Boring… Nobody interesting at sight; this almost disappointing him. He had made dull puppets fascinating in no time, although he had a certain preference… with strong ideals and volatile tempers. Those were his favorites, particular the ones who didn’t mind getting their hands stained with blood for their self-righteousness just like his Baron and…
“Oh Esther…” Dietrich let go a false longing sigh from his lips and swirled the cooling coffee. The waitress had brought it ages ago. All the sips he had ventured to take didn’t meet agreeable results. The bitter flavor of the Espressos served in Roma or Über Berlin had spoiled him to the point of making this one hard to swallow. One more reason to set this city on fire; a worthwhile place would breed decent coffee.
Fingers rapped on the table several times. My, if he wasn’t wishing for those silly vampires or “demons” to show up to have something to do. They had sneered at him in their past encounters, only watching the shell, the fragile if beautiful human body he was born with, without dwelling deeply of what sort of heart or soul he had. There was neither love nor compassion within him. That was the most frightening of him, not his prodigious intellect, but the fact he was a human being dripping of pure evil: innocent in his malevolence. The proud creatures had all succumbed to his threads first and, after at, languished on the laboratory table. How funny. They didn’t appear too “special” when they were squirming beneath his scalpel. Vivisection was far more insightful than dissection in more ways than one. Their different genetic structure was easily catalogue and explained - nothing too magical about an extra set of genes and a series of unaesthetic mutations.
“What else can I offer you, sir?” the waitress’ voice distracted him. It was the buzzing of a puppet. He missed Mein Herr and the Magician. Possible the only one he could regard as people in his world.
“That’s okay, I am…” He was going to pay and leave, look for something else to investigate. When he rose, Dietrich noticed the young man reading a newspaper. He was familiar, from that board, he recalled, the fellow puppeteer who was little too public about his preference. Damien Thorn. Mmmmmm. He looked around his age if he wasn’t one of the members of those ageless species. Whatever, the Puppet Master shrugged; he was certainly a change from the dull dolls that couldn’t catch his eye even if they tried. “I am going to change tables,” he added with a charming smile, picking his bag and walking over Damien’s direction.
“Guten Tag,” he greeted when he was close enough. “Damien Thorn, hmm?”