isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

Her fear, her trepidation, at the notion of impending motherhood was absolute, it was tangible... a dreadful bitter sting upon her tongue amidst the sugary sweetness that was her façade to the rest of the world. She felt elation, of course, in as much measure (and more, truly) as she felt dismay... but this unease was no small portion of her. And it was a portion she had yet to really convey to another individual; she had considered on more than a single occasion discussing her maternal misgivings with Damon, and yet she knew full well that her always defiantly confident husband could not truly understand this proverbial fly in the ointment. Even now the words leave her before she can rightly digest the delivery of them, Harley being the sole individual outside of her marriage that she might ever have dared to voice such feelings to. What the raven-haired woman offers though is... unexpectedly heartfelt, contrary to the façade that she had presented with such ease for the entirety of their lives. Isolt is wizened enough to know that she should not comment on the softness of the other woman's sentiments, her silence reflection of an unspoken agreement forged betwixt the two so many years ago, and so all she offers is but a few words. "Maybe if I do well enough she won't need me forever." That, it is clear, is all there is. The remainder: the enormity of the gratitude to the woman who knew her every bit as well as she knew herself, was to be left to the gentle wisps of the night's cool zephyr.



She traipses in the raven-haired woman's stead, attempting to questionable avail to minimize the wobbling gait that had become ever more pronounced as the weeks had progressed. A single hand moves to cradle the impressive swell of her belly as she comes to stand beside her counterpart, the pair of women lingering before a veritable bonanza of polyester, vinyl, sequins, and drooping plastic masks. "Eh, 'naughty doctor' stopped the day I realized that I had to start wearing maternity scrubs," she offers with a simper, though the day in question had been a dreadfully tearful one on behalf of the redheaded vampire who had lamented the progressive loss of her svelte physique. Damon, on the other hand, could not have given less of a care on that day or any of those that had transpired thereafter; to his merit, her husband remained as lustfully ravenous and insatiable as he had always been.

"Oh my god," she nearly shouts as her companion unearths the dinosaur costume from within the curtains of other accoutrement, nodding her approval through a cacophony of nearly-hysterical giggles. "If I thought it would fit in the car I would encourage you to wear it out of the store," Isolt chortles, blissfully and wholly unaware of the far-from-amused glances being cast their way by the teenaged cashier. "And when I have ever in our lives passed up a little mischief... you would never allow it. Not then and not now." The arch of a falsely-admonishing brow pitches in the direction of her eldest companion, a grin set askance upon her lips as Isolt shifts her hands to forage through the drapery of costumes. "But I might have to make due with a mask, I don't see another dino and there isn't anything else here that'll fit my giant gut except.... NO," suddenly do her hands clasp about the fleecy material of what surely was intended by the costume's manufacturer to resemble a cow, though the groin was accented with a quartet of horrifyingly phallic-looking utters. "Don't even think about it," the words escape her as a venomous hiss, blue eyes cutting towards her companion with a look bred of equal parts horror and confusion. "I'd sooner run down Bourbon Street stark naked than wear this."