isolt griffin
I'm more alive than I've ever been
Isolt had known even before the words had left her lips that they would herald none of the satisfaction that was Harley's most earnest quest; in fact, she suspected that it might only bring as its companion more of the frustration, the exasperation that had inscribed itself into every line of her friend's face. And oh how very accurate her presumption had been. The words offered by the brunette woman could not be denied their rightful venom, their condign scorn. The sentiment that the youthful vampire was expressing was contradictory to the pair's entire history, it went against everything that they were... everything that they had ever been. She was correct, of course, for there had never been a storm that the pair had not been able to weather with one another. There had never been a weight so heavy that they could not bear it together. And so do Isolt's eyes fall to her hands, wrung so tightly that her knuckles were blanched and colorless, much as she had done as a child whenever she had been chastised. It is only at Harley's question that Isolt's jaw hardens, her hands relinquishing their hold upon one another, her azure eyes finally lifting to those of her oldest companion. "Yes," she states simply. "Yes, of course I am. I swear." At that does she lift her hand, pinky finger extended, inviting the invocation that the pair had shared on so many occasions throughout their youth. Comical though the gesture certainly appeared in their adulthood, the oath it promised was no less resolute. A soft chortle parts from her lips.at this, thankful for the change in topic offered by the dark-haired woman.
"That makes two of us, then," she conceded, sipping absentmindedly at the libation within her hands. "At this point I would rather just go do the whole 'justice of the peace' thing, but since word has gotten around I'm afraid I'm locked in. I have the most terrible feeling that it's going to be a disaster; I can almost guaruntee it with me at the healm of this ship!" Another laugh, this one bereft the tension of before, escapes her. Anxiety bred from the planning of her nuptials was a sentiment shared by both women, neither having ever been the sort to partake willingly and enthusiastically in such things. It was an undeniable truth that Isolt had always been the one amongst them prone to fantasies of finding her 'one true love'; however, such fantasies had never really involved the planning of a wedding as was so stereotypically presumed to be on the minds of young girls. Now, moreso than ever before, she was realizing that she could do without one. "I mean," she continued, sipping idly from the tumbler within her hands, "how the hell are you supposed to choose a florist? They're flowers for goodness sake; as long as they aren't dead who cares who brings them?"
Isolt gives her head a somber shake, sending a handful of copper curls swaying. "Just promise me this, if everything starts going horribly wrong you'll kidnap me and get me plastered so that I won't care. Deal?"