isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

You... have changed.

Such a simple observation, so oft delivered as naught more than an easily-discarded and offhand sentiment. But this night it lands its mark with all the destructive menace of a white-hot bullet, sinking its scorching barbs into Isolt's chest in a manner that would have left her breathless had such a feat been plausible. Even in the seemingly impenetrable darkness she knows who speaks to her, she recognizes the voice of the man before her just as readily and assuredly as she would have recognized Harley's, or Adrien's, or Aaron's, or anyone else who had existed in the life that she had lived before this one. But with this voice comes a glacial chill skittering the curvature of her spine to draw the fine hairs at the nape of her neck rigid with anticipation. He knew. Of course he knew, after all had she not sensed the presence of another vampire even before her eyes had fallen upon the destruction of Harley's apartment? Now though, now it was becoming ever so clear that Ryker could yet wreak further havoc on the auburn-haired woman who stood before him.

The boundary that lay betwixt Harley and the truth of Isolt's (after)life was fast becoming so precariously thin.

It is then that Harley's recklessness gets the better of her, just as it had done countless times throughout the years, the young woman stumbling to insert herself between the pair of nightwalkers. "Harley," she attempts, though her friend's name is nearly choked to silence within the painfully-twisted confines of her gullet, a single hand reaching out to rest, still shaking, upon the shoulder of the woman before her. How many times before had they danced this dance, walked this line? How many times had Isolt provided the tempering influence to counter Harley's inferno? Countless.

But this time would not prove to be the same.

The vampire queen's body reacts before her mind can adequately process how best to do so, the hand resting idly upon Harley's shoulder coiling into the supple leather of her jacket and wrenching her to the side with astounding ease to land near the whimpering Ace. Isolt does not cast a glance towards the duo however, for her attentions are placed solely upon Ryker as she forces him against the furthermost wall of what had once been Harley's bedroom. The speed and physical might with which she does so is astonishing and recklessly-telling, the force with which her adversary collides with the wall summoning a moan of protest from the structure itself, a web of fissures appearing as dark veins upon the wall's veneer. A rumbling, insidious growl of laugher erupts from Ryker's sneering maw, haunting eyes boring into Isolt's own with maniacal pretense as he leans towards the woman who's fists remain balled into the fabric stretched taut against the planes of his chest. "I knew it," he whispers, though doubtless the quietude that lingers in the devastated quarters would allow Harley to be privvy to every syllable. It is in this moment that Isolt becomes aware of the subtle pinch of her own extended fangs upon the plush cushion of her bottom lip. "The beauty turned beasty. How... poetic. You'll have to share that story sometime." He taunted her with the faux-charisma of a wink before inclining his head, and eventually the weight of his gaze, towards Harley. "But for now, let's have ourselves a little fun... come on, Isolt, we can share her."