isolt griffin
Disbelief laced, perhaps, with the minutest traces of suspicion weave their fibers into the delicate tapestry of her brow, injecting their evidence into the downward slope of her pillow-like lips and the glimmer of unease in her eyes.. Never had Isolt been one to think herself "charming", certain for the majority of her life that this particular penchant had been a gift bestowed upon her brother; he had been the expert in this craft, had always seemed able to glean from people what he wished of them simply by merit of his words and form. Such proclivity had never dwelled within the proverbial toolbox that was Isolt's talent agglomeration, and so it is with admitted trepidation that she considers the thought of persuading an individual with nothing more than her "womanly charms".

Shattered are the idle considerations of what Damon suggests might be possible, however, as his hand captures hers with an ease that could only have been labeled as dutifully practiced. Isolt allows herself to be lead from the common area that remains bathed in harsh neon luminance and into the shaded nook from which Chaz has seen fit to merely observe her and her chosen companion as they move so effortlessly about one another. For a moment, one fleeting parcel of time, the young vampire swears she might have felt the smallest flutter of the lifeless heart that hangs idle within the confines of her chest ushered by the intensity of the predatory gaze as Chaz's eyes fall upon her once again. It could not have been more blatant, more flamboyantly plain, that hunger of a different sort boasts just beneath the surface of his comely face. And yet, the ethereal sensation of his probing eyes does not turn her stomach as it had before, the aroma of blood pulsing just beneath the surface of his pleasantly tanned flesh has, for this moment, succeeded in chasing away whatever threat his lascivious glances might have bred.

The redheaded girl's form remains static, driven so by the magic currently taking hold before wide and curious eyes. Never in her human life had Isolt dreamed that such things might have been possible, so blinded was she to the plethora of magical potential that curled about in the shadows just beyond. Yet still she hesitates, considering the outstretched hand as if he might hold a coiled viper and not a simple invitation; however, given a moment of deep and passing consideration she allows her hand to slip from Damon's and in to the surprising warmth of Chaz's. So absolute is the promising thrill of relief from this ongoing starvation that Isolt does not move to protest his other hand as it snakes so cunningly to press at the small of her back to draw her ever closer to him. Fine fissures begin to appear in the glass sheet that is her resolve, her concentration, as the fragrance of his blood oozes from within every pore, curling about her nostrils in a tantalizing sensorial waltz. His eyes continue their predatory prowling, skating over the fine curves of her more sensuous feminine anatomy; and yet even so she cannot bring herself to be troubled by the wantonness of his glances.

A pair of glistening ivory fangs descend with a soft and muffled click, one slender hand curling into the fabric at Chaz's shoulder while the other rises to frame the chiseled curvature of his jaw. The movements of the auburn-haired woman are dictated solely by instinct now... there could be no other plausible explanation for the certainty with which she moves to place her lips against the softened flesh of his neck, earning a guttural and animalistic growl of sorts from beyond the thin lines of his lips. Isolt hesitates for but a moment before her fangs delve into the tenderness of his neck, finding the slender tube she seeks. The rush of thick, fragrant blood comes as the grandest sort of relief, satisfaction and euphoric splendor swelling within her with every wave of the crimson liquid. The peculiar notes of spice, the way it moves as a sheet of finest silk over her tongue, and something else differentiate this fresh lifeblood from that she had been served at the tavern so many weeks prior, her entire form seeming to come alive with every swish that finds its way down her wanting gullet. For so long Isolt has gone bereft this single most important thing that no longer may her body progress without it, and helpless is she to quail the hedonistic entity within her that calls for it. And, in this moment, these calls resonate far louder than the humanity inside of her which pleads for her temperance. So absolute is her desperation for nourishment that she does not notice the marked decrease in the rate of his pulse, the slackening of his hold upon her waist, or the way in which he seems to droop against her with every passing moment. She has seemingly lost herself, if only momentarily, to the pursuit of her own salvation... unknowing that her companion draws ever nigh to death's jagged edge.