She guided him with her hand in his through the crowd, because he was too busy fancying at the moon. First, he saw the man on the moon, than moon itself became a complexion; faces became monstrous, and he left for the earth. Her hand in his was warmer... wasn't it the reason why she was holding his hand and dragging him in the first place? That was trivial, he got back to admiring Mistress Moon's rays; he got lost in them, got blinded by them, then her guidance helped him walk the yellow brick road and back to the crowded street. Which city were they in? He didn't know, nor did care.
"Once we have you fed," she was jingling in his ears, "You'll be better, you'll see everything as they should be seen by us the seers." She gave him a kiss, which he hardly returned, distracted by everything around him. "Then I'll take you home," she smiled with her full lips, this time he answered with a confused and a little stupefied look. "We'll dance till dawn and then dive into depths of our insights till dusk." She had a hungry expression on her face, a hunger for much different things than a Happy Meal. "But let us get you fed first... Yes, yes! First thing's first!"
Just then, he suddenly stopped, like a marble statue formed by the hands of the angels themselves, amongst the impatient, insufficient herd of mere mortals. This time, she stopped with him and observed what drove the attention of her Childe. A homeless man, not having more than forty summers' sun shine upon him, but as the two Cainites could grasp with their unearthly insight, had a sixty-seventy years of tiredness slumped on his shoulders and mind, was yelling some things right in the middle of the street.
"Imma talk to 'im!" the Childe said in a raspy tone, "The one who know' all!" he started skipping towards him, but his Sire said "Stop!" in a commanding tone, and so he complied. "But," he lamented, "Look at the poor kine tauntin' 'im! O no he don't deserve it!"
She made him look into her eyes and talked slowly, "This is the difference between us and them, my little Gingerbread Man..." she sighed. "You had better understand it at once, they are not like us, they don't have the willpower we have... We can embrace our insight, cherish it, get driven by it yet stay in control, and use it; but they can't. They are what pigs were to you once you were a human, plain meat, rolling in dirt, squealing, but in the end, getting eaten. You are not one of them anymore, you moved up to the top of the food chain."
"But," he pouted, "He knows...!"
"Yes, but his mere human mind cannot yet comprehend it like ours." They eyed the poor guy being the jester to a group of teenagers. "Come on," she said, "You'll feed first, once it's done, you'll see everything clearer."
He gave up his curiosity to his sire's obsessively strict order, and they continued walking.