isolt griffin

It might have been of great interest to the both of them to realize the parallels of their respective mental rifflings. Swathed in the inconspicuous calm of the silence that pervades, accented by naught more than the gentle growl of the engine and the playful whistle of the zephyr beyond, do both nightwalkers mull over the intricacies of a relationship that was ever-evolving. Just as Damon labors over the complications inherent in navigating a relationship in its infancy so, too, does Isolt struggle with the uncertainty of holding such a delicate and budding affection in the space of their linked hands. How was it that this man, who had henceforth lived a magnificent life rife with adventure, could be interested in a fledgling vampire who had, in comparison, known far fewer highs both in this life and the one that had come before? He was worldly and she naive, jaded whereas she was starry-eyed even in the dregs of her own world-weary state. Perhaps this was why they had come together so perfectly, the jagged borders of their respective pieces melding in a manner so splendid that it terrified Isolt in her deepest, most honest heart. She adored him in the most purely innocent manner, and he soothed all of the ailing lesions of her soul with just his presence. How could she know if she was capable of returning this magnanimous favor in kind?

Awakened from her considerations by their arrival at the township that harbored whatever enigmatic portion of his past he might wish to show her, Isolt follows obediently the directions he whispers, made all the more curious by the expanse of manicured fields that lay before them. It is not wholly unlike the rolling emerald hills that had surrounded the simple stone cottage, owned by her grandparents, that had so oft served as an impromptu "summer home" for her and Aaron. The cottage itself, however, paled miserably in comparison to the historic grandeur of the plantation house that lay ahead, Isolt employing a conscious effort to stifle the awe that threatened to fling her mouth ajar. A barely-audible "wow" is all that escapes her crimson lips for a time as she dutifully parks in the intended spot, a simper pulling effortlessly at those plump cushions as she and Damon are greeted by two overly-enthusiastic canines. The young redhead gives pause, though, at her companions stated misgivings before leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon his cheek. "Of course I am," she whispers, fixing him a reassuring smile before extracting herself from the vehicle.

Running her delicate fingers through the plush coat of one dog does Isolt follow in Damon's wake, regarding the domineering spectacle of the house with a faultless curiosity. It is a curiosity that appeals so greatly to her inner child that it does not wane... until the tell-tale clicking of the shotgun shell into its metal home resonants from just beyond the bolted door. No longer does Isolt share her partners calm demeanor, the facade she had worn but moments before all but shattered by the ominous quietude eminating from the opposing side of the heavy oak door. A subtle yet undeniably insistent squeeze is given to Damon's arm for the young woman can truly think of no greater reason to abandon whatever quest he has brought them on. There is, surely, a reason that this Dennis receives so few visitors.

All at once are the locks thrown from their cradles, the door eased ajar only to reveal the smooth twin tubes of a shotgun aimed at the pair of vampires come calling. For a long moment Isolt does not have the wherewithal to glance past the weapon now aimed squarely at her chest to the man that wields it. Only when his attention diverts to Damon do her eyes rise to regard him, though as he unleashes a razor tongue upon them is the spell of her short consideration of him broken. "I'm Dennis," he spits in her direction, though naught do his eyes shift to her, for he immediately returns his attention to Damon. "There, we've met. Now move the hell on."