Ravensblood Forest drop me in the water; try to make me clean

 immediately the petit noir (though, perhaps 'petit' is a misnomer - he's sturdily built at the least) intrigues him. he has always had a soft spot for swarthy, short-spoken types. the answer itself is, perhaps, a let down, though a reasonable one. minding one's own business is a natural choice, but it could be a bore.

 he'll make do.

 constantine, the shade introdues himself as, and the scholar dips his head, a smirk on his lips. "samothes messeda," he returns with a flick of his tail. if constantine is one for quick business, samothes will follow suit. "how many are your numbers?" he asks, voice and expression taking on a decidedly calculating slant -- a dealmaker's face, not a trickster's.