How very humiliating. There you are, grown man and all. And then a whiff of blood it caught in your nostrils and off you are, seeking fruitlessly a way to obtain it. Because that really is what everything is all about. I managed to bear Coraline’s blood. I managed to bear with that of what I guess was Alex and Rottenmeier. And then Jean walks up in front of me and the best I can do is not go for his throat right then and there. Without ever having had more of it than a drop. Not enough to bind me to him. Yet last night everything I am wanted to let go, have a sip or two and forget myself in that damned taste.

Let’s start with something good: Coraline FINALLY got staked. Fine, it wasn’t the way I had planned for this to happen. But then again, a plan usually doesn’t survive first contact with reality. The truth of the matter is that clan Ventrue helped – and that neither the roses nor the kings deem Coraline to have enough worth to bother bargaining over how much getting rid of her would cost. They were basically serving her on a silver plate. Boy, you must be good at pissing people off to accomplish not only getting your own blood unisono pissed at yourself – but also the whole blood of another high clan. What. The. Fuck. I’ll drop by at Jason’s tomorrow and see what I can do about her oh-so-fearless aura.

Father Shepherd is turning out to be quite useful. My guess is he’s well aware of it. But that’s ok. It’s the easiest way to earn membership in this domain. If he remains on this particular track he’ll be part of the crowd in no time. Sure, he’s got some nasty methods every once in a while. Then again, that’s to be expected. None of us is here for being such a cuddly bear.

Didn’t get to talk to Raphael much last night. Such a shame! He did agree to read the book I inherited from von Wartenburg to me, since I can’t read it on my own. Some form of literature loving bonding, I guess. His voice will, of course, interpret. However, I think it’ll do us both good.

Jason… He did what had to be done. The way I know him he hated having to act against his own blood. Then again, he’s enough of a soldier to do it anyway. And I doubt that the regret he so splendidly wore like protective armor was all that real. However, it would serve the purpose. Part of him must feel sorry for having been just as unable to redeem Coraline as I was. Once more I need to talk to him about Thomas. And once more I have this strange sensation that he’s slipping away through my fingers, even though he keeps kissing my signet ring. On a metaphorical level it shows a lot though. Maybe it’s not him I feel slipping away but my own humanity instead. After all he’s not the only one having to do unpleasant things to people he actually likes. Still. I like to think that both of us are committed to the cause. Up to now he has never given me much reason to doubt him. Only fools would believe that then. A choice willingly made in this one case.

I wonder whether he thinks I actually drank from Jean once. At one point I think I saw an expression that hinted he might be worried I had. Last night? I sure as hell would have wanted to. It was everything but easy not to do so. I still want to! Scary thought. I need some distraction from that.

From what I hear it was actually Alena who did the staking. Fortunately someone provided her with a hammer. She did what she said she would do – give Coraline part of her possibly infected blood. The glory of a woman enraged… Petricz must have picked a fight with her at some stage. No idea what it was all about. No idea who came out the winner. Don’t care much. It was probably all about etiquette again.

It was also pleasing to finally get Baumgartner’s punishment out of the way. Euler tried some fun things when talking about the punishment beforehand… Like – if Baumgartner behaves reasonably well the ancillae should not bad-mouth him. I told him that I’ll offer verbal protection, if they did. Not that I’ll even notice every slight. I don’t know enough of their history. But Euler bought it, so who am I to complain. Nonetheless people seem so very intend on picking fights with people just not their size. What is wrong with you, folks? Otherwise Euler’s advice was sound enough. I still think that most of what I say ends up in some pointless report. Calculated risk. Besides, people always pick up on what they’re not supposed to know. Why pretend being secretive then.

Moving on to the less pleasing matters of that night.

Three anarchs showed up. At least it’s a very safe bet they were anarchs. Doesn’t really matter. They didn’t know who is prince of Marburg. They never even mentioned their status. They seemed less than impressed by the institution of senate. So, after talking to Thomas for a moment, we granted them hospitality for half an hour. Thomas suggested one to two. Would have been way too much in my book though. Anyway. According to what we found out later they were looking for Lara, claiming that she had to do something with the sudden disappearance of one of their cottery members. Fortunately they were gone swiftly enough for us not having to bother much. Especially since Clan Gangrel by now informed us that she didn’t pass her tests and was undone. So whatever happened – she can’t be punished anymore. As for those three? Jason says they’re gone for good. I trust his work.

The death of said child became a bone of contention later that night. Clan Gangrel took her as their ward, thereby taking full responsibility for her. At the same time, as it turns out, she had Malkavian blood in her. Of course that means that Clan Malkavian is now reasonably displeased with Lara’s demise. Karsten and Rottenmeier got into a verbal fight in the main room when Clan Gangrel declared Lara dead. Later on there must have been another fight over the matter. Only I don’t know who started it and just who got hurt as it went.

Gangrel… Annoying, last night. Alex was angry for us having to ask what exactly Lara did and what she did not do. Phelan, of course, went right with her. And then there was this tiger lady, Annie, who trumpeted right into the same horn. Without even having had the decency to introduce herself beforehand. I should have thrown her out that very moment. Sadly she was faster than me and left out of her own accord. Damn that. I told the other two that we have to ask those questions, particularly since we are trying hard to have their back in something that could be interpreted as yet another tradition violation. With Phelan having screwed up before that wouldn’t be good for them at all. Or Lara, had she lived. But of course, saying and asking things people don’t want to hear makes you a prick. Well, boohoo! Grow up, people. There’s a job that needs to be done!

The whole matter will keep the domain busy for a while, I should think. At the same time I wonder what happened to Alix and whether she’s ever coming back.

And then there’s Thomas… He revealed to me that Bruni basically told him to listen to what I have to say very closely. Well, no kidding! Now if only you would stick to it. In my book, Thomas betrayed the prince. We told her we would do the job and we would be stable. We would stick to it. And what’s it he does? The first time he is tested by a woman, he throws everything away. Had he been my child, I would have killed him, just for that. But I can’t, nor do I want to. I still like him. Doesn’t change that, in my eyes, he betrayed the prince. Which is not for me to judge, but for her. So I stay put, try to save his ass time and again without him even noticing. While he says that I’m too proud. Too much of an ass. Too full of myself. And instead of thanking the Ventrue? He walks up to Jason and tells him that he’s aware he’s going to fall. Fine. Now you notice. The exact moment that someone able to avert that actually offers help. I am so tired to telling him what to do – and he won’t listen anyway. I’ve got a good, strong voice. How come that someone I care about pays so little a mind to it?

Jean listens. He scares me these nights. But he does listen. Sad as he may be. Broken as I may have him. At least he listens.

And Jason. No matter his true game, he is good at pretending. And he knows how the game is played. We work very well together. I should be a better brother to him. Safe his friend. Only I’m running out of options. He took Wartenburg’s death well enough. But how would he handle Thomas’ downfall? How much of that would he hold against me? Or is he playing Thomas as he does every other cainite around here?

Hinter einem schweren Schreibtisch saß ein Mann, der gut und gerne Nathaniels Vater hätte sein können. Mit etwas Pech sogar dessen Vater. Zumindest macht er den Eindruck. Trotz seines offensichtlichen Alters saß die Uniform die er trug dennoch perfekt und war tadellos gepflegt. “Lord Elyot.”, setzte der Mann mit sichtlichem Unbehagen an. “I am sorry to say that there is nothing that can be done for your son.”
Besagter Sohn saß neben seinem Vater auf der anderen Seite des Schreibtisches. Nur wirkte er, im Gegensatz zu besagtem Vater, weit weniger involviert in das Gespräch. Stattdessen hatte er den Kopf zurückgelehnt und in den Nacken gelegt. So starrt er unbeteiligt an die Decke.
Lord Henry Elyot sah den Kommandanten mit aller Mißbilligung an, die er wagte für einen langjährigen Freund und Kameraden aufzubringen. “You know how important this is.”
“Your son is unfit for service, Henry.”
Gelangweilt linste Nathaniel aus dem Augenwinkel zu seinem Vater.
“There must be something he can do. Even with this – … hinderance of his.”
Der alte Uniformierte schüttelte den Kopf. “I am most sorry, Henry. But there is nothing I can do. There is no place here for him.”
Die Blicke der beiden Männer trafen sich. Der eine voller Zorn, der andere voller Bedauern. “This is how you treat a friendship worth several decades, James?”
“Dad…”, schaltete sich der zugehörige Sohn nun doch endlich auch ein. Inzwischen sogar mit angemessener Sitzhaltung. Beide Männer sahen ihn verwirrt an. “Let me handle this.” Selbstverständlich fing er sich einen reichlich strafenden Blick ob der zu informellen Anrede ein. Der Kommandant hingegen musterte den jungen Mann äußerst aufmerksam. “Sir – correct me if necessary, but – military intelligence doesn’t always require formal physical training. Or that on a shooting range. People can be recruited for various other reasons. And I can assure you that I will be able to provide you with an ample range of valid reasons to do so. Sir.”
Der Uniformierte und der Vater blickten beide erstaunt. Letzter wegen der Verwendung des Wortes Sir. Der andere aus Unglauben über das, was eben gesagt wurde. “And would you be able to give me an example of one such reason here and now, Nathaniel?”
“Certainly.” Der Junge holte tief Luft. “You have quit smoking recently. While the sound of your voice and the state of your teeth indicate that you might still do so, there is no cigarette scent on your breath nor within this room. However, the color of the wallpaper still is slightly off. So while spring cleaning got rid of most evidence, a renovation would be in order.” Er schloss das Auge wieder. “In adition you’re having trouble with your wife, seeing as you can’t stop playing with your wedding band – which, as I may inform you – taps the table whenever you turn the ring, thus notifying me of your doing so.” Keiner der anderen unterbrach. “You have suffered a wound to your left leg, easily noticed by the uneven footfall you have when walking any distance over three meters.” Jetzt schlich sich ein Lächeln ins Gesicht. “Also we should put all of this behind us quickly. You keep tapping your good foot and increasingly shift your weight in your chair. Older men are known to be -”
“Nathaniel!”