A/N: This is a one-shot, though it is open-ended, so in theory, it could go further later on. Surprisingly, I can't think of any warnings to give, despite the M rating. After all, Jenny is a street-walker, and we can't have little kiddies reading about those, can we? ;)
Disclaimer: I had the rights to Devil May Cry, but the smuggler dumped them overboard at the first sight of an Imperial Battle Cruiser.
The Gentleman Escort
Jenny Freyjasdottir ran into the gentleman on her way home. It was a little early for her to give up her corner, but she had class in the morning, and her daughter's impending arrival required more than three or four hours of sleep a night. He actually bumped into her, truth be known, but Jenny wasn't one for blame. She was surprised he even noticed and more so when he actually apologized.
"My apologies, miss. You would think I would be more aware of the presence of a pretty young female such as yourself."
She smiled, automatically switching into 'client mode'.
"You're a handsome devil yourself, mister. Maybe I ought to thank you for bumping into me."
He laughed.
"A handsome devil, you say? I rather like that."
He frowned. "Isn't it a little late for a human female to be alone?"
Jenny gave him a wide-eyed look.
"You're right. I could use a big man like yourself to protect me on the big bad streets, at least, 'til we get back to your place, handsome."
He cocked his head, then understanding lit his eyes. He smiled at her, but Jenny knew a 'no sale' look when she saw one.
"I'm sorry, young one, I have to decline your services. Allow me to offer mine instead? I will gladly escort to wherever you were previously headed."
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse and not just because walking with this guy might lose her a sale. She paused, though.
Jenny had pretty good street instincts for the most part, and as odd as this gentleman was, he didn't seem disingenuous. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was dangerous, but he didn't seem to be a danger to her or her unborn daughter. Jenny smiled again, a more genuine one this time.
"Sure. I was headed home anyway."
He offered her his arm, which she accepted, and they ambled off in the direction of her apartment building, chatting lightly.
Halfway there, things got weird for Jenny.
"So, I have found the traitor Sparda and his human whore!"
Sparda looked up at the demon in front of them and pushed the female behind him. He glanced at her briefly as he pulled Force Edge from seemingly nowhere.
"Stay back, but stay close."
She nodded.
He was glad she was accustomed to the streets; it kept her level-headed. He turned his attention back to the demon. It rushed him; he sidestepped, keeping his body in the front of the streetwalker, and used the flat of the blade to slap the demon as it rushed. As planned, the non-aggressive move enraged the larger demon, causing it to foolishly charge again.
Sparda repeated his tactics, leaving no marks on the big monster, but enflaming its anger.
It roared and glared at the smaller devil.
"Has your time in the human world quenched your skills as well as your battle-lust? Fight me, Sparda, or watch as I devour your precious human female!"
It lunged for the young woman, but Sparda intercepted its attack, stabbing it in the chest. He ripped the blade downward and a spray of blood, guts, and other goodies spewed forth. The demon screamed in pain and rage one last time before dissolving into nothingness. Sparda flicked the blade to rid it of any mess and it, too, casually disappeared. He turned back to the young woman behind him, sorry that she'd been involved because of him.
"You saved my life."
He blinked at her. He'd endangered her life: it had only gone after her because she'd been with him.
"Thank you. No one's ever done anything like that for me before."
He realized that she didn't know she'd been confused for his wife. He considered for a moment.
Of course. The demon had only spoken in a demon tongue. He'd spent so much time around his wife, Eva, a skilled demon huntress, that he'd forgotten that most humans didn't understand demon languages. He relaxed and smiled at the woman.
"It was nothing, I assure you, pretty one. Shall we continue?"
She nodded, still looking at him almost reverently. When they arrived at her building, she turned to him with seriousness.
"I would like to properly thank you for saving my life, as well as my daughter's. Would you like to come in, sir?"
He smiled at her again, gently.
"I'm afraid I must decline, pretty one. I am quite happily married, you see, with a pair of fine boys at home as well. There isn't any need for thanks, anyway. I'm only glad I was able to help. Take care of yourself, my dear, as well as your daughter."
She nodded at him, though she seemed a little disappointed. He watched her make her way upstairs before he left, heading back to his wife and little boys.
He chuckled to himself. Eva was likely to be angry that he'd left her to deal with the twins all day. Terrible Twos, indeed! Still, he thought they'd like the presents he'd found for their upcoming birthday, and knowing Eva, she'd pay him back in spades for being out all day.
Jenny sat at her desk, sketching instead of going to bed. Soon she had several pages full of the gentleman's visage, his raked back bone-white hair, the sharp, angled features of his surprisingly young-looking face, his ice-blue eyes. She sketched out his clothes, the different expressions of his face, and the sword he had mysterious manifested, filling page upon page with this interesting man. As dawn broke, she finally put the pad away, determined to get some rest before her late morning painting class.
Her alarm went off all-too-soon it seemed, and she showered and dressed quickly. She grabbed her pad and rushed off to catch the bus. In class, she finished up a landscape she'd been doing for a dentist's office and started on a portrait of the man.
She could have been accused of obsession, but that wasn't really what drove her. Her erstwhile rescuer had been a very unusual looking fellow, now associated with a very unusual situation, and her art was a good way to deal with that.
By the time her class finished, she had a large, full-length portrait of him, as well as a locket-sized miniature. She stopped by the metal-working shop before leaving campus and promised a favor or two in exchange for a gold locket that could house the miniature.
Ten years later, upon Jenny's death, the locket with the gentleman's picture, the story of his rescue of Jenny, and a few cherished memories were all her nine-year-old daughter had left of her.