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Monday, March 5th, 2007
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9:31 pm - ...whispers in the dark...
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I had to cash in a lot of favors, but I think that actually earned me some breathing room, so to speak. The kindred don't like getting into debt, and when one vampire is seen holding a lot of markers, well.. certain ideas are inevitable.
Nate, my dear friend for so many years, is now my ghoul. Naturally, he wants the Embrace and has wasted no time in telling me that, but I don't know if I can bring myself to do that to someone. It took me months - years, even - to get used to feeding. I wish Nate could be as happy as a ghoul as I was. As it is, I'm glad that he's mine. Finally.
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(strike at the stone)
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| Saturday, December 9th, 2006
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10:29 am
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If DeBeers finds out I've dabbled in the movie industry... Well, there's not all that much they can do. Not anymore.
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(strike at the stone)
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| Wednesday, April 12th, 2006
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10:21 pm
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Bad news from bad rubbish. I won't miss the place a bit.
But phoenixs will from ashes rise...
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(strike at the stone)
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| Wednesday, December 7th, 2005
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11:32 am - Never Re-Read Your Diaries
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It's been a long time in coming, but I think I can finally say it aloud - so to speak.
I hate Darius Masterson.
I sincerely hope that the news of his Destruction was genuine and not yet-another attempt by him to go underground. Should I ascertain that he still exists, I'll hire the best assassins that my not-inconsiderable fortune can buy. I'll put his ashes on my rosebeds, so at least he'll have contributed to one truly beautiful thing in my existance, damn him.
If only I'd had more bloody sense when choosing a Regnant. My son might still be alive, and me with him.
If only...
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(strike at the stone)
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10:57 am - Ivan Alexandrov - A Memory
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I haven't thought about Ivan Alexandrov in years - literally. I wonder what brought him to mind, now?
He was a handsome man, Ivan. Jokes about threats to his virtue flew around the facility when he arrived in his painfully new zampolit's uniform. A young, pretty man without the connections to avoid a shit assignment right out of training. I was surprised that some highly placed queer - there were a few of them despite Stalin's best efforts otherwise - didn't make a protege out of him and keep him close to Moscow.
Yuri didn't like Ivan on principle. Political officers want to know why we're not having weekly party meetings, monthly sing-alongs and chivvying the slaves - pardon me, the workers - into forming Young Pioneer units. Never mind the fact that Yuri's mine was the most efficient and most profitable in the Soviet Union - that wasn't a zampolit's concern. Yuri kept his irritation at Alexandrov to himself, and let the shiny-faced meddler do as he pleased, up to a point.
I remember Yuri's grumbling after one particularly irritating meeting. "Why couldn't they have sent me someone older? Someone I could bribe? This one is still too naive to understand how things really work in the glorious people's state."
When Alexandrov started cutting into rest periods - rewards that Yuri granted for work well done - in order to hold mandatory classes for what must have been the most sullen group of workers in the country, Yuri had to act.
"They're here to mine gold! Not sing hymns to a system that made them slaves!" I had to agree with him, of course - but I would have, regardless. Alexandrov's notion that educating the workers would make them more efficient was self-defeating. They resented losing what little free time they had been granted, and an act of God couldn't have diminished their hatred of the state, never mind a lone, well-fed bureaucrat. Alexandrov made things worse, not better.
One evening, Yuri came to me and said: "I'm sorry, Sally. I don't know what else to do, short of killing him - and losing two zampolits in a row to accidents might arouse suspicion, even amongst those slugs in Moscow. We're going to have to resort to blackmail. Go sleep with him, would you?"
I can't remember what I said in reply to that. It wasn't terribly coherent, I know that much. Yuri's conspiratal grin surprised me even more. "I'm throwing you in the briar patch, da?"
I had to blush at that. "I'm only human."
Yuri laughed. "True enough. He's a young man and you're the best looking woman for four hundred miles in any direction. I've already taken care of surveillance. Get to it. A few photos of Alexandrov neglecting his duty should take the edge off his political zeal."
What else could I do? My regnant had given me an order. Go to it, I did.
Unfortunately, Yuri's assumptions didn't prove quite correct.
"Melotchka, did you know that I got some special training, just before I graduated from the academy? They rounded up all the handsome men in the class, and they took us into a room by ourselves. In there, a smelly but very muscular man said the following: You're men, and have a man's needs. But if you let those needs take precedence over those of the state, we'll cut your balls off. Understood? And then they let us out." He smiled as he said it, and I don't think the 'training' was quite as he described it, but the point was clear enough.
So, that ended that - much to my vexation as well as Yuri's. Alexandrov even had the nerve to tease me about the incident afterwards - but that's beside the point.
In the end, Yuri had to cash in a boon to have Alexandrov removed. Had he remained, we would have become just another inefficient communist enterprise, and that ran very much counter to my regnant's plans. As I've mentioned before, he anticipated outliving the flawed experiment that was the Soviet Union and be well-situated in the aftermath. As far as I know, he succeeded.
I wonder what happened to Ivan Alexandrov?
( OOC )
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(strike at the stone)
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| Saturday, June 18th, 2005
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6:47 pm
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Things are going quite well. It's time to distribute some largesse.
I hope she appreciates it, and does with it exactly what I think she might...
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(strike at the stone)
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| Thursday, March 10th, 2005
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3:08 pm
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Am I bad a person for sometimes doubting what Alexander and I have? I can't help it. I'm second-guessing myself, my motives all the time, even whilst the mere thought of the man lifts my heart in a way that I haven't felt in nearly a century. There's always a lingering sense of what if...
What if he's playing me for a fool?
What if he meets someone more attractive, more successful and generally more desirable?
What if he gets bored of me/us?
Would he care about me if we weren't Bound to each other - assuming that we are?
Maybe it's because I've been handed around so much, had the fact that my devotion means little or nothing to other kindred driven home so many times that has left me feeling burned and insecure.
I shouldn't even think this way about Alexander, but I do. I can't help it. Even when I was a ghoul, doubt gnawed at me. I wished I could just yield to the Bond like so many do and wallow in that mindless happiness that it seems to grant others. But I can't.
Or is it that I won't?
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(strike at the stone)
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| Monday, March 7th, 2005
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11:45 am
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I hope New Haven enjoys Pavarotti and doesn't do something incredibly stupid, like Embrace him. For a start, that would infuriate the Toreador Archon in Rome. I wonder how many infuriated Archons it will take to wipe that place off the map? Quite a few, it seems, if rumors are to be believed.
My careful maneuvering within DeBeers continues apace. Another six months, maybe a year, and I'll have what I want from them. Then perhaps I'll have the time and gravitas to get a little more involved with the political scene. Night-bottomless pockets can be so useful, as the recent American election proved.
Alexander has been away for over a month. I miss him something awful, but I simply can't go gadding off to Cairo on a whim. Not now.
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(2 chips | strike at the stone)
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| Saturday, December 18th, 2004
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9:06 am - Old Characters Never Die...
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Strange. I dreamt of New Haven last night.
I'm at the court. Helena Moritz has installed herself as Prince and I'm not really fussed. I'm rather relieved for reasons that are unclear to me. I think I was merely Ventrue Primogen at this point, so perhaps I was relieved to be free of certain pressures.
Some courtier - a recent arrival unknown to me - is mouthing off to me about...something. No doubt how I was in for the high jump now that Helena was in charge. I don't know why, but this plump, sarcastic kindred in a pink Chanel knockoff is really irritating me, so I pick her up by the throat, squeeze until she can't get the words out, and I suggest that she shut up.
Alanna walks by at that moment, and whispers a suggestion in the dangling vampire's ear, which rather annoys me. Don't these kindred have anything better to do than interefere in fights that don't concern them?
Just as matters are about to get spectacularly unpleasant, there is a sudden commotion as a large number of courtiers burst into the room, a white-bundled figure in their midst. They put him down on a chair and start fussing over him like a bunch of hens with a chick. As the crowd settles, I realize it's Vannevar Thomas - looking rather shell-shocked and uncomfortable, but otherwise intact. The woman in my grasp squirms her way free and runs to join the sycophantic mob. I get the hell out of the room, speed-dialing Helena Moritiz on my celphone.
Helena's hysterical. Begging me to stand up for her - not as Prince, but as a loyal underling. Vannevar will believe me, she sobs, if I tell him that she only acted out of the court's best interest. Oh no, she never intended to keep the position forever, she would have only done as she did out of a belief that Vannevar could never rule again, et cetera. I see that the wind has changed direction and I tell her that if she gets through this with her life intact, not only does she owe it to me, but now I'm the only Seneschal of the Bay Area. "Anything, anything." she promises.
I linger in the hallway for a moment, caught on a dilemma. My attitude towards what has happened to me - my Embrace as a nasty joke - has softened somewhat (and it has) and I'm more phlegmatic about politics and life as a kindred at this point But... this is an excellent chance to flee the area, away from these oh-so-annoying vampires who seem bent on wasting their potential. But... that's my Sire in there, and the Prince of San Francisco. Perhaps it's worth taking a few more risks.
So I return into the room, and still the crowd fusses around him, twittering their glad tidings and relief, crowding too close to a kindred they barely have the status to look directly at, let alone touch in a fussy-hen way. I decide to indulge in a little theater. I stand a proper distance away, fall to my knees and then to full obeisance. I can hear my sire grumbling/moaning something, growing louder as the court continues to flutter. I remain still and finally I can hear the words.
"This isn't a court. This isn't a court." and finally, in an angry roar that scatters the standing kindred like sheep, "It's a PACK!"
Inside, I'm shaking like a leaf. I don't know what is more dangerous to my immediate safety - the behavior of the court, this conclusion that my sire has reached, or the simple fact of his return, so hale and hearty after so many rumors of sickness unto torpor. Something is badly wrong, but I've chosen to play the part of loyal childe, and now I must see it through.
***
OOC: Yes, I had this dream, as Johanna. It was as-a-larp, not as-Sally, but it's more interesting this way, doncha think? I got startled awake on it's a PACK! and thought 'Whoa, need to write this one down!"
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(strike at the stone)
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| Sunday, November 14th, 2004
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1:16 am - The End.
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It's over. I'm free. Freer than I was, at least.
I hope someone - anyone - gets a fuel hose and a lighted match into the wreckage of the TransAmerica pyramid before Vannevar is pulled from it.
I hope that Preston reclaims his identity as Darius Masterson - and receives what he so richly deserves from the court.
I hope Alexander will like the idea of London.
I hope I have a future. At least I can hope that, now.
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(strike at the stone)
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| Tuesday, November 2nd, 2004
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1:57 pm - Seething and Simmering
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I'm writing this whlst sitting on the roof of the Citibank building. The view across the Bay is quite lovely. Unfortunately, the view is just about the only positive thing in my vicinity just now.
I am not happy. But I'm also done coddling the hypocrites and the windbags of the court.
Andreas made an offer and I'm holding him to it. I think he would make an excellent Keeper of Elysium, and the Primogen agree with me. Even the Primogen of the only other serious contender has agreed that Andreas is the best choice for the office. But Andreas seems suddenly frightened of following through with his offer. I suppose I should look into that but, damn it, I'm tired of dealing with his supercilious huffing and puffing.
If he didn't want the job, he shouldn't have thrown his hat into the ring, even with strings attached.
To continue belaboring metaphors, he's made his bed, he can lie in it or get the hell out of the territory. I wouldn't miss him, but I would miss Mickey. It's only for her sake that I didn't just tell Andreas that his resignation was accepted, his Acknowledgement has been revoked and his has until dawn to get out of town... I don't know what she sees in him. He's a handsome man, but with all the subtlety and craft of an angry bull.
I suppose I could ask Vannevar to issue an order to Andreas to accept the positon as assigned but I'm reluctant to go to him about this matter. I'm Prince in all but name of New Haven. I can't keep turning to my Sire for support and validation.
I shouldn't really criticize anyone for anger, given how I'm running brim-full with it, myself, but I'm starting to think that sheer vexation is all that keeps me going just now. I might dislike my fellow courtiers, but at least that means I'm still feeling something. Between irritation and the few hours I can occasionally steal away with Alexander, I think I can keep going.
The view is nice. I hope I can keep enjoying that, too. No sunrise for me, not today. Ask me again tomorrow.
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(strike at the stone)
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| Monday, November 1st, 2004
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8:51 am - A Little More Coherent...
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I can't tell if I had been touched by PAT's madness, or if I'm starting to come unravelled, as I rather expected I would. Either possibility would explain my behavior on Saturday.
I had no patience - with the court, with the goings-on, none of it. Once it became clear that the majority members were out of their minds, I didn't even try to issue orders beyond having the Tremere taste blood in an utterly-vain attempt to look for fleshcrafted doppelgangers. After that, I was almost as insane as the rest of them - snarling at a staked Sybil and practically assaulting Preston, despite the fact that I knew he was non compos mentis. As I said, I just didn't care.
The Toreador clan has been almost totally destroyed. I can't even begin to think of what to say to Michelle. She's utterly devastated. At least she has Andreas to turn to for consolation. Had he been one of the evening's casualties, I would worry about her coming to the next court with a flamethrower and a death wish.
I don't know... Maybe doing the hunters' job for them would save the human population around here a lot of heartache. But it'll also make the Sabbat jump for joy and I'm damned if I'm going to advance their plans, at all. At least I'm still clear about one thing, I suppose.
Preston remains a huge source of uncertainty. If I could rip out the part of me that still gives a hint of damn for him, I would. It would be so much easier to blindly loathe him, to say to hell with the prestation debts my sire has gained by Preston's ongoing survival and just take his head. But I can't quite bring myself to do that. Maybe I admitted more truth than I realized during our last bile-fueled conversation. I can tolerate Preston's presence in New Haven - up to a point - but I cannot bear the thought of Darius, arrogant, overconfident and (ultimately) vindicated for his deeds, swanning around the court. Just thinking about that possibility makes me angry. But Preston... I don't know. Perhaps it's the humility forced upon him by his situation which makes him more bearable - even if it is only as thin as cheap veneer. Perhaps the not-so-unconscious satisfaction I get from seeing him brought down is a sufficient consolation for his ongoing presence.
However, I did not appreciate PAT's little gift of giving Darius' face back to him. I have to assume it was PAT or one of the other Sabbat lurking in the shadows. If it was Liam, I'm going to cut off his hands with a hot blade.
Thinking of blades, I have one of Preston's swords in my trunk. I think I'll drop it off the Golden Gate bridge. It belonged to Darius, not Preston. A Caitiff doesn't deserve such well-wrought weapons. Or maybe I'll just keep it 'hostage' for Preston's good behavior. When he gets through a court without infuriating me almost beyond the capacity for speech, maybe I'll give it back to him.
I think I'm beginning to understand how kindred go over to the Beast. It's so easy to let it do the thinking. Quick. almost painless, memorable. And violence and intimidation seem to the be only tools the Camarilla kindred around here really respect. No wonder the Sabbat has found this court to be such a fertile recruiting ground...
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(2 chips | strike at the stone)
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| Sunday, October 31st, 2004
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12:46 am
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Bad craziness tonight. I should have expected it, given the time of year.
Preston is damned lucky that I had been warned that hardly anyone was in their right mind. Still, he is going to remain staked until I receive a bloody good incentive to unstake him.
Maybe I should just keep things that way. Stake him after each court, unstake him beforehand...
No. That would be too unkind and lead him down the semi-primrose path that I walked. He must believe that he loves me of what little is left of his own free will.
Too many good kindred died tonight. I can't let my time be taken up by one "Caitiff"
I just wish I cared more than I do.
I wonder if Sybil even heard what I said to her...
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(strike at the stone)
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| Wednesday, October 27th, 2004
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9:06 pm - Timing Is Everything...
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Exactly one year ago tonight, I became Darius Masterson's thrall.
How quickly things have changed.
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(strike at the stone)
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7:14 pm - Evolution?
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The change has been gradual, but I have noticed it. I'm turning into something I don't like, but I don't see any way to stop it. It really does seem to be a case of kill or be killed. Monsters we are... indeed.
I spend too much of my time wishing for the impossible. I wish I was still human, that my son was alive, that I could still fall mindlessly, thoughtlessly in love like I used to. It's such a pointless waste of time to think such thoughts, but I can't stop that either.
There are too many things that I can't stop. I'm not in control of my life or the court.
I wish I could blithely abandon my responsibilities - there it is, again - but that's not going to happen. Until a more competent candidate manifests, I will continue doing what little I can for this ragtag bunch of misfits that calls itself the New Haven court.
I don't care about any of them. I hardly feel anything but resentment and contempt for anyone. I wanted to claw Preston's face for his impertinence, tell Liam to choke on his misplaced and overwrought ideas of propriety and ask entire Brujah clan to take their bickerings and oh-so-subtle machinations and shove them somewhere uncomfortable. Resentment and contempt. God, it's hateful.
How did I become like this? Would it have made a difference had I remained human, or was this inevitable?
Despite all of this, I still haven't really accepted what's happened to me. I was speaking to Dr. Green at the last court, and I caught myself referring to ghouls as 'us'. I could just say that old habits die hard, but I think it's more than that. I tell everyone that what's done is done, that I must accept my new state and move forward. Obviously, I'm not fooling myself. I just hope that I've fooled everyone else.
I don't know how much longer I can tolerate this. Something is going to break, and I'm quite sure it'll be me.
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(strike at the stone)
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| Thursday, October 14th, 2004
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8:22 pm
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| Tuesday, October 5th, 2004
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11:47 pm - ...
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I don't know what Vannevar migiht be, these days, but I'm definitely a Ventrue. Tonight I reached a point where I didn't know if I was speaking the truth or a pack of lies. The validity of the words I spouted depended entirely upon future events, not past ones.
Context has become a strangely self-recursive state.
I need a significant amount of alcohol and a dose of validation or - failing validation - some perspective.
Actually, I think perspective would be better. The quicksand that is the court has finally caught me in its mire. I'd rather not be part of the problem - but isn't it too late for that? Christ, I don't know.
Hence the need for persepective.
I tried being what I've come to consider as my 'old self' tonight. Friendly, inquisitive, genial, or so I thought. I managed to put my foot in my mouth within about three minutes and have no doubt set the nascent detente I had been working on back to square one.
Have I always been this clumsy? Or is the court's incompetence rubbing off on me? I suppose this King Log pose is to blame. Everything has two edges. Even logs.
Maybe I already had that drink...
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(1 chip | strike at the stone)
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7:41 pm - Not Working Hard Enough...
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I can't even enjoy blood at this point, unless it's taken from a kindred. Am I to be denied even the slightest comfort of this state?
Granted, vitae still tastes as it should and maybe I should be grateful for that. Nor am I cursed with being one of those rare few who cannot confer unnatural pleasure with the bite. But there is little enough enjoyment in it for me. I'm not pretentious enough to partake in any 'pleasure of the hunt' foolishness, nor arrogant enough to believe that the momentary pleasure my feeding incurs makes up in any way for what I steal from my victims.
That's it. My prey is not food, some mere cattle. I still perceive them as fellow humans and as such, I can't be as blithe as some kindred who shrug their nature off with "I never apologized to a Big Mac."
I don't know if I should consider this situation meritious or deletrious. It's playing absolute hell with my feeding habits and appetite. If it wasn't for Alexander, I'd probably be risking Frenzy twice a month. I feel like I risk it every time I feed, as it is - but I suppose all vampires do. It's always so close to the surface at those times.
As a matter of fact, the Beast has been quite close to the surface too damned often, of late. It's the stress, I'm sure. Not just feeding, but coping with New Haven, juggling the half a dozen emotional spats I'm dragged into, of constantly second-guessing everything I hear and having to wonder how is this aimed against me? It's starting to feel like hell on earth.
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(2 chips | strike at the stone)
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10:10 am - If I Was Captain of the Titanic, I Wouldn't Be Saying "Steady As She Goes..."
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Gracious me. I've been taken to task by the sheriff for my apparent apathy. Unfortunately, I can't be that flippant and just dismiss the matter. Clearly, the facade has cracked, and I need to get busy with the repair work. There's no-one who can take my place just yet, and so I must hold matters - and myself - together a while longer.
I sometimes wonder where I find the strength to keep going. This court took from me everything that I considered good about my life, and gave me nothing but pain and anxiety in return. Hardly a fair deal. But since when is life fair? If this can be called life. Existence would be a better term, I suppose.
Catonelli and I are in much the same situation, although I doubt he would see it that way. We're both overworked, short of competent help and waiting for the elders to wipe us out on a whim. A shame we can't bond over this shared situation.
I just re-read that sentence. What an awful play on words.
Ironically enough, it's Catonelli's own clan that seems to be most obviously pulling its act together right now. They've got the numbers and - I doubt this is a coincidence at all - now that Sybil is no longer Primogen and the Doctor's man is in place as clan whip, internal squabbles are being kept internal. They're making a good show of outward solidarity, and are taking the initiative on several tasks. I've thrown them a bone, of course. Good work should be rewarded. If Catonelli could just make use of all that, I think he'd no longer complain about a shortage of competent help.
A shame I can't do the same - count on a sizable and competent clan, I mean. Andreas is off on one of his no-doubt-doomed diplomatic missions and once he returns, his time will no doubt be taken up with consoling Michelle so he's as good as useless for the moment. Nigel is AWOL - I suspect family issues are to blame - and I've not heard from Rogers in weeks. Meanwhile, Howard is so modest as to be unable to impress me with any talent. I'm going to put him to work on the Ventrue Elysium, just to give him something to do. Perhaps he'll surprise me - in a positive way, I hope.
Vannevar's orders are causing most of the friction right now. I agree with Catonelli that dealing with the curfew should not be our first priority, but our Prince Hath Spoken In No Uncertain Terms. So... push on we must. Thank god I bit my tongue when Catonelli was goading me last night. I don't give a damn about 9/10ths of this court, why should I care if another member is carried off by the Sabbat? A few martyrs might galvanize the court when other tactics have failed.
Sylk was a poor sort of martyr. Preston had his chance to mercy-kill her the moment she crossed to the wrong side of the tracks. If anyone is culpable for her horrid end, it's him. As for the possible fate of other members of the court... I would say that I should let the Sabbat thin the herd, but talent is thin enough on the ground and so clearly obvious that I'm sure they'd end up targeting one of the few kindred that I actually need around here.
Mental note: remind Catonelli to use Preston to hunt/engage Sabbat. It's what he's here for.
I'm going to start granting right of Progeny to the more-competent members of court. Maybe they'll bring some more valuable kindred into our ranks, and strengthen our numbers. It's a hell of a risk, but I'm losing troops as it is. As Catonelli so tartly pointed out, we're only going so far with chauffeurs and off-duty cops. We need more kindred to fight this war, and so I must force my own feelings aside and play my part in condemning humans to a godawful - and probably short - existence.
I'm trying to bury myself in work, so that I don't have to listen to those myriad voices of guilt, paranoia and hate - but I don't think I'll ever completely succeed. Still, I should be glad that I still hear those voices. I think it means that I'm still human - somewhat.
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(4 chips | strike at the stone)
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| Sunday, October 3rd, 2004
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10:36 am - Swimming?
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It's like learning to swim in very cold water. Once you get over the initial shock, you become numb. This isn't necessarily a good thing.
Phillips had the goods on Vannevar - or believed he does, to the point by which Vannevar believed it, too. We could have defied the prince, spirited Phillips away and picked at his mind good and proper. But someone (Liam, I suspect) let Thomas know within minutes that we had Phillips' body, and we simply didn't have enough time to do as we wanted. The options were weighed, messages were put into bottles to protect against our minds being erased, and Phillips was killed.
Mickey was shattered. Phillips was her Sire. That actually stung me a little. But not the political neccessity of bowing to Vannevar's - or should I say "Vannevar's"? - will. That was calmly considered and decided. A kindred must die. Oh well.
Shades of Africa. I'm not pleased about this, but I also understand the necessity of it. Vampire are terrible creatures, and we're driven to do terrible things - often for the stupidest of reasons. We're a loathsome bunch. Any attempts to improve the standard are generally doomed upon inception. Perhaps I should stop fighting this worry and just accept matters as they are. When I was still human, I doubted that I could resist the lure of the Beast for very long and, so far, that seems to be true. The nastiness and backstabbing gets easier and easier...
The thing is, if the Prince of Yerba Buena is an imposter - possibly even a non-kindred - then the impersonation commenced quite recently. I am a Ventrue, I know I am. And I'll have Dr. Green confirm it, just to be sure.
There was a moment during my communiques with the Prince last week during which he showed an uncharacteristic display of temper... and his recent coming-down upon the Primogen... I must admit, it's not quite what I expect of him. But how well do I know him, really? It seems that I might not even know myself that well.
The possibility that I'm not what I think I am is something I don't want to consider just yet. On the one hand, it could make some things easier. Or the other, I don't want my existence to become even more the punchline to a bad joke than it already is.
I'm going to talk to Alexander about this, before I have him temporarily wipe my memory for my own good. This journal will act as a backup, also.
Otherwise, court was quiet. Attendance was down - fearing a Sabbat attack, no doubt - and the Brujah have apparently taken care of their internal disputes. Sybil is no longer Primogen, and Freight Train continues to exercise some restraint when talking to the female members of court. Preston hung around Alanna and Michelle all evening, which was a bit of a relief. He's whining at me to come visit him again, but I've got things I need to do. The shoe is on the other foot in that relationship, we'll see how he likes it.
My sheriff is trying to cope with the not-insignificant strain that accompanies his position. He's trying to take on too much, and realizing that there simply aren't enough trustworthy courtiers in New Haven upon whom tasks may be delegated. He's unhappy, I can tell, but doesn't want to seem like a quitter by resigning - or a weakling by asking for too much help. Pride will kill us all, I think.
Having formed a close, personal attachment with the most unpopular member of his own clan can't be helping Catonelli, either. I'm almost tempted to interfere with that arrangement, but it would only drive Sybil straight back to the Anarchs and give them a rallying cry (of sorts) to make trouble for us. I think that things are going to follow a fairly predictable course with those two, the course that any relationship takes when one half of the couple is extremely busy and overworked, and the other one is being left behind in limbo. It might take a few months, but their intimacy will fade, the desire to share blood will decrease, and Catonelli will be his own man, again. That will be quite interesting as, despite his little flaws, I like him, and admire his talents. I would like to see him free of an Anarch influence.
I'm trying very hard not to worry about this Vannevar situation but, damn it, something is up. If it was all some stupid misunderstanding, why did Vannevar take it so seriously. I fear that Phillips knew the truth, and we're going to have to reproduce whatever circumstances brought him to that conclusion. That's going to be difficult, as I'm sure Vannevar has been destroying evidence along the way.
If the Prince of Yerba Buena is not what he seems to be, what's going to happen to me? It's a sad fact that death is not the worst thing I can think of. I'm afraid that if we manage to reveal Vannevar as one with no right to the throne, the court is going to try to put me up in his place. With luck, that won't happen. Liam would not be the most ideal Prince for this court, for so many reasons, but I don't think I'm going to stand in the way of his - or anyone else's - ambition again. Let them take up this bloody yoke - I'll go back to London. I wonder if Alexander would like London?
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(strike at the stone)
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