Author's note:  I'm not Atlus.  I don't own this.  If I owned this, I'd be rich and...errrr.. doing rich-people stuff. Again, spoilers 'till Iwato Moutain.  If you don't want to know what that is, don't read this.
 

"Are you certain that this is a good idea?"

He was not of the three.  Thank goodness. He was Nathaniel Nanjo, and his goal was to be the greatest man he could be in order to fulfill his responsibilities to Nanjo Conglomerate and his departed servant turned father-figure Alfred.  First-class all the way - from his powder-blue ascot to the custom-designed motorcycle helmet currently wreaking havoc on a mass of gel that might or might not be his hair.

Those who wish to be number one do not do these sorts of things.  Lack of control inhibits success,  And he had no head for alcohol in any case - he wasn't even sure if what those three were carrying had a vintage...

"..."

Maya Amano, lightweight journalist and his rather quiet ally, simply shrugged.  They could always try something else if this didn't work- and Nate's moralizing hadn't done them any good at all.  Besides, maybe while they were occupied she could get some information out of the proverbial sixth-wheel, Tatsuya Suou.

If anyone could do it, it was she - for reasons varying from investigative skill to the bonds of deja vu.

But she was not, at the moment, in the firelit spotlight.

The three who sat themselves down on a cold slate floor - of one could give it so civilized a name - did not look to belong in this sort of place.  Dark, drab, and overhung with a generous dose of toxic fume here and there to liven up the place. Comparatively speaking.  They saw, rather surprisingly, by torchlight.  And though it was something of a mystery as to who exactly would bother to delineate the limits of this labyrinth with a feebly eternal fire, none were complaining.

They had a job to do.

"I suppose nothing else has worked..."

"Enough talk, rich-boy.  We can handle this," a voice called back - deep and a touch gravely from the wrongs wreaked upon his vocal cords by four years worth of doing his damndest to beat the crap out of the Marlborough man in the Mysterious Stranger department. It was probably true, that they could do this.  A single being of the sort they were dealing with was hardly a threat to three relatively experienced persona users.  Unfortunately, however, what they needed would not just magically appear after her horrible bloody death.

And so, three of six who fancied themselves wielders of the subconscious found themselves in the precarious position of dealing with a devil.  Literally.

The first more human participant was clothed in a suit of typically bizarre ochre velour and an equally strange array of beaded earrings.  His sunglasses were not so much fashionable as eye catching, and if the darkened silicon that reflected burning ash to hide his eyes had any purpose none of his comrades could name it.  But then, very little of the man who called himself revenge made any sort of direct sense.  That was probably the reason he was carrying a mid-sized bottle of bourbon between expensive fabric and an even more expensive damascus steel vest.

"You guys want a shot?" he arched an eyebrow, perpetual grin obscured by a more unnatural smoke that that which emanated from smoldering lamps.  A waft of nicotine and tar hit the other's faces instantly, clogging nostrils and proclaiming just who thought he was in charge in this particular situation.  Baofu knew exactly how to do that - just as he was resigned to the necessary idiocy of throwing a half-assed happyhour in the middle of a metaphysical cavern of memories on the brink of the end of the world.

Though on second thought, that was reason enough to want a drink.

"It's just us and the demons here.  C'mon, you look like you could use something to take a load off your mind, Suou.."

The second felt the need to cover his face a bit. And though the third could not tell if he was blushing through darkness and tobacco's progeny, she felt it a fairly safe assumption.  The detective was weird that way - hell, he was weird in alot of ways. Who talked like that anymore?  The guy was a walking contradiction.  A peace officer who shot to kill, dressed like the cover of next month's GQ and talking like the copy would have read fourty years ago.

"I.. suppose it couldn't hurt.  I'm not technically on duty right now.  Though I would suggest that we not involve Tatsuya in this, as liquor consumption is sure to encourage his delinquent behavior."

While the third giggled, a young man dressed in an impossibly red ensemble did his best to look half-embarrased, half-dejected.  Saga glared him a mental 'ungreatful brat' while drawing out three shot glasses.  Boy should know better than to play with the big kids...

Katsuya Suou was just glad to see his younger brother ushered away by Maya and Nate to somewhere, anywhere, that was less of a negative influence.

He couldn't believe he'd agreed to this little charade with Baofu and Ms.Serizawa.  Not that he had any intention of actually becoming intoxicated - that would set a bad example for Tatsuya.  But really...

"And we couldn't break out the alcohol without Serizawa conning herself into this, now could we?" their seeming host turned toward the third of their number, who was having a bit of trouble navigating herself into a kneeling position within the restrictions of a forest-green spiderweb.

"You'll want a double shot, I assume?" Kaoru Saga, Baofu, and the several other identities hiding behind some truly god-awful eyewear grinned at the obviously faux redhead.  He wasn't sure exactly where he'd picked up that expression of the shit-eating variety, but it was probably somewhere between a courtroom and an underground wire-tapping operation.

"Shut up, Baofu,"  the last and possibly least of the group drew out a large bottle of her own from some insane hiding-place within polyester and lace.  Her hands, taped and gloved, fumbled a bit with the cap.  Shit, Ulala.. can't you even open your own goddamn vodka?  Bao's just waiting for you to fuck up and have to drink that nasty bourbon crap he carries around. Probably bought it from that creepy bootlegger they met at Toa Armory.  What was up with that guy?

Selective memory working with the efficiency of a swiss-army watch, Ulala remained unaware of the fact that were it anyone else's illegal booze she'd be just fine with it. Not that she could call him on it - Suou would have a hissy fit and start giving speeches that involved words like 'delinquent' and 'degenerate' and 'hooligans'.

"Having problems?"

It suddenly occurred to Serizawa that there might be an even better use for the firelit glass in her hand.  Broken in Baofu's head.  Even if it was a waste of perfectly good alcohol...

"We're ignoring our guest," the detective interrupted, motioning toward the being that was the sole purpose of this whole licentious affair.  A willowy woman, she.. went by the name Aeshma.  That she was a demon was both unquestioned and obvious.  Her blue skin stood out even from behind his own colored eyewear.  Well - at least he assumed it was blue, along with her hair.  From Katsuya's own vantage it looked like more of a lilac.  That was one of the drawbacks of looking at the world through blood-coloured glasses.

That degenerate Saga was already giving him a brimming cup of the stuff - which was rather oddly warm, considering that draft that seemed to permeate these caves.  But now was not the time to consider the benefits of inquiring after a decent tailor to purloin Katsuya some more appropriate vestments.

"My apologies, Aeshma!  Would you like a shot as well?" had he been able to look past black lenses, it might have appeared that the wiretapper was laughing at the water spirit.  Fortunately for their negotiations, that was not a problem.

The demoness Aeshma just giggled.  The silly humans were throwing her a party!  It was so dreary in this cave, really.. she hadn't been out in ages!  And they would be certain to appreciate her charm, poor dears.

Serizawa, though used to this sort of thing, was already a bit flushed. The vodka, it seemed, had gone strait to her head.  Just like an old friend who knows the path by heart. Except with more throat-burning and insanity-inducement.  And a hell of a lot more fun, considering the endless yammering of distant acquaintances.

"Hay - I've got an idea!  Lemme tell your fortune," Ulala took out the complete pack of tarot cards that had somehow escaped the ravages of the Velvet Room, much to a certain Kaoru Saga's frustration.  She wasn't exactly the most competent mystic they'd come across - a step above the Sumaru Genie, maybe, which put her on pretty much equal footing with the Psychic Friends Network - but nobody was about to tell her that. Not even the perpetually antagonistic Baofu.  Errr.. well, at least under circumstances where they needed to be on working terms.  He hadn't forgotten that 'friendly' beatdown she'd put him through in Parabellum a while back after that crossdressing comment...

The demoness who sat with them, urn in hand, raised a delicately shimmering eyebrow.  "A human?  Telling fortunes?  Surely you jest..."

Even Ulala knew better than to respond angrily to that.  There were, word had it, some cards and a fairly valuable rumor on the line here. And in Sumaru City the rumors are always true. Thank all things holy that there were no real tabloids operating out of Kismet...

"You can give me pointers, Aeshma!" black-painted lips gulped back half a shot of the vodka that Baofu noticed was up the this point exclusively hers.  Dammit, bourbon wasn't cheap...

"I suppose," their contract-bound 'friend' condescended.

"Alright!," the jack of all trades shuffled the butterfly-backed deck.  Oh, she knew how to do it all - just with a bland mediocrity.  Dexterous hands belied the unemployed dancer/secretary/boxer/makeup-artist/chef/serial-partygoer's ineptitude with symbols.   "Who's first?  Just a simple one-card reading.  I'm not good enough to do a celtic cross or anything."

Dyed red and white hair nodded slightly to a pleased-looking Aeshma, to both Suou and Baofu's mild surprise.  They weren't used to her showing this much.. subtlety.  Though it wasn't as if they hadn't done this before. At least this one wasn't coming on to any of them - even if a certain former prosecutor would have been more than happy to throw Ulala to that mucus demon they'd run into during that whole Sewer Fiasco.

He wasn't sure if he considered the fact that she was probably the person he was most similar to here scary, or really fucked up.

None of them were volunteering for her reading, in any case.  Hell.. it was creepy enough to try to enjoy yourself in this place, couldn't one of them give her a break?  She was just trying to provide a distraction so they didn't get too drunk to bargain.  'Course, she didn't expect that jerk Baofu to do anything, but despite seemingly having emerged fully-formed from a Fred Astair movie Suou was usually at least helpful...

Oh well.

"Alright then!  Me first," heavily polished nails drew forth one among the many cards of the major arcana.  Hands remaining steady for the moment, she drew out one sliver of slightly supernatural paper among many.  They were a bit odd - lilac instruments for a rather limited communication with destiny.  The most appropriate description would probably be that they resonated. Though considering the events of the day - interdimensional pockets containing elderly opera fans and bestiaries of the subconscious came to mind - it seemed relatively normal.

It came up with far less promising results, however - gilt and one-hundred percent pure india ink presenting a backwards glow.

The star.

"What does that imply, Ms.Serizawa?" Suou asked from opposite the sole human woman in their makeshift soiree, while Aeshma clapped her hands excitedly.  It was not unreasonable to expect a demon shut up in this dank, forgotten cavern of memories to enjoy a portent of ill-fortune.  They'd run into more nonsensical things.

"The star reversed.  It means I got no hope."

A second. They'd get nowhere if she tried to drag some diversion out of Baofu.. Saga.. whatever the hell his name was today.  Damn arrogant Baofu lording his damn mysteries over them all the time...

"Hanged man. Reverse."

"You're looking at the deck before ya draw, aren't ya Serizawa?  That fortune crap is more trouble than it's worth.  Let me guess.  Suou gets..."

"Justice. Reversed."

"Big shock there. Are you done yet, Serizawa?"  Saga sounded annoyed. No - on second thought, Kaoru Saga was annoyed. Airy-fairy newage crap that this was, it was probably pissing off that stupid demon and then they'd have to spend another half-day fumbling blindly through the dark looking for one and 'accidently' falling through gaping holes in the ground...

"Silence!  I want mine!" their blue-skinned guest pouted, interjecting.  If anyone could pull off valley-girl imperiously, it was this particular creature of the night.  Demons were alot like children when they were coherent.

Well, flesh-eating children.

"The Empress," the tarot reader mouthed happily, with a glare in the chain-smoking Baofu's direction.

Aeshima clapped her hands together.  Yet again. How exactly she did this holding an urn containing a passable representation of the Grin Reaper was unclear, but all were happy enough with the status quo to let it be.  "Of course!"

Silently refilling her glass, the would-be Taiwanese man offered the rest of them seconds as well.  Suou just nodded in an attempt at resignation that looked more than a little bit anticipatory.  Ulala, naturally, refused in favor of Russia's cheapest.  On principle if nothing else.

If Aeshma's lack of tipsy behavior aftering downing two cups strait was any indication, this was going to be a long negotiation.

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Author's note: I am C&C's bitch - giving some would make me an intensely happy girl (despite that fact that P2-EP is both new and obscure, so I likely won't get any).  This is the lil' prologue/start of a three-part vignette I'm determined to go through with despite the inevitable lack of reader interest.  Alot angstier than this too Oo. Inspired, of course, by the Baofu+Ulala+Katsuya "Alcohol, Tears, Men, and Women" negotiation combo (which I prefer to call the Mid-Battle Drinking Binge, but whatever). Yay fun?