Upon emerging from his new home, Oswald took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The times have changed and he was totally expecting to be flooded with an overwhelming amount of stimuli, so to brace himself, he wore those dark glasses Regan had given him. The hat was forgone, not more than a distant thought. Not his... Preferred style.
As he stepped out, Oswald looked around. He was at first surprised at how similar and different this LA was from London. The similarities? Streets, lamps, the ever present nightly miscreant. The differences? The architecture and the moving metal carriages were notable. The diversity was unexpected, race and gender moved together, even in these late nights, especially as he approached what looked like a social cluster.
Oswald went silent as he walked by it. The colors, lights and sounds were not something he wanted to interact with just yet. Luckily, the new world hadn't abandoned signs and roadmarks in the turn of the millennia, so as he walked, he had a sizable mental map drawing up of the neighborhood he and Regan lived within.
This LA, as Regan called it, was a sizable city, with perhaps millions of humans if there were this many thousands out at night.
Oswald stopped and turned back to the social center down, far from where he stood. The music was loud, the lights were bright, and the aroma of liquor and hot food filled the air, all due to his Auspex. Eye closed, his senses were still potent enough from there to know that place is quite lively.
Not something he wanted a part of yet. He turned again, and this time, as he faced forward, he heard something troubling.
A muffled cry. His frown deepened to a scowl and he turned, making a hasty step to the source.
A boarding house (if that was the name still) had it's front door ajar, and as Oswald approached, his brow furrowed around his dark glasses. The cries were quieting, and were joined with a strained series of grunts.
The door opened for him and he looked in. The artificial light was jarring, as was the abstract shapes of the inside, which he would later learn is just plaster over concrete, typical for a stairway. But confusion was not to prey upon him that evening, no.
Oswald stood in the doorway of a common boarding house and glared down at a developing crime.
Two men were entwined, one struggling against the other, the predator having his hand over his victim's mouth. Oswald saw the sweat and flush on the predator's face, and he saw the fear and panic in his victim's eyes. He was just in time to prevent something truly vile from happening.
His dark glasses came off and he glared down the hall at the men. His century's old accent shone through as he spoke, "Trust nothing uncouth's happening this eve, gents?"
"Fuck off." The attacker drew up some keys from his pocket and hastily stabbed at the door he was near.
Oswald tutted and put his glasses on a nearby surface, a table with a plant, and marched forward. As he did, his chest swelled under his shirt with the potent power of his stored vitae. His knuckles cracked and his eyes glared down at the man. "The name's Oswald, my good reprobate. I'm a son of God, and I walk in His light."
The key took and the door was kicked open. "I said fuck off, you Dr. Who prick. You don't have anything to do with this!"
Oswald already had a hand on the man before he and his prey could duck away into his hole. "Oh, but it is. It's God's will I was sent this way, heard your struggles and helped you." He blinked and smiled down at the pale prey in the predator's arms. "Do you think so?"
He slowly nodded, watching Oswald. It didn't take centuries of study and counseling to understand the relief in his eyes.
The other was not too happy, but Oswald expected nothing less. He tried to shrug Oswald off, but the kindred's powerful grip was nothing to be scoffed at. "Dude. You're hurting me. Seriously, this has nothing to do with you, this is just how I gotta get my boyfriend sometimes. He has a condition, schizophrenia, ever heard of it?" His shoulder shook in Oswald's hand, and the grip did not ease.
Oswald had heard of such a malady. Such a condition had to be treated mildly, calmly, and in some cases, with utmost care.
But Oswald was no fool, and this man was a liar. A good liar, but a liar.
"What triggers his moods? What's he experience? How often does it happen, how severe, seizures, do they happen? How long has he had shizophrenia? Diagnosed by a physician or a psychologist?"
The man blinked and shook his head. "W-what the fuck are you on about?"
This distraction was ideal. His would-be prey stomped the aggressor's foot, and in the grimacing flinch, ducked off and ran. That left Oswald and the man alone.
The man looked up at Oswald. There was only an inch difference in height, but the old immortal took a grin in the trepidation he saw in the man's eyes.
"Okay... He's gone now, so... So you can fuck off, right?"
Oswald shook his head and grinned wide as he raised a hand. The fingers fell down into a fist and that fist flew forward, almost hitting his gut. Instead of hitting, Oswald earned a shocked gasp.
He pulled away, releasing the mortal and turning, leaving him to his terror. "Walk carefully in these nights, coward." Oswald plucked up his dark glasses and leered through them at the insect. "Children of God walk these streets, understand?"
The coward didn't have a good response, so he huffed and retreated into his hole.
Oswald departed again, and only two steps out into the air, he was approached by the other.
He excitedly spoke, "Oh my god, thank you, thank you, who are you, like a cop or something?"
Oswald shook his head, raising a hand. "No, sir. Not a constable, just a citizen."
"Just a citizen, eh?" He looked over the arm that held the coward in place, and smiled at Oswald. "Thanks. I'm Clarence. Friends call me Clare, let me give you my number, and we can meet up again!"
"Number?"
"Do you have your phone?"
Oswald arched a brow and hummed a lie of ignorance, "It must be at home. I was only taking a short walk."
Clare tutted and brushed the air, and the awkwardness of the situation with it. "No prob, you seem like you have a good memory, so I can just tell you, kay? You ready?"
A number... Of some importance. Oswald nodded, and Clare told him ten numbers of seeming importance.
"Okay. I'm going... Back to work. Hungry?"
Oswald slowly nodded. "I do have particular tastes, but yes."
Clare chuckled and patted one of Oswald's big arms as they began to walk. "Well, tell me about these tastes, big guy, and I'll see what we can get. I'm a waiter at one of the bars downtown, I'll get something for you."
The Salubri took a silent moment to himself and pondered. This Clare may be a good member for his thin herd. Trusting, affable, owing. Not to see mortals as cattle, Oswald understood he'd have to find and befriend them to gain his feedings, especially with the hunger he had...