Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion Omake 11

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: The Boss has a small reprieve, but knows that it's just an illusion.
Word Count: 605
Rating: Teen
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS

         It’s rare that Diavolo gets to live for longer than a few minutes, let alone an hour. It’s hard to tell if it’s refreshing or terrifying. It’d be welcome as a change if he wasn’t anticipating the next death, bracing for it, dreading the moment it comes but in a twisted way kind of looking forward to it too, because after that, there’s a moment of non-existence, a moment of peace, before the cycle begins again. He’s not sure if it’s a cruelty or a kindness, or unintended entirely, just a quirk of how Gold Experience Requiem operates.
         This, ironically, is the first time he’s ever been arrested. Boss of a Mafia, and yet he’d never been even suspected. Then again, that probably had to do with his use of Doppio, who had been held briefly alongside others for questioning; he hadn’t managed to get out in time, but it was largely only a matter of being in the area. Doppio had been terrified, but fortunately between his double’s unassuming demeanor, honest answers that he had seen nothing of importance, and being a low-level member of Passione, he’d been able to get out of that, just like everything else, with no issues.
         It’s his first time in person, rather than removed from the situation, and it’s not...a pleasant experience. They aren’t gentle when they cuff him, sneer aspersions about his character, his profession. Probably due to his clothing. He hasn’t had a chance to change, though it’s never consistent whether anyone notices.
         He doesn’t bother answering the questions or insults. It’s not as if they matter anyway. He knows English, practically the language of business throughout the world, though most of that work was done by subordinates, after all. Still, if he wished to check any of their work, he needed to understand, at least, and he only trusted Doppio, mostly because he knew he’d never be betrayed.
         He experiences a little more kindness, however little it actually matters in the grand scheme of things. One of the policemen scolds the others. From the sound of things, he might not be corrupt. Ironic, too—money was not infallible, and hardly the only way to earn loyalty, but he’d never considered that honesty or integrity could be useful, as well. He’s offered a drink, and hesitates—it could be poisoned, if offered by another. But then he remembers.
         It doesn’t matter. One way or another, he’s dying soon. In some way, poison might be one of the better options; at least, the kind of poison that an officer would offer him. A painful, slow death would be more likely to be harder to cover up, so other poisons would be more likely to choose.
         As far as he can tell, he’s remained almost the same, over what feels like centuries, at this point. He doesn’t feel hungry, or thirsty, or tired. He doesn’t age visibly. The scars from his deaths that he will forever carry on his soul never leave a mark on his skin, death to death. Still, he takes the water gratefully.
         But he doesn’t even die, not then. He sits in the cell, and overhears a discussion about needing a PSA, something about bathtub drownings, and how an increase in the death rate could look for their numbers, if anyone cared to look. That sounds familiar, but it’s been so long Diavolo can no longer remember if that was a death, ages ago, or if it came from his life before that bastard Giorno got involved.
         When a riot breaks out among the others in jail, he’s ready for this, too, to end.