isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

The offer of blood that she extends to Arlo is far less the travesty that Damon appears to believe it is, a soft sigh echoing between the trio at his words. "It's just blood, Damon. You're heavily biased," she issues, continuing to nudge the glass of her blood ever closer to Arlo before being met with an eruption of hissing from both of her male counterparts. "Oh for goodness sake, will you both stop!" Fixing a stern glare to each man in turn does the undead queen busy herself with a matter far more pressing than two men making a show of their fangs to one another over something as trivial as a tumbler of her blood.

Isolt knows, as soon as her eyes meet those of her lover, that her rejection of his company sets its raking claws against every part of him. The plea in his eyes is not lost upon her, her own gaze diverting near immediately to quail the lingering urge to submit to the unspoken request that radiates between them. No matter how noble, how pure his intentions to protect her were, she knows in her heart that this meeting required his absence, not his help, to be successful. And so, baring this at the forefront of her mind, does she usher her "guest" into the office that she shares with Damon... a veritable sanctuary away from the bustling maelstrom of their lives and a place of guarded intimacy for both she and her soon-to-be mate. It seems almost unclean to harold this man, this irreverant stranger, into her den in the manner that she does; however, the Supreme knows in the private stillness of her heart that it could only ever be done this way. Away from the prying eyes and bending ears of her companions.

With practiced elegance does the vampire queen position herself across from her counterpart, the azure of her eyes ablaze even in the relatively muted lighting of the office. "So," Xavier begins, a single massive hand scratching absentmindedly at the grizzled stubble that peppers his jaw before he offers her the intensity of his gaze. "The Crusnik is one of yours then, huh? You've been keeping him hidden away in your Irish wonderland?" Isolt's back straightens then, the chiseled line of her jaw hardening at the implication that he intends. "I haven't been hiding anyone," she issues, pointedly neglecting to negate the claim that Arlo existed beneath the influence of the Elysium coven and offering the wayward man a measure of... protection against Xavier and his cache of rogues in doing so. "Regardless, he's not why I'm here. He didn't cleave off half of my goddamn coven. Claire told me all about your man's little blood bath. Has quite the temper on him, doesn't he?" Isolt's eyes narrow just so, the clandestine spires of a budding rancor prickling at the nape of her neck though her features betray no measure of it.

"And how many vampires have you... disposed of, Xavier? How many have you killed for nothing more than pride... or spite? There is no justification in you coming here seeking retribution for something that was instigated by Claire and her temper. Let us not make this any more deleterious than it already has been." The youthful vampire's tone is even, confident in a manner that she is unsure if she feels in its entirety; Xavier was centuries her elder, brutish both physically and in mentality, her antithesis in every way that it was possible for him to have been. "I don't give a shit who started it because I'm damn well going to finish it!" Ire flares within Xavier's eyes, so consumed is he by his voracity for the rancid bitterness of vengeance that he nearly rises from his chair, choosing instead to simply lean towards his opposing vampire sovereign. Even beneath the shade cast by his hovering figure do Isolt's eyes gleam, regarding him with unrelenting scrutiny as he continues to spew his venom. "He'll be made to pay for what he's done, even if I have to burn this little castle of yours to the ground. Take me at my word, Isolt." Her moniker leaves his gaping maw as a serrated growl, the ferocity with which he eyes her would have surely proven enough to have the glacial tongue of anxiety licking at her spine... but not now. Not with this. Xavier had, unknowingly perhaps, flung himself to and beyond the limitations of her acceptance... of her patience. He would find no shrinking violet here, no mewling caitiff to demolish simply with the weight of his stare. No. Instead he is faced with a posed leviathan, the vampire queen allowing a moment of pregnant silent to saturate the air between them before the cushions of her lips wrap about the words she offers.

"And you will take me at mine, Xavier. If I see you around here again, or if I even suspect that you might be thinking about laying a hand on my husband, I swear to whatever god may be that I will kill you with my bare hands..."