When you said the word "Turk" in most parts of Midgar (specifically the parts that didn't wear suits), it was not for no reason that everyone in the area suddenly seemed to remember an important appointment elsewhere. The reputation of the Turks was legendary, though admittedly it was less along the lines of "Bigfoot" legends and more like "Charles Manson".

They were known for a lot of things. First, killing people. Rumor had it that all Turks had precognition and instantly knew if they were going to end up killing you at some point. If a Turk smiles at you? Move to another city. Secondly, constant service as President Shinra's bodyguards meant that Turks were extremely good at keeping secrets. It was said that the list of things Tseng knew that most people didn't could fill up a library. Thirdly, all Turks could cook, but the problem was that they had this nasty habit of adding these little "extra ingredients", usually of the sorts with the skull and crossbones on the label.

And, lastly, Turks drank. They drank with skill. And also, often. A thirsty Turk was a bartender's worst nightmare.

Vincent had fallen out of practice over the years. He was currently attempting to rectify this, with moderate success.

"Cock jockey." he snarled, slamming his mug down on the counter. He was still distressingly sober. It could be the fault of the genetic experiments, or it might have been the fact that Nibelheim swill couldn't put a baby tortoise to sleep.

"Tell me about it." said Yuffie glumly as she cradled her Wutaian Delight, which wasn't a delight so much as it was a gastronomic Hindenburg. The bartender had been hesitant to serve a minor, but it was really quite amazing what a 4-by-4 shruiken could do to one's sense of perspective. "I was in that forest for weeks. Do you have any idea how hard it is to live on a diet of frog?"

"Sadly, yes." Vincent replied sourly, Hojo's exotic dabbles in the culinary field leaping to mind. "I… can't believe this. I have spent thirty years waiting for Strife to come and claim me, and now he's just passed me over. As if… As if I don't even matter."

"Yeah, that didn't sound gay."

"Shut up."

Following a bout of extreme Gallian Beast-ing, Vincent had deigned to step outside the Shinra Mansion after three decades of slumber in its walls. The first thing he did with his newfound freedom was pay a visit to every local boy between the ages of 8-40 (it had been a long sleep, after all) and explain to them in extremely persuasive tones that there was a ghost in Shinra Manor, and the next time they went blundering around in there with a flashlight it would rip them apart with its brass claws. ("I'm sorry, did I say brass? I meant bare. Bare claws." And then, he checked his watch, which was conveniently on his left arm.)

The second thing he did was get drunk, or at least make a valiant attempt.

"I…" Vincent's sable mane was dangerously close to dripping into his mug, and gently brushed against his bendy straw. "So much time spent… waiting in the darkness. The shadows… It was all I could do to stay sane."

Yuffie rolled her eyes. When Vincent spoke, you could hear the ellipses.

"Um, there, there?" she tried. The pale gunman glared at the wall in a way suggesting that if it did not turn into Cloud Strife's head impaled on a stick within the next five seconds, it would be reduced to so much dust. "I mean, come on, cheer up, Vinnie!"

"I don't remember being 'Vinnie'. When did I become Vinnie? I'm not Vinnie."

Yuffie floundered for a moment, but rallied magnificently. "I mean, you've always got me, right?"

The vampire let out a choked sob and slammed his head on the counter.

The bartender, who had been watching the duo scare away his regular clientele for about an hour and whose Bartender Honor was screaming at him, coughed discreetly. "Sir, ma'am, I think you've had enough…"

From his spot on the counter Vincent looked at the man. It suddenly occurred to the bartender that there were many things in life that were more important than honor and one of them was, well, having more life.

Yuffie glared at her companion. "Well thanks a lot! I didn't have to wake you up, you know. I just wanted to find someone like me…"

Vincent sat up and rubbed his already-bruising forehead. "…I apologize, Yuffie. That was uncalled for. The drink… it's getting to me."

"Ha! Don't worry about it." Yuffie patted him on the shoulder as he simmered at muttered curses at "the Strife-thing". "And don't worry about finding a house! You can tag along with me; I was heading back home to Wutai!"

It may have been that he was into ellipses, but fair was fair: Yuffie enunciated her exclamation points. Vincent frowned, but gave the matter some thought. He didn't necessarily need a place to stay- people tended to abandon their houses when a seven-hundred-pound monster came-a-calling -but then again he'd kept himself locked in a coffin with no company for thirty years and wasn't about to throw it away now.

And besides, he thought as he looked at her hopeful expression (and full lips and lavender eyes and feathery hair and-) it wasn't like she was that annoying.

In a million playthroughs, that was where it ended. Vincent and Yuffie began dating a few days later and settled down in Nibelheim, where they raised a family of four. Cloud and the rest of AVALANCHE handled Sephiroth and the Remnants and Deepground just fine without them. Vincent eventually got over Lucrecia, and Yuffie her kleptomania. They grew old together, and many years later they both died in a freak chocobo accident.

In a million playthroughs done without the aid of a strategy guide or GameFAQs, Vincent and Yuffie disappeared into anonymity, unknown or ignored by the player in control of their fate. In a million playthroughs, their careers as NPCs were extremely brief and extremely boring.

Not, however, in this one.

This is the most adorable thing I have ever seen.

Vincent snapped out of his reverie. "What?"

May I be the godfather?

Dibs on best man.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Vincent took a sip of his mug, attempting to ignore his inner demons. It was probably some kind of a metaphor for human existence, but he was just really thirsty.

To be fair, she does look like she has nice wide child-bearing hips-

Vincent spluttered and choked on his beer as horrible realization dawned on him for the second time. "You can't possibly mean-"

"Uh, Vince, you feelin' okay, cuz, you're kinda talking to yourself-"

Hey, aren't you, like, 60? AHAHA! Pedophile!

"N-no- This isn't-"

"I totally understand, you know, you were locked in there for a while, makes sense that you'd want imaginary friends-"

What the hell would you do in Wutai? Other than Kisaragi, I mean.

"No! That's not why I'm going to Wutai-"

"So we're not going to Wutai?"

"No- I mean- yes-"

Look, he's all red and it's not us doing it for once!

"Shut UP!" Vincent roared. Was this the kind of life he faced? Unacceptable. He needed closure and, more importantly, he needed a certain trio of demons out of his brain. "Get your things, Yuffie. We're leaving. And I don't mean for Wutai."

"Oh, Crazy Hour's over, huh?" Yuffie shrugged and swiveled out of her stool, stretching. "Where are we going, then?"

"We're looking," growled Vincent, "for Strife."

"Ominous!"

"Yuffie? Shut up."