The streets of Moscow were empty, deserted, especially on nights like
this. Nights charged with the scent of lightning about to strike. In the
city of nightmares, it was dangerous to walk the streets at night. This was
the city where Remus walked.
The still air was thick with promises, promises of excitement and danger, blood and power. Such promises were a dime a dozen, but they persisted nonetheless. Promises that tried to wrap him in their dark embrace, secret him away to the shadows. I don't belong here, Remus had to keep reminding himself. I am not like them, he thought to himself, even as he walked towards his objective of the evening. Though he had been in Moscow for a month, this was the first place he had actually been optomistic enough to hope would have the answers he sought.
He was there. A grimy, beat-up little nightclub, with rock music faintly audible from the street. The sign said 'Midnight Moonlight Music' in neon, and in English. Much of the Russia used English in addition to Russian, thank the gods. Midnight Moonlight Music. A revealing name, if one knew what to look for. The place he was looking for. The answers he was looking for. Remus opened the door.
The music became infinitely louder. He had to fight the urge to cover his ears; every sensation is amplified in werewolves, a danger-alertion mechanic that made normal life difficult. The club's patrons looked like ordinary riff-raff, the usual druggies and headbangers that these places attracted, but Remus knew better. These were no ordinary flotsam and jetsam. These were vampires, werewolves, an odd hag or two, and the dark arts-focusing witches and wizards. These were the people you didn't want to meet in an alley somewhere.
This was the underworld. The location for the fairy-tales of muggles that the ordinary witches and wizards did not consider polite company. And the underworld's most popular resort location was Moscow. That was why Remus was here. The first hint of a cure, and the Russians would be the ones who knew.
Remus had tried his hardest to look like he belonged, avoid trouble. He wore black trenchcoat, over an all black outfit, and pulled his brown hair into a short ponytail. He didn't seem too vulnerable, but at the same time, he was not especially tough looking.
Remus also wore dark sunglasses. He had to. Before he crossed the threshold, Remus had known exactly what he would see in the eyes of every person inside the club: eyes hardened by years, decades, sometimes centuries of witnessing atrocious crimes, participating in those same slaughters. Remus had not yet lost the innocent look in his eyes, hoped he never would, but feared looking in the mirror more and more with each passing day. Remus prayed that he would die before he saw that look in his eyes. When he saw that look, it meant that he had lost, that the monster within had triumphed at last.
Stop the reverie, Remus thought. Focus. He scanned the room. There. At a corner booth. It was him, his contact. Remus walked up quietly, much to quietly for a normal human, though with the music blaring no one would notice that. "Hello, Vasily," Remus said, sliding into the opposite seat.
"Hello, Remus, my good friend," Vasily replied, his voice a deep and rich timber. Vasily was taller than Remus by far, nearly seven feet tall, but almost as thin. His black hair was pulled back in Samurai fashion, wrapped in cord and protrudig from the back of his head. He was as pale as death and his dark eyes gleamed like a rabid animal's. He flashed Remus a cold smile, one that revealed his two long, gleaming incisors.
"How can you talk with those bared? Put them away," Remus said impatiently. "I have no time for your antics, is the person we discussed here?"
Vasily growled, a deep base rumble. Remus just snarled in response, a sound several pitches deeper than Vasily's. The vampire just stared at Remus maliciously for a moment, and then laughed heartily. "Yes, she's here."
"She?" Remus was dumbfounded, though he hid it quickly. He knew EXACTLY what Vasily thought women were good for, and using them for information was not part of it.
"Yes, she," Vasily replied, waving his hand impatiently at Remus. "She'll be here any minute now." Suddenly, he looked up, smiled again, baring his fangs much more broadly this time. "Why, here she is now! Remus Lupin, may I present Jarsali Scott."
Remus turned, was taken aback by what he saw. The woman before him was short, not even five feet tall, but broader than Remus, with limbs twice as thick. She had thick, straight black hair cut to her earlobes, golden eyes, and a swarthy complexion. She wore a brown hooded robe, simple and with a homespun appearance. She quickly grabbed Remus's hand, shook it senseless. In a voice that was somehow much too gravelly, too boisterous to possibly come from her short body, she said. "Nice to meet you, Remus."
Remus caught himself with his guard down, thinking that Jarsali seemed friendly enough. He couldn't afford to make such a stupid mistake. Gods knew what they had up their sleeves. "Same to you. So, what brings you to this fine establishment?"
Jarsali laughed as she pulled up a chair and sat on the edge of the table. "Oh, the usual Durmstrang education, followed by a rather unfortunate bite... but I suppose it happens to the best of us, with you being case in point. You seem much too NICE to ever wind up in Moscow. You don't belong here. So, what brought you?"
"The rumors," Remus said shortly. "Why else would anyone come to Moscow?"
Jarsali twirled a thick strand of hair. "The vodka?" They all laughed. "Speaking of," she said, then gave an ear-piercing whistle that nearly shattered both of Remus's eardrums. "Waiter? I want a bottle of vodka for this table."
"And a glass of water, Remus added. He did not trust Vasily enough to get drunk in his presense, and he knew nothing about Jarsali, not yet. If she was going to get drunk, maybe he'd learn something.
"And a glass of your finest champagne for myself," Vasily said with a soft chuckle. Remus shook his head, disgusted. In muggle establishments, asking for their finest champagne usually entailed a more female, less clothed, form of entertainment. In the underground, it meant asking for blood in a glass.
"I'll have to go FETCH some more champagne then," the waiter, a sleazy little Russian vampire wearing a dirty apron, said with a grin. His meaning was clear. Gods, how he hated these places! No matter, Remus thought quietly, he had to be here, now, to get what he wanted.
After about fifteen minutes, the waiter returned, a few new reddish- brown stains on his clothes. Oh gods, don't think about it, Remus thought. Don't think about it.
"So, Jarsali," Remus said, after everyone had had a few gulps of their chosen beverage, "have you heard the rumors?"
"Rumors?" she asked, feigning innocence.
Remus sighed impatiently. "Yes, rumors. About a cure."
"Oh, THOSE rumors!" she said, giving a tittery, high-pitched laugh that grated on his eardrums. "Of course. I haven't heard much, obviously. Those working on cures have to keep hidden, you know. It wouldn't do at all if there were no 'wolves anymore, would it, Vasily?"
The tall vampire just laughed with a glint in his dark eyes. "No, it wouldn't do at all."
"I thought you said you could help me," Remus said coolly, trying to pretend he hadn't guessed that they were about to do him in. Think, Moony, think! Just be ready.
Vasily smiled again. "Of course we can help you. It is much too loud in here to really talk, isn't it? Perhaps if we met outside..."
"You know the deal, Vasily. We meet here, now, or not at all." Remus started to stand up, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand. The other hand went unobtrusively to where his wand was hidden.
Jarsali grabbed his hand. "No, don't go!" she hissed. This woman was much stronger than Remus had expected, and she yanked him back with minimal effort. "STAY, let's finish our drinks, and we can TALK." Jarsali's emphasis made her desire clear.
"Let the boy go, Sal, he's not worth it," Vasily whispered. Loud as the music was, Remus could still read the vampire's lips clearly. "I could pick him up later."
"Don't, Vas," Jarsali replied coldly. "Just hang around."
Remus decided. He would stay, for now at least. He coolly sat back down, asking Jarsali again, "What have you heard?"
"I don't know much," Jarsali admitted gruffly. "All I have is a name. Geiger. I've worked for him before. In a place like this, people like me wind up working for everyone in the business eventually," she said. Remus didn't have to ask what line of work Jarsali was in. She was a cutthroat, an informant, and an assassin. Typical 'wolf. She continued, "but I have never met him. According to the rumor mill, he's been working on a cure for years, but nothing so far, at least not that he's bragged about. But when there's a cure, if there's a cure, he'd know before anyone."
"How do I contact him?" Remus tried to sound casual, wasn't sure it was working. He had a lead, the first in a week and a half! How could he NOT be excited?
Jarsali took a swig of her vodka, then rested her chin on her hand. "Hmm, not an easy question. Ask around long enough, and either he'll find you, or we'll find your corpse. Meet us here, same time next week, if you haven't heard from him."
Remus nodded, rose. Tweaking his sunglasses to fully hide his naive grey eyes, he got up from his seat and walked to the door, his back to his drinking partners. Pushing it open, his eyes were met by dim streetlamps, too few and far between to do anything but accentuate the shadows.
There was a noise behind him. Footsteps. He was being trailed closely by someone nearly as stealthy. Remus whirled, punched his stalker hard on the face. Vasily fell hard onto his back.
"I won't be as generous next time," Remus whispered, again turning his back on the vampire as he casually strolled into the night, into the shadows. They called to him yet again, but Remus ignored their plaintive murmurs. Instead, he stared up at the stars as he hid between street lamps, eventually vanishing all together on the forlorn and silent street.
The still air was thick with promises, promises of excitement and danger, blood and power. Such promises were a dime a dozen, but they persisted nonetheless. Promises that tried to wrap him in their dark embrace, secret him away to the shadows. I don't belong here, Remus had to keep reminding himself. I am not like them, he thought to himself, even as he walked towards his objective of the evening. Though he had been in Moscow for a month, this was the first place he had actually been optomistic enough to hope would have the answers he sought.
He was there. A grimy, beat-up little nightclub, with rock music faintly audible from the street. The sign said 'Midnight Moonlight Music' in neon, and in English. Much of the Russia used English in addition to Russian, thank the gods. Midnight Moonlight Music. A revealing name, if one knew what to look for. The place he was looking for. The answers he was looking for. Remus opened the door.
The music became infinitely louder. He had to fight the urge to cover his ears; every sensation is amplified in werewolves, a danger-alertion mechanic that made normal life difficult. The club's patrons looked like ordinary riff-raff, the usual druggies and headbangers that these places attracted, but Remus knew better. These were no ordinary flotsam and jetsam. These were vampires, werewolves, an odd hag or two, and the dark arts-focusing witches and wizards. These were the people you didn't want to meet in an alley somewhere.
This was the underworld. The location for the fairy-tales of muggles that the ordinary witches and wizards did not consider polite company. And the underworld's most popular resort location was Moscow. That was why Remus was here. The first hint of a cure, and the Russians would be the ones who knew.
Remus had tried his hardest to look like he belonged, avoid trouble. He wore black trenchcoat, over an all black outfit, and pulled his brown hair into a short ponytail. He didn't seem too vulnerable, but at the same time, he was not especially tough looking.
Remus also wore dark sunglasses. He had to. Before he crossed the threshold, Remus had known exactly what he would see in the eyes of every person inside the club: eyes hardened by years, decades, sometimes centuries of witnessing atrocious crimes, participating in those same slaughters. Remus had not yet lost the innocent look in his eyes, hoped he never would, but feared looking in the mirror more and more with each passing day. Remus prayed that he would die before he saw that look in his eyes. When he saw that look, it meant that he had lost, that the monster within had triumphed at last.
Stop the reverie, Remus thought. Focus. He scanned the room. There. At a corner booth. It was him, his contact. Remus walked up quietly, much to quietly for a normal human, though with the music blaring no one would notice that. "Hello, Vasily," Remus said, sliding into the opposite seat.
"Hello, Remus, my good friend," Vasily replied, his voice a deep and rich timber. Vasily was taller than Remus by far, nearly seven feet tall, but almost as thin. His black hair was pulled back in Samurai fashion, wrapped in cord and protrudig from the back of his head. He was as pale as death and his dark eyes gleamed like a rabid animal's. He flashed Remus a cold smile, one that revealed his two long, gleaming incisors.
"How can you talk with those bared? Put them away," Remus said impatiently. "I have no time for your antics, is the person we discussed here?"
Vasily growled, a deep base rumble. Remus just snarled in response, a sound several pitches deeper than Vasily's. The vampire just stared at Remus maliciously for a moment, and then laughed heartily. "Yes, she's here."
"She?" Remus was dumbfounded, though he hid it quickly. He knew EXACTLY what Vasily thought women were good for, and using them for information was not part of it.
"Yes, she," Vasily replied, waving his hand impatiently at Remus. "She'll be here any minute now." Suddenly, he looked up, smiled again, baring his fangs much more broadly this time. "Why, here she is now! Remus Lupin, may I present Jarsali Scott."
Remus turned, was taken aback by what he saw. The woman before him was short, not even five feet tall, but broader than Remus, with limbs twice as thick. She had thick, straight black hair cut to her earlobes, golden eyes, and a swarthy complexion. She wore a brown hooded robe, simple and with a homespun appearance. She quickly grabbed Remus's hand, shook it senseless. In a voice that was somehow much too gravelly, too boisterous to possibly come from her short body, she said. "Nice to meet you, Remus."
Remus caught himself with his guard down, thinking that Jarsali seemed friendly enough. He couldn't afford to make such a stupid mistake. Gods knew what they had up their sleeves. "Same to you. So, what brings you to this fine establishment?"
Jarsali laughed as she pulled up a chair and sat on the edge of the table. "Oh, the usual Durmstrang education, followed by a rather unfortunate bite... but I suppose it happens to the best of us, with you being case in point. You seem much too NICE to ever wind up in Moscow. You don't belong here. So, what brought you?"
"The rumors," Remus said shortly. "Why else would anyone come to Moscow?"
Jarsali twirled a thick strand of hair. "The vodka?" They all laughed. "Speaking of," she said, then gave an ear-piercing whistle that nearly shattered both of Remus's eardrums. "Waiter? I want a bottle of vodka for this table."
"And a glass of water, Remus added. He did not trust Vasily enough to get drunk in his presense, and he knew nothing about Jarsali, not yet. If she was going to get drunk, maybe he'd learn something.
"And a glass of your finest champagne for myself," Vasily said with a soft chuckle. Remus shook his head, disgusted. In muggle establishments, asking for their finest champagne usually entailed a more female, less clothed, form of entertainment. In the underground, it meant asking for blood in a glass.
"I'll have to go FETCH some more champagne then," the waiter, a sleazy little Russian vampire wearing a dirty apron, said with a grin. His meaning was clear. Gods, how he hated these places! No matter, Remus thought quietly, he had to be here, now, to get what he wanted.
After about fifteen minutes, the waiter returned, a few new reddish- brown stains on his clothes. Oh gods, don't think about it, Remus thought. Don't think about it.
"So, Jarsali," Remus said, after everyone had had a few gulps of their chosen beverage, "have you heard the rumors?"
"Rumors?" she asked, feigning innocence.
Remus sighed impatiently. "Yes, rumors. About a cure."
"Oh, THOSE rumors!" she said, giving a tittery, high-pitched laugh that grated on his eardrums. "Of course. I haven't heard much, obviously. Those working on cures have to keep hidden, you know. It wouldn't do at all if there were no 'wolves anymore, would it, Vasily?"
The tall vampire just laughed with a glint in his dark eyes. "No, it wouldn't do at all."
"I thought you said you could help me," Remus said coolly, trying to pretend he hadn't guessed that they were about to do him in. Think, Moony, think! Just be ready.
Vasily smiled again. "Of course we can help you. It is much too loud in here to really talk, isn't it? Perhaps if we met outside..."
"You know the deal, Vasily. We meet here, now, or not at all." Remus started to stand up, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand. The other hand went unobtrusively to where his wand was hidden.
Jarsali grabbed his hand. "No, don't go!" she hissed. This woman was much stronger than Remus had expected, and she yanked him back with minimal effort. "STAY, let's finish our drinks, and we can TALK." Jarsali's emphasis made her desire clear.
"Let the boy go, Sal, he's not worth it," Vasily whispered. Loud as the music was, Remus could still read the vampire's lips clearly. "I could pick him up later."
"Don't, Vas," Jarsali replied coldly. "Just hang around."
Remus decided. He would stay, for now at least. He coolly sat back down, asking Jarsali again, "What have you heard?"
"I don't know much," Jarsali admitted gruffly. "All I have is a name. Geiger. I've worked for him before. In a place like this, people like me wind up working for everyone in the business eventually," she said. Remus didn't have to ask what line of work Jarsali was in. She was a cutthroat, an informant, and an assassin. Typical 'wolf. She continued, "but I have never met him. According to the rumor mill, he's been working on a cure for years, but nothing so far, at least not that he's bragged about. But when there's a cure, if there's a cure, he'd know before anyone."
"How do I contact him?" Remus tried to sound casual, wasn't sure it was working. He had a lead, the first in a week and a half! How could he NOT be excited?
Jarsali took a swig of her vodka, then rested her chin on her hand. "Hmm, not an easy question. Ask around long enough, and either he'll find you, or we'll find your corpse. Meet us here, same time next week, if you haven't heard from him."
Remus nodded, rose. Tweaking his sunglasses to fully hide his naive grey eyes, he got up from his seat and walked to the door, his back to his drinking partners. Pushing it open, his eyes were met by dim streetlamps, too few and far between to do anything but accentuate the shadows.
There was a noise behind him. Footsteps. He was being trailed closely by someone nearly as stealthy. Remus whirled, punched his stalker hard on the face. Vasily fell hard onto his back.
"I won't be as generous next time," Remus whispered, again turning his back on the vampire as he casually strolled into the night, into the shadows. They called to him yet again, but Remus ignored their plaintive murmurs. Instead, he stared up at the stars as he hid between street lamps, eventually vanishing all together on the forlorn and silent street.