[A lot of things can be said about ‘dirty work.’ Listening to Zack describe the Turks in such a way hardly comes as a surprise. If anything, that almost feels like the only public information available on the group as a whole. Except usually she’d think of it in the way that they do the dirty work for Shinra. Soldier does its own dirty work, in her opinion, though having never been in it, she can only speculate.

Assuming she wants to. She respects people like Zack. Like Cloud. And once, she imagines she could have respected Sephiroth, too, but surely being in a field like that changes people. How do they ever integrate back into society? Do they ever find themselves again or are they just shells of their former selves? Her feelings, she realises, remain pretty uncertain when it comes to the concept of soldier work.

Perhaps it is just a necessary evil in the eyes of the world. Or it’s a concept that is too far out of her grasp to really understand.

Her attention whips back onto the present, of pleasant flower carts as opposed to dark days and looming overhead thoughts.]

Of course I am! Or, at least I was. Before I came here, of course. [Maybe not in the same way that she had when he first made the cart for her.] What I mean is that I was definitely selling flowers back home. Trying to, anyway. Not all of Midgar is taking to them quite the way I’d like for them to.

[It’s a work in progress…

What he follows up with, however, causes Aerith to pause for just a moment. Her head tilts and she wonders how to put it. What she can get away with saying.]

Oh, uhm. I think you know him? You’re both in Soldier. His name is Cloud. Ironically, we met when he fell through the roof of the church, too. The plate must have broken again.