Tilt right. It rounded off beautifully, rolling forward then and back now. His eyes travelled up, reluctant to return to their appointed objective. Her hand curled around it, smoothing the material over the surface, fluffing it, and letting it flow like a lazy stream toward the floor. Tilt left, change hands and the process is repeated on the other side with the same relaxed vagueness as before. He made a disapproving noise as the movement changed the angle a bit too much.

Pitch foreward, roll right, roll left, pitch aft... Some distant, distracted cell in his brain noted that he may be spending too much time with Cid to be thinking in such terms. And she tilted left once again.

She turned to look at him, arms stretched over her head, "What about now, Vincent?"

It'd been maybe a minute, and he had already long forgotten if she needed to tilt the rod to the right or to the left to make it straight. She would have been done ages ago if she'd used a level, like a normal person. Didn't she know it was just pointless to ask a man to judge such things when she was perched on a rickety ladder wearing those shorts?

It was too bad for her, he was no longer trying; eyes too busy pinned at her hips as she balanced on the tilted ladder. "It looks perfect to me." Mind too busy calculating a more entertaining use for that ladder.

A good thing he knew something about counterbalance and the laws of physics... you know, so that afterwards Tifa wouldn't complain about a curtain that hung too low on one side.