Turbulent night. I have to say, I prefer those. No matter just how frustrating they can be. They are, after all, never boring. Last night had a few too many fang-moments though.

Random thoughts.

For a little while now Mascha and I have been sending letters back and forth. Usually figuring out what women want isn’t all that hard, because usually women decide to be simpletons. Her though? She never made that decision, which makes it hard for any guy to figure her out. Especially since she likes to keep it that way. If I had to put statistics on all of this I’d say Jason, her and I are the people with the most masks in this domain. Mind you, I’m not complaining. Each of us had a reason to come up with them. I don’t judge. I judge the idiots who can’t see why it may be necessary. I wonder how many of the crowd notice the company she keeps and, more importantly, is accepted in.

Shepherd. I feel I should put his name down here. Funny, I don’t have to say anything about the guy. Still. Here you go, person who will never read this.

For now I’m rather surprised that Jean doesn’t lash out at me more. After all I gave him plenty of reason to. He still doesn’t get the lesson that at some point he will have to. And I will survive. What he does is – injures. Very short bursts of anger. Nothing that any sane kindred could take seriously. I wonder why he even bothers. Either deal real damage or deal none at all. Brujah. They probably can’t help it. And I wonder how he feels about being called a warlock. … I will find out. Also, I think he was trying to tell me something very important. Only it never quite worked out that night.

Could have gotten more physical with Shiraz though. Then again, being neglected office-wise should be a very open slap in the face. And I think he realizes that. If not I’ll have to make sure that he does. From now on he’ll have to work hard for every little bit of recognition. Because I sure as hell am going to point out every single flaw, no matter just how small it may be. Some people think punishment is making people bleed. I think true punishment makes a man empty.

Of course Thomas would be the guy to point out that we should have used more force on him. Then again, that’s Thomas for you. I guess this is where he is more of a Nosferatu and I’m more of a Toreador after all. Physical pain is all nice and well – but people forget about it so easily. However, losing the people that were loyal to you, losing their support, their trust – those are the things that hurt you in the small hours of the night. The type where you are left wondering whether you’re left all alone in the world.

There now. At least the Ventrue got their wish to have someone in a position of power (who isn’t the prince, because obviously that counts for nothing with any of them). Miss Pearse is… Well, I really wouldn’t know the type of person she is. She does know the basic use of spelling and grammar, which I like. Other than that? Not much more to know just yet. I did point out that she would have to cooperate closely with me. Let’s see if she plays it smart and follows my advice.

And all of this brings me right back to Jason. FINALLY he’s getting his dues. Praise the lord. And it only took me – what – half a year? Well, after all we’ve got eternity, I guess. Now he seems to be freaked that everyone is out for his head. Not while I’m around, brother. And knowing Thomas’ devotion he’s even more likely and physically capable of protecting him. Anyway. I gave him orders to again meet me nightly this week. Most importantly because I have to mess with his head a little. Maybe it can jump-start him into being himself again, without feeling so… vulnerable. I sympathize. But I want him to feel safe here. At least as best as we can. There is no perfection in this, of course.

Es war bitter kalt draußen. Der Wind peitschte über das viel zu flache, weiße Land und stob den Schnee immer wieder erneut auf. Am Morgen schon würde man das Schnee- und Eiskonstrukt, in dem Nathaniel und Gregory sich verschanzt hatten wahrscheinlich kaum mehr sehen können.
Aber hier innen im Iglu war es warm. Jedenfalls warm genug. Und Greg hatte es sich nicht nehmen lassen Kakao zu kochen. Der Himmel allein wusste, wie der Mann es genau geschafft hatte die Zutaten nicht nur einfach mit hier her zu bringen, sondern auch noch so, dass die Milch nicht einfach so auf dem Weg her gefroren war.
Draußen kläfften die Hunde noch eine Weile, bis auch der letzte sich endlich unter die Schneedecke gegraben hatte. Kluge Tiere.
“Sir, you do catch a cold easily. Are you sure it was a good idea to come out here?”
Während Greg den Kakao kochte, erwärmte Nate mit einem anderen Bunsenbrenner – einem wesentlich kleineren – einen Stein und träufelte dann ein bestimmtes Kräuteröl darauf.
“What exactly are you hoping to find, sir?”
Nathaniel schnaubte. “Greg, you’re breaking my concentration.”
“Your concentration on what exactly, sir?”
“On finding myself.”
“… And have you? Found yourself, sir?”
“No, I haven’t.” Frustriert schnaubte der junge Mann. “And I sure as hell won’t for as long as you keep talking.” Schweigend wurde ihm eine Tasse Kakao unter die Nase gehalten, welche ihm äußerst wohlriechend ins Gesicht dampfte. “… Guess I still have a moment.”
“Thank you, sir.”