isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

There existed a million things that she could have said, that she should have said, as Isolt held her most cherished companion in an embrace that could have only ever been described as hopelessly desperate. Desperation that had blossomed as some venomous, treacherously-thorned thing from the ashes that were all that remained of their shared, peaceful existance. She should have proffered up even the barest modicum of an explanation as to the abrupt disappearance that had, no doubt, been the catalyst for the dissolution of a partnership that had spanned decades and that had promised so very many more. Isolt could have spoken of her untimely transition to the nether that lay beyond the mortal realm, of the overwhelming ferocity of her agony, her terror, and the insurmountable ache of the reality that she may never again lay eyes upon her childhood friend. And, perhaps greatest of all, Isolt yearned to tell her dearest friend that she loved her. She loved her and had, in fact, never faltered in this even for the barest of moments. But these words, the words she finds herself in such want of, do not come readily to the delicate curve of her tongue; they linger, as some phantom effulgence, just beyond her pleading grasp.

Just as Harley finds herself waging a silent war against the sting of her own tears, so too does Isolt battle that unruly crimson tide that threatens just beyond her lids. She mustn't allow herself the indulgence of this ultimate display of elation for she knew that it would be the undoing of a guise that, once again, she must bear. For Harley, and for whatever splintered, frayed ties still bound the two women together. The raven-haired woman could not know Isolt's secret... not here, not yet. Not when the flame-crowned girl had just been given this greatest gift; not when she had been given back the person whose loss she was still mourning.

It is to Harley's merit that she draws fissures into the quietude of their embrace with a sampling of the sarcasm that no other individual could quite have emulated with any success. A chocked giggle works its way about the knot that remains within her gullet as Isolt assumes her place upon the barstool adjacent to her companion. And just as a pair of piercing violet eyes rove her own features so too do a set of sparkling cerulean ones seek to absorb features that had once, and for so long a time, been impeccably familiar. Only does her gaze falter with Harley's demand to the barkeep, the young man's eyes flicking towards Isolt as if he means to address her... but whatever words he intends falter and die upon his tongue with the simple and faultlessly sublte shaking of her head. It is a clear instruction to the youthful mortal, though one that Harley will quite likely not have noticed, to hold his interjection. He knows full well that Elysium's Supreme sits before him, for not so long ago she had stood in this very lounge attempting (and succeeding in no small measure) to rally her fanged compatriots. And so he offers naught but a simple, "Yes, ma'am."

The inquiry of her companion, though simplistic on its face, draws nothing but a pregnant silence from the redheaded woman for a time. Everything and nothing bombards her thoughts, every consideration made insignificant and nearly void by the greatest truth that Isolt cannot yet find it within herself to tell and the burning question of what had become of Harley these last few years. "Um," she nearly whispers, grasping for a morsel of truth that might go some way in satisfying her friend's query, "well I... I've almost completed my surgical residency at the hospital over on the north side of town and... " Isolt gives pause here, fidgeting offhandedly with the vintage band that accents her left hand. "I'm engaged," she nearly blurts into the void that separates them before gently presenting the dazzling ring to the singular individual she had, really, wished to bestow the news upon. Harley had, admittedly, never been the hopeless romantic that Isolt was, but there existed no one else that Isolt wished to tell of her impending nuptials.

But it is a fleeting moment, the crimson-haired vampire having never been one to allow attention to linger too terribly long upon herself. Instead does she wish to delve into the goings on of Harley's life, nearly ravenous for any clue, any informational nosh that might shed light upon the truth of her departure. "What about you? What trouble have you been making these last few years?" It is with a wholesome and kindhearted smile that Isolt jests with her dearest friend, comforted for now by the familiarity of something so blessedly simplistic as this playful banter for them to share with one another.