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Bright and optimistic, Tifa always cheers up the others when they're down. But don't let her looks fool you, she can decimate almost any enemy with her fists...

Tifa Lockhart at your service! I'm 22 years old currently, and you can usually find me down in 7th heaven, the bar slash restaurant I own and live above with Marlene, Denzel and Cloud when he manages to come home.

I was born in Neibleheim...I suppose you can say that's where I died as well because ever since that night bathed in fire I never was quite the same...

Indie Rp Blog

Fear {Drabble for another rp}

Tifa watched as the weather changed. Thunder and lightning and pelting rain as fog crept in slowly. She found it nice, maybe a touch relaxing.

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Sometimes, Tifa wondered if it was all worth it.

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She was running, running from someone that she never thought that she would ever have to run from. Tifa was never one for fleeing, always one to face things head on but this was an exception, the only options were fight or flight and she could never bring herself to attack. Even now.

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7th Heaven

The bar had been intended to be a haven of some sorts to all that walked through the door, but looking around Tifa wondered if she had succeeded in her goal.

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More often than not, Tifa found herself swearing that she was surrounded by angels.

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Burning Bright

That day, when she left the house, the voice calling out to her said the same as any other.

“Be nice and don’t do anything that won’t make you proud when your older.”

Everyday her response was the same, a sound of acknowledgement, an empty promise and eyes that were rolled behind a closing door for she was only a child who cared little about the future and how her actions would shape it.

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They were fragile. They were fragile and simple and just trying to survive while saving as many as they could. But together they were strong and fierce and their backs never went unprotected.

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Tifa found it fitting that they chose that color to honor her, the angel in pink that left flowers in the church like footsteps.

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Tifa lockhart had wanted to be a dancer. One of those beautiful girls with their crystalline hearts who always seemed to be in motion even when still. Instead she got a piano.

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Tifa didn’t believe in miracles. She believed in facts and karma and truth and while she did believe in superstitions she didn’t believe in miracles. Miracles brought false hope, were useless. That’s what she thought before. Before she was lying on the ground where she had fallen with the familiar faces she could have identified blindfolded swarming above her, going in and out of focus with each heartbeat in her broken chest.

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Shooting stars

Very few people could say that they knew the real Tifa. She could count them all on one hand and still have fingers to spare.

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“What are you doing?” the question hung in the air. Heavy and thick like fresh fallen rain.

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She wasn’t one of those girls; the perfect ones that could do no wrong. The rose girls, the daisy girls. Girls like Aerith. Delicate and perfect and fragile with a core of steel. if she was a plant she would be a spider plant, spiny and not all that attractive other than a handful of times. She was fine with that. She’d rather be strong than beautiful. Everyone always cried for the perfect beautiful ones for they never deserved what happened to them. Few people cried for the strong ones, for they usually died accepting their deaths and few mourned those who flitted with death so often.

Yes, she was a spider plant. Strong and strange and rarely beautiful. She was not fragile, not perfect, nothing really stood out about her. And she was fine with that.