isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

It could not be said, not truly, how it was that Isolt would have preferred that Harley learn the reality of her best friend's vampiric leanings. Perhaps she would have come upon the admission whilst in the throes of one of their traditional midnight benders, as they had been only moments ago, when the billowing warmth of alcohol could have served to blunt the proverbial blow of a revelation as monolithic as this one surely was. Perhaps Isolt would have waited, allowing the passing of time to tell this sordid tale for her in the way that its corrosive hand would not, could not, change the redheaded woman. The only thing that could be said with any degree of finality was that Isolt would have never chosen for the truth to be revealed like this. Not with him present, not with Ryker to be the one to wrench the metaphorical veil from the bowed head of her most deeply-held secret.

Before Isolt might have offered her own rebuke to the man upon whose chest she leaned, however, came the acidic, biting venom of her dearest friend. Oh how mighty was her yearning that Ryker would simply evaporate, coalesece into the ether of this nightmare so that she might even begin her attempt to explain all that had transpired... so that she might finally reveal to Harley how it was that she had come to her untimely end. And, perhaps most importantly and pressing of all, to reassure the raven-haired woman that she was, and would be forevermore, her Isolt. The same helplessly awkward, naive redheaded girl with whom she had spent her childhood and adolescence. The same demure woman with whom she had walked, oftentimes run or stumbled, through life.

I'm so sorry, Harley. The words, though they sting her tongue as a putrid wave of bile, do not, cannot, leave her lips. Not now, not with him here to bear witness. He was a glutton for such damning satisfaction, and Isolt refused to offer him the pleasure of knowing the severity of the wound that he had just exposed. But no sooner can Isolt formulate her next move then a resounding thud at the wall to her side draws the vampire Supreme's attention, the hefty statue drawing the youthful nigthwalker's eye for the barest of moments. It is a marked misfortune that the clangor does not distract her would-be captive as easily, Ryker instead seizing the opportunity and striking Isolt, hard, across her face. The blow forces a surrender of the grasp she yields upon him, a few paces forfeited, and yet before Isolt might right herself he strikes her again, the sheer force of his fist something that would have drawn stars to the backs of her eyelids had such a thing been possible for the undead damsel. The richly metallic taste of her own blood as it trickles across the meaty slab of her tongue and over the cushion of her bottom lip is the only sensation to accompany the press of Harley's wooden floor against her back.

It is not long at all, a second perhaps, before Ryker's snarling face comes to hover over hers, his legs straddling the felled form of his assailant. "Come on, Red," he hisses, so eerie and serpantine a sound that she half-expects that his tongue shall appear forked and flicking from betwixt his lips. "You have to keep your eye on the prize." Before Isolt can rightly discern what it is she intends her body moves as if bade by another being apart from herself. Perhaps this is a vampire's instinct, something Damon had mentioned a few times before. Regardless, Isolt moves with shocking felocity, spitting a mouthful of her own blood into the face of her aggressor before sending one booted foot flying towards his groin and another, almost simultaneously, towards the now-bloodied mess of his downturned face. The redheaded vampire is rewarded with Ryker's retreat, a booming roar of displeasure issuing from him as he moves to swipe at the mess of blood obscuring his vision, during which she quickly reclaims her footing. She does not dare cast her eyes towards Harley, though the temptation to see to her ailing friend is paramount, for Isolt had always been one to learn lessons quickly. She would, indeed, keep her eyes on the prize.