CONTENT WARNING: This section beginning with "10/14 – Friday, Night, Cafe Leblanc, Attic" contains references to physical and sexual abuse. While not graphic, this content still may be difficult or upsetting to read, so please take breaks or skip sections as needed. Stay safe.
10/14 – Friday
Evening
Velvet Room
The hollow blue walls of Lavenza's home, that quiet and lifeless prison, felt...oddly full now. Almost like it was a place worth being, despite its still-horrid appearance. Maybe it was just that Ren could actually step out of that cramped cell for once. Far-off footsteps echoing off the walls like distant notes to an odd and improvised song. For the briefest of instants, Ren could almost recite the melody by heart.
"Lavenza?" he called, his voice ricocheting around the empty place, smacking him back across the nose with the sound of his own empty hopefulness. He shook it off, raised his voice again. "It's Ren! Lavenza, you there?" Nothing but his own voice. Okay. No need to panic. Maybe the girl was just...in Lockdown or something, maybe she couldn't hear him. But how exactly was he supposed to get there from here? Caroline and Justine had always opened up the path for him before, but now they – she – was nowhere to be found.
She was definitely still here, he could hear the sound of distant movement still. Hm. Time to get exploring then? Ren took stock of the half-dozen odd paths between the jail cells of this circular room, eyes flitting over each in turn. A blur of silver and blue in the hallway just a couple of feet to his right. He flinched, stumbling backward, hand stuttering against the handle of Anachronism's dagger...oh. "Uh. Hi?"
The woman standing there wasn't Lavenza. But Ren couldn't deny there was a distinct, albeit shallow, resemblance. For one, she had the same shade of platinum in her neck-length hair, which was combed back and held in place with a blue hairband. Her outfit was less a dress and more a pantsuit, a black and cerulean coat, a belt across her waist, and full-leg black tights with high-heeled shoes. And her eyes were yellow, that same otherworldly shade, but...the word 'quieter' came to mind.
Lavenza's eyes had possessed some unshakable life, defiant through her fear, while most Shadows' were filled to the brim with anger and condescension. And Oxymoron's were...tired, bitter. But something about this woman seemed to be steeped in reservation, in silence and careful observation. For whatever reason, Ren found his gaze momentarily drawn towards her right hand – both her hands were empty, but the fingers of her right were curved somewhat, as if she was holding something he couldn't see. Or maybe, she was just used to holding something?
"Hello," the woman said. "Ren Amamiya, I presume." The slightest hint of a smile. "My sister's Trickster. She has told me quite a lot about you." Sister, huh?
"My family is rather wonderful as well. And I think I would like for you to meet them."
"Wish I could say the same," Ren replied, stifling his buzzing instincts and meeting the woman's gaze. "Lavenza and I were on...uh, I guess kinda weird terms for a bit. But I've heard your praise, at least, Miss...?"
"Margaret." The woman tucked her left arm across her chest, bowing deeply. And her right hand stayed exactly where it was, fingers still curled somewhat. Hm. "At your service."
The name rang a bell, but it took Ren a solid moment to pull back the memory. "You're Narukami's Attendant, right?" She was Lavenza's sister...did that mean all the Attendants were related? That had to be a fucking weird family dynamic.
Margaret straightened back up, raising a solitary eyebrow. "Oh? He's told you about me, then."
"Only by name–" Ren began.
"That certainly makes things easier," she continued, as if she hadn't any intention of letting him speak in the first place. And Margaret took a step forward, reaching up with her left hand to brush a strand of hair back into place. "As my time as an Attendant has come to a close, I am no longer bound by duty to those like yourself, who possess the Wild Card. So consider this request of no necessity, merely to assuage my own curious nature."
It...sounded like it was supposed to be some preemptive apology, but the stiffness to her back, the odd tension flitting across her features, made it feel more like a threat. "Lavenza has detailed your incredible progress, and your courage. I am thankful for what you have done for her, standing up to a demon such as that Yaldabaoth is no small feat." And she paused, lowering her head just an inch, almost a nod. As if gesturing to him to speak.
"Uh," Ren said. "You're welcome, I guess? But it's not really something you need to thank me for. I was just trying to help my friends. Or, uh, friend."
The woman gave a simple single nod before continuing. "My request is as follows." As if she hadn't actually listened to a word he was saying. "During my time as Yu Narukami's Attendant, I gauged his growth through a myriad of precognitive techniques. Fortune telling, I believe the term is." Margaret extended her left hand, palm up. "I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of palm reading. If you would be so kind, I would like to read yours. To see if Lavenza's tales about you are true."
A momentary flit of fury, a spark of petty anger. "You're doubting your own sister, then?" The words flowed off his tongue seamlessly. A detective's smirk caught between his teeth.
"Hardly," Margaret said, quick and simple. "But Lavenza has been through far too much suffering by your side to see you as anything less than her friend." The statement hit him oddly, light and wonderful, yet curiously bitter. "I would never doubt my sister's veracity, nor her dedication. But she would not dare evaluate your progress, nor the strength of your character. If you were to slip into distortion yourself, Lavenza would avert her eyes. She wishes not to see your flaws." A flutter across her irises. Like some burst of flame, of the flap of a trapped insect's wing. "I do."
His flaws. Ren bit the inside of his lip, rolling the flesh between his teeth. This woman's presumption was fucking infuriating, he would have felt absolutely justified telling Margaret to fuck right off before going to find Lavenza himself. But if...even if she was acting like a condescending asshole about it, if she could tell him something about himself that he didn't already know, a flaw he'd ignored or some effect of Oxymoron's meddling that no one else could perceive... "Okay." On instinct, he lifted his left hand slightly, but hesitated. "Uh. Could we do it with the right hand instead? I'm...I've just got a thing about..." Ren shrugged. "Please?"
Margaret paused, as if considering the request. Without a word, she lowered her left hand and opened the fingers of her right, extending it palm-up in its sinister's stead.
"Thanks," he said, and offered his own hand, letting it fall into her palm. Her fingers were fucking cold, frigid and stiff. Ren couldn't stifle his shudder fast enough.
But Margaret paid the impoliteness no mind, turning her gaze down towards Ren's palm. Turning both their hands ever so slightly in one direction, then the other. Yellow eyes in near-squint. And she froze. He could feel the tension radiating up through her palm. A single eyebrow, cocked. "Your bonds are potent indeed," Margaret said, slow and articulate. "Family. Friends. Lovers." He felt the blood rush to his face at the word. "You have surrounded yourself with rebels of every sort, and each has bound their heart to yours. And your proficiency with the Wild Card..." A little chuckle slipped out of her. "Despite your inexperience, your current skill borders on mastery. You have the old soul of a prodigy within you, that much is clear."
"Old soul, huh?" A name came to mind immediately. A legacy of recollection. Inherited skill. It left his tongue bitter in his mouth.
"But there is one bond here that is not as it should be." She tapped the center of Ren's palm with a single finger, making him jump. "We Attendants deal in Fools. A malleable Arcana such as that is well equipped to bear the burden of the Wild Card." She traced along a line, a wrinkle in his skin. "I see the echoes of others here, Fools with whom you have earned mutual favor. Yu Narukami and...Aigis, no doubt." Margaret said her name so begrudgingly, near-dismissive, almost as an admittance. "Yet, where the Fool should rest in your heart...there is nothing. An Arcana excised from you." A flit of what almost looked like disappointment across her expression. "Your heart has been cauterized, Ren Amamiya."
Cauterized. A tarot card burning to ash on a simple shear tablecloth. And... "Arcana," he echoed, his voice sounding hollow in his ears. "That's like...the means by which all is revealed, or something?"
If her tension before was apprehension, this was fury. A storm flickering behind cold, quiet eyes. Thin fingers like icicles tightening around his hand. "You do not know the words you speak," she said, her voice low, bitter as pitch and dark as a dying star. Her hair oddly swirling in a nonexistent wind, suspended by impossible gravity. "That adage is beyond your time, and you have no right to speak it here." Margaret leaned in slightly, gaze boring into him. "Were I you, I would be very careful indeed whose words you choose to bring into my sister's home."
Ren wrenched his hand from her grip, holding it to his chest, feeling his own racing pulse even through Joker's coat. 'Whose words' he had spoken. "Yaldabaoth," he muttered, shaking his head, a frustrated growl escaping him. "Fuck." It'd been the grinning cretin who told him that in the first place, hadn't it?
A long breath, the woman's tension dripping away into nothing. Margaret reached up, slowly, carefully, and adjusted her hair, pulling those errant locks back into place. Bound once more by the rules of reality. "That adage does not belong to the demon. He no doubt heard such a term from its true progenitor." Her gaze wandered towards the far wall. "Either from she who was cut from his same cloth...or from the Orchestrator who breathed life into them both to begin with."
More names Ren didn't recognize. More allusions, more clues and riddles he wasn't even intended to fucking solve. More bullshit. "Fine," he said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. "Arcana isn't knowledge or whatever, then. What the fuck is it?"
"Hm," she said, simply. And he saw the slightest smile twitch at the edge of her lips. "Salvation."
And the sound of approaching footsteps completely derailed Ren's train of thought. He whipped around towards the source, just in time to see a beaming little girl in an azure dress nearly sprint into the room. "I apologize for my tardiness," Lavenza said, her breath shallow as she adjusted herself, brushing some unseen dust off her dress. "My sister has been staying with me, and I wanted to find her so I could introduce..." She trailed off as she caught sight of the woman in question. And that sheepish smile turned into a stern frown. "Margaret! I was looking everywhere for you! Did you come here before me?"
"You were taking such a long time to greet your Trickster," Margaret said, with a deviously innocent little smile. "I simply thought I'd take the opportunity to attend to him in your stead."
"Don't you dare!" Lavenza snapped. And for an instant, in that furrowed brow and unshakable frown, he could see Caroline, clean as day. "Ren is my responsibility!" He almost jumped at the sound of his own name. She...Lavenza never said his name. It was always 'Trickster' or 'Inmate.' Never just 'Ren.' He couldn't help but shake his head slightly. This felt fucking bizarre. "How am I supposed to prove myself if you do my job for me!?"
"Prove yourself," he said, and both their attention turned towards him, Lavenza's frustration dropping away to confusion. "Wait, sorry, I'm lost. Who are you trying to prove yourself to?"
Lavenza scrunched up her face, wilting backwards, as if his words had caused her pain. Margaret, however, simply chuckled. "Your Trickster is too sharp for his own good." And then she turned, addressing Ren directly. "Tell me, Ren. What is the shape of my heart? One possessed of sight beyond sight, our Master's appointed Fool, should be able to perceive such a thing. Tell me that, and I will answer your question."
"What!?" Lavenza whirled towards her sister, eyes wide. "We...our Master forbid us from–"
"Little harm can come from knowledge without context," Margaret said, giving the girl a soft smile. "And besides, I am willing to accept any consequences for revealing that information. Neither you nor your Trickster will suffer if he should come to know it." Her gaze flicked towards Ren again.
Consequences? Ren let out a sharp breath, sending a hand back through his hair. There was something going on here. Not just with Margaret, but with Lavenza too. Some secret, or secrets that had been kept from him. Which was frustrating enough, but this...what was the woman's angle? If the Attendants had some big secret they weren't allowed to tell, why would she risk...whatever the fuck might happen to her? Why...he glanced towards Lavenza, the girl shifting back and forth in place, clearly uncomfortable. Was it for her sake? Some way in which he could help her, if he knew the answer to that question? Ren's throat felt dry, and he swallowed. "Okay. The shape of your heart, right?"
Margaret nodded, facing him fully and opening her arms slightly.
Ren had no fucking idea what he was supposed to be looking for. Her heart...it couldn't be heart shaped, that seemed far too obvious. The Attendants had Shadows' eyes, so maybe they had the hearts of Shadows too? The shape, though. Treasures didn't have just one shape, they came in all sorts of forms. Fuck, he wished he still had Yu's glasses, maybe then–
There was something moving inside it, pulsing and squirming like some kind of luminescent insect. Like a trapped cerulean butterfly, confined, flapping one single wing against its cage.
A wing. No, not a wing, something...something like a wing. His instincts were screaming in his ears. It was on the tip of his fucking tongue. Something like a wing. So, like plumage? Or a quill, or– "A feather." The word leapt up his throat before he could catch it. And it sounded...right. It sounded like the right answer.
Lavenza went pale. Staring at Ren, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Margaret lowered her arms, still gazing at him with those same cold eyes. "An Apollyon Feather," she said. "Interesting indeed. And where did you pull such knowledge from?"
"You said it was sight beyond sight, or whatever," Ren muttered, shrugging. Apollyon Feather. Fuck, could she knock it off with the weird arcane jargon and just talk to him like a normal person!?
"Sight beyond sight would have misguided you," she said. Her words dipped dark for an instant. "That demon's gift allows only for abstract observation." Margaret placed her left arm over her chest, like she was hiding her heart from Ren. "Whatever has shown you the truth is not of my Master's will."
"Could you just speak Japanese for once, please!?" he snapped, shifting up his mask to massage the bridge of his nose. "I'm kinda sick and tired of all this..." Ren gestured at nothing. "Like, if you don't wanna give me a clear answer, then I'd honestly rather you not tell me anything."
"Trickster," Lavenza warned. Her voice low, and stern, and empty. "Do not talk that way to my sister, please." And now she was sounding more like Justine.
"It's alright, Lavenza," Margaret said. "Your Trickster speaks true." The smallest hint of a smirk as she lowered her arm. "I admit, it's been quite a while since I've been around anyone not privy to the view of the universe we Attendants hold. I suppose you could say I'm rather...out of practice when it comes to humans."
"Great," he said, a quiet deadpan.
"So, let me repeat myself more directly." She took a breath of idle hesitation before settling her focus entirely on him. "The demon known as Yaldabaoth, who usurped our Master, should have bestowed upon you the gift of sight beyond sight, a privilege reserved for those possessing the Fool Arcana. As our Master, the man known as Igor, is currently being confined by that demon, there is no certainty that power would have been granted upon you properly." But Ren didn't have the Fool, she'd just told him as...oh. She was still keeping that from Lavenza, wasn't she? Her stare was pointed, like she was daring him to contradict her. He hated the idea of lying to the girl, but...fuck. Fuck!
"So, what's that power supposed to be, exactly?" he asked. Playing along. He felt like a fucking asshole, but it was still the right decision. Probably.
"To see the shape of the cognitive world," Lavenza said, her voice oddly harmonious, like she was reciting a memorized song. "And all those whose existences are tied to it."
"Such an ability would grant upon you some measure of immunity to the Metaverse's sway over your own cognition," Margaret continued. "Sensing a Palace's Treasure from afar, or intuiting the weaknesses of a Shadow you have not fought before." That...sounded like Morgana? That shouldn't be right, Morgana was a former Shadow, not a Wild Card.
"Someone down there took the Shadow out of me, made me just...a cognition, I guess."
Someone. Maybe that had been Igor, or Yaldbaoth or something? Ren took a deep breath in. Either way, that wasn't information he wanted Margaret to have. "Yep. You're right, then. I definitely don't have that power. So, I guess old Yaldy messed up when he tried to give it to me." Lavenza seemed to relax somewhat, smiling a little at the childish name.
Margaret merely nodded. "I see," the woman said. "Then your knowledge comes from somewhere else." Staring at him, expectantly.
"Yeah," Ren agreed. "But I'm not obligated to tell you where." He nodded towards Lavenza, who blinked at the gesture. "I'll tell her, if she asks me. But not you." And he quirked a fake little smile. "Sorry, Margaret. I just don't trust you yet." And the unspoken middle finger: if she wanted both of them to keep secrets from the girl, it was only fair that he and Lavenza have the right to keep a secret from her. Check, asshole.
Margaret narrowed her eyes, yet a smile crossed her lips. Maybe just as fake as his. "Entirely fair. Besides which, I promised you information if you answered my query correctly. And despite my own expectation, you did answer correctly." Hm. Had she been wanting him to fail? Or just trying to gauge something about him? "The duty of an Attendant is a preliminary test. One that gives way to other, more delicate duties – the specificity of which you have not yet earned the right to know." A little chuckle escaped the woman. "I believe you might refer to such a thing as an...internship? If I'm using the human word correctly."
"An intern," he said, unable to keep the incredulity out of his tone. "And who're you interning for, exactly? Igor?"
"The one beyond him," Margaret said. Her voice was soft, solemn. "Our Master's master."
"Grandfather," Lavenza said. So quiet, and quick, he almost hadn't caught the word.
The one beyond Igor. Another fucking self-appointed master. Ren grit his teeth, more questions, more demands flitting to his tongue. And his eyes fell on Lavenza. She was clutching that enormous tome to her chest, staring at the floor. The girl looked a second away from bolting, bracing herself for...for anger. For his anger. And that stemmed the tide in an instant.
"Cool," he said. And he forced a laugh. "I mean, it's like you said, I don't know the context. I guess it makes sense though." Ren shrugged, shoving a smile onto his lips. "You're trying to do good for family, prove yourself to your grandfather. I mean, that sounds pretty normal." There was still something there. A whole lot of somethings, probably. But he'd pushed the girl more than hard enough as is. Her wellbeing was more important than his own petty curiosity.
Lavenza slowly looked up at him, clearly confused. But maybe relieved. "Yes," she said, carefully. And nothing more.
Margaret locked her yellow eyes into his. A long stretch of silence. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ren Amamiya," she said. "I have my own duties to get back to now. But should you come again, perhaps we will have more to talk about." With that, and a nod, she turned towards one of the nearby hallways.
"I'll give Narukami your regards, I guess," he offered.
Margaret barked out a laugh, so sudden that it made him jump. "Oh, please do," she said, mirth bubbling beneath every word. "And once you tell him that, do feel free to let me know. I'd love to hear his reaction." She waved a hand, and walked with a purposeful stride that had her out of sight in a single breath, the click of her heels as the only sign she had ever been there at all.
█████
Evening
Someone's Palace
The Trickster had never taken the time to consider what happened to a heart when it was left alone. When it went too long unlived in. When cognition tore at the edges, at the details. Leaving it a smeared mess of distortion, a twist without a base, a punchline without a joke. "How did you find this place?" he asked, glancing around at the odd house caught in permanent monochrome, and its impossible architecture. Floors that spiralled into walls, hallways that doubled back on themselves, a ceiling that stretched upwards into a pale oblivion.
"An iteration of your sister," the Witch said, tracing a hand across one wall. "She had an idea that a Palace's echo might be stored within the Metaverse Navigator, even after its Ruler had perished. And what she found was this." The Witch gestured to the house around them. "A hollow labyrinth. Though, of course, she was looking for a very different place."
"Her mom's." The Trickster almost winced at the words as they left him. "So, whose Palace is this? Or, well, if they died...whose Palace was this?"
"Whose indeed," the Witch replied. She let her hand drop from the wall. "That iteration ended before Miss █████ could figure it out. Nonetheless, it is a place immune from the sway of eons. It is severed from the collective unconscious, from even a single human mind." A little hum of a chuckle in her throat. "It is a grave. One even that demon you bound to you would not touch."
Anger welled up in his throat like so much bile."That demon you killed," he spat. Blue flame licked at the edges of his vision, and he forced the feeling back. He couldn't afford to lose control. Even against someone like her.
The Witch did not debate the point. "Have you heard the query regarding a tree falling in a forest when no one is around to hear it?"
"Sure," he replied. "Course I have."
"And do you know what your room looks like when you are not within it?" she asked.
The Trickster raised an eyebrow. "No. I mean, I can guess, I know what it looks like when I am there. So I guess it's probably just...the same, but without me in it."
The Witch chuckled. "A rather mature conclusion. One that presupposes humanity is not a necessary factor for existence to perpetuate itself." Before he could protest her leap in logic, she turned sharply, heading off down a nearby hallway, sending him stumbling in his haste to follow. "Though of course, human perception is a powerful thing. Cognition holds a mighty sway over reality, and perception is a tool by which a great deal of cognitive pathways are shaped. Simply bearing witness to an object can warp its microcosmic structure in quite curious ways. Were I more disposed to science than magic..." She laughed again. "Regardless, it is likely you are correct. But not so, when it comes to this place."
"Okay," he said, trying his best to follow both her points and the woman herself, as she took each turn with memorized haste and no seeming lack of energy. Despite her years, the woman seemed sprier than the Trickster himself. "So this place isn't connected to Mementos, and █████ doesn't...didn't have any control over it. And you're saying that perception has power, or something, but this Palace isn't being perceived by anyone – besides us now, I guess. What does that have to do with time travel?"
Rather than answer, the woman stopped abruptly in front of a doorframe at the end of the hallway, causing the Trickster to catch himself on a nearby wall to avoid barreling into her. They were standing in front of a large open dining room, a table that looked the approximate size of a football field stretching from one impossibly far end to another.
The Witch reached a hand carefully into the room, and pointed a finger upwards. Then her gaze flit meaningfully towards Ren. He nodded, silently poking his head inside, looking up towards the ceiling where she'd gestured. Another nightmarishly, nauseatingly tall room, stretching up and up and up. And...a little black speck amidst the grey. An odd whistling sound as it–
And the object whipped past his gaze, slamming into the table with enough force to shatter it completely, sending monochrome splinters of wood in all directions. The Trickster flinched back into the hallway. "Fuck!"
The Witch, however, did not so much as start. Instead she strode into the room, at her normal steady pace, crossing fragments of wooden refuse that hadn't even finished settling. And she crouched down in front of the point of impact. "If observation is the tool that shapes cognition, then what sort of effect might it have on a place that is nothing but cognition? And furthermore, what might occur if such a location was isolated from not only human perception, but the awareness of the entire human race?" She raised her hand over her shoulder, showing off a small object in her palm. A knife, with a simple black hilt and a plain silver blade. And the sight sent a frigid chill through him. "I dropped this thirty years ago from a balcony near the ceiling. I did not watch it fall, and I have not visited this room since."
"That's...that's my..." Thirty years. "Another iteration. That's...it's from another iteration, isn't it?" He stepped into the room, nearly tripping over a fragmented chair. "How is that possible?"
"I told you," the Witch said, simply. "This Palace is separate from the collective consciousness of the human race. It is a place shaped by perception, that cannot ever be fully perceived. And so, it is only when we travelers visit that we can allow time to affect this place, and only so much as we observe it. The moment we leave, it will be plunged into complete stasis."
"It's immune from your resets," the Trickster finished. He sent a hand back through his hair. "That's how you transported the parcels. You came here, and..and you left them here, and then you turned back time." He let out a shallow breath. Fuck. It felt like the birthday magician had just pulled back the curtain on her trick or something. Everything was starting to seem a whole lot more real. A whole lot more like this wasn't some divine hand-waving, the work of a being beyond his comprehension. A whole lot more like the actions of a very mortal woman.
"Along with a little temporal magic to return them to the state they were in before you received them," she said, tossing the knife up and down in her hand. "A simple thing, courtesy of my associate." Chronos. Fuck.
"So you've got a fucked up house and a divine time machine," he said, unable to keep his voice from shaking, nor his hands by his sides. "Now you're gonna tell me this whole bullshit ritual to mess with my memories is really just magnets and slight of hand, and you needed my name as a prop in your next stage act cause you were really struggling to find a glass fucking jar."
The Witch burst out laughing, doubling over in front of the shattered table. "Come now." She rose, her voice still filled to the brim with mirth. "Does it really bother you so much that the only things separating myself from you is my upbringing, divine favor and a hundred years of experience?" She turned slightly, gesturing at her own face, still shadowed beneath her hood. "Did you assume these eyes made me something unworthy of your understanding?"
"I happen to be pretty fond of someone else who has those eyes," he fired back. His hand found the hilt of his dagger. He didn't ask it to, but there it was. "Oh, but I forgot, she's just a tool to you, isn't she? Guess it wouldn't be surprising that–"
A pitch blur. The sound of screaming wind past his left ear. And a twang as the blade of his former rebellion lodged itself in the wall next to the door. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. The Trickster hadn't seen the Witch raise her arm, but she lowered it now. "I chose to place my trust in you, ███," she said. Her voice was still light, and almost lyrical, but there was a sharpness there deeper than the knife she had just thrown. "Don't make me have second thoughts."
10/14 – Friday
Night
Cafe Leblanc, Attic
Ren
Hey Mishima
I know it's kinda late so if you're asleep or not up to chat, feel free to ignore this
But if you are awake, I'd love to talk
Like over the phone, if you were cool with that
Mishima
Uh, yeah, sure!
Go for it.
"Insomniac," the girl chided the moment she answered his call.
Ren snorted out a single note of laughter. "And there's the pot calling the kettle black."
Mishima chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. No leg to stand on, yadda yadda." A slight squeaking noise – maybe she'd leaned back in her chair. "So, what's up? You wanted to talk about something?"
He shrugged, not that the motion would travel. "I haven't really been keeping you in the loop and stuff. Which is like...I dunno."
"Yeah, I guess so, but you don't–" she began.
"It's not a 'have to' thing," Ren interrupted. "I know you'll probably keep helping us even if no one ever tells you about what we're doing." His chest felt tight. There were his own ulterior motives, as well. Softening the blow before he twisted the knife. "But I want to. You're my friend, I care a lot about you."
Mishima was silent for a few seconds. "Thanks Ren," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I care about you too."
Breath in, breath out. "We're working with some other Persona-users right now. Uh, the same group that Fuuka is from. They're helping us prep for something pretty big."
"Oh," Mishima said, quiet and somewhat thoughtful. "That's fucking awesome."
Ren grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, it's pretty sweet." Morgana adjusted on his chest, and he stifled a wheeze. "And we're working on recruiting a new ally. Maybe a Thief, but he hasn't decided yet. Can't say who though, sorry. After we're done with that, we're gonna make our move. Try and win the support of someone who can help us take down..." He swallowed. Why did his throat feel so dry? "We're taking down a corrupt politician. Might take a bit to get there, but that's our end goal for the moment."
"Fuck," Mishima said. "That's...you guys are safe, right? Like that sounds...kinda crazy dangerous, so, you're, uh...you're gonna be okay. Yeah?"
Ren could have sobbed. Her priorities were...he'd barely told her half of the truth and she still just wanted the best for him. Fuck. He still had to bite back tears before he could respond. "You're the best, you know that."
"Uh." Mishima burst out laughing. "Where's this coming from?"
"I dunno. Nowhere, I guess." He cleared his throat. "But, uh, yeah. We're doing our best, at least. You're not wrong, it's crazy dangerous. But we've got the SRU's help – those other Persona-users I mentioned – and we've got each other."
"And me," Mishima said, with a little chuckle.
"And you," Ren affirmed. "I'm...I'm really fucking grateful, Mishima. Like, you've been amazing through all of this, since you started the Phan-Site and even just...just..." He laughed, for lack of anything better to say. "Sometimes it's kinda easy to take for granted, like, just how much easier you've made it to be a Thief, for all of us. We couldn't do what we do if it wasn't for your help." Ren breathed in, letting the evening air spiral into his lungs, filling him up warmer than anything. "We need you, Mishima. We've needed you from the start. And I don't think I'll ever stop being thankful that you've stuck with us."
Another little silence. And a single, quiet sniffle. "Fuck, Ren," Mishima mumbled, clearly fighting through tears. "You're gonna make me cry, you asshole."
Ren couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, sorry. Good cry?"
"The best," she replied, chuckling too, sniffling again. "You're welcome. And, you know, I love helping you guys. Even if I don't always see everything that...like what that help actually does, just knowing that it helped, even a little? It's heaven, dude. I couldn't ask for anything else." She was grinning. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in every syllable. "And hey, if there's like...if there's anything I can do better, or different, or like some special...whatever! You've got my number. And I am on board. Whatever you need, I'm...I'm your gal."
"That you are," Ren said. "That you are." Breath in, breath out. "Could I...ask for your advice on something kinda heavy?"
"Heavy," she repeated. "Yeah, sure thing. Lay it on me."
Fuck. This was...even if he could be sure this wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't burden the girl, it was still a mortifying admittance. "I've got...kinda personal history with someone we're gonna be taking down. Like, really really personal history. Like, 'he put me in fucking juvie' kind of history." The words slipped off his tongue quicker than thought.
Mishima sucked in a breath. "Holy fuck, Ren. I'm...I'm so sorry."
He gave another useless shrug. "I guess I'm just not sure what I want to do about that. Like, how I want to...what I want to have happen to him. Or..." Ren let out a frustrated breath. "I guess turnabout is fair fucking play but whenever I think about sticking the guy in jail, I just feel sick. He deserves it – worse, even, for all the shit he's done to...just, all the shit he's done – but I'm still...it wouldn't change anything, would it? Throwing a guy like that into a system that'll probably just forgive him anyway. And I guess I'm trying to...I'm trying to figure out if there's anything that would be better than just...killing the guy and being done with it." He expected it to land with more impact, like the thud of thick chains or the unbearable click of handcuffs. Something culpable and dangerous. But it just sounded empty, and sad, and hollow inside his throat.
"Mm," Mishima said, simply. And then she was quiet. For a long, long time. "I guess...I mean, it's...it's probably pretty shitty of me to compare to my own stuff, but..."
"Go for it," Ren said. "Like, please do. Anecdotes are very welcome here."
She giggled, a little burst of laughter. "Okay, okay. Uh...I guess, like...when Kamoshida stopped coming to school," and there it was, Ren could feel his throat constrict at the name, at the secondhand tension, "some of the guys on the volleyball team said it was my fault. Like, maybe they didn't care or whatever, but they would like...joke how dead I was gonna be when he got back, how I'd...'be his new bitch' and stuff." A quiet, bitter laugh. "Like he wasn't already beating the shit out of me half the time he saw me. And, you know. Worse."
"Fuck," he said. "I'm...I'm really sorry. That's fucking awful of them, holy shit."
"Yeah," Mishima agreed. "I mean, they were getting hurt too, but...still, fuck them, for saying that." The smallest giggle beneath her words. Somehow, still able to find some humor in that. "But I'm not just...like, I'm not just complaining. I'm saying it cause, like...when he confessed, when he went to prison...no one said anything. Nothing like that, anyway. I think...the first thing we talked about that day, when we all got back together, was like...who we thought the next coach should be. No one even said his name, it was like it wasn't...like the joke was over. Like they couldn't pretend it wasn't bad anymore."
"Okay," Ren said. His voice left him quieter than he intended.
"And like," Mishima continued. "I still...like on some days, I still feel like I wish I was there, when you changed his heart. That I could have...like, seen it. Or said something, I dunno. Made it worse for him, maybe. Some days, I even just wish he did have a mental shutdown." The words felt like a shackle against his neck. Like a sentence of a sentence, choking on guilt. On anger. "But then I always just think like...I think about that day, when it was just all of us on the volleyball team, sitting around talking about the other teachers, and someone started complaining about Ushimaru, and it was just like..."
He could hear the quiet smile in her voice. And something about it made him feel light, as if Morgana wasn't on top of his chest, as if gravity had forgotten the both of them for the briefest of instants. "Like I'm glad he confessed. Like I'm glad everyone knows that...that what happened to me was fucked up." A flush of bravery. Like a cold sun igniting in his throat. Odd, frigid pride, strong and bitter. She never should have had to be that strong. But she was. Fuck, she was.
"Okay," he said. Ren almost slapped himself, scrabbling around his own head to find anything meaningful to say to that. "Thank you. For telling me. I guess it's...it's hard. And you're crazy brave, for facing that. I...I want to be that strong. Dunno if I can. But I want to do the right thing."
"You will," Mishima said. Not an ounce of hesitation. "I know you will. No doubt in my mind. Whatever you do, I know it'll be the right thing."
"I'd be willing to trust you. Cause no matter what you decide, Shido's still going to get what's coming to him. And that's what matters the most to me."
His own words echoing across the roof of his mouth. And Ren swallowed them back down. "Thanks," he said, simply. "I'll do my best. I promise I will, Mishima. I'll do good by you. By everybody. I'll try." He swallowed hard, breath winding itself into an oath, like a red string tied around his tongue. "I'll try."
Thank you so much to Jane for helping brainstorm the Mishima scene, as well as her lovely beta reading. And a shoutout to my boyfriend and longtime reader Ralu, who inspired the concept for the redacted scene.
