Banter with the vampire found me more and more amused, regardless of how much time I spent trying to prove I hated the entire species. His quick whit and immediate replies found me more and more likely to present him with humor instead of disgust. Unfortunately, this had begun to seem like a bad habit as I found myself in the company of the red-headed vampire that was clearly someone more intimate to Damon than I originally thought. While I didn't ... despise Isolt, I was loathe to admit that I was fond of her presence, even if it was rather obvious that I was. Her innate tenderness didn't immediately send me reeling as many women's tendencies seemed to; rather, it drew me like a moth to flame in a dark time of need when she offered her hand to keep me from collapsing into immeasurable darkness.

It is only the traces of the same characteristic tenacity in Isolt's voice that draws me from my internal reverie and analysis of my budding relationships with these two vampires. Harder and harder was it growing for me to denote their species, when instead, I could look at them as individuals with personas easily characterized as friends. Their outwardly enthusiastic façade seemed to be woven around my presence for if I had not been there, surely this moment would have been far more intimate. With a brusque acknowledgement of such a notion did I lick my lips and sit up a little straighter, debating whether or not I actually wanted to stay in the confines of their office when the Shadow split into several other beings. This was a newer habit of the Shadow, one I was slowly growing to recognize as a form of manipulation not unlike my ability to manipulate earthly substances or carcasses. Dead flesh was a very, very easy material â€" pliable and bending with pleasure to my will. But this? The spectral substance of my Shadow as it split into smaller beings began to resemble the very things they represented: sins.

Had I more experience with this power, perhaps I would have been a more advanced manipulator of the power itself. As it were, though, Isolt and Damon were about to witness the first accidental use of my newest skill, even if it was unbidden and accidental.

My Shadow sat quietly on the desk that served Isolt and Damon as a serving station, moving some invisible pieces as if it were playing chess. As it moved these invisible pieces, one of the smaller beings drew itself up into the unfortunately beautiful but grotesque embodiment of Lust. Lust's features were sensual and seductive, the way the being itself moved almost magical in it's gracefulness as it circled both Damon and Isolt, tracing it's long, porcelain fingers down Damon's arm before reaching to turn his jaw gently towards Isolt. Gently, but commanding. Both my Shadow and I allowed our focus to remain on the pair, curious to see just what would happen even if I innately knew what might be the projected outcome of this moment. When I began to realize that if my thoughts drifted away from the intimacy I was accidentally encouraging, Lust ebbed away and she fell back under the veil of my Shadow who became immediately dormant as if I had severely insulted it.

"Hm. That's new."

Curiosity blends itself into my voice in an obscure way, unable to be masked by my attempt at an even tone. Surely this was something I should spend more time figuring out, but for now my attention moved towards the piece of cake that was offered to me, and subsequently put in my mouth, before I didn't hesitate to spit the revulsive zombie cake out of my mouth and into the hair of the nearest body.

"I might prefer to hunt and kill my own food next time," I muttered, clearly disgusted and unable to give Damon abstract credit for the creation of such a ... fantastic concoction. Cake, my ass. In a moderately childish behavior did I down the rest of my drink in order to rid my mouth of the treacherous cake before finding a grin tugging at my lips. Mischief served me well, generally, and as I realized that there was enough dead matter in the cake that it was well within my power to make the thing do as I pleased, I was preparing to begin zombie-cake-mobilization when Isolt abruptly made the choice to become Inspector Isolt and head downstairs towards the commotion.

"Women ruin fun," I mused, thoughtfully shrugging a shoulder to Damon as I too stood, and began the trek to find the source of the commotion. The cake followed me unceremoniously as if I were freaking Harry Potter himself, trailing around in the Dursley's house to smash cake on some fat Aunt's face. With that image in mind did I enter the dining room to see my attention piqued by the unfortunate recipient of my discarded cake. And when his temper began to rise, words full of calamity, did I decide that it was time for my participation in the debacle of whether or not the cake in his hair was a joke.

"I'm pretty sure the only joke here is your hair," I offered with a wry smile. The cake seemed to bounce along as if it were an animation from Fantasia, dancing through the air until it settled gracelessly on top of the man's head. "That's much better. I hear blood is great for moisture."