There existed no other place in the city quite like this one. No place that seemed to soothe her soul quite so well as this, no place that could have ever proffered up the emotional sanctuary that this one did. It was a place of still calm in the writhing tumult that had personified various periods of her life during her time in Sacrosanct. It had been and would always be her own personal slice of heaven. Shared, of course, with her most cherished friend and a lovably grumpy German Shepherd. The latter's antics eliciting some modicum of surprise from the red-haired woman, the ebony lupine having rarely ever been known to approach any new comer, be they canine or otherwise, with such evident and unabashed enthusiasm. More surprising still is the calm manner in which he responds to the none-too-subtle lacings of dominant aggression that seem to entwine themselves into every fiber of the vagabond she has invited so graciously into her home. A development that earns the stripped beast a scathing glance and a pointed and admonishing shake of her copper-crowned head before she turns quite abruptly to head to the single powder room.

Effortlessly Isolt sweeps her crimson locks away from her angelic face, fashioning them into an artfully disheveled bun atop her head before gathering a spare towel from their absurdly well-stocked linen cupboard. The water slides against her slender fingers, licking its consoling warmth against hands still stricken by the numbness of what anxiety lingers within. Nevertheless, clandestine threads tug the brims of her ruby lips into the minutest of grins; small though it undoubtedly is, it heralds a beautifully wholesome glow unto the supple curves of her face as she looks to her bedraggled rescuer. "Well, come on then," she muses, her voice a charismatic lilt, "let's get you cleaned up." She waits with characteristic patience for the compliance she knows, somehow, will come... however begrudgingly. When it does, when he finally succumbs to her whims, Isolt climbs into the tub after the behemoth, her hands moving effortlessly as she sees to the task of bathing him. Liberating his striking pelt of the filth and the blood that, along with the slight tremble that still quivers sporadically in her limbs, represents the last remnants of the evenings squabble. And as she cleanses him, she cleanses herself, albeit in a far more subtle, clandestine way. Her touch is as tender as it was before, the feather light caress of her hands as they work tirelessly over his body a soothing thing, the alluring fragrance of vanilla curling about them with all of the warmth of a lover's embrace as the tainted water swirls and drains from them. Erasing all traces of the evening that had been and leaving only the serenity that could be. That should have been.

When Isolt is done she runs the towel easily, methodically, over his body as she had done countless times prior to this with Seth. A kindly smile sweeps against the luscious pillows of her lips as the young woman hooks the supple tip of a finger under the brute's jaws in an effort to entice his eyes to meet the oceanic azure of hers. "You see? It wasn't so bad." She meanders then into the dimly lit depths of her tiny, yet nonetheless pleasantly decorated bedroom. The young auburn-haired girl makes short work of the change into her traditional nighttime attire of shorts and an impeccably comfortable camisole, crystalline eyes catching a mirrored glimpse of the tattoo that swirls and arcs against the attractive curve of her shoulder blade. Turning to her would-be rescuer, Isolt fixes him a kindly smile, once again allowing the gossamer curtain of fiery locks to tumble down her back. "And now that you're clean, you can make yourself at home."