Being a vessel to someone's dream was hard work. You had to cater to their idyllic notions of what they might be able to accomplish during their mission trip or their volunteer work or whatever pro-bono services they wanted to provide to a needy population. You had to provide them ample opportunities to actually provide the services they wanted to give; in attempting to serve the area I grew up in, one might think that was an easy thing to do. To find opportunities where clinical help was needed or medical attention scarce. And while the reality was that these needs were thorough and widespread over the continent, I wasn't sure I was ready to take on the ownership of bringing aid to my home because it meant putting whoever was going to be the actual caretaker in relatively strong danger. In the end, I couldn't truthfully have put a name to who I thought was being the vessel, here. Me, because I gave Isolt an outlet for her profession or Isolt, because I so desperately wanted to see my home give way to health, peace, and a better environment for the population to inhabit. Which is why the words cut my own tongue with their barbs as I scolded the young woman for following her impulses and stepping out of my immediate sphere.

It's with a bit of a shrug that I find myself slipping into my long-time friend of a vehicle, allowing Isolt's comments about her brother's car to meet apathetic ears. There is no pressure to respond; the silence that follows Isolt's words about her familial car impregnated with nostalgia as I reverted to thinking through my own memories in this vehicle. How many times had it been my transportation to and from the places I intended to show Isolt? Maybe I should refrain from showing my adolescent and childhood haunts to anyone, lest the occurrence end in the kind of unfortunate circumstances I might only imagine it would. And then again, wouldn't that be where the woman was needed, most? Decisions would be made more likely than not at the moment of their necessity and no more beforehand.

"Isolt," I heard myself start to say, though silence falling on my lips much faster than I thought capable. Her words were true; when I had been nervous I had performed at my best, why should I think the young woman capable of any less? Her desire for me to place my faith in her gently urged me towards the idea I'd been ruminating on before: who was it, exactly, that was the vessel for this dream? I sighed, fighting the urge to fill my lungs with smoke by placing both hands on the steering wheel with an accompanied nod to show Isolt I had heard her and I might pay heed to her words. Without fail, did her words play on an all- too audible reel between my ears, forcing me to consider how I might relinquish enough need to control our surroundings in order to let her work her proverbial magic.

"I promise I will put what faith I can in you, but Isolt I need you to humor me and believe me when I tell you something is dangerous. If not only because I cannot handle the consequences - regardless of whether or not you can."

Truth was an important thing. And that, there, was the most truth the woman would get out of me for the time being. We'd parked in front of what had been my childhood home in all of it's dilapidated glory, allowing us ample space to get into the small house. Busied with carrying my own bags and allowing the vampire to carry her's, I slipped a familiar key into a small lock before pushing the door open and plunging into the hot interior of my house. The scent was strong â€" of stale air, salt, and heat... but truthfully I was more comfortable in it than with any other smell. See? There's that truth bit, again.

"One of the bedrooms should have a working AC; none of my sisters are here, so that room should be available."

The words insinuated that we might have company, but from the looks of the place I didn't think we would. Haphazardly did I drop my bag as if I'd been here the whole time before nodding to the couch.

"Why don't you leave your things there? Morning will come soon, and I really... really want to introduce you to Miss Isabeau," I said, my words sounding far more like a question than a suggestion of a stop on a tour. "She was our neighbor and she delivered all of my siblings and their children. There's an orphanage she works at and â€"" My words were cut short as the front door flung open, leaving a dark sillouette in it's frame.

"I would have come sooner if i knew you were here! you called too early. there is a girl at the house, now, now. there was a raid tonight; if this is the doctor girl, you best hope she be prepared!" with those words alone, I knew it was Miss Isabeau answering my voicemail in person by breaking down the front door to let me know that she had a patient for Isolt, already. Hesitantly did I look to Isolt though my feet were already moving, apprehension lacing my voice. "Raids mean guns and ... and rape... I can talk to the police if they come, and please don't be mad that I said you could help her..."