((Ritual Disclaimer for the Wicked: In this particular blog you will find mature language, sexual content and general lines of thought that can be considered disturbing. You have been warned. … Ok, probably not THAT bad.))

Poor Coraline is back amongst the unliving. Thanks to Alena the cost was very high! The woman was frightened to do this, almost senseless. Still. I can’t help but wonder why Alena’s blood would wake her, not mine. Maybe I just didn’t use enough. Maybe it was because Alena coaxed her mentally. Whatever. Akada now has tasted my blood twice. Which is very fortunate for your’s truly. Should be much easier to keep her in check this way.

What bothers me is this: When we woke her she had to drink of my blood, as I said. Only this time she was conscious. Drinking willingly. Biting for the blood. I haven’t felt that particular elation ever since my embrace… Were we snakes I would put this down with the effects of some neurotoxin that gets injected through the fangs. But we’re not snakes and don’t have sparking neurons. The feeling though is real enough. It cost a lot of will to even pull away. Part of me wanted her just to go on, to keep drinking. While the other part was fighting for his raw survival. I have never before felt so torn… And once it was over I felt strangely empty. Still feel that. Hell, I spent hours the following nights, getting down on Dee and vice versa. Yet, even the most perfectly blood-triggered orgasm can’t quite compare to this. I have absolutely no recollection of how many sheets we ruined those nights. Frankly I don’t care either. But whenever she came away from me, partly smeared with blood from my fake sweat I kept feeling so fucking frustrated! And no matter how hard she tries, there’s just no way to compare. Fuck!

So… Here’s me, all worked up and not able to let it out because we have no use for that stuff right now. Why you ask? I’ll let you in on last night. You’ll get the picture.

The first thing I see when I step out that car is Mascha SINGING to Thomas, who seems to be in bad shape. Seeing as her singing seems to have some effect I leave them alone. Might have been a Nosferatu thing for all I know.

Upstairs I’m greeted by Alena, who lets me in on the fact that somebody made one of those Gaunerzinken on her house wall. Turns out that it’s actually one of Bruni’s havens (have to ask him about how he took Petricz’s appology). Not that she told me this, though she should have. But I guess it makes sense, seeing as she’s kind of like his ward, I guess. Anyway. The sign, if I translated it right, means “hands off – dangerous”. Which is good, because whoever scribbled it obviously knows better than to touch her. … Or he’s using a different code and my translations aren’t worth jack. So Alena goes on and tells the already present prince about this, who, naturally, tells us to investigate. Bleh.

Soon after Jason enters the stage. Which was very pleasing. Ok, so getting slapped by the prince probably wasn’t. But I’ve been told it’s a sign of affection with her. Basically I should feel bad for not having been slapped just yet. Jason, for his part, did a good job as keeper – and the lady knows it. I myself didn’t get to talk to him as much as I would have liked to. Which sucks big time. It’s hard to tell to guess what someone’s thinking when you’re barely talking to him. Then again that party sort of compensated for that. Hope he’s not angry for what happened to Wartenburg… More on that further down.

I should probably explain what happened with her. Sparkle and Richards approached me, saying that they needed my services as bait. Not saying exactly what they were about to do, though it was pretty obvious. Knowing those two they would have done what they had in mind anyway. On the other hand Thomas and Jason are somewhat close to Wartenburg. So this wasn’t a good situation to be in. The only thing I could do was get some profit out of it. So I agreed to take a walk with her. Phillips was supposed to grab her when I was already gone again. Naturally the idiot didn’t stick to the plan, instead attacking her while I was still around, blowing my cover and almost breaching the masquerade. Twice. This guy owes me big time. VERY big time. And Sparkle? Got all protective over her little pet. Of course she would.

Now, Wartenburg may be clever enough to figure out that I did what I had to do. There’s no knowing to it. Once she’s back I’ll talk to her about the matter. Shouldn’t take too long. Sparkle gave her word. She’d better stick to it. Mercenary like her? Well… It’d suck if she couldn’t close deals anymore, wouldn’t it. Problem with her being that she thinks herself smarter than she actually is. No reason to tell her though. Not now at least.

I told Jason as much of the truth as I could that night. Thomas? Had to keep him in the dark a bit. At least for the evening. I’ll let him in on it later this night, if Mascha hasn’t done so already. Explain to them. If they don’t understand I’m pretty screwed. Strange how you can grow attached to people.

Thomas had another nightmare. He promised to forward his memory of it to me. Hope that he will. He suffered severely last night. I wish I could have done more than remind him of his chief virtue. Fortunately Brückner was good enough to let me stay with him when she first talked to him. I’m pretty sure she did something with his mind. Don’t think it was a bad thing though. It’s not in her to be cruel without justification or purpose. Not with someone who’s trying to be loyal to her, fighting an uphill battle.

He wasn’t the only one feeling haunted though. Friar Jean told me about a curse that he thinks was put on his particular bloodline. I’m thinking self-fulfilling prophecy. Doesn’t matter though. To him it’s real enough. Sadly the only way to get past your fears is to face them. He probably knows that, deep down. But knowing something and actually doing it are two types of tea entirely.

… And then there still is that remote feeling of having Alena leaning against my shoulder, scared of what lay ahead of her. She was shaking when she told me what to do, should anything happen to her. It’s almost sweet to watch her try stay on top of things. Once again a fight she can’t possibly win, no matter how hard she tries. She’s going to lose sone of those wars. Except for Dee I have never held a woman as fragile as her in my arms. Part of me wishes I could read her mind as she can read mine, if she dared. I wonder what she thinks about me right now. Sure, I can do some educated guessing. But really, that’s only half the fun of actually knowing someone’s thoughts.

Speaking of thoughts… Had a long talk with Mascha on my way home last night. She pointed out Styx’s dislike towards Freienfels. On which I should congratulate him. So I have a gift to offer to him. Though it may not be much my guess is he’ll enjoy seeing Freienfels run in terror. Heh. Sick little bastard.

And then there was Simon. Wanted to talk to me. Jason was adorably worried when I disappeared into a room with Simon, Doc Mertens and that Sam chick. Turns out he eavesdropped on Thomas and me when we were walking. Bastard! If you want to know what I think about you, ask me! Why? Because I’m very likely to let you know! For some odd reason nobody whacked me over the head yet whenever I did that. So why stop, hm? I write news articles all the time. My chief art is satirically making fun of other people. It’s what I do. If I get smacked for that it’s fine. It’s part of the job description. I am not scared of your wrath. Still. Talked to him. Told him what I think about him. That sometimes he is being an idiot. Most of the time he tries to be clever. Only he has a bad habbit of putting his money down on the wrong horses. Which is something my clan is much better at. I should probably offer my help.

However, we do have a common enemy. Not sure if she considers herself an enemy. Buuut… Sanders is way too arrogant for her station. And she threatened me. Sure, I put the reason for her doing so to rest. Never the fact that she did though. I’m not that much of an altruist. As for Simon? He’s also got his eyes set on Sparkle. And with her he might have bitten off more than he can swallow. I tried to point that out to him. He’ll send me a list with all her failings now. Once he did, I may reconsider helping him or not. I’ll have to talk to Jason whether those two are on better terms now or not.

Lessons with Mertens. This is going to be fun, big time. He’s not the only doc around anymore. Doctor Euler is backup for team Tremere. Hopefully he’s worth his blood, unlike the rest around here.

Got a pretty full schedule these days. Still need to write to Alessandro and Rafael. The one being a promise, the other… Hm. Business relationship is not enough. Friendship is too much. Mutual interest perhaps. Something of the sort.

An manche Dinge gewöhnte man sich nie, egal wie alt man wurde. Das jedenfalls war Gregorys Lektion aus seinem ungewöhnlich langen Leben als er im Türrahmen des Schlafzimmers stand und zu seinem Herrn sah.
Lord Nathaniel Elyot lag da, wie er es Tag für Tag seit Jahrzehnten tat. Regungslos, atemlos, leblos. Das blasse Gesicht ohne jede Bewegung. Kein Heben und Senken des Brustkorbs. Kein gesundes rot auf den Wangen oder Lippen. Das Auge geschlossen, wie man es bei Toten so oder so immer getan hätte. Neben ihm die Decke leicht zerwühlt an der Stelle, an der seine Gefährtin den halben Vormittag bei ihm gelegen hatte bis sie sich wieder an ihre Arbeit hatte machen müssen.
Für Gregory fühlte es sich an, als müsse man den Knaben von damals jeden Morgen neu sterben sehen. Er kannte den Jungen seitdem dieser das Laufen erlernt hatte. Wörtlich jeden Schritt seines Lebens hatte er ihn begleitet, egal wohin. Stets war er im Hintergrund geblieben, stets unauffällig. Aber immer da, wenn sein Herr ihn brauchte. War man ehrlich brauchte dieser ihn für eigentlich fast alles. Umgedreht war es wohl nicht besser. Hätte man Lord Elyot aus seinem Leben gestrichen, wäre es leer gewesen seit er 25 war.
Und jetzt? Jetzt hatte er selbst die 80 längst überschritten, war fast 90, wirkte aber kaum älter als 40. Sein Herr wiederum starb – Himmel, es war lange her – er musste etwa 30 gewesen sein. Und auch dieses Alter war nun für alle Zeit angehalten worden.
Gregory sah einen Mann liegen. Einen unsteten Geist. Einen Abenteurer. Einen verwöhnten, arroganten Sohn eines englischen Lords. Einen Genießer. Einen, der sich selten Gedanken über die Konsequenzen seines Handelns machte. Dennoch aber auch ein Mann, der sich endlos um seine Gefährtin und eben ihn, Gregory, zu sorgen schien. Auf seine eigene, inzwischen längst kranke Art.
Und er sah einen kleinen Jungen, der weinend an Gregorys Brust gedrückt auf den Arzt wartete, den man gerufen hatte als dem Jungen im wörtlichen Sinne das letzte Experiment um die Ohren – genauer, die Augen – flog. Ein Kind, dass sich regelmäßig die Zunge an heißer Schokolade verbrannte, weil er es nicht erwarten konnte davon zu trinken. Ein Junge, der aus dem Stegreif die verschiedenen Wellenlängen des Lichts in einem Regenbogen aufsagen konnte, sich aber gleichzeitig maßlos an dessen Schönheit erfreute. Ein Teenager, der sich seiner ersten Eroberung brüstete und sich zeitgleich bei einem seiner ersten Rasierversuche mit dem Rasiermesser schnitt.
Bis die Sonne unterging und das Auge sich öffnete, als habe der Mann eben nur geblinzelt. “Good evening, Sir. I trust you had a good day’s rest. Is there anything you require?” So viele Jahre…