First things first: I love horses.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get started.

Oracle. That’s what Dörr fancies himself. Of course he’s got to play it malkavian style, which means he can’t just ask to be allowed to stay for a month or two. No. He has to put exact numbers on it, right down to the hour. Probably thinks that to be rather creepy. I remain unimpressed. Especially since he had his request followed by stating that, obviously, Thomas is the youngest of the senators. Which is bullshit. I am the youngest – in every way I can think of. Selfish kid. Means he has less of an understanding than he thinks. Means that, he, too, is fishing, trying to aim for the right words and failing.

I would walk over a lot of bodies to get to where I want to be… Question is: Will I walk over all of them, if I have to? Even one in particular?

Went to see Jason two days back. Cause? Sexual frustration, I guess. Funny to see Mascha turn up there. Mascha, I think, the way she used to be a long time ago. Think I should feel insulted about her dismissing my tendancy for experimenting on practically anything. Then again, I’m also pretty sure she didn’t mean it as an insult. Probably just isn’t used to guys being serious about her, for a change. Whatever. Her call. Still, it was kind of fun to have her around and watch Jason go from flamboyant gigolo to shy kid. I’ve never seen him dodge a woman quite as much as he tried with her. Which means that she either scares him more than is good for him. Or that there is some part inside him that actually cares about her. Though I’m not so sure that they can appreciate one another. Doesn’t matter much. It’s worth the ride anyway. And really, who am I to speak up in such matters? After all I’m no better than them. Considering.

Will you really turn your back on me?

While we talked the subject of wild animals and packs came up. I’m thinking that maybe we are just that: wild animals. And since we are forced to live together, more or less, we form packs. Mascha and Esther tell me that the term as such is closely associated with the Sabbat. But really, the idea of packs and pack strategies would make a lot of sense. I’ll be looking into this some within the near future. See how much of it could be true. If so, the whole struggle for alpha position makes more sense. And for Karsten being such a wonderful omega. Even if he’s about to be removed from the history of the world. I’m not complaining.

Personal gain. We’re all selfish like that. Still, I…

At least it is somewhat comforting to know that some people get reasonably upset and insecure when you touch their sword hilt. Implications? Naturally. But it was so hard to resist! He’ll survive. Besides, he deserves a little more punishment for leaving me out in the rain. It’s funny to watch him squirm. And it doesn’t cause real harm. Yet. Once I notice it does I guess I’ll have to stop. For now – just a little more squirming, please. Quid pro quo, old man.

Maybe having your back will eventually break my neck. You won’t see me stopping anyway.

Jason and I had to talk to Alena about being clan speaker. Of course she totally failed the test. Still, there’s not much of a choice here right now. Having said that it’s VERY hard to watch her getting drunk on her pride so swiftly. I’m not sure I should warn the Brunis. It’s just so very strange. Jason tried to mediate between us. Not that there’s much I would have done to her. But at least it gave him a chance to show off that he’s oh so loyal to the clan and, thus, to her. Which is half true, at best. From what I pick up about him even clan is second in line to sect.

What do you really want?

Talked to Rottenmeier about the flyers that were found. Choice of words, layout, phrasing – all that reminded me of the things she would do. Besides, she’s the one who usually speaks up in written form. So she was my first adress. And I guess I pretty much nailed it. Go team! For now I’m willing to consider her a form of… loyal opposition, if you will. I hope she won’t push further than that. Because if she does I would have to act on yet another broken tradition. What was funny though is that Shepherd approached me directly, hoping to avert my suspicion. Though I never really suspected him in the first place. Still. Rather amusing. As for Rottenmeier? I asked her to give me her hand. Key thing: She did. Anila did too, after I basically kicked her for not bowing to the senate. She hates the gesture, of course. But she understands why it’s necessary. Eventually she even bowed voluntarily and without anyone watching.

The thought kills me.

Raphael was there. Of course he was. Came in late. Didn’t give him my hand. Didn’t refer to him by name. Told him I’d make him jump every loop in the book, just to see him work. Told him of disappointment. And that my words and their cutting edge will find him, no matter where. And they will be aimed well enough to cut to the bone. He knows I’m capable of that.

Do you think I really care?

Now here’s something. There are some people you never think you’d see them cry. But grief is such a bitch that she can make even the most distant people feel something. Last night, for the first time, I didn’t know how to comfort a crying lady. The one thing I had to offer was to stay. And I doubt it was much appreciated. How do you deal with someone like that? Shame too, because I should know. Maybe going out and riding with her will help.

I’m sorry. I should put more trust in you than I do.

Now matter what they say or where she is, dead or alive – her ghost still haunts these halls. She is here, every night. Watching us. Passing judgement. I wonder whether she would be satisfied or proud of any of us. I doubt it. But I also think she can see that we’re not giving up on her or the domain. That we keep fighting for as long as we can. Even though it eats us up alive. Even though we are all lost without her. We go on. Headed straight for the abyss. Still, we go on. Are you waiting for us there? Will you save us from that as well? Can you?

I meant what I said. You will see your grave long after I’ve been put into mine. The stuff legends are made of. How can you not realize you already are one of them? And each of us only plays their part in a book that is, after all, about you.

I can function without you. But I can’t work.

She also said that I should have a close eye on you. That you could turn out several ways. And that most of them are dangerous. Some even for me. Which is, when you think about it, bloody likely. Only… With you and two others, the thought alone kills me. Worse yet, I know the others won’t ever betray me. You? You are… like me. You wouldn’t want to. But you still might, if you had to. Because, I think, I would do the same. Knowing that, why does it hurt then? I should tell you… But I know that I won’t. I’m too scared of either answer.

Das Zimmer glich, auf den ersten und zweiten Blick, einer dieser elenden gepolsterten Gummizellen, wie man sie aus schlechten Filmen kannte. Ähnlich war wohl auch der Zweck. Ein Raum, in den man den Toreador leicht schieben konnte, wenn das Temperament mit ihm durch ging. Normalerweise wohl ein kleiner Abstellraum. Jedenfalls in anderen Wohnungen. Hier eben nicht.
In der Mitte des Raumes saß Nathaniel auf dem gepolzterten Boden im Schneidersitz. An hatte er nicht viel, nur blaue Jeans. Der Oberköprer war völlig frei. Völlig frei, sah man von den zahlreichen langen Nadeln ab, die an scheinbar zufällig gewählten Stellen durch die Haut gestochen waren. Und schon hielt der junge tote die nächste dieser Nadeln in der Hand.
Im Türrahmen lehnte eine junge Frau, die hier aus und ein ging als würde sie hier wohnen. Und wohl die einzige Frau überhaupt, die er längerfristig in seiner Nähe duldete. “Natey… You hate needles. You’re scared of them.”
“I know.” Genervtheit. Schmerz. Dinge, die gerade Dee sonst sehr selten von ihm hörte. “Go away. I’m trying to focus.” Die Prozedur die Nadel langsam durch die Haut zu stechen ließ ihn erst zusammenfahren, dann verspannt sitzen bis das Metal in der richtigen Position war. Was immer er dafür hielt. “You’re distracting me. I’m not supposed to be tense like this. I need to focus.”
“The one thing you’re doing is hurt yourself, Nate.”
“… Which I wouldn’t if SOMEONE just went about her business and let me stick to mine. Because THEN I would be just fine. Relaxed enough for all of this. The point is the pain.”
Dee verschränkte die Arme und lehnte sich seitlich in den Türrahmen. “You know, that whole theory about taking psychological pain away through applying physical is crap.”
“Obviously, so was the idea of bringing you here.”
Schnaubend stieß sie sich von der Tür ab, trat an ihren Herrn, ihren Geliebten und die gefühlte Geißel der Menschheit heran, griff eine der Nadeln und zog sie rücksichtslos in einem reichlich ungünstigen Winkel aus der Haut. Zufrieden nahm sie ein schmerzhaftes Zischen zur Kenntnis. “If you want pain you’d better do it right, genius.”
“Bitch…”, grummelte er vor sich hin.
“Is that the best you can come up with?”
Stille.
“… Yes.”
“Then you really don’t know much about pain, do you. Let me help.” Sie griff die nächste Nadeln und zog.