isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

A veritable gale of laughter erupts from the redheaded woman as her companion recapitulated the goings on of their shared night out, the vision of it replaying against the lense of her mind's eye. "I'm sure the health inspector is going to love that. I don't think we're going to be able to go back there for a while," she quipped playfully, moving instinctively to steady her swaying friend as she seemed to struggle for purchase upon the lightly-fissured concrete of the sidewalk. At the comment of her presumed tolerance, the smile wavered only just so upon the woman's ruby lips before the deception tainted them with its bitterness. "I practiced while you were away," she issued in as casual a tone as she was able. How many lies like this would she have to tell to her dearest friend? How long could it go on until the well of her dishonesty would dry up?

It is a consideration that she does not, cannot, mull over given the insistent tugging at her arm and Harley's marginally coherent slurring. Isolt's gaze snaps cleanly from the dark-haired woman who leans against her to the bashed in door, though so very little time is allotted for proper surveillance before Harley flings herself into the dimly lit apartment that lay beyond. "Harley, wait!" Forfeiting the guise of inebriation that had been a guiding hand to her movements up until this point, Isolt makes impressively short work of the distance which separates her from her dearest companion. But it is not the chaos that greets the young woman that incites the beginnings of an otherwordly chill at the nape of her neck, nor is it the probability that the individual responsible still lingers somewhere within the insidiously darkened space.

Isolt knows that they remain, knows that she and Harley are not alone in the midst of this disaster.

What does have the smallest hairs upon the back of her neck rising attentively is the aroma that coils about her olfactory senses in a way that seems to taunt her. Earthy, organic, and inhuman... the redheaded woman knows this smell, for not only did it exist in the background of every one of her very darkest memories, but... it is her own. It is vampire. The realization coaxes her forward to place her hands upon the shoulders of her friend, to press her gently down unto the couch that rests beside them and is the only piece of furniture not completely obliterated. "Just stay here, Harley, I'll find him," she instructs, the lilt of her voice as calm as she was capable of making it in this moment as she moves tentatively across the living area. "Ace," she issues into the darkness, though she listens for more than just the skittering of paws. Wordlessly does the vampire queen ready herself for what may come, though in truth there is no amount of precaution that could have adequately prepared her for what, for who, slides from beyond the veil of darkness. Isolt straightens then, so taken aback that just a single word moves past the fibrous knot gathered in her throat.

"You."