God, those blasted headaches… Can somebody just kill me, please?

Not much I can say about that particular night. But I’ll try a few things.

Our good friar was somewhat impatient most of the time. I guess my sense of humor didn’t really help to improve his mood much. Maybe he just misses his own rosary. Better yet – maybe he needs it more than I do. Guess I should ask him.

There is a new Brujah in town. Hope by name. Says she spent the last couple of decades in Dublin. Doesn’t know the river that runs right through it though. I told her she can’t build any form of influence around here just yet. Next time she’d better show some manners. Otherwise this will have been a very short stay of hers.

From what I hear Inés made a fool of herself. I sure as hell know that just staring at her drives her insane. She needs to get a grip. Fast.

Spepherd somehow managed to talk the Brujah into staking Simon. Not that I’m complaining. Thumbs up for that. Still, one should keep an eye on him, just to make sure.

Miss von Khattenstein returned to the flock for good this time. Should be good for Raphael. The way I interpret her appearance with her should come a certain support from somebody who isn’t von Freienfels. Give that clan a bit of a chance to breathe.

But of course Thomas had to spoil it. When I mentioned that she had been declared neonate in this very domain, he still figured it would be a good idea to ask her some way too personal questions. At least to someone who never did anything wrong around here. Quite the contrary. The way I hear it she’s got a good reputation. Yet he takes his fingers and stabs them into a non-existant wound.

Meanwhile Jason is trying to get some order into our blood. However, the ladies are giving him a very hard time. Me? They’re just annoying to me right now. Obviously there’s only music, singing and painting that can be considered real art. God save us from ever trying to find other words for those we already have. Fortunately for them I’m way too beaten down right now to jump anybody’s throat. Jason… needs help though. He’s getting worked up over this. Gets angry. Not that I can’t see why. I like him better when he’s cheerful, even when it’s all just a show. Maybe some day he won’t have to act so much.

Immer wieder ging es im Kreis. Nunmehr schon seit einer halben Stunde. Der rotbraune Wallach drehte geduldig Runde um Runde, während ihn eine junge blonde Frau an der Lounge führte und immer wieder mit einem leichten Schnippen der Peitsche antrieb – weit genug hinter das Tier gesetzt um es tatsächlich stets zu verfehlen.
Auf dem Rücken des Pferdes saß ein Sechsjähriger mit Augenklappe und einem Reithelm, der gerade eben so nicht zu groß war. Inzwischen sah der Junge reichlich müde aus. Geistesabwesend. Das Schaukeln des Tieres merkte man ihm kaum an.
Hinter einer Glasscheibe standen zwei Frauen. Eine, die wohl gerade langsam auf die 40 zuging, die andere weit über 80. Sie unterhielten sich leise, sahen aber beide unablässig auf den Jungen und das Pferd.
Plötzlich durchbrach ein lauter Knall die Stille der Reithalle. Das Pferd scheute, stieg – doch der Junge blieb im Sattel. Während die ältere Frau ihren Regenschirm wieder aufhob eilte die jüngere schnell zur Seitentür und, zusammen mit einem eher förmlich gekleideten Mann, auf die Reitbahn, wo die Reitlehrerin damit beschäftigt war den Wallach zu beruhigen.
“Are you hurt, Nathaniel?”, erkundigte sich die besorgte Mutter und griff sofort nach der Hand ihres Sohnes.
“Why? What happened?”
Die erklärende Antwort gab der förmlich gekleidete Mann. “That sound made your horse rear, Master Elyot. You had us worried for a moment.”
Verständnislos sah der Junge die Erwachsenen der Reihe nach an. “I didn’t notice him rearing at all…”, wobei der Junge mehr verschlafen klang als sonst irgendetwas.