isolt griffin

She is silent, held in the soothing calm of her own quietude for a time as she follows obediently behind her gentleman host, content to yield the trajectory of their entire journey to him if it should appease him. After all, his was the ultimate authority here, in this place situated thousands of miles from anything with which she might have professed familiarity. And so, she dropped her bags where and when he insisted that she do so, her attention torn between the man at her back and the endearing disarray of the small home much revered by her companion. It was, after all, quite lovely in its own beautifully forlorn way, a small capsule of earth seemingly despondent and immune to the ravishes of time.

Short are her considerations, however, as the flimsy door is all but brought down by a figure that, thankfully, is quickly revealed to be of some significance to Davante himself. Concern delves its chisel into the smooth pallor of her face as Isolt looks to Davante, her own feet already transporting her and one rather large duffel to wherever it was he, himself, was going. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?" The syllables themselves are but lost to the tsunami of commotion that greets the pair as they traverse the boundary of one house for another. There, all in a single moment, Isolt is transported back to the hospital. In truth, the smells, sensations, and surroundings were vastly different than the cold sterility the young redhead was accostumed, but she found quite quickly that it was easy enough to fall back into the role she had been training to fill. The one she had been perfecting.

A young woman, to Isolt's estimate not very far beyond her eighteenth year, lay pregnant and writhing upon a bed that, though well-laden with towels and a threadbare duvet, was concerning to Isolt with the amount of blood that had already managed to taint its coverings. Before she knows that she does so the vampire has doned a thick pair of latex gloves before offering a pair to this much-revered "Miss Isabeau", looking to the elder woman for whatever information she shall undoubtedly have. "She's only around thirty-five weeks, healthy until today. But those fools, they shot her, and now the baby is coming," she dictates, the elderly woman already moving an aged and weathered stool to the edge of the slumped bed. Isolt moved into position as if this particular scenario was one she had been met with hundreds of times over, despite the axiomatic truth that the precise opposite was reality. "There are gauze pads and tape in my bag. It looks to be just a flesh wound so we can wrap it and control the bleeding for now until after the baby comes." Her dictation is crisp and assertive and, to her esteemed merit, her impromptu companion moves with surprising ease to do as she suggests.

The dazzling azure of Isolt's gaze turns to the young girl before her then, a soothing and soft expression melting upon her features as she whispers delicately, "It's going to be alright. Now, when I say to, I need you to push, okay?" The redhead waits with characteristically ironclad patience as the young girl looks to her elder for guidance, the translation coming easily to the other woman's tongue before the girl nods to Isolt. Positioning herself, Isolt waits for what felt like a small eternity for the body's natural sign, nodding to the girl before her and demanding her compliance. "Now." The whimper that erupts from the girl clenches a strand of barbed wire taut against Isolt's heart, though the evidence never once etches itself into the smooth pallor of her face. She could not be her usual tender self in this moment, she could not be the nurturer that she usually would have been... now, in this moment, she had to be a doctor. She had to be the anchor for what little strength the swiftly wilting young woman could still lay claim to. "Again, big push," she coaxes gently, the infant within her hands before the realization works its way to the forefront of her mind. Followed all-too-swiftly by the far darker realization that the newborn feels still within her hands, her astute ears yearning for the thrum of a heartbeat that does not come.

Quickly is the vampire upon her feet, the baby clutched delicately within her hands as she fixes Miss Isabeau with a solemn and knowing stare before the elder midwife motions to a fresh towel in the corner of the room. Isolt lingers for a deceptively lengthy moment before training and trial latch with the realization of what she must do. "Dav," she shouts into the husk of darkened foyer, "I need you." She waits, her gloved hands eerily steady upon the frail body she protects. "Put some gloves on and grab the smallest tube you can find from my bag," she lilts as he enters the room, the look of determination she fixes him with all but solidifying that his usual sarcasm shall find no footholds here. He must do as she requests now. "Stand close to me, she doesn't need to see this," Isolt whispers hurriedly as her companion returns to her. "I have to intubate him, but I can't... breathe for him. I need you to do that while I try to get his heart beating, okay?" Her fingers move as they have been trained to do, as swift and sure as she had hoped them to be, as she makes quick work of inserting the small tube down the babe's throat and positioning two fingers at the youngster's chest. "Okay, two breaths for every thirty compressions....Go."