For now, Christine was happy. More so than she had been for a long time. While she was not sure of the wisdom of John coming back to Port Lusseria, well, it was certainly quite nice having him here. Not that Argentina had been all that bad, mind you. She spoke Spanish well enough to be comfortable, but still, she did rather prefer being in the States.

Keeping in contact with, well her contacts was important. Chris knew enough about the who's who of kindred society in Port Lusseria that she knew, basically, who to go to, for information on nearly any subject. That person was Anastasia. Darien Luna's long time ghoul. Whether looking up some strange little loophole in a new tax law, or finding out a name for a certain sect, it was all pretty simple. If Darien knew, Ana probably knew it as well.

In fact, sometimes, Ana knew more than Darien.

Either way, the two could exchange information, whether it was for business...or, just chatting.

Ana had also been one of the primary reasons that Christine was slowly getting over her not unreasonable fear of malkavians. She would never be free of it, but at least she could see that not all of them were like Rob.

She did, at times, feel rather sorry for Ana though. She was equally certain that Ana felt the same about her. Well....basically they were in the same boat, after all.

Men....
Ok...one man in particular.
Secretive, sneaky, covert, cantankerous, crabby, grouchy, inquisitive, nosy, and those were his good points.
Yes....for her sins, she loves him. At the same time...

One night....all was well, things went smoothly, no problems.
The next night...nothing was right.

Of course, he needed an occupation. In life, just surviving day to day had been enough to keep him busy, now, he didn't have many of those problems, so he needed mental stimulation.
The fact he also, at times, had the attention span of a gnat, certainly did not help.
The question she had been getting....how DO you stay together so long?

In her case, she was beginning to believe it was a miracle.

If she didn't stake him....it was because she had the patience of a saint.

Art.
What was art? Well, to each his own, of course.
Rob had felt that putting the symbols of the clan on her back was art. She was, often, very happy that he had only finished two of them. The rose under her shoulder blade and the mirror above her hip. Since he had literally burned them into her skin, with a sharp knife, they were not going away. Unless she had the entire area removed.
Rob had also been a writer and poet. She kept his books, while not her usual type of reading, they had a vividness of imagery. They were the type of books that even if you didn't like the genre, they pulled you in and you could not put the thing down. Even after a hundred or more readings. His poetry was definitely Poe'ish.
The salon had been wonderful. While the era was not one of her big interests, the art had still been something worth looking at. Her short conversation with Mr. Fairchild had also shown her that, even though she was merely a ghoul, she had some slight status. Due entirely to John, of course.
Art was also in the sharing of information, rumors and news. Talking with Jenny was in the same area as talking with Anastasia. News she needed to keep up with what was going on.
There is an art in knowing which way a cat will jump, and how to be out of the way when the balloon goes up.