isolt griffin
Nights such as these are the ones in which Isolt finds the most enjoyment, despite her hesitance to allow Damon knowledge of her abode and, respectively, the past she clung to with such adament desperation; it is in these solitary moments spent in the presence of her most trusted and highly-regarded companion that Isolt might ever truly know some semblence of calm in this afterlife. He soothes the fissured portions of her soul that ail even now, splintered by death and the barbarously sadistic whims of a Maker who had never truly found her of any intrinsic value... he heals her in a manner that even immortality could not. And for this she would forever be indebted to him. For this does she continue to gravitate to him.

A breathless gasp comes as companion to the muffled chuckle that erupts at his statement, Isolt leaning in to whisper conspiratorily towards her companion. "Oh my goodness she told you that story too?! I thought she was messing with me!" The young woman shakes her head then as if in some admittedly fruitless attempt to rid her thoughts of the stain of the bartender's story that had, apparently, been whispered into more ears than just her own. To his merit Damon deviates from the undeniably questionable topic of their newest addition and her sordid fetishes, a smile pulling against the beautifully pigmented cushions of her lips. "You need to come get me the next time he comes in because I think I need to meet him... he sounds like quite the charmer," she lilts in as darkly sensuous a tone as she is capable given the decided lack of apparent sensuousness of her overall character, the crisp cerulean of her eyes sliding a suggestive line to her companion in a knowing glance before the expression melts from her features, her fingers squeezing reassuringly at his arm. "I'll train the waitresses, Damon, don't worry about it."

They walk alongside one another in peaceful quietude for a time, Isolt's gaze flickering from the gleaming neon of one shop banner to another, perusing each establishment and the patrons sprinkled about upon the concrete slab of the sidewalk with the innocent curiosity that has always been her custom. No sooner does the dazzling auburn-haired vampire settle into the stride established by her comrade then he pulls away, casting ajar a door that she may well have forgone due to its simplicity amongst the buffet of granduer that surrounds it. Though she moves to follow obediently in Damon's stead, the youthful vampire's eyes move about the room in a manner that is as apprehensive as it is studious; grateful is she that her elder chooses one so near to the back of the room.

A slow nod is all that is offered by way of response to his inquiry, though even this it seems is perpetrated as an afterthought. It is a truth that hardly requires telling, this trust she bears for him; she has placed within his hands something fragile, some made heartbreakingly rare with Isolt's transcending beyond the veil of death's gossamer curtain. It is certainly not something that has been given lightly, and the redhead holds some suspicion that he, too, is of this particular realization... and so it is for this reason that she neglects to voice the evidence of her trust aloud. As the waiter draws to the table in timely obedience, Isolt fixes him a charmingly bashful simper, allowing Damon to commandeer the proverbial reins as she so often tends to do. Only at his comment do her eyes shift, meeting his in a look that tells of the curiosity that burns so fiercely within her, a curiosity that he merely stokes with every moment that passes in this titillating secrecy. "I appreciate everything you've ever done for me, you know that," she cooes, one delicate hand reaching forth to clasp gently at his own. It is a tender moment that is marked by its brevity with the return of the waiter, two glasses clasped within his hands.

The aroma of the fluid he deposits before her is nothing short of intoxicating, supremely alluring in a manner far beyond anything she has yet to experience in this afterlife or the one that had transpired before. It is pleasurable merely to smell, unseen and fragrant whisps curling against her olfactory sensors and causing her eyes to flicker towards Damon's once more in a look that is weighty with curiosity that has hardly been more intense than it is now. Though even this, it would appear, cannot break the binding chains of Isolt's own anxiety, the young woman's eyes soon deviating to the establishment at large and the few sets of eyes that have wandered to the pair of vampires in the corner, their conversations notably hushed. To date the only other occasions upon which Isolt had fed openly was within a bar very similar to this and beneath the cover of darkness and Damon's enchantment; try though she undoubtedly had, she could not bring herself to embrace her vampirism quite so boldly as to feed unabashed beneath the scrutinizing gazes of others.

In fact, it is solely the lilt of Damon's baritone that brings her from the dark trajectory of her considerations, and even so a moment of hesitation punctuates the silence before she, too, raises her glass to meet his with a soft clinking. It is then that the temptation swirling darkly before it proves far too much to be resisted, Isolt bringing the glass to her plump lips, the sensation of the blood upon her tongue something wholly unlike any she had experienced. It envelops her, embraces her and fills the void of every last portion of her death-chilled frame with an arousing warmth that has striations of deepest lavendar bursting into the otherwise azure pools of her eyes as she looks to Damon once more. "Oh my god... Wha... How... Why have I not been drinking this from the beginning?!"