It almost seemed as if Margaret smiled, though in the darkness of this Velvet Room, he could not be really sure if that was really true. He could see that her expression shifted; when the shadows cast by the lights around the room moved over her body in very subtle ways, as if cast by torchlights—not that there actually were torches in the room.

"Not just yet, honored guest," she said, her expression as toneless as ever. "Now then, I did not summon you here—your mind cast yourself back here into this place between, because it already knew it would seek answers from me. Whether or not you intended it, your mind willed that it must return here. And so here you are."

"Well, I can guess one or two reasons why my subconscious would be doing that. And one of them's to plan for the date and all," he said, grinning.

"Perhaps," Margaret replied enigmatically. "Or perhaps it is because you have learned a bit more about the trials you are about to face. Though you are not yet a seasoned warrior, you've learned more about Mementos than the previous time you visited, no?"

"Well…" Now that she pointed it out, he could not exactly refute it. Ever since the last visit, he had undergone a lot more lectures from Ritsuko and Mitsuru. He had also been training heavily in proper SEES tactics and methodology, again by Mitsuru and Akihiko. It all consisted of a lot of physical training and exercises, all of which were pushing his body to the utmost levels. As Margaret said, he hadn't stepped foot in Mementos to participate in an operation yet, but he knew a lot more now about it than the average bloke out on the street. "I guess you're right. In a way."

"You have taken the very first steps forward on your path, and with it your very self has changed. Mind, soul, and yes, body, have been shifted to accommodate what is about to come. You have changed to prepare for the trials to come," Margaret said. "And here, of course is the proof before you. This very meeting."

Marcus thought on that for a bit more before shrugging. "Or it could just be my brain saying 'Hey, I wanna discuss my date with Margaret'."

"Perhaps so," she replied. "You may also think of it that way: that it was only after your whole self underwent such drastic changes that you allowed yourself to come to this place again. After all, when you think about it, you could have returned any time, but only now—after gaining more experience—do you finally come back, to request a date."

"Like I was just psyching myself up or something?"

"Yes."

He rubbed his chin in this dream world. "Huh, well, never really thought of it like that. If that's the case, then good job to me, I guess. So, can we talk about that date now?"

"As I said at the beginning of our meeting, honored guest, we are free to do so later," Margaret smoothly replied.

"Ah right, you had something to say. Sorry about that," he said. "Please, do go on."

"Acknowledged,' Margaret said, her eyes fluttering. She held up the book she held in one hand and opened it. The pages fluttered rapidly, as if they were disturbed by a strong breeze. As the papers flipped like leaves borne on the wind, several small balls of light rose from within the book, like several fireflies drifting upward.

There were three such balls, and they now floated above in the air, drifting lazily like dust motes. Then Margeret snapped her fingers, and the balls of light transformed into three distinct shapes.

The shapes resolved themselves into strange-looking women: humanoid in appearance, but with enough strangeness to them that he could but draw an immediate comparison to Morrigan, his persona. They wore strange dresses, possessed alien visages and held themselves in a manner reminding him very much of Margaret herself. The three of them stared down at him as if they were appraising some curiosity at a market, neither hostile nor warm.

"Are they…" Marcus began, uncertainly. He looked at each of them in turn, wary that they would attack, though that seemed impossible. "… Shadows?"

"Your nomenclature is, by your own admitted knowledge, deficient. In a way, they are Shadows, but their main function is something else entirely," Margaret explained. "And I do believe that you yourself already have an inkling as to what they really are."

"They're…" he paused, as certainty rose within him. "Personas."

Margaret nodded. Despite her flawless expression, he could tell that she was pleased, somehow. "Indeed. They are Personas, ready to be contracted in the service of one who is the Wild Card."

"The Wild Card?" Marcus repeated, though he already had an inkling as to what that was referring to. He wasn't dumb.

"A term for beings such as you," Margaret said, spreading her hand and gesturing towards him. "Typical travelers of Mementos, those who have awakened to Personas, only have room in their psyches for one. Even having one is a burden—adding another taxes the mind beyond repair.

"But there are special individuals, like you, who possess a unique gift. That is the Wild Card, the designation that this limitation has been lifted. You may carry more than one Persona within you, storing them within yourself just as surely as your own, original Persona. They will all be serving you just as well.

"I trust I do not need to explain the advantages of such a designation?" Margaret asked.

"Um… no," Marcus said, his eyes still staring up at the floating Personas. "I get it… It makes me a lot more… flexible, in a way, right? Like having a lot of different guns on hand?"

Margaret nodded. "And just as with carrying weapons on your person there is still a limit. But there is no denying the unique capabilities of one who has been named the Wild Card. You may use your gathered hoard of Personas as you see fit, matching them to bear against any and all of the trials that stand in your way."

"It's… very useful, I agree," Marcus said. "… But why me?"

"You ask a question as a living creature might for living," Margaret said. "Then let me proffer this rejoinder: you are you because you are you."

"Ah, I get it," Marcus said. "It's all natural to what I am." He narrowed his eyes. "So, there's no relation to my being a 'guest' here, though?"

"You have become a guest because you agreed to take responsibility," Margaret said. "And not for what you are capable of doing, nor of what you have already done—or may still do. Though, I will not deny that as an attendant of the Velvet Room, I am uniquely suited to addressing your capabilities as a Wild Card."

"Oh? Do tell, Margaret."

Margaret waved her hand, and the three strange women dissipated into smaller motes of light, like so much pollen scattered in the air. Then, the tiny motes of light seemed to be sucked back inside Margaret's open book, as if they had been drawn by a mighty vacuuming wind. At the very end, Margaret snapped the book shut.

"When you have need of it, you can summon and banish any Personas you currently possess into a compendium just like this," said Margaret, holding up her book for emphasis. "Though you may be able to carry multiple Personas, as I have said you are still limited by a certain number. When you feel as if you want to take on more, or if you wish to change your current collection of Personas to fit your needs; then you may send a Persona here as 'storage', and then just as easily take out another one into your soul. Of course, you may only do this when you come to the Velvet Room, and not anywhere else."

"That sounds cool," Marcus remarked. "And useful, too."

"Please be warned that there will need to be compensation for this," Margaret replied. "A service fee, if you will; though this is not any form of greed, but merely a symbol of your commitment to your course."

"Well, that sounds reasonable enough. But where am I supposed to get that kind of money?" He rubbed his chin, while smiling. "It's not like I can just bring my credit card here or something."

"Indeed not," Margaret said. Was she acknowledging his joke, or not? "But be assured that such currency will come to you, in time. You will recognize it in the future, and therefore you will have no such illusions as to their provenance—and of their uses."

"I got it. We'll see, then."

Margaret stared at him for a few more moments, even as he stared back. This went on for a few moments longer before Margaret again spoke.

"By your own admission, you are yet at a very early point in your path. But I say this now, not to frighten you or dissuade you from that path, but to prepare you. I have mentioned many times that you will be facing many trials. I do not exaggerate then, when I say that these trials will be of such magnitude that you cannot presently comprehend them yet."

"What, is it going to be like a war or something?" It was true that he had no experience of war, and so would be completely unprepared for it. "Is this supposed to be scaring me or something?"

"Why would I need to scare you?" Margaret asked. "You did sign the contract."

"I did sign the contract," he said, nodding in agreement. "And I gotta say, though, I'm not really the type who gets affected by fortune-telling and such. Seems stupid to me."

"And this is not fortune-telling—not as you understand it at least. I am merely stating a fact that you will certainly be facing in your path—very soon in the future. This trial is not something you will be prepared for, no matter what," Margaret said. "But I have high hopes that you will overcome these trials, honored guest. If nothing else, I shall be here to support you no matter what."

"Aw gee, thanks Margaret," he said, smiling. "Now then, is it done? Can we talk about the date now?"

For a moment, Margaret stared. Then she nodded. "Very well," she said. "We may."


The next couple of days after Margaret's latest visit were as brutal and grueling as the ones that came before.

This was not to say that his training had intensified in some way—it was all the same things, and there didn't seem to be any increases in the amount of work he had to do. But it was a fact that neither Mitsuru nor Akihiko had let up on putting the pressure on him. He was pushing his body's physical strength and endurance to the limit, though he could tell he was not growing into some Olympic competitor or anything like that. But as an average man, he could already feel like he was being slated for it, as implausible as it sounded.

Still, he did not begrudge the training nor complain about it. If he was any more cynical, he would say that this was technically work, and that he was being ultimately paid for it. It was leagues better than his situation a few months back, when he was breaking his back for ungrateful bosses and being forced to muck and socialize with backstabbing idiots and fools. At least here he could get to see and experience something mysterious that much of the world didn't know about. At least here, he could also lay his eyes on a bunch of beautiful women. At least here, he had met Margaret.

And of course, physical training wasn't the whole of it. He also had to digest a whole lot more knowledge about Mementos from Ritsuko. This time his lessons involved history of previous operations and missions, giving him a glimpse into how things were done inside Mementos. He was also given tasks to analyze these missions, and then answer her questions about what he had absorbed from them.

"Who knows? You may become an analyst like me in the future," she'd said.

"That doesn't sound too bad," Marcus admitted. Though privately, he knew he didn't really have the brains for that sort of thing. He wasn't stupid, but he could barely wrap his mind around the conundrum of Mementos, and he suspected age wouldn't be changing much of that fact.

Lastly, he was also supposed to have some lessons with Misato regarding weaponry. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she had postponed said lessons, and had instead roped him into assisting her with various errands to be done outside the Kirijo Group building.

"Thank you very much for helping, Marcus," she'd said, bowing to him in apology as he carried many bundles of bags, each hanging from his shoulders, his arms, his elbows, his wrists, even his fingers, such that he looked like a comical-looking tree.

"It's… really no trouble." It was some kind of trouble, considering that altogether these things weighed so heavy. But it wasn't as if he was being chivalrous and carrying her stuff. Misato was also carrying her own enormous loads, and was in fact doing it so effortlessly that it would have actually been embarrassing for Marcus if he couldn't at least keep up.

That gave him a weird thought: was she actually testing him or something? Was she trying to see what type of person he was, by watching the way he would react to being made to do these things?

"But really, I didn't expect there to be so many of these things…!" Misato proclaimed. "I'm really sorry for that, again. When I agreed to come out and buy all these, I really didn't expect this amount. If I'd have known, I would've let the acquisitions department get it in my place. It's not part of my job. Its theirs."

"May I ask…" Marcus said, huffing slightly. "What these're supposed to be?"

"Supplies requested for use in the apartments," Misato replied. "I know, it's still my department, in a way, but I'm only the manager—I can delegate these types of errands when I need to!"

"Ah, really?" He looked down at some of the symbols embossed on the bags. Notably, some of these were from high-class brands and companies, all of which offered luxury items that catered to a particular sort.

"If you're wondering why they're such an eclectic sort, then I can honestly say that some of these are request from our very own operatives," Misato said. "We don't allow Amazon or any other company come in to deliver stuff—gosh, imagine the security issues! And that's why our own acquisitions takes care of things when they want to 'shop' online. That goes for you too as well, Marcus. You ever need something delivered online; well, the acquisition department are supposed to be the ones to get it, not you nor I. Well, at least this will be the last time I'm doing this." Misato chuckled to herself in a self-deprecating manner.

Even after she'd said all that, Marcus still wasn't convinced this was all part of some lesson. But he stayed silent, and allowed Misato to come to her conclusions by herself.

Then he stopped, realizing that Misato had also stopped and had lagged behind him. He turned around, and saw that she was standing in front of some sort of boutique, yet another high-class one catering to leg and footwear.

He could see her eyes gazing down at a pair of tall, leather boots beyond the glass, sleek, black and with pointed tips.

"Aren't you gonna buy it?" Marcus couldn't help but say, after approaching her side.

"Aw, don't tease me like that, Marcus," Misato said, making a puffed out-expression with her cheeks.

"Well, can't you?" He didn't want to believe a woman like Misato didn't have some sort of savings from her work at Kirijo's. He knew full well neither Mitsuru nor her group were cheapskates—he'd read his own contract and knew his salary was very generous. A woman of higher rank with much greater expertise would also naturally be well-paid; and with her years of service there would naturally be a good amount of savings in the bank. Well, unless she was pissing it down the drain or something, maybe from some sort of vice. If that was the case, then he must have greatly misjudged the woman.

"I can, but I can't really indulge myself in such fancies at the moment," Misato said, her voice sounding light and whispery, as if she was still talking to herself. "With such important work I can't really afford to be indulging in this sort of stuff. And before you say that you should put pleasure before work, then let me tell you that I love my work. I couldn't imagine myself divorced from it, let alone give it up for something like this." She sighed loudly, exhaling a large puff of breath. "But seeing this… Well, it does make a gal sad, in a way."

"I'm sure they'd look good on you, for what it's worth."

Misato turned to him; her brow raised. "Why, Marcus, are you teasing this old woman again?"

He shrugged his shoulder. "You should know by now that I'm always serious. Well, about things like these, at least." He turned to look at the boots. "Mm… No doubt about it, you would look good in them. So you can rest your worries on that regard." He chuckled.

Misato thrust her face in front of him, looking up at him with a mischievous expression on her face. "What are you thinking in that dastardly brain of yours, hm? Something dirty and perverted, young man? I'd have thought it'd take middle age to become as depraved as an old geezer, but maybe that's just me assuming."

"Er, your face…" he said, taking a step back.

She didn't back down, and continued to smirk up at him. "What's the matter, hon? You now imagining me marching around in those boots? Tromping around, swaying my hips… Maybe you're thinking of me all naked, only wearing those boots? You naughty, naughty bo—"

If there was one quality of his personality that could not be denied, it would be his impulsiveness. And it was this impulsiveness that made him thrust his face forward, until he had mashed his lips against Misato's in a kiss.

She gasped into his mouth from that brief contact. But a moment later, she didn't exactly draw back. Quite the opposite actually—she even relaxed. Then she even kissed back.


He wasn't able to talk more to Misato about the kiss afterwards. They'd gone home with an awkward air, but at least it was companionable. She didn't say anything about being offended, and her body language didn't seem like she was rejecting him. But over the next few days, he didn't meet her at all, not at work, nor at the dorms.

When he chanced to ask Mitsuru or Ritsuko about it, they said she was busy at work, which ruled out the possibility of her taking a leave of absence—or even worse, quitting.

As such, he let his worry pass, and allowed himself to think that whatever came of Misato later, at least she hadn't reported him or publicly shamed him or something.

In the meantime, he made ready for his date with Margaret.

"At the vesper's call, look for me at the intersection of two Christmas streets. I will be there."

He had scouted out the place beforehand. Margaret's instructions had been cryptic, but he had been able to deduce much of it. Ironically, it had been around the same area where he and Misato had shopped together earlier. He was able to pinpoint the intersection of the two "Christmas" streets—these being two particular streets which were still displaying decorations from Christmas, which was considerably out of season. And vespers would mean sunset, which was a reasonable point of time where he could excuse himself from the Kirijo building, having just concluded his training for that particular day.

And so, before the appointed time, he returned to his dorm and freshened himself up, before signing out of the building to head towards their agreed rendezvous. He was surrounded by the rush hour of the evening crowd, which meant it was just as busy as it had been during his shopping time with Misato. There were many workers coming home from work to indulge in this district swarmed the place, along with students who came here to shop and socialize, and all the other people who were contributing to make this commercial district a bustling centre of business.

Exactly at the time appointed, he was able to see Margaret appear, as if she had literally manifested out of thin air, onto a spot on the curbside pavement on that exact intersection he had determined. Even from a distance, her strange yellow eyes seemed to have seen him. She was remarkably distinct, her features standing out even amidst the crowds that surrounded her. Not a single person walking around her seemed to notice her presence, and Marcus wondered if she was just visible to him.

"Hello there, Margaret," he greeted, waving a hand.

"Greetings, honored guest," she said, inclining her head. "Or should I say—contractor… Yes, contractor is more appropriate now I should think. We are not within the Velvet Room at the moment, and as such you are not my 'guest', per se."

"Ah, thanks." He lowered his voice. "Am I the only one who can see you then? Are you invisible?"

She cocked her head, as if she did not know how to answer his words. "I am fully manifested in this world, to answer your curiosity. If you are asking if I will be accosted, then no. My presence here is as thin and unremarkable as the shadow of a butterfly flapping through a moonless winter night. It will take an incredible personage to see me—or if I should show myself voluntarily. Why do you ask?"

"Right, well, it's just that it'd be weird for me to show you around to all these places, and then people will wonder if I'm talking to thin air—they'd think me crazy, and that's the kindest thing they can say."

"Worry not," Margaret said, stepping closer. "As I said, if it is needed, I can make myself known to a third party, if it suits the encounter."

"Well, thanks for that," he said, scratching the back of his head. He gestured to the side. "Then… shall we go?"

They started to walk, maneuvering their way through the evening crowds. "Is this the first time you came out here? Into the… like, the real world or something?"

Margaret cocked her head. "Why are you assuming that I have no knowledge of every world that intersects with the twilight realm?"

It was his turn to look confused. "Sorry, what?"

"I am not unfamiliar with your world, or with any world I visit," Margaret explained. "I am curious as to why you inquired that of me."

"Oh, well, sorry for making those assumptions," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, shall we go eat then?" With her being part of something so supernatural, he was naturally expecting her to decline, saying she couldn't eat.

However, she inclined her head, saying, "That is acceptable."

The good thing about receiving a fat sign-up bonus from Mitsuru's company was that he was reasonably well-off with a small fortune. If he suddenly decided to leg it and invest the money smartly, he could probably make something of himself in a few years. Of course, that was contingent on Mitsuru not sending assassins into his dreams or something worse.

And so, they were able to go to a reasonably high-class restaurant, where Marcus had secured a reservation several days ago. As before out on the street, no one seemed to think Margaret's appearance strange, nor were people looking askance at him for hallucinating her. They went to their table, ordered food, and spent the time eating it talking.

Things weren't exactly romantic—Margaret mostly spoke cryptic things about his duty. And Marcus, keen on increasing her approval of him, was forced to talk shop, by inquiring about this or that aspect of the Velvet Room.

Then, afterwards, he led them back out into the streets, where he led Margaret pointedly towards boutiques and other stores, the same ones he had visited before with Misato. He waited for the opportunity to get anything which seemed to strike her fancy, though somehow he failed quite spectacularly at that.

First, she stopped in front of a shoe store, and she seemed to be looking towards the storefront.

He'd smiled, and walked forward. "Find something you like?"

She'd blinked. "No, I was merely allowing the elderly woman to pass."

At that, Marcus discovered in that exact moment that it was he who was blocking the old woman's movement behind him, which he vacated with the most profuse apologies.

On the second time, she seemed to be staring at a vendor's wares at a small stall. Already wary from before, Marcus looked around for the presence of elderly women or other obstructions, before determining that she really was looking at the wares.

"Find something you like?" he'd repeated with a smile.

"No," she'd said simply. "But I am reminded, briefly, that I have yet to talk to you about purchasing enhancement items." She shook her head. "Perhaps at a later time, when you've already started to experience Mementos in its entirety."

"Ah," was the only thing he could say, smile sliding off his face. He was secretly disappointed, but he couldn't do anything about that.

Next, she actually did enter a shop—though it was a shop selling clocks, watches, and other unique time-pieces. He secretly scanned the prices of the shelves and balked at the amount. He wondered if he would actually be splurging nearly his entire signing bonus on this.

However, Margaret seemingly had no interest in purchasing. She went to a particular clock. Then, without warning, she thrust her hand forward, deep into the clock.

He looked around wildly, wondering if anyone had seen. But the owner was at the counter, entertaining some other guest. Still, he rushed close to Margaret, perhaps to screen her from the cameras or something.

"What…?"

Just as quickly, Margaret withdrew her hand. Apparently, whatever she had done had not damaged the clock at all, as if she were a ghost. Now he could see there was something sitting on her palm—another card, similar to the one she had given him before. She turned to walk outside, and he followed along, curious.

"I appreciate your invitation to visit this world, contractor," Margaret said, turning to him, once they were back out on the street. "As thanks for the interesting visit, and the time that has been spent, allow me to gift you with this." He took the proffered card, with promptly vanished somewhere, as if by magic. "May it serve you well."

"Ah, thanks. How about you? I'd like to give you a gift as well. Can I-?"

Then suddenly, he felt a rumbling beneath his feet.

"Earthquake?" he mumbled, looking around wildly. He expected to see a few other people noticing, perhaps starting a chain reaction—or even panicking perhaps.

But he saw nothing. People were walking along as usual, talking among themselves, talking to their phones, and looking around; as if the earthquake wasn't happening at all. He turned to Margaret, and saw that she hadn't also moved, but that she also wasn't surprised by his sudden behavior.

"I'm afraid we must cut this 'date' short," she said, her yellow eyes looking quite distant. "It has arrived."

"What?"

"Your first trial."

Then the earthquake intensified, and far in the distance, Marcus saw a tall tower emerge, like some building had been buried beneath the street all along. It rose high, towering over the other buildings in this district, until its very tip reached the clouds above.

A series of chains were wrapped around its length, like small Christmas streamers entwined around a tree; only these were as dark and forbidding as chains must be.

Still, even with the sudden appearance of such a thing, not a single one among the crowd reacted, even in mute shock. It was as if the tower didn't exist to them, as if only he was allowed to witness this. Therefore, he was forced to conclude that there was only one explanation for such a strange dissonance.

"Mementos," he said, narrowing his eyes at the tall tower. Suddenly, as if driven by some small, primal instinct, he felt a shudder run through him-far stronger than he'd ever felt before. Not even being spooked by a jumpscare had been as effective at rattling his nerves. It was as if every bone in his body was telling him that the tower was bad news.

"Indeed, contractor," Margaret said beside him, her eyes similarly trained on the tower in the distance.


Chapter commissioned by theqman, thank you. A reminder that the story is commissioned.

If you'd like a story commissioned, feel free to contact me here, or on archiveofourown under "RHoldhous".

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