isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

How many times had they done this? How many times had they meandered (or, far more accurately, stumbled) down the fissured concrete sidewalks of Sacrosanct towards their humble abode with the intent of weathering the tumultuous aftermath of yet another night out on the town? How many times had they clung to one another in a desperate and ill-fated attempt for stability in their shared drunkeness only to come precariously close to tumbling into the chaos of the street? Far too many times than could be accounted for, truly. The pair had drained the wells of more than a single establishment, setting themselves adrift on the rolling waves of intoxication, as frequently as their busy lives had allowed. As fate would have it, it was on one such night that Isolt had been awaiting Harley's arrival so that they may do more of the same at a grungy, undiscovered bar... where she had chosen a barstool next to a man with beautiful emerald eyes. A man who would change the course of her life, of their lives, forevermore.

But these thoughts do not cast their shade unto Isolt's gaiety on this night. Her thoughts are kept solely on the evening that had transpired as she traipsed amidst the thinning crowd in the direction of Harley's new abode, a single arm hooked about her companion's elbow as she had done so very many times before this. Sadly, though, this night is not as the ones that had come before it. Immortality had picked Isolt's pockets of many things in its greed, the ability to achieve intoxication by traditional means among them. Only once during her time as a vampire had Isolt found herself within the psychological whirlpool of inebriated splendor... when Damon had deemed it suitable to introduce the then-starved woman to the thrills of faerie's blood.

But there had been no faerie blood to be had this night, only an admittedly impressive array of alcohol that, for Isolt, had served only as a prop in an ongoing production that she played for her dearest companion. For Harley's sake, she had convinced herself; for surely the dark-haired woman would find no want within her heart for a vampire companion. It could only be hoped that Harley's own intoxication was of such a caliber that it might muddy the waters of her mind to such a degree that she may not notice that the telltale blush to Isolt's cheeks was absent, that her companion's speech went unslurred. Alas, in an effort to press the inconvenience of these considerations into mental exile does Isolt incline her head towards that of her companion to chuckle childishly into her ear. "I swear I thought they were going to kick us out for laughing so loud. I cannot believe that you convinced that guy to flash the bartender! The look on his face was priceless!"