A/N: Sexual content, fleeting drug references. You've been warned.
Chapter Three – Entwined Intentions
It's dark when Risette wakes up. The digital display on the hotel room's radio alarm shone 8:00 AM as saccharine muzak blared out. A peevish hand reached out from the warm covers and slapped it, stopping the intrusive sound. She squirmed, turning back around and grabbing the warm body next to her, snuggling closely.
"You have an appointment in an hour, right?" said a quiet, toneless voice.
"Mm, don't wanna go."
A hand gently lifted the blanket off her bare shoulders. Rise burrowed tighter against Kasuka.
"Go take a shower," he said, stroking her hair away from her eyes. "I'll meet you downstairs."
"Oh, fine," she pouted. She sat up and yawned, stretching widely and arching her back. She suddenly shuddered as goosebumps flared up her exposed skin. "Did you turn the heater off?"
"Wasn't on in the first place," said Kasuka, kissing the nape of her neck. He got up as well, reaching for the pants and shirt he discarded on the floor last night.
"No wonder it's so cold-" Rise blinked in surprise as her cellphone went off. "Nao-chan?" she said as the caller ID flashed on the screen. She drew the sheets up her over breasts and sat back as she thumbed the touchpad. "Hey! What's up? … No, it's fine – I just woke up. Ehh? Really? Yay- … Aww, business? Alright. We're having dinner Saturday night, though! You promise? Good! Yeah, alright – talk to you later!"
"Shirogane-san?" asked Kasuka.
Rise nodded. "She and Souji-kun are coming over to Port City for the weekend," she said as she leaned over the bed, pulling out a luggage case underneath. She hummed pleasantly as Kasuka sat down next to her, buttoning up his shirt with one hand as the other stroked her backside. "You free Saturday night? Ooh, shoot – did I leave the black one back home?"
"Other bag," said Kasuka. He pondered. "The interview ends at seven."
"Seven's fine," said Rise. She jumped out of bed and opened the hall closet. "There's the shirt! She pulled out an oversized t-shirt emblazoned with a local rock band's local on it, posing coquettishly with it draped over her. "What do you think? This, jeans and a ponytail?"
Kasuka nodded. "Need to borrow my ray-bans?"
"Um… nah. I'll wear my glasses. It's overcast today. I'll meet you downstairs~"
Kasuka nodded, kissing her on her left temple as he adjusted his belt buckle and she entered the bathroom. He stepped out of the hotel room, the vestiges of what little emotionality he had seemingly evaporating in the hallway lights, his eyes going dead as he nodded at the two security officers on either end of the hall. The windows here, too, were closed off – but for the alarm clock in the room, there'd be no indicator of the time of day at all.
Kasuka allowed himself a small sigh as he entered the elevator, thumbing the button for the third floor. Yes, they requested privacy measures from the Kirijo Group – but isn't renting out an entire hotel for a fifty-room version of a three-card Monty, all for the sake of warding off paparazzi and fan-stalkers alike, a bit much…?
"Dammit! They covered up all the windows!"
"How many floors?"
"All of them! It's insane!"
"KA-SU-KA! KA-SU-KA! KA-SU-"
"RI-SE-TTE! RI-SE-TTE! RI-"
The Bentley drifted quietly by a side road, deftly avoiding the crowd in front of the town's largest hotel. Some curious tourists did give it a curious glance – European luxury cars weren't a total surprise in this international trade town, but still somewhat rare. It ended up stopping three blocks away, veering into the back entrance of another hostel, farther from the downtown scene.
The tinted windows of the rear right passenger side slid down. Kirijo Mitsuru, the elegant empress of Kirijo Conglomerate, nodded at the two celebrities, camouflaged in casual wear, as the driver quickly stepped out and opened the door for them.
"I presume you had an undisturbed night's rest?" asked Mitsuru, smiling faintly.
"Yeah! Thank you! There wasn't even anybody camping out at front!" said Rise happily. "That's never happened before!"
"We enlisted the aid of another hotel to act as a decoy," said Mitsuru.
"That was extremely generous of you, Kirijo-sama," said Kasuka.
"Please – the formalities aren't necessary," said Mitsuru, waving a dismissive hand. "You are doing the charity an enormous favor, after all."
"No, not at all!" protested Rise. "The typhoon barely missed my hometown – I feel that it's more my duty than it is charity. I should be thanking you for offering to run this fundraiser."
"Inaba does seem unusually blessed, doesn't it?" mused Mitsuru. "Almost divinely protected. The storm almost seemed to veer around it." Rise mentally flinched. "I've heard much about its inn."
"I-I can ask Amagi-san about availabilities for you," said Rise.
"Oh, would you? That would be most welcomed-" Mitsuru's brow furrowed as a digital ringtone interrupted their conversation. She glanced at the touchscreen display hanging off the back of the front passenger's seat. "My apologies – my husband…"
"Oh, no, don't worry."
Mitsuru brushed a finger against the panel. "Yes, dear?"
"Sorry to interrupt, but Iori delivered a report early this morning. Er, 'Polar Juno Garden.'"
Mitsuru was silent for a good three seconds; the air seemingly chilled two degrees. "Iori is public relations. What is he doing anywhere near R&D- no, never mind. We'll speak of this later."
"Yeah, I'll meet you at the convention hall this afternoon."
"Please do." She tapped the display again, and smiled politely at her guests. "My apologies. Business comes at the least opportune times. Shall we head over to Café Chagall for breakfast? They make a most excellent coffee."
This is how an investigator gets in contact with the supernatural in Ikebukuro:
First, drop by the police station. The chief'll be yelling at one of the traffic cops, the latter's expression hard to read from his lean, deeply chiseled face and tinted visor. Apparently, the man has a reputation for… excessive thoroughness, whatever that means.
But you're not here for the chief – the preliminary report's already been filled out anyhow. You're here today for rumors – gossip amongst the corporals, a blabber-mouth of a rookie detective, a word from a sergeant regarding information of the local gangs and other such tidbits like that.
Next: Raira Academy, itself infamous a few years back for a rash of violence centered on a mere three names – not even gang related. Heiwajima Shizuo has been infamous for a very long time, as is Orihara Izaya. It's good to know the reputation of shady fellows that suddenly offer unsolicited aid – though given the files on him, it's almost certain that just asking about him is a way to alert him of your presence. No matter – he'll have to be dealt with anyhow.
For now, the intent is to talk to a high school senior, nondescript but for the company he keeps: a flirty, confident young man with bleached hair and a violent past, and a former Slasher victim described by the rookie mainly by way of a vaguely offensive, chest-high scooping gesture with both hands.
The kids Naoto ran into the previous evening. Go figure. They're wary but amicable – none of the three have any reason to trust authority figures until it's hinted that you know their secrets already, at least to some extent, and you're not looking to cause them trouble. The Slasher victim – Sonohara Anri – vaguely mentions she might know a medical practitioner that might know the contact you're looking for… and now you find yourself dragging your dampened coat closer in the spring rain, waiting patiently in the apartment complex's lobby for the owner of a black bike with its headlights missing.
Souji could've sworn that the thing neighed at him as it pulled up.
She's tense – is everybody in this city working in the legal gray area or something? Not that Souji could complain, given his own background. He decides to head off any misunderstandings.
"First, I'm not here on behalf of the police department," he said, holding up both hands conciliatorily. "Though I think you can help me help them with a particular crime mystery."
She nodded. His eyes widened as a wisp of black smoke slipped out as a large touchscreen phone popped out of her sleeve, though she didn't seem to notice his reaction. A rush of typing occurred, faster than seemingly possible.
'What do you need my help with?' was written on the screen.
"First… is it true you are a 'Dullahan?'"
'…and if I am?'
"I have a theory…" said Souji, deep in thought and hand on his chin as he strolled around a nervous Celty Sturlson, oblivious to the rain. "Like seems to attract like. And when I followed an old… acquaintance of mine to this city, an old secret of his seemed to have been attracted to him. An old… peculiar secret."
She waited for him to continue – he seemed to be taking an avid interest in her steed. What part of a motorcycle could possibly whinny?
"Maybe I'm on the wrong track – there's a lot of oddities in this city. Maybe the Slasher's returned-"
'No, she hasn't,' typed Celty quickly, rushing to her friend's defense – and just as suddenly aware of the mistake she's made, blabbing impulsively in front of the investigator. Nobody was supposed to know who the Slasher was, much less be familiar enough to know, concretely, the gender.
Oddly, he reacted as if disinterested. "Alright, not the Slasher then. Ms. Sturlson, where were you on the night of the red moon?"
While Souji tackled the metaphysical angle, Naoto took a more mundane approach.
She did it by slinking into the bar, and having her drinks bought for her.
As it turns out, there were some decidedly advantageous aspects to being a female private investigator. Her success record and subsequent fame, for example, could be a dual-edged weapon at times – a little makeup and a dress was often all it took to shake off suspicions from her target. Then there was the matter of the underestimation of her gender – men who think they're about to get lucky aren't always great at questioning the motives of a pretty face.
And to Tatsumoto Ryuhei, former researcher at Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, and victim of Nebula Corporation's hostile takeover, using a woman as a sounding board – or otherwise – was harmless. It's not as if he was talking about anybody important.
"That bitch ish to blame," he slurred, deep into his fifth bourbon on the rocks. "What kinda boss whores hershelf out to her little brother? Was- wasn't even a company shecret." He tossed the glass back and demanded another from the bartender. "I- I worked for Old Man Yagiri fortwenty fucking yearsh. Should've made me head reshearcher, dammit." He muttered disconsolately. "F-fucking Kirijo Group. Al-alsho run by a woman. Fucking shcary rumors about them. Nebula's not gonna hit what knows'em."
"Rumors?" asked Naoto demurely, mentally cringing at she leaned against the man, pressing his arm into her bosom.
"Shomething about… 'gatesh of the collective subconshious.' You wouldn't undershtand," he said dismissively. He suddenly leered as he realized where his arm was and pawed at her. She batted his hand away harshly, remembering in time to giggle. "Why don't you and I… go back to my place?"
"Don't forget to finish your drink," said Naoto, smiling coyly as she lifted the glass to his lips.
By the time they made their way out of the bar, with Naoto helping him walk straight, he was out like a light, and stuffed into the alleyway. The tiny white packet, still powdery on the inside, was lifted away by the garbage crew in the morning, along with the rest of the trash.
Souji and Naoto stared at the whiteboard's worth of accumulated information… and synchronously tilted their heads.
"Curiouser and curiouser," said Naoto. "You confirmed…?"
"She took the helmet off," said Souji. "Nothing underneath but black smoke. …her boyfriend seems enamored by it." Naoto raised an eyebrow. "It takes all kinds."
"I suppose it does," said Naoto noncommittally. "As for the Kirijo Group… whoever is in charge of their data security was extremely thorough. None of my contacts have been able to pierce their firewall. Rumors persist that they're working on something related to neurological physics, but outside of that…"
"If they are, and it's related, they're not doing it in this city," said Souji. "The dullahan girl's never heard of Personas, or a world behind the TV." He thoughtfully wrote a question mark and line between "Shadows" and "Fae." "Maybe we're asking the wrong questions?"
"Almost certainly," said Naoto. "However, I believe we can answer what Adachi has been up to during his off-hours." She flipped through their casefiles and pulled out a page. "The examiner emailed me the autopsy results while you were at your meeting. There was a trace amount of an obscure street hallucinogen called 'Pure Dream' in his system; a derivative of an equally obscure anti-psychosis medication."
She eyed Souji carefully as she handed him the results. "One manufactured by the Kirijo Group's pharmaceutical division."
"…and she cast Megidolaon, of all things – which is why I'm positive it wasn't the 'real' world, per se. The apartment was left standing," said Junpei as he lounged on a chair in Mitsuru's office. She was giving him an amused look behind an expensive mahogany desk, a large computer display to the side propped up by a fashionably minimalistic pneumatic support. "Damn, that detective really packed a punch."
"Sounds as if you've got a mild crush on her," said Mitsuru teasingly.
"Pfft, you've been drinking with Yukari too often," said Junpei dismissively. "'sides, she's taken. And her boyfriend is… sheesh. I haven't seen brute magical strength like that since Arisato-kun."
"Seta Souji," mused Mitsuru, raising the touchscreen monitor on her desk up. "An intriguing figure. He was an obscurity in the investigative world until the beginning of his relationship with Detective Shirogane. But they worked on a case before even then – in high school. A year after… us."
Junpei carried a troubled expression. "…you don't think…"
"We know for a fact that the Abyss of Time and Tartarus have been and remain sealed," said Mitsuru, shaking her head. "If this is a reoccurrence of the Dark Hour, it is unrelated to Minato-kun's fate." It took a good ear and years of friendship to notice a trace of bitterness as she uttered his name. "According to my associates, there were… peculiarities in the Inaba murder case, but except for the existence of Persona users, there are no similarities."
"Not even Apathy vics?" asked Junpei incredulously.
"Mm, a rampancy of 'fog-related illnesses' during the fall and winter of that year," said Mitsuru as she pulled up a new file. "Though the symptoms don't match perfectly. Nonetheless, you may have a point."
"Eh? Really? Wait 'til I tell Yukari!"
Mitsuru bit back a snerk. "Shut up, Stupei. Extend my invitations to dinner to the two detectives. Next Friday, I think."
"Yes boss. …wait, don't you have dinner with Kujikawa-chan?"
Mitsuru raised an elegant eyebrow. "Why, yes. Kujikawa 'Risette.' A former kidnapping victim. From Inaba."
"…aaahhh."
The rain was merely drizzling by nightfall, but they were still tense as midnight rolled around. The flatscreen TV gleaned from streetlight down below as their eyes nervously bounced between the display and the clock.
12:01 AM. Souji and Naoto both blew out a sigh of relief.
"No red moon; no Midnight Channel," she murmured. "Thank the gods for small favors – though that only leaves us guessing as to what the trigger conditions are."
"It was a full moon," pondered Souji. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"
Naoto leaned onto Souji as they both reclined onto the couch. "Likely. There is a plethora of mythologies concerning the phases of the moon." She shuddered. "Though that would suggest that we're facing the beginning of a serial murder case, then, if the victim is a basis for a monthly Shadow attack."
Souji put his arms around her and squeezed gently, breathing in her freshly washed hair. "That's mostly conjecture at this point. Hopefully we'll learn more from Kirijo-san."
Naoto nodded as she absent-mindedly played with the collar of his t-shirt. "Indeed…" she said, distracted by thought. "Souji."
"Hmm?"
"I'm still upset at you."
"…oh dear." He began to unbutton her pajama's blouse.
"It doesn't matter how tough your Persona's protection is if you're jumping out of windows like that," she said, reaching up and behind her, stroking Souji's gray hair as he worked the last few buttons near the top. "If you… mmm, landed wrong, you would've broken an ankle either way. Yes, right there – so sore today. I need a dress I can actually wear a bra in. Rise's gift is appreciated, but…"
He snickered quietly. "I'll talk to Kanji," said Souji, a muffled voice as he kissed her shoulder. Naoto shuddered as his thumbs teased against the tips of her breast; she grinded against a growing form against the small of her back.
"Not… not to mention," she breathed as a hand slowly caressed down her stomach. "The risk of exposure. What if…" She sucked in a breath as Souji's free hand pushed her pants and panties down. The pressure against her back was incessant now, growing only as he stroked her inner thigh. "What if Iori-san's… alibi didn't pan out? What if the murderer was… watching? Kiss me."
Souji complied; mutually hot breathes mingling as their lips found each other. She pecked at his lips, the tips of their tongue playing against each other as she gave a low whimper. Her lower lips were being toyed with too, his fingertips leaving trails of heat as they teased her.
"You… ah… might have jeopardized us. If it had been an ambush…" His hands paused – then she made a small jump as two fingers gently tapped against her clitoris.
"I'm sorry," said Souji as both hands lowered between her legs, shifting his weight so that his knees rose up between hers, Naoto's eyelids heavy and a finger clenched painfully between her teeth as an obscenely damp sound slowly won over the sound of falling rain. He gently but forcefully pulled the finger out, two fingers on his other hand pumping her torturously slow as she panted her desire, a long and sustained crescendo slowly building up with the sound of her voice. "You're right. I won't make that mistake again."
"Ah… ah…!" Her legs clenched tightly over his, her teeth clacking shut as an orgasm washed over her. The couch trembled as pleasure dashed her senses over.
Then his cell rang.
Souji grunted. He laid Naoto gently onto the couch as he picked his cell phone up from its charger next to the TV. "Seta Souji," he said, his voice flat. "Ah, Iori-san. Oh, really? Thank you." He moved towards the bedroom as Naoto lied still, stars still floating in her vision. "…Friday ought to work. I'll let her know." His voice was muffled by the walls, though she could dimly hear him rummaging through the shelves. "Yes, good night." The faint click of a cell phone closing. She could hear his footsteps approaching back to the living room, smiling as he appeared before her, a foil condom package in his mouth and stripped of everything but the shirt he was taking off.
"Iori-san's arranged a dinner meeting with Kirijo-san for us," said Souji as he kneeled between her legs, carefully tearing open the packet as his hardness pulsed before her. "This Friday – she'll be too busy with the charity event for anything later."
Naoto dreamily took the rubber out of his hands, massaging his testicles with one hand as the other slid the condom on. "I'll leave my schedule open," she murmured as his breathe quickened under her ministrations. They kissed deeply as he entered her smoothly, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as another wave of pleasure languidly built up.
"I love you," he whispered into her ear. "I'll protect you." Souji's breathe grew ragged as the heat between them intensified.
"I love you," she gasped into his ear. "Don't leave me behind." The futon thumped rhythmically below them, a drumline growing in urgency.
"I won't," he promised. "I won't leave – nngh…" She finished first, nails dragging down his back as she cried out, clenching him tightly to her. Her sudden spasm pushed him over the edge in turn, elbows propped heavily against the futon mattress, desperately tried not to crush her as his hips pushed deeply into hers.
They eventually, somehow, made it to bed. The morning found them still closely embraced.
