Vere tapped Logan's stick-composed red sword as he walked along, his firearm cradling his holster. He tsked to himself inwardly as he did this.
It was a shame he only had one bullet left. And unless the Suspects just lined up so he could shoot however many of them there were, one bullet just wasn't going to cut it.
But a sword will. Begrudgingly.
It's not as if Vere didn't like weapons. He felt an appreciation for them welling deep within his mind, in fact. It's just that…yeah, he likes guns. A lot. He'd have to warm up to using other armaments and familiarize them and their intricacies with further usage.
Sigh.
His composed, still black ocular pools shifted around. His ears were poised to accept any suspicious noises as well.
The mall walls offered no conspicuously Suspect-shaped shadows, to his dismay. But that's alright. He would find them as long as they didn't escape. He tutted to himself again…
That bullet would've made a lot of noise. If he was fortunate, the Suspects would offer themselves on a silver platter via investigation. If he was unfortunate, they'd force their way out of the mall and escape.
Yeah, he had to come up with the terms that melee weapons were a must in his future. Othello noted the slight shifts in his facial expressions as he thought to himself.
See, Vere's face was naturally blank as a norm. But, if you could put a value and name to it, he had a Grade A poker face. One that was envied by even the best poker players around…
Othello could only discern the slight tenses and releases in his face because of the large amount of experience she had watching the guy. Time flowed differently in…let's say, her "neighborhood."
Though Vere was in his twenties, you could say she's been watching him for twenty thousand years. Ish.
She giggled under her breath. Vere was conflicted about using a tool of violence…to inflict violence! This wasn't a big shock compared to the everyday person (notwithstanding demons).
But it was just plain strange when applied to Vere. Abnormal, unfamiliar, even freaky! These were the words resounding in her psyche.
And she's a clown who finds freaky things funny indeed. What was even funnier was the fact that—according to her memories—Vere wasn't hesitating because of violence. Pondering the most likely reason, her face suddenly brightened as her gaze drifted back and forth from the sword and the revolver.
'No way…he's only bothered because he can't use his gun. Pfft~' With those thoughts in mind, the slightly frustrated emotions within his mind appeared on his face. She could even picture the slight frown of displeasure, the twitch of his brows, and the freezing over of his eyes…
If she had a SAD, maybe it would read like this:
>Othello used the detail (Extremely handsome)! Unprecedented…a self [Press]?
…
In other words, she was dazed.
Vere was not, however. Instead, a muffled, continuous shuffle sounded in his ears as his eyes canted over to a sloppily constructed intelligible storefront. It was as if someone took an eraser to it, making the materials blur into each other with messy-looking streaks.
If that wasn't enough, footsteps seemed to shadow his own. And no, they weren't Othello's…they were heavier than hers. The demoness walked in such a way that she barely made any sounds, and while the other footsteps were subdued, they were just outclassed by the Pirouettetress's gait.
One merely adopted gracefulness. The other was born in it—forged within it.
Vere's plodding boots came to a halt. "Cause you're lost in the sun…a fever machine…" he sang, a delightful deep timbre to his voice as he bounced along to his inner rhythm.
His waist tight and his torso jouncing along, his free hand snapped along in a ragtime melody. Strangely, the song he was singing wasn't jazz, but he liked it all the same.
"Come back to me…come back to me, and listen!" With the exclamation, he bounded forwards with the speed of a cheetah. The rapid movements drew Othello's attention, her lips forming an "O" shape in realization as she hurriedly got away the quickest she could.
With a series of over-the-top backflips.
Her very image seemed to melt as only the shadow left in her wake dissipated, her form reappearing behind a spray-painted storefront. It was a remnant from its old job as a ruined skyscraper…
Vere sliced downwards as he leaned into it, forcing the lanky-looking Jamin to escape from his hideout as he struggled to get out of the way. The Warden detective whistled before getting back to singing.
'Looks like I was right. It looks like the same getup of that uniform the guy in the alleyway wore. I mean, it's a bit different, but I guess the badges in Westwood are all made out of the same material.'
Interestingly, his singing was just loud enough to obstruct the rushing onslaught of steps treading his way. He couldn't control his clumsy movements—unfamiliar with the lay of what appeared as a greatsword.
But with fine-tuned control of his body one would only expect out of an inhuman or someone who underwent electroshock therapy, he turned on his heel. As his waist spun, the flat side of the blade blocked Manter's brick with a loud slap!
Vere's mouth formed an "O" as the Inquisitor thought power stained his mind with purple paint.
"I get the pun…three little piggies. So it's on the nose, huh?" He dodged, purple gleams spreading over his black irises as he avoided the spewed red straw emerging from Jamin's trembling palms.
"I mean," he continued, narrowly raising his blade in time as Manter launched another series of attacks—this time with feeling! The feeling? Hate. The target? His chest.
Jamin's crimson straw blocked his escape route…but Vere was very much aware of the fact that they existed in a three-dimensional plane! So, following the Y axis with an instinctive pour of Authority thought power into the red stick sword, he forced it downwards as it suddenly exceeded his weight two times over!
With a quickening velocity, he flipped up in the air. As his fingers left the weapon, it regained its weight, allowing him to somehow contort his leg in a half kick/half retrieving action that saw it placed back into his grasping range.
Jamin struggled to move his hands up, shooting the restrictive crimson straw with pent-up aggression that hid beneath his wimpy demeanor.
It was too little, too late.
The straw couldn't even wrest the sword away from him as Vere pivoted about using its increased weight, letting inertia influence the way he descended.
A foot faced the ceiling before cutting down like a steak knife before its cooked prey.
Slam! He treads directly into Manter's scalp, pressing down the stick sword as it falls further onto him.
Strangely, the hunchback tolled the bell. Authority thought power cloaked his following words in violet as they spread and took hold of the Suspects.
"One has straw. One has sticks. And the other has a brick…and our three little piggies deviated from the story and put a dent in our big bad wolf. Your friend Logan mentioned a Wolf Shack—so it's apt, mind. But like…you only picked that because he was hairy. Like a dog. For shame!"
>…Case Understanding: Lv 2 to Lv 3 max. The suspects have been identified, and the motive isn't necessary. Detail Gained: (Hairy, like a dog) and (Really bad at naming things).
The conspiracy board materialized as Vere stuck a pin in them and [Linked] them together. He heard the words of the SAD but decided to ad-lib the Detail he just fused.
Detail Gained: (These guys are dipshits)!
And as soon as it appeared, he [Implanted] this Detail into them with a mocking jeer. Blood sprayed out as the man was cleft in twain under the analysis of Vere, the force of the strike…
And the multiplicative factor of both underneath his [Press]. Pearly, transparent energy from the Ego wisp blanketed out along with relentless blood rain.