"He's being watched. For now, he'll continue to be watched."

[hazlogs]

Date: 7 April 2003

Red Mill Apartments #603

This smallish, two-bedroom apartment is somewhat sparcely furnished, but has a comfortable, homey look to it. A greenish-gray couch holds court in the main room, accompanied by a low, sturdy-looking coffee table. A squat black entertainment center is set up on the other side of the room, in perfect view of the couch; on it sits a rather large television and within the small cabinet area underneath is a VCR. There's bookcase set up along one wall, its shelves holding a stereo, a clock, various CDs and video tapes, but very few actual books -- most are nonfiction paperbacks, history books. The carpet's a neutral shade of tan and covers whatever floor doesn't belong to the kitchen or the bathroom; the walls and ceiling are a shade lighter and on them are a few Van Gogh prints; _Starry Night_ hangs over the couch in a position of prominence.

The kitchen's small and narrow, but it's clean and holds the basic conveniences of modern life, including (but not limited to) a microwave, a toaster oven, and little blue and white dish towels. A short length of hallway past the kitchen entrance leads to the bathroom and a pair of bedrooms.

Though the apartment is kept fairly clean, cockroaches are a constant presence and go about unmolested by traps, sprays, or other poisons. In fact, a small plate of fresh canned cat food sits in a corner at the far end of the kitchen, apparantly just for the benefit of these insects.

Knock, knock ka-knock-knock on the door.

Salem opens the door for the young Galliard and ushers him in. The apartment is quiet, with lights on in the living room and no where else. There's no sign of the halfmoon's redheaded roommate. "Have a seat."

Quentin's blue-haired head bobs in a slight nod to his elder, walking along into the apartment as he's gestured in and glancing around in likely search for the aforementioned redhead. Not finding her, he relaxes some, heading towards the couch and easing down onto its green-grey cushions, "Thanks for making time for me, sir."

Salem closes the door behind the cub and sets the chain. "No problem." He turns, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, his expression mildly curious. "So. What's on your mind?"

"A couple things," Quentin admits, leaning back and folding an arm behind his head as he makes himself comfortable, "First off.. Jamethon's betrothed, Elisabeth, caught some guy poking around the park where Tabia had her First Change, looking for 'bear tracks'."

Salem's mouth thins. He nods once. "Did you see the papers the day after? Someone thought they saw a couple of bears." He grunts. "Police think people are organizing dog fights. Either way... Did she get a description of the man? Talk to him or anything?"

Quentin's head bobs in a slight nod to that, stating quietly, "Nicodemus, a.k.a. Nick Dalton. I'm told that you know him, boss?" He quirks a brow, head cocking a bit as he waits for a reaction.

Salem tilts his head slightly, then nods. "He's a local. Cop by day, goth by night." The Walker's tone holds a hint of dry amusement. "He's not family, but he's not the enemy, either. What did he say to her?"

"She barely talked to him," Quentin says wryly, shaking his head, "Apparently she was afraid of 'tipping her hand' or something. I just walked up and struck up a conversation, even found out where he hangs out.." A pause, a brow quirking, "Still, if he's not family, getting plaster casts of crinos tracks sounds like a pretty dangerous idea. Rhi asked me to keep an eye out for him, too, since he was acting 'suspicious'.."

Salem grimaces. "Thought I'd gotten all of them. Nevermind." He scratches his bearded chin with one fingernail, looking thoughtful. "Dalton is more than what he seems," he says after a moment. "Exactly what he is, I'm not sure." He folds his arms again. "He's been in town a long time, though... longer than many of the Sept. So far, he's behaved himself."

Quentin's lips quirk just a hint up at one corner, as he allows, "Well, I don't think he found any.. but he was looking, and that's the point. Does he know 'bout us?"

Salem purses his lips. "If he does, he's keeping it to himself."

"I'm told he was involved in investigating the Neo-Night stuff?" Quentin lifts one brow, adding, "I mean.. stacking all this stuff together, it's pretty fucking suspicious. A goth-slash-cop searching for 'bear tracks' involved in the vampire pills.."

Salem cocks his head, fixing Quentin with a dark, unreadable eye. "I sense a conclusion that you're working towards."

Quentin shakes his head just a touch, admitting, "I have a bunch of numbers but nothing on the other side of the equal sign, boss.. still, I don't think it's something to just ignore."

"Dalton's not being ignored," Salem says mildly. "He's being watched. For now, he'll continue to be watched."

"A'ight," Quentin allows with a shrug of one shoulder, "I just thought I'd let you know 'bout the tracks thing, since it came up and Elisabeth asked me to tell you. Anyway.. I imagine you've heard about what happened at the farmhouse?"

Salem nods. "I took Cat home on Sunday and talked to him. Were you there?"

Quentin grimaces slightly at the question, sitting up slightly and dropping both hands into his lap. "I had to put his head through the floor," he admits, "Feel kinda bad about it, but I didn't see much choice at the time."

Salem makes a dismissive gesture. "No lasting harm done. I meant, were you there beforehand? Before he lost it."

Quentin nods just a touch to that, "I got there just about at the same time that stupid girl showed up."

Salem nods once. "The Strider whelp. Cat seems quite... upset about her."

"Yeah," Quentin says dryly, shaking his head, "Cat's always had a problem with girls, 'cept Rina.. and I hear she broke some of Rina's ribs?" A concerned look over, "She alright?"

Salem's jaw tightens slightly. He grimaces. "She's going to be laid up for weeks unless we get someone to agree to Mother Touch her. Alicia would do it, but she's fucking around in Hanford with Jamethon. I don't think Daisy has the gift."

Quentin flinches ever so slightly at the news, his expression pained as he tries to think of someone who might. "..that's a.. theurge trick, right? How about, uh, Aubrey-rhya, Tobin-rhya.. Cameron-rhya.. maybe one of them can?"

Salem rubs his chin. "I didn't see Tobin doing any healing when we raided the warehouse last moot... Aubrey perhaps, yes."

"I've been spending a lot of time down near the farmhouse," Quentin offers quietly, "Talking to people 'bout John.. you want me to hunt her down and ask? Can't hurt, and I know you're pretty busy.."

"If you would," says the halfmoon. "I've left a message with Cameron, but haven't heard back."

"Sure," Quentin replies with a slight, quick nod, "I just saw her the other day, shouldn't be a problem."

Salem straightens up. "Good." He heads for the kitchen. "And how _is_ your task going, by the way?"

Quentin glances after him, admitting, "That was the other reason I was here. I've got most of the story from before he got here, and a few other leads on it.. but I need to find out what he did after that." A pause, "And you're the most obvious one to ask."

Salem gets down a glass and pours himself some orange juice. "John was already well-established in St. Claire when I came back into town," he says. "He'd already organized the tribe and pulled things together. So, while I might be the _obvious_ choice, I'm not the most correct one."

Quentin's head tips ever so slightly to one side, a brow raising as he considers that. "Gotcha.. mrm. Who would be, then, do you have any idea? I don't know who's been around for that long, and who might be accessable still.."

Salem takes a sip of orange juice. "Some of the kinfolk. Apart from Rina, Lianne and Jeremy." He hesitates a moment, then takes another sip. "Start with them, and Francisco if you can catch him. Alicia and Yi, should they return from Hanford in one piece."

"I talked with Jer," Quentin admits, "He didn't have that much to tell me, unfortunately.. I've never met Lianne. Francisco I can probably catch."

Salem sets down his glass and goes over to the phone, to a small binder containing business cards. "Lianne's a lawyer. The new Philodox, K.C., is working with her now, I believe." He flips through a page or two, finds what he's looking for, and then copies a number down onto a notepad nearby. "She, Lianne that is, used her resources to help us get the old safehouse. The one that was attacked and destroyed." Flipping the binder closed, he walks over toward the couch to hand the paper over to Quentin.

Quentin leans forwards ever so slightly, reaching out to accept the paper with a wry smile. "Thanks. I've heard of her, but I don't think that I've ever actually met her.."

"She can be intimidating," says the werewolf who could pass for Satan on a good day, "but if you remember your manners you should be fine." Salem smiles crookedly.

"'Be polite'," Quentin chuckles, "Gotcha."

"You'll do fine, I'm sure." Salem heads back for the counter and takes up his glass of juice again.

Quentin folds the note with his thumb, sliding it into a pocket as he pushes himself up to his feet. "Thanks."

"If you _do_ run dry, I'll be happy to fill in what gaps I can," Salem remarks.

"I'm sure I'll be back eventually," Quentin admits with a faint chuckle and a shake of his head, "You might not have been around the -whole- time, but you saw a lot of him when he -was- in charge."

Salem lifts the glass. "True enough."

Quentin takes a step over towards the door, tipping his head back over and allowing, "Well.. guess that's it. Take care, sir."

"You too," Salem replies evenly. "Be seeing you, Quentin. Give Rhiannon my regards."

Quentin lifts one hand to his brow and away in a slight salute, chuckling softly as he moves to slip out. "Will do.."

Quentin leaves the apartment.

Quentin has left.