isolt griffin
Why she had deemed it fitting to divulge even this meager scrap of personal information is a mysterious thing given the young woman's aversion to contact with anyone bearing even the most offhanded affiliation to Syn. Though her interaction with the bar's matron had been brief, it had proven cataclysmic in every conceivable way, and so those who lingered within the black-lit depths were met with every ounce of suspicion that was rightly deserved. And yet still she indulges him, the embers of desire for contact perhaps dictating that, for the barest moment, her guards slip ever so slightly... and she nods. "My brother did," she offers in a tone that is nearly whispered, wholly unknowing of why she would proffer such an intimate detail, albeit vague, to this complete stranger. Thankfully, the wayward vagabond spares the demure vampire from having to elaborate should that have been to her choosing. What he offers, though, proves every bit as troubling as what she, herself, has omitted. It seems a haunting echo to the deaths of Harley's parents all those years prior, an event that had sowed the seed of hatred within the heart of her dearest friend... and had bred a lifelong fear of vampires into the mind of the redhead herself. How very tricky fate had turned out to be...

Despite the axiomatic knowledge that she, Isolt, had had nothing to do with the deaths of this young boy's family, she felt the part of the monster nonetheless. Was this what she was predisposed to be? Had the involuntary assimilation of Risque's blood brought upon her not only immortality but a thirst for the desecration of others? Would she, eventually, succumb to the curled finger of the macabre and the maniacal? The notion is a chilling one, and Isolt finds herself unspeakably thankful that the disheveled young lad chooses this moment in which to part from her... the movement succeeding in drawing both her eyes and her wildly mulling mind from the thoughts that seek to asphyxiate her. Two expertly manicured brows pitch skyward as the young man trudges back in her direction, long fingers cupping what appears to be a quite generous array of barnyard animals which he promptly extends for her inspection. A faultlessly warm smile draws at the brims of her rosy lips, genuine in its innocence and lingering far longer than his. "Oh, okay," she lilts, a moment of silence passing into the void between the two as the young woman seeks to make her selection, deciding upon a rather worn skewbald horse figurine. It has quite obviously been well-loved, the brown of its pelt having been rubbed off entirely in some places to expose the white base that lies beneath, its ivory mane made gritty by a thousand outings such as this. And yet it is a source of great nostalgia for the young woman, the smile widening upon her face. "I used to have one like this when I was little. Thank you..."

His next words have the dazzling blue of her eyes rise to meet his, a look of peculiar and slight confusion whispering across her features for the briefest second. "Um, well that's very nice, but... can vampires be in packs with Weres? I don't really know the rules about all that." It is naïve honesty, the newly-made vampires knowledge of the supernatural and the laws that govern each separate species is constricted to what she has known of Risque and Raven. And neither of these individuals have provided her any cause to believe that such a notion is acceptable.