A Lack of Stock

I only had one customer last night, and I didn’t have anything for him to drink. I thought I heard noises, as though somebody was skulking around the entrance to the tavern.  When I called out, our teenaged friend from the previous evening poked his head, rather nervously, around the door post.  I can’t say I blame him, given that last time I saw him, I was ready to part his head from his shoulders.  I assured him that I wasn’t going to harm him and gestured for him to come in.  I did, however, warn him that skulking around corners was probably a bad idea under the circumstances.  What with various things going on, including uncontrolled cŵn, he could get hurt.

I will give the kid his due, he was very polite and apologetic, blaming extreme hunger for his lapse of control.  I told him he was forgiven, but left a hint of warning still, about how protective I was of my friends.  His name, he told me, was Vladimir Dragescu, which sounded Eastern European, or possibly Russian to me, but I didn’t really get the chance to enquire further.  I enquired if Brigitte had seen to his hunger, which she apparently had.  Not that I had anything to offer him if she hadn’t.  This isn’t like the old days at the London Café, with Borris’ well-stocked cellar. I have wondered, on occasions, if I ought to take a few bottles with me when I go hunting so I can keep a small stock of animal blood in the fridge.  Somehow, I am not sure if Aoibheann would be in favour, given her distrust of vampire-kind.  I also learned that he was newly embraced, so still getting used to the lifestyle.  I felt for him, so admitted, albeit indirectly, that I was kindred too, and that it had taken me a while to get used to it.  Brigitte may think me a neonate, but I am sure I have more experience than this poor kid.  He might appreciate some support from somebody who also lacked direction.  I told him that he should come to me if he had any questions or problems and Brigitte wasn’t around.  He was restless, as teenagers tend to be, and soon bounded off, saying he was going to check out the schoolroom.  That engenders hope, if he is actively seeking education.

I took some of Mitternacht’s cinnamon buns over to the infirmary, thinking Aoibheann might appreciate them.  She managed to be moderately civil this time, if a little terse.  She was mostly concerned how the tavern was doing, being frustrated that she was still confined to bed when she could be doing something.  I assured her that the tavern was doing just fine and that she should stop worrying about it and concentrate on getting well.  After all, I said, I could look after the tavern for her, but I couldn’t help her heal.  She didn’t say much after that, so maybe she took that to heart.  I left her to rest, which is probably the best thing for her.

Sketching ideas for the “Black Friars” project is keeping me busy, even if it is still refusing to gel into a cohesive story.  I haven’t abandoned Edmund by any means, but I want to get these other ideas down on paper while I can.

I haven’t seen Sophia in a while, not since I delivered the meat and dairy produce.  I hope she is settling in well.  I must drop her a note next time I am passing.  I know I keep odd hours sometimes, but it does seem that I keep missing people.  That Diane woman hasn’t been around much, at least, not when I have been out.  I haven’t seen Cristof for ages, or Anna, even though she is clearly around taking care of the patients.  It’s probably my fault, I should keep more sociable hours when I can.  If only I could get my sleep patterns under control.  Maybe that is something I should ask Brigitte about when I see her.  It’s about time she taught me something.

 

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