It's your birthday!! green_and_warty

[sincere]

Happy birthday, green_and_warty!
You made no requests, so I give you a Tseng-Aerith drabble.


He bought a vase and set it on the edge of his desk, and for the next several days it was an item of some curiosity among the Turks.

Reno and Rude came over to admire it more than was necessary. Reno picked it up, manhandled it, observed skeptically, "Did someone tell you vases were manly, boss?" and Rude suggested, "Or practical." Inspired, Reno flicked his cigarette into the vase, and Tseng shot to his feet so quickly that they both recoiled, their reflexes perhaps cleverer than they were.

Cissnei found it funny, perched on the edge of his desk and grinned. "When are you going to go get some flowers to go in this vase, Tseng?" she asked innocently.

But, of course, that wasn't up to him.

"I'll pay you a hundred gil," Tseng said, leaning in the doorway of the church. "Per flower."

"I don't think so," Aerith said serenely. She was on her knees in her little patch of flowers, humming to herself as she worked with the earth, her fingers and dress stained. Others in the slums were dirty and disheveled as a simple fact of life, people to be ducked away from and brushed off if they accidentally (or less-than-accidentally) brushed up against you; Aerith glowed, clean in spirit and in body, with primal soil on her but never dirtying her. Tseng wondered if it was because she was an Ancient.

"Why not?"

She made a thoughtful sound, not looking up from her tending. "I don't think the flowers would like it if I traded them for gil that smells like blood."

He couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not. Tseng said stiffly, "I assure you, my money is completely clean."

"Hmm, I wonder~"

"I believe it's considered unfair business practices to raise your prices depending on the customer," he told her as she got to her feet. But when she turned around he saw that she held a single delicate yellow flower in her hand, and for a moment his heart stopped beating -- relieved or pleased or something. He pushed himself away from the doorway, watching her approach. (She had very firmly told him not to come in.)

Aerith drew up in front of him and smiled at him warmly, tucking both hands, and the flower, behind her back. She leaned in.

"A thousand gil," she pronounced.

The vase on his desk acquired a single flower, and remained a topic of great bemusement among the Turks.

"It looks pathetic, all by itself in that great big vase," Reno said.

"Lonely," Rude agreed.

"Well," said Cissnei, reasonable, "even a single flower can mean a lot to someone."

Tseng ignored them while they were there, but when he was quite sure that no one was looking, he dared to reach out and trace its pouting petals with hesitant fingertips.