isolt griffin
I'm more alive then I've ever been
Isolt would have been remiss were she to deny that some not-inconsequential measure of trepidation marked her arrival at The Voodoo Room; early, of course, to allow for a few blissfully quiet moments in which to regain whatever composure she could lay her hands to. Composure that would surely be bolstered by Damon's assumed attendance and perhaps that of Crishlyn if Isolt fancied herself to be that fortunate. The youthful Supreme would require their presence, their support, and above all else their confidence if this evening's gathering was going to prove even moderately successful. The notion of standing solitarily amidst a cornucopia of Sacrosanct's elder vampiric populace, many of them far more established and time-wisened than she, was a daunting thing indeed.
But, for their sake and for hers, Isolt was prepared to do whatever was required of her.
Discreetly does the flame-haired woman saunter her way to the polished, sloping bartop to take up a choice perch next to the luxurious venue's proprietor. A dashing and darkly-alluring specimen, Isolt harbored a few myriad curiousities about her fellow businesswoman that, for the moment at least, would remain solely private musings. "Ceara, thank you so much for hosting," she cooes softly, offering up a characteristcally angelic simper and internally battling the nagging urge to fidgit or adjust her chosen garb. "Do you think any of them will come?"