DMC blathering
Working with him wasn’t easy; especially as it wasn’t like she could announce to her partner that she had to skip out on that particular investigation because an ‘expert witness’ of hers wouldn’t allow for more than one person at a time near him. The expert witness was cold, but more than willing to share his knowledge as they worked to solve the line of violent crimes piling up on her desk, and the desk of her partner’s.
And it would figure, that after two months, he’d finally agreed to meet with her partner as well. A knowledgeable man himself, her partner was more than aware of who he was and more than shocked that he was alive. After all, everything pointed to his dying long, long ago. “Demons never die,” he replied to her partner, when he pointed this out. “Even those who give away their power. What is power, after all? Certainly not a key to longevity.”
“But what is a demon without power?” her partner had asked. They’d been sitting on the terrace of her apartment, one of the nights her roommate had gone out with friends.
“Simple,” the demon had responded. “A demon is a demon.”
“But you’re different.”
“Perhaps.”
He’d never reflected any ill will to either detective, though he was withdrawn most of the time during their travels to various key locations on the murder investigation. Though he always seemed to carry a demeanor nothing shy of amusement when they’d ask him questions, not unlike an elderly man with children. And she supposed that’s all they were to him; after all, he was millennia old… what were a twenty-eight year old woman and her thirty-year-old partner to him but children?
Really, he’d always seemed above human to her. Not for the way he carried himself, but just from the way she watched him. It was almost something envy, how he seemed to be so oblivious to his own graceful mannerisms and speech. Neither detective attempted to disrespect him, and not just because he was a creature far more powerful than they, but because despite the sheer confidence and superiority he carried himself with, he’d never been downright nasty to their seemingly childish questions. He’d answer them with a bit of a humored glint in his eyes, but a voice very sullen, and then would ask them questions, as though he already had the answers.
Longer yet, did the three work together, and once in private she asked her partner why he supposed it was taking them so long to solve the case with a demon who should know his own kind (after all, the killer was a demon, certainly). Her partner waved a hand and simply said, “You have to remember, he’s been with us for nearly two thousand years. I’d imagine that even he would lose touch in some ways to his own kind’s habits after so long, you know?”
One night, their investigations had led them to an old cemetery that was out and in the middle of nowhere. Centuries old, it was the home to some of the earliest colonists of the country. Filled with graves headed by the simplest of flat stones to the tallest, most gothic of statues, and in the center stood a tall mausoleum that stood out in silver in the moonlight, it was almost fascinating, if not a little eerie. “The grounds are not consecrated,” the demon said, when they asked if he’d be able to walk over it. “Not when everyone, from nuns to serial killers, are allowed here.”
He’d taken the lead, as it had been his idea to go there in the first place. And again, much like children treading behind their father, the two detectives had taken to bickering in whispers with one another because she’d stolen his gloves while they were on their way there in the car. It was mid-November, and she didn’t want her hands cold, which had resorted to him having to keep his hands jammed in his pockets. At one point, even, they’d stopped and allowed the demon to walk on so she could throw the gloves at her partner, who thanked her as he put them on, reminding her to just get her own.
A roll of her eyes was given and she left him to put them on, to catch up with their ‘expert’. When she saw he’d disappeared from direct sight, she took to a brief jog in an attempt to seek him out and catch up to him. And she’d almost missed him, too, as she passed by a large chained-angel statue set atop a tall pedestal. Fortunately, she caught sight of his stark white hair, and skid to a stop and turned to walk for him.
He was knelt in front of a gravestone, she noticed as she came to his side. It was much more plain than all the others; very typical, very standard. “Sparda…?” she asked as she stopped at his side and jammed her hands into her pockets. “Who is this?” Her eyes trailed to the stone, where most the lettering had been weathered away, and all that could truly be defined, at least in the bright moonlight, was the name ‘Eva’.
“This?” His head cocked to a side after casting a glance over his shoulder at the other approaching detective. “This… is my wife.”
Her eyes widened as she leant over, hands coming out of the pockets and resting on her knees. “Your… wife?” she asked, awed. She lowered herself to her knees beside him, also casting a glance behind her to her partner, who looked just about as stunned as she felt. Back to the demon her attention went, as she said, “I… I don’t understand.”
Her eyes followed his hand as he reached out and touched the cold stone with gentle fingers. He ran them along the three letters of the first name gently, as if to reaffirm that they were actually there. “My dearest Eva…” he said, voice reflecting a tone not heard from him until then. He sounded almost… humbled. “A beautiful woman, of body and mind,” he muttered, “mother of my children.”
The detective gaped further as she leaned forward more and looked at his face. Children? This legendary creature had children? “Sparda…”
His hand pulled away then, and he went to his feet. His demeanor, just before slack and contemplative, hardened and grew prideful once again. Red eyes looked between the young woman still on her knees and the young man who stood there with eyes so wide his eyes should have been bugging. An amused snort escaped him, so hot in air that it turned a powerful white in the cold. “It is something that no longer exists in this world, so you need not try to understand,” he explained, “so I suggest you not even try.”
With that, he straightened the collar of his long coat, pushed his hands into his pockets, and started away from the grave, in the direction he’d once been headed. Words tossed over his shoulder to follow ushered the two along after him once more, but this time in complete silence.