Curiosities Demon in Disguise, #262424 Date, Seventh month, fourteenth day. Time, two hours past midnight. Again I find myself losing sleep over the simple curiosities of human beings. Their taste for love and joy surpasses that of pain and loss. I watched a man fight his way through three men just to get the last crumbs of bread, and when he did, the look on his face was no less than that of a blind man seeing the sun. There was something there, and I don't quite understand. He tried so hard to get their crumbs when a whole loaf was ripe for the taking. He could've done it, no one would know. Alas, I lose myself to the complexities of misunderstanding and misinterpreting the human mind. I've hired new hands to aid me in my studies, although they don't know it. A young boy, aged twenty, and a girl whose name I have yet to see. Playing the facade of a Doctor of sorts is getting difficult. The procedures are easy enough, the research less than tedious, but all this time is wasted on what I cannot understand. I will figure this out. C.B. In the dark of the night, Cassius Black set down his thick leather bound journal. It was filled with notes, they varied from the simple observations of a cat in his window, up to the bloody mess of murder he'd seen out his window. Everything he watched and did was inside, no one was allowed to even touch the book without losing a hand. It was his very order which kept his secrets safe. He brushed his hands against the soft surface of the bound book, it was at least a few decades old, and his first possession among the human realm. It wasn't something he was familiar with, but found it to be quite useful in his extended stay. Aside from that, it helped him to blend in. Many rich folks seemed to have hordes of books, all of the information inside pertaining to their own lives of a study of some sort. Most were handwritten, some crudely drawn pictures were usually scattered inside. A dimming candle was set on his oaken desk, wax melted off the side slowly, and he started for a while into the soft light. He could see just fine in the dark, but he had to keep the facade of playing the noble Doctor. Writing perfectly in the dark was not a good way to keep that face. He brushed his hand around the heat of the flame when he was done with his journal, when the flames licked against his hand he grimaced but did not pull away. There was a soft knock on his door, a young girl entered and left a piping hot cup of tea for him, as requested, and left without saying a word. In Cassius' time in the world, he'd seen her beaten in the streets for being of such low birth, but he didn't understand how it warranted the broken bones. She barely spoke, and was incredibly loyal to the Doctor she served. He never asked much of her aside from a few meals a day, and provided a warm bed for her to sleep in. Little did she know, it was all up to his inability to understand class. He stood, blew out the candle and went to retrieve the cup. On the morrow, he had work to do, more help to find, and more research to perform.