the boy’s pulse pounding at his throat, so he didn’t think Cloud had any room to talk.
            The heartbeats accelerated until they became a drum roll; the black screen opened – it turned out to actually be the stage’s black curtain.
            On the stage, the four semifinal contestants stood each on a circle drawn on the floor, each of their smiles showing different degrees of nervousness; the celebrity jury sat in the background, at a semi-circular table, while the host walked in from the side, arms open invitingly and with a brilliant smile, under thunderous applause.
            “Welcome back! Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the last segment of this week’s episode of Midgarian Star! Now, while the computer calculates the total for each contestant, we’ll listen to our guest jury’s evaluation. First will be today’s contestant number one, Elisa Kopf!”
            A light shone on each jury member as they said how deeply impressed they were with her abilities; Elisa flushed and smiled happily, not faltering even when one of the jury members, a famous model, gave her 9,5 after the usual gushing, while suggesting she lost weight.
            “What?!” exclaimed the next jury member, indignantly. “Don’t listen to her, Elisa, you’re beautiful! The first woman on TV with actual meat on her bones! Please don’t turn into a half-dried corpse. Anyway, 10.”
            That comment generated much laughter and clapping from the gallery.
            Elisa’s grades were consistently high; her final sum was 9,9 – and as it was announced, the circle she was standing onto started to rise, stopping about two feet above the floor.
            She stood upon that small pillar as Maryleen’s evaluation started. Hers didn’t go so well, however.
            “You’re a great singer, dear, but…”
            “Clearly very well trained, I admit…”
            “A true idol should appeal to all demographics…”
            “Controversy is part of an artist’s career, but still…”
            “I didn’t like the way you tossed veiled insults around. Your voice is 10, but your charisma? Zero. You get a 5.”
            In the end, her final grade was 7, and she received lukewarm clapping from the gallery. The cafeteria was noisier; some clapped loudly, some complained loudly that she didn’t deserve that much.
            “I was in band!” complained a SOLDIER, several tables away. “And you know what pisses me off the most? If I showed up in front of her right now, she’d be all over me for being a SOLDIER and would handwave the band geek comment as a temporary lapse of sanity – just like all girls who ever snubbed me did at my high school reunion!”
            “Naw, I think that grade is just perfect for her,” drawled Reno, amused. “6 would be ‘mediocre, try harder’, and any lower would be ‘made of fail’. But 7? For someone like her, it’s the same as saying ‘Sorry, you’re good, but everybody else is just plain better!’ It’s the sucker-punch she needed from life – the lamest grade she could possibly receive!”
            Maryleen’s face was stony; no sign of anger or tears, even as her pillar stopped rising at a considerably lower level than Elisa’s.
            “She’s probably hoping the public voting will make up for the jury’s grade,” Zack commented. “It’s what happened last season… Leticia was awesome, and got the first 10 ever, but the horny teens didn’t like the fact that she was in her 60s.”
            Cloud nodded in silence; however, neither he nor Zack expected her public voting grade to be all that helpful either.
            Tifa’s evaluation was next. It was mostly a rehashing of Elisa’s; they all praised her voice, her passion and her focus.
            “You know,” started the bluntest one, “you’re in shape… very much in shape… and by that I mean, you seem like you could break this table I’m sitting at. And now I know you take martial arts. I’m kinda scared of giving my grade – you won’t drop-kick me, will you? No? Promise? Okay, then. 10.”
            The gallery laughed and clapped their hands, all the more when Tifa shook a fist his way; her general grade was 9,6, and her pillar rose almost level with Elisa’s.
            Joyce’s evaluation was fun and light-hearted - she was constantly praised for charisma and interpretation, and bagged a 9,7. As her pillar rose, she did a little dance, then pointed to Tifa with both hands; the latter reacted by raising both fists in front of her face, narrowing her eyes and lowering a corner of her lips, like an angry delinquent.
            The contestants weren’t given microphones for the evaluation (common practice after the first season experienced too many blubbering and cursing idols), but the ensuing dialog could still be heard faintly:
            “Neener neener, I’m an inch higher than you!”
            “I’ll get you, Captain Height!”
            Captions and animated icons from that exchange would soon be multiplying in message boards; even in that moment, Reno and Zack, who always set their appliances to record MidStar in high quality, were calculating the best ways to use such material.
            The host soon called for attention, and the girls immediately straightened, looking innocent; Maryleen rolled her eyes, unaware that the camera chose that moment to focus on her.
            “Now!” started the host, smiling brilliantly, “It’s time for your audience evaluation! The points have been calculated, the results are arriving…” a man in a suit ran onstage to deliver him an envelope, “here they are! First, the number of votes each candidate had; ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please…”
            Another drumroll; numbers started rolling in the lower corner of the screen.
            “Elisa Kopf – a total of two million, fifty two thousand, eight hundred and nine votes from the public!”
            Clapping ensued, and the number – 2.052.809 – was left on display.
            “Maryleen – a total of two million, nine hundred and forty four thousand and nineteen votes from the public!”
            The claps were confused and faltering; Maryleen’s face brightened considerably above the next number onscreen – 2.944.019 –, and she hurriedly looked around at the other contestants; she visibly wilted at their apparent lack of alarm.
            “Tifa Heart – a total of two million, three hundred and fifty seven thousand, four hundred and seventy one votes from the public!”
            Her eyes crinkled in a smile as the third number – 2.357.471 – rolled to a stop in the third quarter of the screen.
            “Joyce Lene – a total of two million, a hundred and four thousand, two hundred and twenty-nine votes!”
            Joyce grinned at the camera as the last number – 2.104.229 – took position in the last fourth of the screen.
            Reno whistled.
            “This season really broke records,” he commented. “Votes never went much higher than a million. Most watchers don’t usually bother voting.”
            “And now, your attention please – the calculated grades!” said the host; the clapping silenced, and so did the clink of glasses in the cafeteria.
            The camera zoomed out to focus on the four contestants, each of them seemingly standing on their voting results as the grades were put on display.
            “Elisa Kopf – ninety seven!”
            Applause, and the number of votes shrunk to make way for the grade; Elisa’s smile remained serene and knowing.
            “Maryleen – fifty two!”
            There was lukewarm clapping as her jaw dropped; her face visibly paled, even under make up.
            “Tifa Heart – ninety eight!”
            Riotous applause; she lowered her face and pinched the bridge of her nose, shoulders shaking.
            “Joyce Lene – ninety five!”
            Joyce raised her eyebrows and shrugged to the camera; she didn’t seem particularly off-put by her grade.
            The pillars lowered to the ground under riotous applause as the host walked back onscreen, arms open wide.
            “And these are the results of this season’s semifinals, according to your choices! Fourth place, Maryleen! Third place, Joyce Lene! Second place, Elisa Kopf! And first place… Tifa Heart!”
            Suited stage hands walked onstage, standing by the third and fourth-placed contestants like pompous butlers; they bowed, emphatically stepping back to allow their way backstage. It was an element added during the second season, after a contestant made a scene and had to be dragged offstage in the first.
            Joyce walked out, apparently very amused by the whole thing; surprisingly enough, Maryleen also walked backstage without a fuss, her face still pale but held high.
            “Well… at least she has dignity?” Reno wondered out loud, raising his eyebrows slightly.
            “Now, our finalists Tifa Heart and Elisa Kopf will take the next two weeks to study and rehearse their submitted compositions together with our orchestra. But you won’t have to miss us that long – tune in next week for our backstage special!”
            There was more riotous applause as the camera started to pan up and the credits started rolling; the host’s voice as he thanked the audience was drowned out by the sound of talking and dragged chairs in the cafeteria.
            “Funny how Tifa Heart broke down when she received her final grade,” said Reno, standing up and idly scratching his back. “She always acted as if she didn’t much care what her grade was, so long as she got to pass her whatever message.”
            “She was third in the professional evaluation,” said Cloud, quietly, “but ended up first in the popular vote. I bet she felt bad – you know half these people weren’t voting for their voices…”
            “That’s a possibility,” added Zack, maybe a bit too loudly. “But we’ll probably never know for sure unless she’s interviewed about it. Anyway—” he fumbled, suddenly aware that he had been brusque and searching for a way to take the sting of it, “want anything to drink, Cloud? My treat. And don’t be cheap!”
            Cissnei started giggling uncontrollably as she walked away with her fellow Turks; even Reno looked at her funny. Cloud didn’t seem to notice or pay it any mind, however, concentrated as he was on the huge table at the wall behind the counter.
            “Hmmm… I want a milk-shake. Vanilla and strawberry with chantilly and cherry liquor.”
            Zack obligingly waved to the bartender, even as part of him wished Cloud had been a teensy little cheaper.

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

            Tifa sniffled pathetically, wiping at her eyes.
            “You should have been first place,” she mumbled.
            Elisa just patted her arm with a sigh; she had hugged the girl’s shoulder as soon as they walked off the stage, and all the way to the dressing room.
            “Don’t worry about that,” she said, calmly. “We’re both pretty much guaranteed a career by this point.”
            “And— and what about Joyce?” Tifa squeaked out, dabbing at her eyes with the sparkly shawl; the running make-up was making her eyes sting, making them water up even more.
            “You don’t have to worry about me,” the two women jumped; Joyce had arrived at the dressing room first, and was already wiping the oil off her skin with some paper towels. “I said my parents are professional musicians, didn’t I? They’re not very well-known, since they mostly compose and write for other artists, but they’re pretty high in the market and have many friends in the industry. I entered this contest more out of pride, really – my parents already had a manager and recording label ready to launch me, and it rankled a little,” she shrugged. “So far as they know this is only my personal marketing ploy, though. Getting my name out there before my first single’s produced.”
            “So…” started Elisa, and Joyce smiled ruefully.
            “Yeah, I just took the spot of some other contestant who actually needed the support and exposition. Losing here was only fair – you and Tifa both deserve to be sponsored.”
            She stepped forward, wiping Tifa’s smeared make-up off with some clean paper towels. “Tell you what. We’ll have to do a triple show once we’re all out there. Maybe a joint CD or something. What do you say?”
            Tifa just nodded dumbly, and Elisa smiled.
            “Sounds like a plan,” she said, offering her hand. Joyce shook it with a grin, extending it to Tifa afterwards; when the latter took it, though, she pulled her into a hug.
            Joyce rocked her back and forth playfully, earning a giggle for her efforts; after patting her back, Joyce finally stepped back, her hands on Tifa’s shoulder, lips stretched in a smile.
            “So… who was that song for, really?”