A whole night without Coraline. God knows how much I loved it, just for that. I’m pretty sure she’s not going to learn a thing from this. But, being the good person I am, I can still hope for the best, I suppose. Didn’t keep me from making a rather mean suggestion to Jason.

Sparkle graced us with her presence, for which I still want to rip her throat out. Before she got there she texted me, asking to come to the park at 21:30 – which I didn’t do, seeing as this is when we usually go through the motions of bidding people welcome for the night. So she shows up, misplaces the guest book, thinking that makes her a genius. Then she tells me that, obviously, I’m not a senator just yet because I didn’t postpone the greetings. Whereas I think she has to come to me instead of vice versa. Selfrighteous bitch, her. Pisses me off.

Of course Henri, highly skilled, intelligent, loyal Henri had to pick this night to deny obedience. Damn you, man! Couldn’t you just do a think because I ask it of you? For the show? Obviously the answer to that is no. Now all I can do is try to sort this out peacefully and hope that he sees the flaw in his action. If not either Jean or I will have to punish him, in public no less. I don’t like the thought of that much.

Next comes Harkon. Just as Jason stands there to say hi, Harkon sneaks in behind him, leaning there like he owned the place. So I walk up in front of him and tell him that that’s not very polite. And instead of showing some character he took it upon himself to point out that I am way younger than him and should grovel before him. Bullshit, yet again. Later on I talked to him, hoping to convince him of the wisdom of listening to my polite suggestion. Eventually he gave in. Shouldn’t be much of a problem anymore. Should that not be the case, however, I will have to start thinking up counter measures against him. I do remember what he did the first night he got here.

And then there’s Thomas and the never ending story of Wartenburg. Yeah, so I passed on the mails we exchanged. Upset her clan quite a bit. Oopsy. But I kept telling him that I would do everything to protect him. And she’s pulling him down with her. So this will hopefully put an end to it all. As for her? She received a flowery gift. Probably mistook the meaning. Still, very amusing to watch.

Good old Raphael was so upset he took half of his haven apart, including his precious ghoul. I feel sorry for the man. He thinks highly of his clan. Rightfully so. And then somebody drags the reputation of his precious blood down so much. Me? I’ve never heard of anyone being accepted back into the clan. I doubt they’ll start doing so now. Raphael after having lost control is a sight to behold…

Father Shepherd is… still an odd person. But I guess he’s good company, at least enough to do business with, for the moment. Raphael doesn’t seem pissed off at him, so that’s an indication. He has an interesting gift for summoning people… So should something happen…

Should somehting happen to Her we will have failed at our very first mission. She’s still gone and I wonder when she will return. In the dark hours of the night I find myself wondering whether she will return at all. But that is nothing more than fear speaking. I should be immune to it. Only, I’m not. Poetry… There must be something I can write for her. Something – anything. The moment my words should be important they elude me. I may be able to do what I have to, yet find myself incapable of doing what I really want to do.

What surprised me was Jason’s surprise at hearing that I did forward my letters to the clan of kings. Did he think I wouldn’t try something to really hurt her after what she did to our fellow sword? I thought he knew me well enough to realize that. His aura told me that some of this made him sad. Whether that is her possible loss or me telling the Ventrue anything can’t be said for sure. Still, he passes information on as much as he dares, though my guess is he’s still holding back one or two things. Probably to ensure he’s always got something up his sleeve. In spite of everything I know of him I still think of him as my brother. Not by virtue of shared blood by clan. Rather in some twisted way of being soulmates. Still, his very nature keeps me on my toes. I wonder whether he actually wants to trust anyone completely.

It’s odd, really. I have never had any problem with being close to another man. That is, mortal man. Neither when I was still alive nor now. So why would it trouble me in the slightest to actually care much about what Jean is thinking when he, without any good reason at all, rests his head upon my shoulder? In a room that people had access to all the time. Reason tells me I should have pushed him away. Instead I started stroking his hair. His understanding of love differs greatly from mine. And I know that this will end bad for him. Worse than it possibly could for me. So if this is bound to fail, why even try? Why give him a ride that will take him straight down to hell? One he doesn’t even enjoy much. One that means torture to him every step of the way. Still I feel I must make him see that sometimes the smallest flickers of passion, love – or whatever it is you take for it – is very much worth the effort.

“Just how exactly could this happen, Gregory?”
Während die beiden Männer vor der Tür diskutierten, sah man durch die Glasscheibe einen Jungen, vielleicht acht Jahre, mit einer noch viel zu groß wirkenden Augenklappe in einem Krankenhausbett liegen, während die Geräte um ihn herum artig vor sich hin piepten.
“Sir, he does tend to interprete things rather litterally, I am afraid to say.”
Ein dritter Mann trat zu ihnen, einfach als Arzt zu identifizieren. Der stereotype weiße Kittel war auch in diesem Krankenhaus Pflicht. “Lord Elyot.” Er nickte einem der beiden Männer grüßend zu und ignorierte den anderen einfach vollkommen. “I am pleased to inform you that your son is recovering remarkably well. The cut to his left wrist was deep, granted. However, he was brought to us soon enough.”
Der Angesprochene warf dem anderen dennoch einen strafenden Blick zu. Dies ebenfalls nicht beachtend erhob der Arzt erneut das Wort. “May I ask how this happened?”
Die Zuhörer sahen einander skeptisch an. Diesmal war es nicht der Vater, der antwortete. “Maybe it would be best to ask him yourself, doctor.”
Zu dritt betraten die drei Männer das Krankenzimmer. Der Junge sah deutlich mitgenommen zu den dreien auf, zu müde um zu grinsen. “Dad…”
Der väterliche Blick war sofort strafend. Hinter dem Vater schüttelte der Butler angedeutet den Kopf, leicht lächelnd.
“Father.”, korrigierte sich der Junge.
Unbeeindruckt trat der Arzt neben den Jungen, nahm seine rechte Hand und fühlte den Puls. Zufrieden nickend ließ er nach einigen Augenblicken los. “Well then, Nathaniel… Would you mind telling me why you cut your wrist? Did anything happen that upset you?” Für einen Arzt, das musste man ihm lassen, klang er äußerst freundlich.
Der Junge sah großäugig zu ihm auf und erklärte ebenso sachlich wie unschuldig. “Father said that I have to behave. He says that people who are blue blooded have to.” Eisiges Schweigen senkte sich über den Raum. Schloss nur den Jungen aus. “I told him that the blue color is a trick of light… But the only way to really give evidence that cannot be disputed was…” Er schluckte während seine Stimme vor Müdigkeit immer leiser wurde. “Sorry…”