isolt griffin
I'm more alive than I've ever been
She appraises her own figure in the full length of the mirror with something akin to diluted scrutiny, much as she always has given her innate and lifelong aversion to deeming herself anything but comely; Isolt would, to herself, only ever be ordinary and naught more. On this night, however, the smallest of simpers eeks its way unto her features as she looks upon her reflection with something that brushes teasingly against the edge of satisfaction. The ring upon her finger glistens brighter than any star could ever wish to, complimenting the renewed sparkle evident in the cerulean depths of her eyes whenever she gazes upon it. It is a rare moment of personal nirvana which the vampire queen clutches desperately to her stilled heart for fear that to relinquish it might once again cause the scales to teeter and skew against her.
The young woman turns then, gathering the small clutch and her cellular phone from the end table before making her way to the office she shares, once more, with Damon. Little is done to herald her arrival into the den of their business enterprise, the redheaded minx making her leisurely advance towards her dutifully-working lover in what could only ever be described as a saunter meant to pique his interests... his desires, a movement that historically was so very far beyond the realm of Isolt's customarily demure behavior. Also deviant to the young woman's normal aura is the outfit she has, no doubt, recently acquired perhaps speficially for the eve's intended outting: a dark crop-top that clings seductively to every last slope, every last feminine curve; companion to this are a pair of skin-tight and shamelessly beckoning leather pants and perilously high heels.
With a single, languid motion does Isolt move to close the laptop upon which her fiance clicks away at one task or another, wordlessly placing herself upon his lap and bringing a single hand to rest upon the broad muscles of his chest. "It's time to take a break," she finally offers by way of explanation, albeit dilute and obscure though it undoubtedly would prove itself to be. "We're meeting Ceara and Sebastian downtown; apparently there's a vampire bar down there that guarantees a wild time. We need a night out," she says with a smile before leaning in to whisper lasciviously at his ear whilst the hand upon his chest tightens to curl into the fabric of his shirt, "and then maybe we can have a night in." As if to assauge any lingering doubt beget of surprise as to what she implies with this last statement, Isolt brushes the plushness of her lips over the juncture of his neck and jaw in a sweeping but no less suggestive caress.
Offering naught more than this, Isolt straightens, ascending from her partners lap and walking towards the office door with that same slow, promising saunter that had marked her entrance. "Come on, we don't want to be late," she purrs, offering him only a final wayward glance and the faux-innocent nibbling of the plush cushion of her bottom lip.