The scene is dark, lit only by a candle that's held by a college girl. The girl looks left, then right, softly calling out to her friend towards the camera.

 

CHARLOTTE: Jackie? Where'd you go? .... Jackie?

 

The camera moves forward, wobbling slightly, at eye level, as if it's a person walking towards her. As the camera moves in she continues to call, until a hand moves into frame, grabbing the wrist and causing the candle to drop to the ground, extinguished as it falls.

 

CHARLOTTE: (screaming) OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU!?

 

The camera slowly adjusts to the light, and we see Jackie, looking every bit the normal sorority sister she was earlier, except now, she's leaned over the corpse, she inhales deeply, it's hard to see, but the position of Jackie's body seems off putting and odd, perhaps she's on her hands and knees, but her elbows extend a bit too far and her palms are a bit too flat. She hisses. The sound should carry the scene more than the visuals, hear the ragged breathing of Jackie that sounds slightly obscured. And end the scene with Jackie skittering slightly off-camera, the breathing fading slightly after the scene finishes and the next one begins.

----------------------

 

We met up with the London court, and it seems Mr. Lane wasn't precisely forthcoming about his dealings with them. His Highness was, for the most part, forgiving and understanding, and thankfully, all was resolved peacefully, and the court was willing to give leeway on my behalf. Most civil indeed. Though it's been quite sometime since I've spent time in a larger cities' court. They do have quite a number of members! I was shaken a bit more than I would have liked. Had I known I'd be traveling Europe and spending time in a major city, I might have done more research and informed the Court of my intentions to visit far further in advance. But I suppose Mr. Lane would consider himself the “spontaneous sort” and probably wouldn't take much pleasure in lengthy preparation.

 

To negotiate Mr. Lane's foolish behavior around the Prince, he asked a favor of me, which is to say, for me to take care of someone who'd been troubling them, and for a pint of blood from my current... apprentices, seeing as Mr. Lane has left his young, eager, converts, high and dry as it stands. I had myself a good long laugh about the face Miss Aranda pulled at the Princes humble request. Miss Aranda seems the rather, squeamish sort. I believe my sister would refer to her with more colorful termage, but it's not my way to indulge that sort of thing.

 

Miss Keene offered two pints of her own blood after Miss Aranda began to refuse, which was remarkably wise on her part, as I'm assured that his Highness was in the sort of mood which did not allow for much denial of his will. Though I may not have missed Miss Aranda's company, it's for the best to have some extra hands in order to recover Mr. Lane. Allies are allies, you don't waste them over a few minor grievances.

 

Most curious, I'd not thought of it until just this moment, but I wonder what Genius blood might taste like? It's rumored that Mage blood causes painful, and even sometimes crippling mental effects for several days. I myself have sampled once from the later traitorous werewolves a good number of months ago. Though it felt hardy and strong, my whole body felt strange, like the Beast itself was crawling right under my skin, waiting to claw its way out. Werewolves. Urg. Good for nothing at all.

 

After our time spent with the vampires, the good fellow Mekhet, Clover, sent us on our way. For the next day I slept in the bathtub. It was absolutely awful. I felt like some sort of vagrant.

 

When evening finally fell again, we were able to return to Lucas' manor, where his servants were informed of their master's disappearance. Both of them were significantly concerned, and I know Daddy would be pleased with Lucas' good choice in servants, they appeared ready to do anything to help recover their master, which is precisely what a good servant should do. Miss Keene worked hard on some sort of computer program for her brain, which by now I've learned is one of the many Genius-made objects that they covet.

 

Miss Aranda demanded to go home, and I didn't much miss her presence. Though she returned the next day seeming apologetic and calmer, I'll reserve judgment. Autotea and myself watched movies while we waited for Saturday. I searched through Mr. Lane's desk for clues about were he might have gone. I turned up mostly empty-handed, other than a World War I or perhaps II, photo of him in a British uniform. And I found a very queer blue room that seems to like a television on pause, I can't move into the “picture”, I'll have to inquire about it sometime when we aren't so busy.

 

The current course of action is to split up at this Genius meet up. Myself and Watt representing two people looking for Mr. Lane directly and Miss Aranda, Miss Keene, and Autotea inquiring more covertly as simply interested parties. I'm hopeful that we'll find Mr. Lane promptly, and that I'll find the fellow with the whip that the Price asked me to take care of. I wish I knew what sort he was so I'd know what kind of bullets to load my gun with. But I suppose that will be a last resort for now.