The Beast in Man (Vampires in Berlin: Book One)

The Beast in Man Part 1

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You love hatred and want to measure the world against it,
You throw food to the beast in man,
That it may grow, the beast deep within you!
Let the beast in man devour man.

Marschliedchen - Eric Kästner

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Richard shivered and pulled his coat closer around his body, as snow drifted in fat white clumps down from the sky; above his head, clouds stretched from horizon to horizon, heavy and grey and pregnant with more snow to come. Already, the ground was covered in a thick layer of it, which crunched beneath Richard's sturdy boots every time that he moved; other than the sounds that he made himself, he could hear little else. He was surrounded on all sides by the most beautiful scenery that he'd seen in a long time, the Bregenzerwaldgebirge rearing up to puncture the sky with their white-tipped peaks, whilst forests rolled dark and green and snow-capped around him.

The air was crisp and clean, so unlike the air that Richard was used to in Berlin; he inhaled appreciatively, before he fouled the air a little by dragging on his cigarette and sending a plume of nicotine tinged breath up to the skies. He closed his eyes momentarily and turned his face upwards; he felt the soft kissing of snowflakes against his skin and he smiled despite himself. Even though he didn't like the cold, he liked the quietude that such a peaceful surround offered him.

Rammstein were holed up in a remote studio situated in the forests that overlooked Bezau, which comprised a smart and cosy complex of log cabins; one of the cabins was the designated sleeping area, and was fully equipped with a kitchen-cum-living area. One of the cabins belonged to the producer and owner of the studios, Bob Adams, an emigre from England, who lived within its small yet cosy confines. The remaining cabin in the complex was the all important studio itself, where a sixteen track mixing desk took pride of place in the producer's booth. Richard had been told that there even was a swimming pool onsite, yet he hadn't bothered to seek it out; after all, he knew that in December, it would be covered over anyway, only exposed to the light of day when summer rolled around and warmer weather held sway over the mountains.

"You're not going to start catching snowflakes on your tongue, are you?" Paul asked suddenly from nearby, deep voice warm and dark with his amusement.

Richard snorted despite himself; he'd been surprised by Paul's sudden arrival, as he hadn't heard the man's approach. Either he'd been too engrossed in his own thoughts or Paul really was lighter in treading across the snow than Richard himself was.

"No, I'll just leave you to do that, in my place," Richard said, without either opening his eyes or tilting his head down to stare at Paul. "That's more your sort of thing, I would have thought."

Paul's only response was to laugh, and Richard finally tilted his head down to stare at the other man at close range. He had to smile suddenly at the sight of his lover, cuddled up cosily in the thickest coat that Richard had ever seen, whilst a thick woollen scarf was wrapped snugly around Paul's neck. A hat that matched the scarf was pulled down low over Paul's head, so that the tips of his ears were covered by the soft brim of it and although Richard could not see the other man's hands, due to them being shoved deeply into Paul's pockets, he assumed that Paul also was wearing a thick pair of gloves. Despite his precautions against the cold, Paul's cheeks and the tip of his nose were still red and cold-bitten, lending him the air of a particularly jolly, and cute, little elf.

"What's so funny?" Paul asked, as he stared at Richard, lips curling into a soft little smile despite his curiosity.

"You look cute, all wrapped up like you are," Richard replied, deigning to actually go so far as to call Paul an elf.