@csilentium ❤’d for a starter.
There’s a common adage amongst the people of Midgar; that what happens beneath the plate, stays beneath the plate. It’s an oddly specific mentality, but one that certainly explains the morally questionable and dubious business practices that had become frequent additions to lower sector life. It was a place of secrets and anonymity; the kind of place you went to vanish, or arguably, to make someone else do the same. Aerith liked to think it was nonsense. That much like herself, there were an equal number of good, honest people just trying to survive in amidst an unrelenting degree of poverty - but even she wasn’t entirely naive to the inner workings of the place she called home.
It was like something out of an old spaghetti western whenever the Salamanca twins were in town. The sudden pauses and hushed whispers that followed in their wake, the ever inquisitive gazes that would always seek to peek and pry from a safe vantage point of distance, as footsteps had hurried and doors had been slammed shut. The ancient couldn’t blame them. If the twins were in Midgar, it could only ever mean one thing. Death had come a knocking, and god help anyone that stood in their way.
Unlike the rest of the populace however, the brunette was never in a hurry to flee, an innocuous lean against her weather beaten cart accompanying the raise of verdant gaze. The Turks weren’t far off, so was this company business, or that of the family? ( Or was she doing the very thing she’d sworn she despised and making sweeping presumptions without daring to stop and consider the alternatives? ) Aerith asks as much in a single pointed stare, a solitary blink given before she’s loftily waving a sun warmed begonia in their direction.
“You really ought to stop turning up unannounced you know. Evidently it’s bad for business.”
