isolt griffin
Swift and many come the doubts which filter into her mind as venom into her emotional bloodstream, polluting whatever carefree manner she may have professed in the moments prior. The role of hostess was a foreign one to the fire-crowned vampire, as unsettling at present as it had been during the shortened tale of her human life. It had been an unspoken arrangement betwixt she and Harley that no such frivolity should ever be permitted to occur within their abode, the raven-haired woman far fonder of gallivanting about town than ever daring to invite that particular manner of social madness into their home. And so Isolt's decided lack of experience with the subtle nuances of playing hostess coupled with her amiably demure nature coalesced into anxiety that it was barely possible to veil. It was a tension that seemed to do naught but asphyxiate her, an unpleasantly cool wash at the base of her spine that set deadened nerves on edge. Had she made some terrible blunder upon her quest to proffer the trio of Weres some measure of holiday warmth? The traitorous answer was evidenced in the shrewd lines of Nadya's face, irrefutable was the unease glimmering within the eyes of the woman when she had glanced upon her redheaded host.

Even now, as Isolt sought to perch herself aside the heavily-laden table, did she also seek fortification against the hesitance, against the petulantly insistent doubt tugging at the edges of her mind. She had given of herself in plenty and though she would never dare foster the expectation of comparable return she could not bolster herself against the hope that blossomed as a sprig of nightshade beneath the shroud of darkness within her heart. So do her thoughts wander as the emerald-eyed man obliges her kindly request, pale eyes perusing the things made of her hand of which she could not partake. Isolt brings the swirling pool of crimson wine to her lips once more, a physical formality more than actual necessity as the liquid itself had been robbed of its pleasurable appeal in the transition from life unto death. Not even in the finest whiskeys could she find the chemical pleasure that was drunkenness now. Yet despite the nullification of her more human senses, the greater portion of Isolt's mind is filled with a kindred hope for the approval of her guests rather than what she, herself, is presumably being denied.

Her eyes flicker towards Tobias at his inquiry, the look of absolute scrutiny digging rivets into his chiseled features a peculiar thing given the context of his question. "Santa Claus is a man who brings gifts to children on Christmas Eve... if they've been good," she lilts, her tone wholly bereft the lacings of judgmental presumption that could have punctuated the syllables. The integral curiosity with which Tobias seemed to greet all scenarios was a beautifully refreshing thing in the eyes of the equally as curious young vampire, a component of his persona that, in some offhanded way, found her endeared to him further in moments such as this. A moment that dissolves just as swiftly as it had dawned, the young man finding far more titillating quarry in the form of some quite amusing bribery.

It is from this that Isolt takes her leave, turning tremulously to the woman at her side, an exquisitely decorous simper pulling lightly at her ruby lips. "I've also made some sweet potatoes, if you want them. They're an excellent source of provitamin A, which is extremely helpful for the development of the babies' hearts and lungs and... well, never mind... they're there if you want any," she stammers, blushing discreetly at the possibility that she had, at least somewhat, been about to indulge the poor girl in entirely too much information. It was a suggestive nod to the medical background, the aspirations, from which Isolt had been forcibly removed that infamous and fateful eve. And yet, the crimson-haired girl is no less passionate about these dreams than she had been the night of her untimely death, some vaguely-dominant part of her faithfully mourning their dissolution. Ivory teeth rack nervously against the luscious pillow of her bottom lip, ode to the internal struggle to pilfer from the conversational void an avenue more comforting than her previous venture. Settling on something markedly more simplistic, Isolt turns to the lovely brunette once again, a tentative and kindheartedly curious grin sweeping against her lips. "Have you thought about what you're going to name them?"