He cants his head thoughtfully, deigning not to dwell too much on her first question and wondering how best to answer the second. He could tell her lots of things - who owns which borough, and that they aren't overly welcome in the one they happen to be standing in. He could tell her about the way London seems to attract vampires or the humans who get themselves killed because they call themselves 'hunters'. He could even tell her about the lovely little cafe down the road that does the best coffee he's had the pleasure of drinking, though Mab doesn't strike him as much of a coffee drinker. And she's better placed than him to know the chatterings amongst the fae.

He'll go about it the roundabout way. If she wants specifics she can ask for them, he decides. "Lines in the sand change and fashion moves on, but the humans themselves don't change overmuch, I'm sorry to say." He wrinkles his nose in distaste, but his sigh might almost be mistaken for fond, "they're always fighting for control, but they never keep it. Honestly it's like trying to keep track of which dog has marked which tree."