To quote from one of my favorite tv-shows: So this is what going insane feels like.

First of all I should probably mention that the couple of days Hope and I spent abroad were actually quite nice. I’d even go as far and call it basic bonding, because when she was talking to me last night she actually bothered to be reasonable. And she remained respectful while in public. In regards to her I’m getting my hopes up that I won’t have to kick her out any time soon.

Next thing that comes to mind was Thomas’ absence. Lord knows where he has been hanging out these days. Jacques and I were pretty worried, especially since he didn’t pick up his phone. And then, when he finally got there, he was in very bad shape. I know that he gets those visions every once in a while. But hell, he was gone. Really gone. Talking about darkness, light, mists, Jesus and the like. What the hell. We tried to calm him down, but even entrancing him didn’t really work. I sent him some calming images into his head – but those only confused him more. Eventually what surprisingly enough caught his attention was me giving him a deadline. Which had him sober up for the most part. He had remarkable control over himself for the rest of the night. Should see him in private some time soon.

The biggest thing of the night was von Lützow’s visit, I guess. He read out a declaration elder Weischenberg had given him. Who now calls herself Prince of Kassel, after carving the city from the territory that’s supposed to be part of Marburg. He says that he knew nothing of her plan – which, according to his thoughts is true. Doesn’t change the fact that he promised she’d support us. Oh boy, some kind of support that is. We’re lucky if her “support” ends with occupying Kassel. Don’t think that it will. And what’s it he says when I point out that our command, given to us by our prince – in writing no less – tells us to stand our ground? He basically says that you can disobey an order once your superior isn’t around anymore to enforce it. I say you and I have a very different understanding of hierarchy, loyalty and obedience. I can see why Jacques would call a man like that a traitor.

So last week Styx shows up in order to prevent a Ventrue from seizing the domain. Only the Ventrue doesn’t even show up. And this week when someone’s actually doing something Styx is nowhere to be found. Blasted. I’ll have to go down there anyway though. There’s much and more I need to talk to him about.

While we had to handle the situation the Brujah and some others, Rottenmeier among them, suggested that Jacques should claim the throne. Problem being: He can’t. He’s not a leader. He doesn’t want to be one. And it usually shows if you look at the right places. Which means that even if he gathers up the courage to do it things wouldn’t last all that long. He’d crumble apart. Most of them don’t realize that. Nor do they understand just how bad the situation is since last night. And they don’t get that putting Jacques on the throne will crush him. So yeah. You guys keep laughing in our darkest hour. Makes perfect sense. Sometimes I feel I should just step out on the streets, commit some sort of masquerade breach and have all of them go down in flames. At least I’d suffer a very quick death. And it would be a sure way to get each and everyone of them.

In order to resolve some of the arguement that has been going on between the Brujah and the Ventrue father Shepherd made a somewhat generous offer. For three months – one month per senator – any Brujah can approach him and be instructed in the arts of presence. Good move. Though I think people will see a trap in it, no matter whether there actually is one or not.

If only Alena were as clever. Instead she keeps screwing up. She’s not supposed to talk to Shiraz – and yet he’s the first person she has a private conversation with. The Brujah get to tell her in the face that she’s stupid and she practically agrees to it. She gets asked why the Brunis even bother to take her in – and there’s not the slightest objection. I wonder whether this is due to what I said. Whether she could put her pride aside. She must have known I didn’t mean in that way. Or she’s much more stupid than I thought.

Didn’t think it would ever happen again, but Mascha attended last night in her nice skin. One only needs to take a look around to know who she did this for. So I’m guessing she did have that drink. Probably plays him anyway. Fine with me though. They play one another well. And for the time being a little illusion of love can’t hurt much. Grants them a safe haven for the soul, so to say. It’s odd to have her around withouth her putting on that funny accent of hers.

Jacques… What the fuck do I do with you. I still have to do the talking. I have to force you to make a decision. What the fuck. I’m the youngest. Somehow I end up having to do all the grown-up decisions. And that slip of tongue… I accidentally called him a neonate. Now that might not seem much, but… It tells you a lot about my psyche, I guess. Usually that wouldn’t have happened. But it did. I do have to talk to the old sewer rat. And fast. I desperately need his advice in this. One thing’s for sure though: I can no longer support Jacques as prince.

Lord kick him in the nuts, I tried to help Jason. Brought an artifact I kept from one of my earlier travels. Basically, according to tradition, there’s a name that comes with it. In this case: Far Rider. The point is to get rid of the thing somehow. But there’s only few things you can do to accomplish that. Anyway. I gave him damn thing – and he forgot it. Which is bad enough. He also forgot the name I mentioned with it. Which makes it worse. I should have been mad. I am disappointed. But I couldn’t bring myself to burden him even more. He’s been under a lot of strain. So making him feel bad wouldn’t have helped anyone.

All in all I don’t like the underlying mathematics: Thomas being a nutjob, Jacques being unable to develop enough of a spine to rule – and Jason and Pearse seeing it in them to throw a laughing fit on a night like that. Don’t think I ever felt quite so alone as last night.

“It’s very dark.”, sagte der kleine Junge, der orientierungslos neben sich auf dem Krankenhausbett herumtastete. “I don’t think I can see anything at all!”
Zur Abwechslung stand der Butler nicht einfach nur unauffällig neben einer Tür, sondern saß neben dem Jungen auf dem Bett und hatte locker eine Hand auf dessen Rücken gelegt. “The doctors say that is to be expected for the first few days, Master Elyot. You should be fine in less than a fortnight.” Die Stimme klang so beruhigend wie eh und je. Aber der Blick den er für seinen Schützlich übrig hatte war absolut gegenteilig dazu: besorgt, verletzt.
Dabei hatte das Kind noch nichtmal das Schulalter erreicht. “I don’t like this. I can’t read my books like this, Greg.” Der Junge war hörbar nahe daran zu schmollen. Damit proportional stieg der Verletztheitsgrad im Gesicht seines Dieners.
“No, Master Elyot. But name any book and I will read it out to you. Any book at all.”
Der Knirps wandte ihm den Kopf zu und sah ihn aus einem leeren und einem mit Verband zugepflasterten Auge an. “On the Origin of Species!”
“That is hardly a book suitable for your age, Nathaniel.” Die kritisierende Stimme gehört zum Vater des Jungen, seinerseits auf einem Stuhl an einem Tisch platziert – und weit außer Armreicheweite für den Sohn.
“But I like it.”
“You also liked your chemistry set. And now look what you accomplished, young man.”
“It was a very small miscalculation… Could have happened to anyone…”, murmelte der Junge vor sich hin. Vom Vater ungesehen klopfte ihm Gregory leicht auf den Rücken.
“Read Moby Dick to him, Gregory.”
Noch mehr kindlicher Protest: “But Moby Dick is a highly political book! I hate that book! And I know it by heart.”
Der Vater reichte dem Diener das Buch an. Dieser schlug es auf, legte es auf seinen Schoß. “You can all me Ishmael…”, begann Gregory dann mit ruhiger, warmer Stimme zu lesen. Und nach ein paar Sätzen hatte lehnte Nathaniel an ihm, halb schlafend und – für den Moment – zufrieden.