Cry for Help

Port Island Station is as crowded as always, but it only takes a moment and a single glance to notice that one person is... perhaps not missing, for a scattered handful of appearances do not a routine make, but absent nonetheless. There is no one at all sitting in front of the florist's, and certainly not the bold and pretty artist whose presence Mitsuru has come to expect; a casual "see you tomorrow" is by no means a promise, but now that she's here and Chidori is not, she finds she had taken it as one.

Perhaps it's better this way, for if Mitsuru is honest with herself she doesn't have time, today, to spend on idle chatter (even if it is with a most intriguing girl) - not with a full moon and another mysterious Shadow lying in wait. It would be best to get back to the dorm and prepare, or at least rest and save her energy for the battle to come.

It would be best. And she almost listens to that logic, for it is not just her wellbeing that relies on it. She even turns back, fully intending to catch the next train to the dorm, when... something... stops her.

That "something" hits her like a cry for help, and she's taken three long strides in its direction before she realizes that she heard it, not with her ears, but with her mind. The voice is distinctly Penthesilea's, and that makes the decision to investigate easy - anything so out of place as to catch her Persona's attention during the day is more than worth a look. As she reaches the alley that leads to Port Island's less reputable streets she rummages in her bag for her cell phone, mind racing through the schedules of her teammates in case she needs backup. She goes so far to scroll through her contacts to Arisato's number, then snaps her phone shut when she rounds a ...

... middle of paper ...

...member how touchy the other girl is about being touched. At least she has the energy to glare, though, and at least breathing no longer seems to be such a struggle for her, though she still looks frighteningly pale - almost as white as her dress.

."I just want to stop the bleeding," Mitsuru coaxes, and to her relief she's rewarded with a tiny nod as her answer. She carefully presses the folded handkerchief against the cut and presses down on it with her palm, wincing in sympathy for how it must hurt.

Her fingertips end up resting in the hollow of Chidori's throat, and she can feel Chidori's pulse beneath them - though it is much too rapid, and much too faint. Her skin feels downright hot to the touch, and she shivers a little - "Cold," she whispers, and Mitsuru can't help but laugh.

."I'm sorry. I've always had cold hands." Penthesilea's influence, no doubt.