She bounces giddily in testament to the unadulterated glee she feels, the sheer magnitude of her excitement and anticipation curling against the pallor of her cheeks in a soft and rosy blush, blue eyes aglitter with what the evening promised. It had been quite some length of time since both women had been presented the opportunity to venture out together, both having been far more preoccupied by their busy lives as of late... leaving precious little time to meander about as they had done in years past. Their shared youths had been littered with myriad misadventures and this fervor for mischief had only compounded during their road to adulthood; for these two companions even a commonplace street festival possessed far grander potential than might have initially been believed.

"I think we can save the havoc-raising for later, we've only just arrived after all," she offered, her tone one of faux-admonishment, though the smile that lingered so wantonly upon her lips shattered the illusion entirely. Slender digits drum contemplatively against her chin as Isolt weighs each option in turn, finally reaching the conclusion that the wares of an art vendor were not only far too tempting to simply pass by but also markedly more alluring than being jostled about by the steadily growing mob writhing to the music of the current band. Decided, the young redhead traipses rather jauntily in the direction of said vendor, waving a beckoning hand in the direction of her dearest friend. Isolt peruses the offerings for but a matter of moments, however, before the neighboring tent effectively captures her attentions. She is gone in a swishing of copper curls before returning a minute later donning a positively beaming smile and a delicate sea-foam fabric flower clipped just so into her wealth of gleaming auburn hair. "Harley, look what I found!" Her exclamation is nothing if not adorably excitable, a single expertly-manicured finger flicking towards the flower. It was, of course, pleasantly reminiscent of the flowers that Isolt's grandmother had made a habit of weaving into her flowing locks when she was a child; an adornment that only become more sophisticated as she had aged.

"Do you see anything you like," she inquires, turning her attention to the stunning display of eclectic wares arranged upon tables and balanced against the metal poles of the tent by Harley's chosen vendor. The fearsome brunette had always been the more aggressively artistic of the inseparable duo, her talent with needle and ink homage to this axiomatic truth. So distinguishable a talent, in fact, that Harley remained the singular individual that Isolt had ever allowed to put a needle to her own tender, fleshy canvas... yet another bond they were destined to share.

Her reverie is shattered, however, by the resounding crack of a gut-wrenching scream; a chilling and grotesque thing it was indeed, siphoning a wave of ice into Isolt's bloodstream. Her copper-crowned head swivels about in a rushing of auburn curls, delicate brow furrowing painfully as blue eyes succeed in deciphering the source of the uproar from the steadily-building panic that has ensued. "Harley," she whispers in a breathless lament, fear a fine and prickling drizzle down the curved length of her spine. Delicate fingers clutch at her friend's forearm, tightening against the supple fabric of her jacket in some instinctual attempt to stave the tsunami of panic that lingers just beyond the realm of her current emotional scope. Her eyes dare not cleave from the scene unfolding a sobering short distance from where they currently perused: she detects without fault more than a single pair of treacherously pointed fangs... and she can almost, almost, smell the foul stink of fear lingering in the air.