isolt griffin
It would have been a grotesque fallacy for the young vampire to appear as though she had not heard the words of admonishment as they slid from the razor's edge of his tongue. In truth the myriad transformations gifted in the transition from life unto what lay after dictated that she was incapable of not hearing him, of not feeling the fraught pull of his pulse as the blood surged through the circuitry of his veins and feeling the heat of his agitation, regardless of how slight, as it radiated from the supple tarp of his flesh. She had, truthfully, desired but a moment's exploration of these surroundings that, though they existed within Dav's memory with a glaring level of beautifully terrifying clarity, were naught but the newest to Isolt's credulous eyes. She had desired only to look, only to see the understated splendor of this proverbial new world... and yet she knew full well that to do so too independently would inevitably result in some manner of upset from her companion given his... sensitivities to the situation at hand.

In an attempt to stay the admittedly-diluted acid that burbles at the curve of her own tongue, Isolt's soft features merely crinkle into a shameless and adorably petulant frown as she moves to follow in his wake. "Alright, alright... I get it." In silence does the remainder of their relatively brief stroll to the aforementioned automobile transpire, the dilapidated vision of the vehicle itself having a rather unexpected affect upon the fire-crowned woman... a gentle smile tugging at the brims of her cherry lips. "My brother had something very similar when I was younger, and we both loved it," she imparts, her words hardly more than a whisper... as if she herself is lost for but a moment in the hazy comfort of a dream before she slides with little effort into the passanger seat.

The night's thick zephyr ran its spindly digits through her crimson tendrils as they sped towards the destination unknown, Isolt unable to peel her eyes from the landscape that, despite the permeating dark, was not alltogether hidden from view. She drank of it has a parched wanderer might the springs of a blessed oasis, consumed all that lay before her in the most splendidly altruistic manner. She had dreamt and she had daydreamed of this moment for longer than she cared to admit, having always been of a philanthropic nature. She knew of the inauspicious and oft-times non-existant medical care received by those in the more rural satellite provinces of Africa, she had seen photos, documentaries, of the desperation for liberation from disease. And yet... she is uncertain. She is careful of her own hope, both weary and excited for what lay ahead... until, that is, Davante's trepidation reaches her in the cool of the night. Isolt is silent a moment, the budding of a simper upon her lips the only betrayal that she has, indeed, heard what he has said. "I'm probably breaking some unwritten law of medicine by saying this but... being a doctor is a lot about being nervous. Being nervous or uncertain inspires perfection, it begets determination for the ultimate good. I wouldn't have come along if I didn't think I could make a difference, no matter how small. Just have faith in me, Davante... even if it's only a little bit." Her words are soft, bereft the judgment and condescension that they could have displayed. And, just as easily as they had come, does she fall silent with their transgression beyond some imaginary line separating this Port Elizabeth from the remainder of the world.

The redheaded maiden straightens just slightly as the car lurches to a stop in front of a smattering of houses fallen to unintentional neglect. Tossing one large duffel over her shoulder and peering expectantly into her companion's weary eyes does Isolt nod. "After you," she coos, motioning him onward.