"Ah…shit! Who the fuck is killing people in mah mall? I literally just made this place…!" She drawled slightly as she was dumbfounded, that look of relief turning into pure vexatious spite. Like, did people not fear demons these days? She was sure her energy had a sinister vibe to it…!
She huffed, puffed, and paced around it with her fists held tight at her sides. Whoever did this was going to get their ass fried. She just had to find out who the hell did it…wait!
She just realized that Vere was certainly a detective! Just the man to solve this problem was literally waiting for her! So, with a determined look, she made for Vere's bar, ready to ask him for help.
——
Suspects—beings perverted, formed or created from cognitive force roamed outside the Shattered Skyscraper Mall. The energy fluctuations attracted their subconscious, making them move towards the place.
They were weak but weren't that knowledgeable about demonic influence. So they went to the place without qualms, most drifting about listlessly. Though some sought to enter, the more sentient ones intelligent enough to figure out how to operate a door.
As the door swung open, so too did Vere's. Acoustic guitar pressed against her ears as she coddled up to the record player.
"Here, have a drink." Vere wiped the shaker bottles with a rag as he slid a glass with a thin neck down the counter. It was a Piña Colada mixed together with the best the bar had to offer. It wasn't very high quality, but Othello thought it tasted good.
She drank from the glass. "My favorite," she said. It was not her favorite at all; she didn't really like coconut all that much. The fact that it still tasted good was a miracle in her eyes, so she gave a little white lie. That minuscule fib didn't escape Vere's notice, however.
"I see right through you." He started with a sidelong glance sent her way and a disapproving stare. Of course, he wasn't actually all that offended.
But it's the act that counts.
"That's perverted!" Rich azure spread across her face as she fidgeted while walking her fingers across the wooden surface.
"You're perverted." Vere countered in a not-so-impressed tone as he polished the metal shakers. He shook his head and closed his eyes as he absorbed himself in his work.
"Yeah, but that's what I do. Cause I'm a demon." She blurted out these words, her intonation stumbling. It was a stark contrast to the graceful movements of her fingers—her hand became a ballerina as it spun and danced.
"I doubt that. Don't besmirch all demons with your slander."
"Hey, I resent that! I'm a (mostly) honest demon!" She looked down and focused on her hand, her eyes widening as she slapped it. She really had to figure out how to stop doing that.
"Who are you fooling." He laughed underneath his breath, his lips trembling as the ends curled upwards. "That "mostly"wasn't even a thought; you just said it under your breath. Tell the truth or shame the devil." The smirk grew after these words.
"Okay, first, which? I don't like one of them, so I don't mind shaming him. He's an asshole." Othello fumed as she pouted, her brows tilting inwards as her face regained its color. She even slammed her fist on the counter with that last word.
Vere shrugged. "Whichever one is your best friend." He joked, not expecting her to take him seriously. She had to know that he was joking, no?
"Ismalda is nice, but she doesn't mind if I lie." She nodded with an assured look. Vere opened his eyes, their gazes meeting.
One was skeptical, and the other was completely serious. Vere decided not to burst her bubble.
"So, what are you here for? I can't imagine you like drinking all that much."
"You'd be surprised! I'm…not a drinker at all; you're right. Um…first of all, how do you like things?" Othello gave him a furtive glance, occasionally looking up at him so as to gauge his current state. She knew the expressions wouldn't be accurate, but she felt assured in the fact that she didn't feel any targeted hostility.
"I like them a lot. Don't worry." He winked with a slight smile, waiting for her to continue speaking. She caught the end of that smile, dazed for a moment.
"Well, do you like being a detective?"
"Did I?" Vere inquired, expecting her to dodge the question. Still, a try is better than nothing.
She firmly nodded. "You loved it—you reveled in it, actually."
Vere arched an eyebrow. "I thought you couldn't tell me about my past?" He said, trying to bring that innate suspicion under controls
"I'm not telling you about your past, not really. Mentioning a couple things isn't bad at all—I-I just have to watch my phrasing is all."
"Hmm. Well, it's fun. It feels more like an extension of my body than anything else—it's one of the most familiar things I've felt since waking up." He confirmed her question after pondering it for a while. Their gazes were fixed on each other as the saxophone extended its tune, elongating the tension one of them felt.
"Well! That's good…hey, if you're bored, I have a Case for you." She tapped the table a little while Vere beckoned her to keep talking. She bit her lip before deciding to come forward with it.
"There's some dead dick on my floor. Can you find out who killed him…or at least who had the NERVE to just dump him in front of my fucking floor! Whew…" Othello was so frustrated she couldn't even breathe while steam and brimstone ashes spurted out of the runes on her flesh.
"Okay, okay…calm down. Deep breaths…deep breaths."
She did as he said, her flaring chest slowing down as she huffed a heated gust of air. A sigh escaped her naturally blueish lips.
"You good?" Vere asked, almost wanting to put a hand on her shoulder.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thank you."
"Then let's go see that body."
"Mm! Mhm!" She gulped down the last portion of the contents of the glass, and Vere took it and put it in the sink. He opened the door for her with a smile.
Moments later, they appeared at the crime scene. Vere's whole demeanor shifted as he launched into focused analysis, first taking stock of the area.
"He's pretty hairy. Aren't their ways to shave on the B-Side?"
"Of course there are. It's a plane—like any other. Can you imagine how horrible it would be if demons couldn't shave? All that hair everywhere…and those devils enshrined on their thrones would have beards instead of rugs."
"Ooh, I don't think they'd like that," Vere replied, kneeling over the body. There were no actual stains on the man's clothing, though the shirt and jean jacket looked worse for the wear. A stink proved that they hadn't been washed for a while.
The shoes were an odd black and silver, pliable yet firm material. The rips in the corpse's jeans were much worse than his, and the condition of the corpse was quite irritated.
He gently turned over the body, looking at the materials underneath it. There were a couple of straws with a crimson hue.
'How austere. Is there a specific reason why it's red?' His fingers took a specific strand and rubbed it between them. It didn't feel like it was liquid, it didn't smell of blood, but it still reeked, just like the rest of the body.
His attention was back on the cadaver. He felt against it as he lifted it up, taking stock of the body's conditions. There were no wounds—the body was pristine, in fact.
That was until he pressed against the thick mane on the back of his head. Hmm…
A congealed patch of blood, sticky and rank. As Vere touched it and let the body rest on the ground again, he confirmed something.
"Blunt force trauma is the way this man died. The object wasn't all that large, and we can tell from the depth of the wound. Lastly, this man has been dead for a long amount of time. I don't know if it's been preserved or not, but his skin seems to be an odd shade." He talked to himself while Othello nodded.
>Case Understanding: Lv 0 -> Lv 1. Detail added: (Blunt force trauma.)
The SAD whirred soundlessly as he settled on his conclusion for now. Inquisitor thought energy circulated within his thought nexus as a hunchback tolled a bell. His hunch figured it was correct.
"Hey, do you have a bag?" He looked at Othello and took a shot in the dark. He wanted to put the crimson straw he found in his pocket without needlessly corrupting the evidence. Besides, it would look weird if he searched for the straw when confronting the Suspect.
"Uh, I can make one. Usually, but I'm like…s t a r v i n g…, and that makes demons super weak. I'm sorry." She frowned as her eyes moistened, while Vere was nonchalant. He nodded wordlessly, unseen thoughts not touching his expression in the slightest.
"What do you eat? And more importantly, why?"
"Well…demons eat portions of the soul. You can't ACTUALLY harm a soul in such a way that it would erase its existence unless some idiot found a way to sever their connection with The Great Tapestry. So instead, we eat experiences… Remnants, they're called. It's like a spiritual body composed of the thoughts and memories of the vessel the soul inhabited. It's usually erased anyways upon death—unless you reincarnate or transmigrate or something."
"Huh. I guess I'll ask you what that is later. Hey, will my remnants suffice?" Vere offered. Othello felt touched by the gesture but refused with a gesture.
"Your remnants are untouchable by me, or any other demon for that matter. There's something that prevents me from taking it—and I'm not that kind of demon anyways. I've waited 9,600 years; I have at least 400 years left to fill my stomach."
"…That sounds painful." Vere fretted, much to his displeasure. He was concerned—something in him really hated to mention that. Or admit it.
"It is. But what can you do? I'm bad at making contracts…I can only take what people offer me." She fidgeted and pressed her fingers together, pouting to herself.
"Heh. Hey, the great and powerful demon can't do it? I guess you are pretty honest…Anyway, I'll put this in my pocket after all." He put a single piece of straw in his pocket and kept investigating, vacating the area the body was.