Tifa's Tight Squeeze

The pixelated image on her screen flickered slightly, the familiar blue glow of Midgar’s night sky momentarily distorting before settling back into focus. Tifa was perched precariously on a high stool in the Sector 7 Seventh Heaven corner booth, a half-empty mug of something dark and bitter abandoned beside her. Her bare legs were sprawled over the worn leather, one knee bent at an odd angle that made the lines of muscle in her thigh stand out starkly under the dim light. She was wearing nothing but a low-cut black tank top that rode high on her hips, straining against her taut stomach and giving a tantalizing glimpse of the smooth column of her back. "Hey," Tifa said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she tapped a fingernail against the screen. Her face was flushed, but whether it was from exertion or the cheap whiskey in the mug beside her was anyone's guess. The only response for a few seconds was the static hiss that always seemed to precede Aerith’s appearanc