isolt griffin
Had Isolt known from whence he had come, had she known of the company he kept, she might have met him with every bit as much fear as he proceeded to meet her. Every line, every curve of her figure radiates naught but the most beautifully resplendent innocence and still he draws from her in a manner that leaves her frozen to the spongy loam beneath the supple soles of her feet. The rush of movement sends the butterfly flittering from her outstretched digit, the abrupt departure barely noticed by its flame-haired host as she retreats a step from the thrashing boy. Something she has done has clearly upset the young man, though in this particular moment she is quite hard-pressed to decipher exactly what that something could be. She has but offered him a kindly smile and he means to withdraw from her as if struck.

And, from somewhere in the empty dregs of her hollowed self, blossoms an urge that nearly has her do the same. Something about the bedraggled vagabond has the icy pins of apprehension tickling in a macabre tease against her innards. It is not the peculiarity of his attitude, nor the proclamation he shouts in her direction with such vehemence that she might have been given to think she had wronged him. No, it is something far more subtle that pricks at her. The transcendence from life into death had taken a great many things, irreplaceable treasures whose departure had left her raw and weary, and yet it had bestowed upon her a certain few "gifts"... one of which was the heightening of every sense. He was not strictly human despite the normality of his present form; the musk and aroma he emits is one she has smelled before, offhandedly familiar despite the fact that it is spiced by the nuances of his own biology. It is the familiarity that troubles her so, for she knows that she has not come upon this particular individual before and yet somewhere deep within instinctual alarms ring for her caution. In the weeks to come she would discover the reason for this weariness, but for now the deeply ingrained yearning inside of her calls for her to ease the fear that radiates from him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lilts, her voice just as soft as it had been before, copper curls swinging against her back like so many gossamer pendulums as Isolt gently shakes her head. "I'm not trying to make you go back anywhere." Confusion tightens her smooth brow into deep furrows; confusion not just for his automatic and quite intense repugnance for her presence, but also for why she would even expend the effort it takes to placate him. A feat that, given his actions, may very well prove a futile thing indeed. Perhaps it is the sorrowful depth of her loneliness that sees her linger rather than just moving onwards as she might have; for one of the things that death has pilfered from her is all of her worldly companions. It would be disingenuous to deny that Raven and Alexis had extended her kindness after a fashion, though it is no well-kept secret between the trio that the two Weres do not trust the vampire who slumbers within their home... and Isolt has not yet been able to bring herself to fully place her trust within them.

The moment that single word plummets from his lips it is her turn to retreat, the young woman forfeiting an anxious step to the distance between them; Risque's name means naught to Isolt, for in truth it had never been uttered during the evening of her transformation. Syn, however... Syn might as well have been the embodiment of the gate to hell itself. The details of that night, the one that shall live in infamy for as long as immortality spares her what lies beyond, exist in startling clarity despite death and all of the many changes it has made. "Syn? You... you stay at Syn?" Slender hands come up to cradle her arms of their own volition, distrust tainting the otherwise heavenly azure of her eyes as she fixes him a look that could only ever echo suspicion. Despite the displeasure with which he spits the name into the void between them, his mere association with the nightclub sends a phantom chill rocketing down the length of Isolt's spine. "You shouldn't go back there... ever. Something bad might happen to you."

Something bad indeed.