Chapter Text
Tifa Lockhart had spent the better part of her life as a workaholic; from the time she was eight until she turned thirty-six she was constantly on the move either to improve herself or make others' lives easier.
Always helpful, always in charge, always micro-managing, always busy, busy, busy... So, of course she would land herself in one of the poorest places on the planet where her constant need to mend would be most useful--Midgar, Sector 7.
She had a gym where she taught kick-boxing for self-defense, co-owned a bar that ran until the morning, worked with one friend to run an orphanage, and another to run a mechanics shop. She often tutored for the local kids, as their area wasn't so great nor so large, so the kids didn't get much education beyond basic skills unless she taught it (basic skills were fine, but they wouldn't get the kids out of their crummy neighborhood). Their city had hospitals, but most of the people living there couldn't afford to go, so she also acted as the local nurse practitioner, which she luckily had a reputable degree in.
Tifa had accidentally made herself the one person for whom her entire sector was dependent on. No one thought to step in and help or convince her to slow down, because she seemed so gung-ho all the time. Most were convinced she couldn't be slowed down, so why try?
Then, one day... she didn't wake up. Or, rather, she did, but it wasn't a place she found familiar. At first.
The last thing she remembered was feeling the most tired she had ever been in her life--her body shook with every struggled beat of her heart, breathing became a chore, and her limbs felt like cracking sticks. She had just decided, for the first time in her life, that perhaps (maybe, possibly) it was time to take a day off to relax when darkness enveloped her.
When she woke, she was in the softest pajama gown (which was weird in itself, since she never wore nightgowns) with someone knocking on an ornate wooden door, calling out, "My lady! It's time to wake up!" from the other side.
What in the Sam Hill...? She thought as she twisted and turned to look at herself. She appeared the same (same eyes, hair, etc) but her room was huge, and her bed a giant cushion rather than the tiny mattress she was used to. She even had slippers she had missed the first time by the bed, which was such a tiny matter but one she had never had before.
The woman outside finally grew impatient, and in walked a short maid with a pout.
Yuffie? Tifa tilted her head as her old friend walked in, and looked far more stern than she should. Is this a prank? How did they move me without my notice?
"It's about time, m'lady!" The Yuffie maid huffed. "Breakfast has gone cold, so don't get onto me about it."
"Why would I? I've eaten food cold plenty of times."
The maid looked at Tifa confused.
"Yuffie," Tifa tried, in case this was a dream, "where are we?"
The maid gasped, though thankfully she had set the tray down already; she'd have dropped it otherwise.
"E-Excuse me?"
"Oh, uh," Tifa cleared her throat. "Where... is this?"
Yuffie stared at Tifa as if she had two heads, just before the frown was back. "I don't know what kind of joke this is--"
"It's not."
The maid tilted her head. "... It's not?"
"No, where is this?"
"But you knew my name?"
Tifa shrugged.
"I'll, uh... Fetch a doctor, then, shall I?"
"I... guess?" Tifa nodded at the tray next. "Thank you, for the food. I'm starving."
Yuffie grabbed at her chest and looked absolutely flabbergasted. "I'll get that doctor right away!" And she rushed out of the door.
I usually say 'Thank you', so why did she act so surprised? Tifa turned back to the mirror with a frown. This feels too real to be a dream, but... if this were a prank, it's a weird one. I guess I'll just play along. Maybe it's supposed to be a fun surprise or something?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It wasn't. The doctor came and went, and declared she seemed fine, but perhaps something like stress or depression had caused something of partial amnesia? Tifa didn't think that was a thing, but chose not to argue it.
Soon after, she began to pick up clues... Her name was still "Tifa", but it was "Tifa Lockhart"--the last of the Lockhart name, though she apparently had a good number of relatives. That alone was a bit of clue. A book she had been reading (during the few seconds before she'd fall asleep) had mentioned such a lady, and when Tifa had eventually finished the novel one of her gripes had been why Lady Lockhart had been mentioned in such detail only to never have any sort of importance beyond being a reminder to one of the main characters about what happens to women when they grow too old to marry or too sour an attitude for anyone to want. She recalled Lady Lockhart (who's first name had never been mentioned... actually, were any of their first names mentioned?) being called callous, rude, wasteful, and a down-right pain to deal with, so she was never invited anywhere--even to family events.
Which is why she now resided in a beautiful mansion in the even more gorgeous countryside near a peaceful town obsessed with the arts--a town of which that did not need saving. She was forbidden to live anywhere else, or to leave without permission outside of the Gainsborough territories--the family "kind enough" to allow her a place of residence when her uncle was done dealing with her. Beyond a hefty allowance (as it would still look horrific for the family to have a relative languish in poverty) that she had to budget (as if that would be hard--a month's allowance was her entire paycheck... from her entire life), she had no obligations.
No events to attend or plan, no one to teach, nothing to build or repair, no meetings, no paperwork, no negotiations... Even the home was managed by a team of servants, so she wasn't needed to attend to her own properties.
I don't know whether to be over-joyed I'm basically being paid to vacation for the rest of my life, or scream in terror. There's gotta be a catch here, besides possibly going crazy from boredom.
Tifa bit at her thumb, an old habit, and paced back and forth (in a dress not made to be pacing so much in, so she tripped at least twice).
Gotta be a catch... What happened to 'old maids' in the novel? Or to Lockhart herself? Tifa had been told by friends stories about people landing in novels like this, and how each person had some sort of objective they had to accomplish if they wanted to live happily. Usually, it was to avoid a horrible death. Think, think... I usually had to reread chapters a lot because it was hard to remember them. I didn't get much chance beyond a sentence or two before I fell asleep to read... That means, technically, I've read the dumb thing many times now. What happens to Lockhart--to me?
She stopped cold in the middle of the room and blinked as she finally released her finger.
"Wait... wasn't she just a mention? Really, truly, only a mention? Nothing happened to her, did it?" Tifa murmured to herself as she walked to the window and peered out onto a sunny garden. She saw two servant kids run between the rows of flowers, right before being told off by someone. The kids looked like two she had been helping to raise from the orphanage, and the man telling them to knock it off like the friend she had been running it with.
Barrett wouldn't have agreed to this kind of prank, and they really don't seem to recognize me. Tifa noticed the kids look panicked as they saw her watching them. To hopefully alleviate their worries, she smiled and waved as friendly as she could... which confused them, much like her politesse had confused Yuffie. Man, Lockhart was a real bitch, huh?
She walked from the window before it could get too awkward and sighed. This is just too good, or am I supposed to feel shame for being a single, rich lady in solitude? I suppose in this sort of era that was considered a nightmare, but whatever. I’m still hot and I don’t think I forgot anything. Until I get home (if I even can) I’ll just make it work.
She rolled up her puffy sleeves, or as much as they would.
“I need to make a battle plan. First, gotta make myself familiar—I mean, I should familiarize myself with this place. Ugh… I have to watch how I talk now, too, I guess… or do I? Does anyone care?”
Tifa hummed and tapped her chin.
“Does anyone care what I do?” She tap tap tapped as she considered. “I mean, as long as I’m nice, nose down, and fairly thrifty, I shouldn’t even catch that uncle’s attention, right?” She smiled to herself. “Doubt the way I speak matters, then, since I’m ‘past my prime’ and all.”
The brunette chuckled to herself as a slow smirk grew and she rubbed her hands together—playfully evil.
“This might be better than I thought~”