Worst night ever. And this one is promising not to be any better at all. Swell.

It’s become obvious: I can no longer save Thomas. I did what I could, tried to give him my best advice. But alas, he would not listen. He made a cheap show of throwing von Wartenburg this way or that. But there are only few dumb enough to believe it. Naturally I tried to stop him, but he pushed me away, which basically sealed his fate. People aren’t so easily fooled. Everything else is most likely just a matter of time now… I am very sorry it came to this. And I feel I have failed him. Being the genius that I am I should have been able to prevent this. Yet I didn’t. So either I didn’t want it badly enough – or I’m not as clever as I like to think.

And who cost him his head? Right. Von Wartenburg. I don’t know whether she was unaware of that or not. I warned her as well. Jason gave her fair advice on how to deal with me. Yet she stuck to her pride. What worth would that have when you’re dead? She might be very close to find out. One way or the other, I’ll be glad when she’s gone. Her chances of survival are going down, night by night.

She’s not the only one I’m having a hard time with though. Last week I told Simon about what he did wrong. Again this week. But instead of considering the real fault in his actions he picks a fight with Thomas over the time at which Phelan had been appointed leader of the whole thing. Doesn’t matter really. The outcome does. And people screwed up. Later on he finds out that there’s been a breach of the Masquerade. And THEN things start being important to him. As if before all of this would have been small tidbits nobody really cares about. Newsflash: We do. And while all of this is my fault as well for having allowed you to take the reigns, Simon, at least I don’t flatter myself about not having screwed up all that much. Difference being: I did what I could to solve the problem. And what, except for bitching and moaning yet again, did you do?

So we’re past the introductions, I start to mingle with the crowd. Enter: The infernal couple. I know, I have one of Lehndorff-Bruni’s horses in my stables. Still I can’t shake off the feeling that this woman can’t stand me. Later that night we got into a fight about etiquette. I started on a certain point, and while I do see the validity of what she said I simply think that you need to walk a few steps in order to get there. And I for one am not done walking just yet. Obviously she and her husband have a different stance on that.

… Which means that later tonight I will have to meet him. He was angry when he left last night. People walk out on me too much as of late. One says it’s because he agreed with what I had to say. The other because of the very opposite. Why, people, can’t you just speak up? Anyway. I’m pretty sure he won’t have my head over this. Otherwise he would have ripped me apart in public. Or have his wife do it for him. So whatever this is about, I’ll get through it somehow.

The prince did the strangest thing last night. She managed to lure me downstairs to the garage, only to shake hands and bid me good night. What the fuck. She never did that before! So while others might find that flattering, I find it alarming. Either she’s trying to let me know that she values my efforts. Or… Well, or doesn’t really matter much. All I can do is do my work the best I can. And that’s what I’ll do.

Meanwhile Jason once more is in trouble with Coraline. I’m inclined to remove my protection from her. In fact, I actually have a plan. Now let’s see how she’ll swallow that once I’ve suggested it to Jason. Who is, in turn, trying his best to be useful. The prince let him in on the little secret that he might be raised into a position of power himself some time soon. All the more reason to put in some effort. Me? I’d be glad. At least he knows his job well and, for now, follows my lead when it’s necessary. He might not always like it – but he does it. Eventually that’s all that counts. And he doesn’t seem to hold it against me that I can pull rank over him. God bless his soul.

Senators… We need to pull off a certain type of show. We need to instil confidence in others. And we won’t be able to accomplish that when we’re pacing through the main room, snorting and growling. Nor will we manage when we sit in a corner, quietly pondering with ourselves on how this evening was the worst we ever had – to which I utterly agree, by the way. What we must do is walk out there and take it with the best smile we can offer. Everything else would be weakness. And lord knows, are the others out for blood, should be appear to weak. Yes, deception can be of use. But it can be overdone just as well. It’s a seasning best used in small quantitites.

As for Jean… I feel the greatest sympathy for him. The thing being: I can’t do jack to make this any easier for him. If I am to believe in what he says he likes a certain aspect of me that just so happens to cut him to the bone over and over again. And while I don’t want to hurt him I feel that I should respect his opinion in that. Therefore I happily go ahead, cutting and talking. No clue what he’s getting out of that. I just hope that it won’t break him. And I fear I know better…

Der Butler hatte die Tür geöffnet. Und als Nathaniel Thomas stehen sah, wusste er, dass es eigentlich schon zu spät war um zu verhindern, was er in dieser Nacht am meisten gefürchtet hatte. In einem Sekundenbruchteil entschied er sich zu rennen. Er musste sie erreichen, bevor es der andere tat. Der, den man nicht gesehen hatte als Thomas einfach nur dastand.
Noch rennend konnte Nathaniel die Schritte des Nosferatu hinter sich hören. Sie beide rannten in Richtung Wohnzimmer. Dee würde dort sein. Dee würde…
Er riss die Tür auf. Und tatsächlich. Dee saß auf dem Sofa, erhob sich als sie ihn sah. Sie lächelte ein entschuldigendes, äußerst schuldbewusstes und zerbrechliches Lächeln. “I’m sorry, Natey… I know, I shouldn’t have done that…”
“Run, Dee! Run!”, rief er ihr entgegen. Doch sie sah ihn nur verständnislos an.
Endlich hatte auch der Nosferatu das Wohnzimmer erreicht. Seine Arme legten sich von hinten um den Toreador, hielten ihn fest. “Killing Jean, during the day no less… Nate, you’re lucky it’s only her. You know this, Wisdom. You do.”
Verzweifelt versuchte er sich aus der unfreiwilligen Umarmung zu lösen. Doch der Nosferatu war stärker. War schon immer stärker gewesen. “No! Please, you can’t do this!” Sein Auge suchte den Raum ab, verstärkt durch die Gabe seines Blutes. Doch da war nichts. Gar nichts. Jason war besser, das wusste er. Realisieren, dass zu kämpfen ihm nicht weiterhelfen würde, hörte er auf sich gegen Thomas’ Schraubstockumarmung zu wehren. “Brother, please… Don’t do this.”, flehte er in die täuschende Leere des Raumes.
Ein Augenblinzeln später stand Jason hinter Dee, seine Waffe auf die junge Frau gerichtet. Der Anblick genügte um neuen Widerstand zu entfachen. Erneut kämpfte Nathaniel gegen die Arme an, die ihn hielten. “I’m sorry, Senator. Princely order. This has to be.”
Drei Schüsse hallten von den Wänden wieder. Professionell. Zwei auf das Herz, einer auf den Kopf abgegeben. Sie verfehlten nicht. Dee brach von jetzt auf gleich zusammen. Mit ihrem Leben wich die Kraft aus ihrem Herrn, ihrem Liebhaber, ihrem – …
Nur entfernt nahm Nathaniel Feuchtigkeit auf seinen Wangen wahr, war sich nur am Rande darüber bewusst, dass es rote Tränen sein mussten. Der Boden kam ihm entgegen, bis seine Knie den kurzen Fall auffingen. Ganz fallen konnte er nicht, denn Thomas hielt ihn wohl noch bei den Schultern. Sein Blick ging stur geradeaus zu der Frau am Boden.
Jasons Schritte klangen schwerer. Möglicherweise. Wie sollte man sich da jetzt sicher sein? Er hielt kurz neben Nathaniel an, ging dann aber weiter. Ein weiteres Paar Füße näherte sich. Vertraute Schuhe. Jemand ging bei ihm in die Hocke. “Gentlemen… I think Senator Elyot requires some rest.” Gregory. Warum war er noch hier?
Zwei Paar gingen. Jason. Thomas. Das war leicht zu erhören. Gregory blieb, zog ihn an sich heran. Für einen Moment war er wieder sechs, damals, als ihm das Reagenzglas um die Ohren – das Auge – geflogen war. Für einen kurzen Moment hatte Gregs Umarmung alles besser gemacht. Bis die Erkenntnis vordrang, dass es diesmal nicht so sein würde, dass Greg diesmal nichts tun konnte um das einzige zurückzubringen, was er nie hatte verlieren wollen.
Dann: Schwärze.