Vampire - The Masquerade: Bloodlines and all related characters are owned by White Wolf

Being a vampire sounds pretty cool in your fantasies, and according to novels and television is also much fun with a lot of parties and stuff. The blood drinking thing appears only as a minor price for immortality, insane beauty and supernatural abilities. As always reality beats the imagination to death. Brutal, bloody and merciless. Being a vampire is nothing like the Anne Rice stuff and even Bram Stoker's version sounds very comfortable. At least Dracula loves. I bet the real Dracula must have laughed his undead ass off while reading that book. Anyhow, it's not romantic. It's like a big fucking gang and mafia war. Mix it up with corruption, politicians and intrigues which would make every conspiracy theorist turn green with envy and voila! There you go: welcome to the Kindred society. Not that I want to complain after the Prince kicked me out of his tower and prohibited me from agreeing to assignments involving Kindred without his approval. I'm Ventrue and Ventrue are the cream of the crop. Rich, respected and proud; I'm probably only the last two but that won't help me at all. What was LaCroix's ascent was my downfall, and I don't want to lose face by admitting that I'm dependent on the Prince of Los Angeles, crawling back on my knees into his office – or even more that the reason behind kicking me out was my treachery with the Sabbat and my loss of the Prince's confidence. However this is something only a few other Kindred know, those being LaCroix and myself with two more: the Regent and Primogen of clan Tremere Maximillian Strauss and Ophelia, former Primogen of clan Malkavian. But she had vanished, making space for a new Malkavian Primogen: Therese Voerman.

For the public I'm still the Prince's protégé and most trusted asset. A pretty shitty burden, and according to Dean he had changed. What I heard on the streets was that he was like that before the Ankaran Sarcophagus showed up, but LaCroix's change in attitude didn't boost his popularity, only made it that he was feared once again. Nowhere were there jokes about the Jester in the tower. Le phénix rusé, the Emperor, the Dictator. I didn't meet him again after he threw me out, and as I pondered if all these mumblings were true I really wanted to see him again, in fact: I missed him sometimes, no, pretty often. You only know what you miss when you lose it. It was kind of sick, but finally I accepted having feelings for the most manipulative, self-absorbed asshole I've ever met in my entire life. Needless to say I really needed to hide that I was more than eager when I heard the Prince would be attending one of his famous executions in the Nocturne Theatre. Bad remembrances for me in that case, but at least it wasn't my ass kneeling on the floor and being beheaded. My eyes were glued to every move LaCroix made, except when I needed to cover it for Dean and James so that they wouldn't pick up that I had more than a soft spot for the dictator on the stage. They were right. He had changed. He was calm, almost like that entire ruckus months ago hadn't even touched him in the slightest manner; and the whispers in the audience proved what the dementation told me and made me smile. Why? I don't know. Shouldn't I be pissed that he used me to come this far and then dropped me like a hot potato? This affection towards him was unhealthy for me. I'm old enough to realise such things unlike a teenager but that was at least a minor concern. I needed money. Would've been half as bad if LaCroix hadn't wanted 2.000$ paid back every month. Feeding got more time consuming, because I needed to hunt again. No nice and cold fridge with blood packs. No fast food for the German. No well-paid assignments from other Kindred because I'm the Prince's protégé, while the gain from the Confession all went into LaCroix's account which was already full and if Mercurio hadn't been here I would probably be sleeping in the sewers, because I can't find any free and payable flats in Camarilla territory. I need a job. Without one, my Permanent Resident Card will be void and I'll have to leave the States, because LaCroix fired me. I don't want to leave the States. I want to stop running away when things get complicated and in Germany there is nothing waiting for me anyway. Good pal Mercurio was here again to point me to Arthur Kilpatrick. I really owe him my ass as much as I own his for not reporting the Astrolite incident to the Prince.

Arthur wants me to search for his employed bounty hunter Carson, and after several hours I was able to get the right password for his stupid laptop. Who would've guessed it was literally pinned against the wall? This track led me to a guy named Gimble where McGee – the one Carson was after – was going to model his limbs, and Gimble was interested in my offer to do the modelling for him. If this will gain me money, I'm in. What could go bad during a modelling job?

AN: Thanks Margotine for pointing the mistake out in the last chapter of Schattenspiel! My French is just...oh there's no word to describe the awfulness of it. I don't want to be responsible for a diplomatic incident between France and Germany, but I really like the language. My brain is just not able to understand it D:

Thanks Celeste (Danke für die Zeit die du investierst!), Heartfrost (I'm still grinning like a retard), rednightmare (He pisses us off, that's why we love him) and Zaekka (Nein! Niemals!) for the reviews!