Bea's penmanship had nearly geometric precision, considering its minuscule size. The paper stock was heavy, suited for inks and watercolor more than missives, which added to the weight of the envelope enough to require twice the postage.

The margins, however, were far from empty. Each jagged line, each hollow circle bore an element of restraint, like holding a dog from running in front of a moving train.

Abby,

France is awful. At best, the country seems quaint, yet more often than not, it teeters into hollow bunk. The language has become ugly and ridiculous, hardly worth the effort of their Cultural Preservation. At least the diphthongs in Cymric have some semblance of consistency. Perhaps my hatred stems from envy at their national pride, while mine own people have become, albeit jocularly, associated with domestic zoophilia.

My curmudgeoning aside, Arras has become an interesting place. The current fledglings seem to display an almost purposeful stupidity, with wide-eyed hope that their elders will set them right, as they perceive themselves as beholden to some great destiny or believe their blank, over-educated testimonies and bland philosophical breakthroughs to be of earth-shattering importance, even when derailing from the political oubliette of the Jyhad. Helene and locked a few of the secondary members of this poor-man's Anarch uprising in a greenhouse at a countryside chateau and sent their sires to Dresden on an "errand" with no word on when they might be expected back. The leaders of it pout in tense, narcissistic rage, all while cowering from a little honey-haired bookworm at a hotel concierge desk. I like her.

Jean-Pierre has been acclimating well to the Camarilla, and to the Primogen council especially. He has put DeLorme back in contact with the Paris Nosferatu, and both he and Dereje work as two hemispheres to the council's brain; Dereje the analytical, enthusiastic left, and Jean-Pierre the impressionistic, moody right. We joke that Finch is the Cerebellum, yet that role seems terribly reductive for her efficacy. His compulsion reads as dedication, and his taciturn demeanor as humility, earning him a place of note as far as Malkavian Primogens go.

Inga has been using the Call of Duty games and MMA gyms as her method of spreading her influence and maintaining contact with her constituents and cronies. She's clever, I'll give her that. Finch has strong contacts in the gaming community, although she remains staunch about her inability to stomach the fighting clubs, deeming them "bad f***ing poetry readings." Helene assures me that Dresden will determine the tack that she'll take in dealing with her, yet that is as far as she has let me know. Helene is, of course, far more clever than anyone understands.

I'm glad that you and the Swiss Monster have taken up, together. You both carry that aloof, animalistic loyalty and unmeditated affection which displays a bond that others often wish that they could find, resorting to twee and grandiose displacements of effort in exchange for their lack of curiosity and understanding.

I myself have been doing well. I feel old, impatient with the world at large, yet infinitely drawn to understand its underpinnings in my solitude. Wilhelmina has been an excellent companion, and chatty, to boot. She oft brings me memories of our time together, as brief as it was, and yet I remain thankful for that tiny gem that has been sewn in the tapestry of mine long, long years.

Yours,
Blodwyn