Sephiroth sat in a small café, eating a slice of apple pie. He looked up when the bell attached to the door tinkled and saw a young man enter who, although dressed plainly, was obviously a detective. Sephiroth turned back to his pie and lifted his teacup to hide a smile.
Footsteps approached. "Mr. Sephiroth?"
Sephiroth turned to examine the detective. Beige coat, cream shirt, near-beige pants--and a notepad in hand. No weapons or materia. "Yes?"
"My name is Ahira Koi and I'm investigating a crime. Would you mind answering a few questions?"
Sephiroth finished off the last few bites of his pie while the detective shifted his weight from foot to foot. Sephiroth swallowed, then asked, "What about?"
"A man was found dead in his apartment in the High Rise. A sword was found on the scene which matches descriptions of your masamune."
"My sword? Oh no. You must be mistaken." He sipped his tea, aware of the increasing attention from the other patrons of the café, who had at first tried unsuccessfully to ignore Sephiroth's presence.
"It was stuck through his chest." The detective didn't mention that Sephiroth had made a habit of leaving his sword stuck through people in the past.
"All the way through, you say?" Sephiroth inquired.
A nod. Then Ahira scribbled something on his notepad with a pen from his pocket. "I don't suppose you'd care to produce your sword now to prove that it is not, in fact, the same one that was left at the crime scene?"
It was obvious that Sephiroth didn't have it with him, Sephiroth knew that. It was one of the disadvantages of having such a huge sword; it was obvious when you had it on. "Well, I left it at home today," Sephiroth lied, curving his lips into what he imagined must be a benevolent smile.
The detective swallowed and looked away from Sephiroth's eyes, down to where the famous criminal's left hand was curled around the teacup. "Is that--" he began.
"No," interrupted Sephiroth, rather wishing that Ahira had not noticed the brownish stain on the protruding cuff of his vibrantly pink shirt. "That's ketchup on my sleeve." If only the store's black trench coats had not all had sleeves shorter than those of his turtleneck…
"I see. And when were you involved in this accident with the ketchup?"
Sephiroth shook his head, narrowing his eyes and raising his hand to turn the platinum bangle on his right upper arm.
"And you have no idea why a sword matching yours was used to kill someone?"
"Look," Sephiroth said softly, caressing the glowing material in the bangle, "you really should be reasonable about this. I don't know how it got there."
Ahira shut his notepad, tucked the pen behind an ear, and put the pad in a pocket. His lips were pressed into a thin line. "Mr. Sephiroth, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me and--"
A cracking sound rent the stillness, and the detective fell twitching to the ground. Sephiroth released his bangle and stood, aware of the breathless silence enveloping the staring patrons of the café. He smiled carefully and spread his hands. "Oops." It had only been the first level of bolt. The detective would recover.
He walked to the door, sneakers squeaking on the tile, and wondered idly if black sneakers would squeak less than his purple ones as he made his way to his motorcycle. It was just about time to leave town, but he had one important stop to make… it wouldn't do to forget his sword.