"How are you finding St. Claire, so far?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently 22:37 Pacific Time on Mon Jul 28 2003.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is clear outside. The temperature is 81 degrees Fahrenheit (27 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the northwest at 5 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.99 and steady, and the relative humidity is 35 percent. The dewpoint is 51 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.)

Currently the moon is in the waxing No Moon phase (0% full).

Regan Avenue West, Downtown

For two or three blocks, between Thirteenth and Fifteenth Streets, red-brick apartment buildings alternate with the occasional small, struggling side garden or a small business. A pizza parlor decorates the corner of one intersection, and a relatively prosperous deli takes up space at another. Along one street, a fire station interrupts the other buildings, small but obviously in good condition from frequent need. Graffiti shows on sidewalks and on a few of the buildings, but is not prevalent. The road has been paved sometime within the last few years, to judge by the lack of potholes.

Konstantin's cruising down the street in his vintage 1977 Pontiac Catalina slowly.

Salem is sitting on the steps of the Kingston Arms, his apartment building, watching the street with the air of a cat on a windowsill. His eye follows the vintage car as it passes.

Finding an empty spot on the street, he pulls in, and none too careful. The car in front of his giant behemoth gets a beautiful new dent in the bumper when the young man attempts to parallel park. Agilely, he springs out of the car and gives the minor damage a quick once over.

Salem snorts and gets up, stretching slightly. "Nicely done, Mr. Radolenko," the Glass Walker says dryly, sounding more like a snarky college professor than anything.

Konstantin flashes his patented 'what-me-worry' grin and shrugs his shoulders. "Not like nana will ever notice," he says, wryly, tucking the keys into his pocket. "I headed outside of town with Quentin not too long ago, just like you asked. I don't have an official passport or anything, but I figure maybe I got a library card, or something like that."

Salem smiles in a tight-lipped kind of way. "Excellent. Settling in, then? Have you met any cousins?"

Konstantin shakes his head, lightly. "Not as such. I heard about my older brother." He makes those last two words in quote marks with his fingers. "Haven't met the guy yet, though. I also heard a vicious rumor about you and my 'family.' Nasty business, that. I'm sorry it happened."

Salem arches an eyebrow, then shrugs curtly. "It's past, and, truthfully, I don't have much cause for regret." Folding his arms across his chest, he studies the young Shadow Lord critically. "How are you finding St. Claire, so far?"

"Fun," he answers, with the hint of enthusiasm. "I want to make something up front to you, sir. Whatever you think about my family, I'm still here to serve. I realize now that my being here isn't entirely coincidental -- I'm just past making the next grade... if you know what I mean. With the right kind of mentor, I think I could be a real valuable guy to know in the future."

Salem arches an eyebrow slightly; otherwise, his expression is bland. "Really." He considers a moment, then unfolds his arms and starts up the front steps of 'his' building, gesturing for the Lord to follow. "Come on up. We'll talk."

Konstantin follows Salem up and into the building. "Homey," he says, without hint of mockery when the door opens in front of Salem.

"Yes," Salem agrees as he lets Konstantin in. After closing and latching the door behind them, he walks over to the couch and takes a seat, legs stretching out in front of him and, arms folded, turns that bland regard onto the Shadow Lord again. "So, talk. Tell me about yourself."

"There isn't much to reveal," the young Russian begins. "I just finished my Rite of Passage a few months ago. My grandmother's illness -- well, it presented an opportunity to get me away from my home sept -- I see that now. I suspect my Elders are testing me again here, in your sept. I don't want to let them -- or you -- down. I'm a ragabash, sir -- and everything that entails. You are no doubt aware of the blessings that Luna lays down on my auspice, the gifts and talents my moon-brothers and sisters share."

"I am," Salem says evenly, "but there are always... differences, in style if nothing else. I'm looking for specifics. Tell me what you're most talented at."

Konstantin tilts his head. "At the moment? Surveillance, and uh, information gathering. By any means necessary. You understand that, sir." He apparently feels as if that is enough explanation for Salem.

Salem nods slightly. "Am I mistaken in assuming that you'll primarily be basing yourself in the city?"

Konstantin's mouth dips into a momentary frown. "It seems so, sir, given the demands of my grandmother's illness. She sleeps early, so my nights are more or less my own business. But I am willing to serve as your tool. Within that context, I am willing to do whatever you ask."

Salem rubs his chin thoughtfully, neatly-trimmed fingernails scratching at the short black bristles. "Hm. Do you know anything about vampires? Or world-warpers?"

Konstantin shakes his head negatively. "No sir," he says. "I've heard rumors about 'em, of course. But I've never met one in the flesh."

Salem nods, making a mental note. All he really needs is a clipboard and a pen. Maybe a red one. "What gifts and rituals do you know?"

"I can perform the rite of talisman dedication. I learned that before I came here. I also know how to open seals, lend my voice to persuade others and find an opponent's weakness, if I can study him for a short time." Konstantin doesn't seem particularly nervous or discomfited by the questions he's being asked.

Salem nods, lips thinned. His mismatched eyes rarely move far from the young Lord's face, though he seems to be thinking as much as listening. "The first thing you'll want to do," he says after a moment, "is make friends. Make some contacts here in the city, get involved in the nightlife." He lifts an eyebrow. "Ears and eyes, do you understand?"

Konstantin replies with a short, quick nod. "I also speak Russian," he says, softly. "I don't know if that'd be useful to you or not. But yeah, I understand what you're saying. What's your position, vis a vis a little petty theft just to get a little spending money?"

Salem's eyes narrow faintly at the Russian bit, and then he nods. "Petty theft doesn't bother me. Dealing drugs..." His mouth thins. "I'll tolerate a bit of the lighter ones, pot and E. Anything harder, and you'd better hope I don't catch you at it. And no murder." His eyes harden. "Kill _no_ one unless they are a direct agent of the Wyrm. Fomor, yes. A gang member who decided to pull a gun on you, no."

Konstantin smirks faintly. "Sir, I understand you have the best intentions, but... please. My very nature demands, let us say -- a certain discretion. I'm not about combat, sir; that isn't my or my auspice's forte. I watch. I may even provoke. But I hardly ever fight."

Salem snorts. "We're all warriors, Konstantin. The Ahroun are simply _best_ at it." Unfolding his arms, he gets up from the couch and crosses over to the kitchenette. "I assume that you _can_ fight, if need be?" he asks, while pouring a glass of ice water.

Konstantin's face evens quickly. "If necessary, yes. You said it yourself." He falls silent, watching the older man intently. "I will, of course, abide by your rules of engagement."

Salem closes the fridge and turns back to lean against the breakfast counter, his gaze on the Lord again. "Good. As it turns out, we do have a bit of a contingent of Russian mafia in town. I plan to root them out eventually."

Konstantin tries on a look that the young man thinks could be called "shrewd." It looks kind of like he sat on a hedgehog though. "I'm just the man for that," he says, with a hinted smile. "If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to suggest that I arrange a blind drop right now. That way if I have a message for you, you'll know it and no one needs know that I was the source for the information."

Salem sips his water, not smiling back. "Blind drop. Of course." He lifts an eyebrow. "Milwaukee, hm?"

Konstantin nods at the man. "Yes, sir. Tastes as good as its name," he adds humorlessly. "Do you have a spot that might be useful for such a thing? How about the McDonald's across the street?"

Salem smiles a faint, crooked smile and looks practiced at it. "The manager is Child of Gaia kinfolk. Alicia's brother. No." He sets down the glass and picks up a pencil, scribbling down an address on the top sheet of the notepad by the phone. "There's a little grocery here," he says as he tears off the page and hands it, folded, over. "Mom and pop type of place."

Konstantin stares at the address for several seconds, then suddenly produces a lighter and snaps it open, burning the paper in his fingers. "I'll slip a note into the last paper in the paper rack. Does that suit you?"

Salem nods, watching the Ragabash burn the paper without comment or, it seems, any undue surprise. "Indeed."

"One last thing, sir," the ragabash says, producing a PDA from one of his pockets. "I think this belongs to someone who knows you; your phone number and name is in it. You could maybe it give it back to her? Be the hero an' all. Maybe win some brownie points."

The Walker's smile, thin as it was, vanishes. He holds a hand out for the PDA, frowning. "Where did you find this?"

Konstantin clears his throat. "I, uh, just happened to acquire it the other day. She drives a black Acura Legend. Snappy dresser, older woman. Uses a cane. Looked filthy rich. Maybe a laywer or a politician?"

Salem's eyes narrow. "A cane with a silver head?"

"Uhm." At this point, Konstantin /does/ look nervous. "Yes."

Salem turns the PDA over in his hands. "She's a cousin of mine," he says blandly. "And yes, she _is_ a lawyer. I'll return this to her at first opportunity."

"Ah. In /that/ case, you might want to give her this too..." He produces a fancy late model cell phone. "I haven't sold any of the PIN numbers off it yet." He grins sheepishly. "Sorry. I won't do it again."

Salem snorts as he accepts and pockets the cellphone as well. "You weren't to know she was kin. I'll let it slide this time." Picking his glass up again, he says, "One more thing, for tonight in any case. Your number or some other way to contact you, if need arises."

He grins faintly. "What? No bat signal on the roof?" Konstantin writes down a phone number on the same notepad by the phone. "That's my nana's number. If she answers, just tell her it was a wrong number. She probably won't remember to give me a message anyway. I don't have a cell phone... yet."

Salem glances at the number, then tears off the page and makes it disappear. "They're pervasive, these days. But useful." He takes another swallow of water. "Good. We'll see what you can dig up, Konstantin. Do you have any questions?"

Konstantin gestures toward the now vanished PDA. "Not really, sir. But I know how to reach you, when I do," he smirks.

Salem gives another of his thin smiles and walks toward the door, undoing the latch. "Indeed. Allow me to walk you out."

The Kingston Arms is, Konstantin has surely noticed, not the most upscale of apartment buildings, though it's still a step up from a tenement or a complete dump.