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Ari patrols most nights. He frequently whistles as he does so. He's on friendly terms with many of the people of the town, though some of them think he's a dangerous weirdo. (They're not wrong, but it's not very polite to say it outright like that.)
Vampires still come to Sunnydale. Because it's Sunnydale, and because vampires are idiots. The ones who live here already, though, have picked up a habit of either visiting the kosher butcher's or the bite shop, or moving to LA. Or having their heads ripped off by an excessively cheerful blonde half-Kal'shekk witch.
Speaking of the kosher butcher's, he pops his head into that alleyway. Maybe he'll see Mr. Ray, that nice vampire chap who comes by for some fresh cow's blood every Thursday. (Ari acts cheerfully oblivious to the fact that every vampire he knows is blind terrified of him. Some of them are alright when he keeps them from eating people; being unrepentantly amoral doesn't have to mean you're not a nice person.)
Ari continues walking. Idly, he counts the graveyards. Presumably Mark's crypt is in Danforth Cemetary IV, off at the far side of town. He wonders which crypt it is? Uncomfortable... Maybe the Ashworth mausoleum? That one's been empty ever since K'z'yx passed of chitin rot, and it was quite a mess for a while. Plus the windows face the sunrise, and you can board them up but you don't want to have to.
So: an extended silence in which to contemplate his choices. Exactly what Mark didn't need.
Ari is blissfully oblivious! However, Mark may have noticed that he is always willing to prattle on about nothing in particular if prompted to do so. Ari is currently, for some reason, under the impression that Mark seems like the kind of "speak when you have something to say" person who is bored by idle chatter.
"Very big, for one thing. Well, they look very big, actually they're sort of a fleshy oyster-thing in a massive rock suit. Peaceful society, for the most part, they live in cavern-palaces on their home plane and eat crystals. They have power over earth and stone, which I get a bit of-" he picks up a rock and, concentrating, turns it into a picture-perfect robin- "and human crosses get strength and toughness and that whole package. That's true of most half-demons, human blood plays very nicely with demonic."
"Do you want it? I can make it colorful and sparkly and things with a bit of effort, it could spruce up your crypt a bit. I've got shelves full of rocky sculpture stuff, this would probably just get slagged anyway."
Ari turns the bird over in his hands. "Tell me what colors you want it, I can go authentic red and brown or black and purple or however you like. For that matter, I can make it a whole different thing, though if you want a unicorn or something I'll need a few more rocks."
Whimsically, he decides to float it over to perch on Mark's shoulder. Oh, telekinesis. The easiest and also best witchcraft.
"I can make it glossy or sparkly if you like, but. Authentic robin, right there."
"It's adorable." And totally made of rocks. But he is scooping it off his shoulder and cuddling it anyway.
It is unresponsive to cuddles, but it can be presumed to love him very much.
"And if you want it enchanted or something let me know, my roommate's absolutely fantastic at that stuff. She always gives out little trinkets at Christmas that glow mood lighting or sing lullabies or give massages or whatever. She could make the authentic robin an authentic singing robin!"
It is the cutest little stone robin and it is pretty and nice and representative of interpersonal goodwill and Mark loves it so much. Snuggle snuggle.
Sunnydale is a pretty big town, and it's made bigger by the presence of eighteen different cemeteries, but eventually they arrive at Danforth IV. It's a newer one, close to the outskirts, but parts of it have managed to become properly dilapidated. Ari's got a few demonic friends living here (and a few vampiric acquaintances), so he's familiar with the real estate. Is Mark living in the Ashworth mausoleum, like he thought?
"...It occurs to me," he says, looking at it, "that you might have more trouble getting to my crypt than I do."
Which neatly explains how he managed to score his own crypt: while it's technically possible for a vampire or demon, or even a sufficiently motivated human, to climb that fence, it's not something most people would do for kicks. And the gates have long since rusted shut. He could probably even be living in the mansion itself, if he wanted, assuming it's still standing; no one has been in there in years to check, and there's a formerly well-tended forest blocking any direct view of the house from the road.
"How did you get- unless- oh, yeah, the forest got uncursed a while back. Used to be if you went in you'd have a subjective eternity in a hellish pocket reality and go insane. Makes sense it wouldn't have trickled down through the househunters, they'd only really know if they tried to go in. I guess I shouldn't tell Garro about it yet, he'd be glad of the space but I wouldn't want to make you cohabit with a Rallk unless you're fond of being serenaded every morning with a hundred and twenty decibels of nails-on-chalkboard screeching."
Ari looks at the fence, makes a judgment, and crouches. Then he leaps into the air, accelerated by the push of telekinesis, and clings to the upper bar of the fence. From there he pulls himself up and over, does a brief handstand on the top, and drops to the ground for a three-point landing. He stands in order to bow extravagantly.