Little Dinner

Sheriff's Estate - The Vault

This room covers almost the entire ground floor of this house. The majority is taken up by a stylish reception area; three chunky, white leather couches places in a neat U-shape, with a low table in the centre. Another corner holds a modern, black table, six comfortable chairs placed around it as though for conference. The final feature is a bar, well-equipped behind it and with a pair of chunky fridge-freezers, containing a variety of synthetic blood. In one corner is a staircase, leading upstairs. On the same wall is a door through to the only area on this floor not part of this room, where sits a small bathroom and the route downstairs, a featureless door, metal constructed and lockable from one side only, though plated to fit with the design of the house.
Three walls are white, the fourth covered in ceramic panels to give some colour to the place. The floor is tiled, in a pleasant, neutral shade. Windows at regular intervals stretch from floor to ceiling, concealed blackout blinds above them. One wall bears a huge flatscreen television, and one aware of their surroundings will spot the speakers concealed at various points in the room. The general feel of this area is a clinical style, a blank, neutral canvas for whatever happens to be going on. Those who know Will generally refer to this area as The Vault, for the round pillars that stretch up to the roof.

The evening began a few hours ago, but Isobel has been good and non intrusive. Having heard voices up in the main area, she waited until they dissipated before heading above. She has no idea where her Maker is, and is certain that if she was meant to know, he would have left a message.

She breezes quickly through the room, the hunger upon her due to the extra hours without eating. Opening the fridge, she finds what she's looking for, though is a tad dismayed to find that there's only one bag left. A bag of blood, that is, which she tears open and pours into a glass so that she can heat it up. She may just have to head to Bloody Mary's tonight after all.

Today has been a day of reconstruction. Of attempting to, carefully, build up the world that had tumbled around him. His attempts to make amends with Hope failed catastrophically, but this is fine. Ivan's a trooper, he'll just move on to the next item on his list - normalizing relations with Will. This has brought the lad over to the giant secluded mansion, solemn and stoic in nature. Imagine his surprise when he was given the authority to travel through the security and into the house - without even bothering to let him know that the Sheriff is not currently available.

Sheesh. You'd think that'd be the kind of thing the remembered to tell visitors. Instead, he strides into the abode, glancing about curiously, lost without a guide. "Mr. Grant? Sir?" Beat. "…Erica?"

A blonde can be seen in the kitchen, then the sound of the microwave beeping can be heard. With a quick movement, the blonde is suddenly in front of Ivan, glass of blood in one hand, eyes piqued with interest. "Well hello, tall, dark and edible. I was not aware that the Mayor's office offered delivery."

Before Isobel is tempted to sink her teeth into a living meal, rather than the glass of blood, she licks her lips and brings the glass up to them. After a long, slow sip, she draws the glass away. "Mr. Grant is not available."

Considering the fact that he just wandered into the vampire's den, Ivan should not be surprised about the blur of movement that appears right before him. And yet, he is. It is with a cry of surprise that Ivan stumbles back a step or two, eyes wide with surprise as they fix themselves upon Isobel. And then recognition strikes. His lips are pursed slowly, deliberately as he returns to his passiveness. "Well, the Mayor's here to accomodate, of course. That's a particular feature that I do not handle, though." He takes care to really emphasize this point, letting out a sigh. "Not available? Ah…is it because of his health? Regardless, would you mind letting him know that I stopped by with the intention to see him?"

A hand reaches out to help steady him, and she trails her fingers up to his cheek. "Too bad, little dinner, you would enjoy it." Winking at him she draws back. No point in making him feel unnecessarily uncomfortable, at least not yet. The glass is brought to her lips again, the warm blood spilling down her throat. Briefly her eyes close, and as the glass is brought down she shakes her head.

"He fed enough that he should be fine." Isobel, however, was not there. Nor was she at the event that injured him. "I /presume/ that he had other business to attend to this evening, as I have seen hide nor hair of either him or his human companion."

Ivan quirks his lips upwards, pointedly bemused. With an arched brow, he allows his gaze to follow the hand that had offered him the lingering touch to the cheek. "I would enjoy it, eh? I'm not sure. As attractive as being used as your own personal juice box sounds, I must admit, I have my reservations. Oh, it's nothing personal, mind! I just…prefere a little life in my women, you understand?"

Ahem! Business, right. Sobering, Ivan begins to examine the room, almost curiously. "Good. A full recovery, then?"

Isobel laughs, a nice, full laugh. "Oh, little dinner, do you not think you would get something out of it as well?" Smirking, she heads over to the couch and seats herself upon the arm of it, leaning back just a little. "The beat of a heart is nothing compared to what you could experience." Taking a moment to finish up the blood, she sets the empty upon the table closest her.

"I would presume so, though I have yet to see him myself to know for sure."

Ivan moves to cross his arms over his broad chest, clear disbelief on his features. "What I could experience? Listen, if you're looking to proposition me, I'm going to need more details then that. And it's not the racing heartbeats, exactly. It's the warmth. I'm not sure if you could emulate something like that adequately." Beat. Since they're speaking in a fairly candid manner… "Why do you call me 'little dinner'? I assure you, ma'am, there's nothing little about me. Who are you, anyway? What're you to the Sheriff, why're you here if he's not? Do you work for him?"

"If I were looking to proposition you," she says smoothly, "it would already have been done." Isobel is in a rare state of unmoving vampirism. Normally she at least feigns some movement to look more human. "Given enough blood we can be just as warm as anyone else." Finally, her tongue glides over her upper lip, eyes staring almost right through him. "For one, I know not your name. For two, were I to feed from you it would be just a little." The eyes drift downward pointedly. She would say "prove it", but he's getting into the more personal questions.

"Isobel Symon," she offers, the obviously French name coming out with a slight Scottish lilt. "As to the rest, those are questions you should really pose to Mr. Grant."

Ivan inhales deeply brows arched as he feigns hurt. "Oh, really? That's how it is? I don't know whether to be upset or pleased, personally. But, is that really the truth? I wouldn't know. I've never had the pleasure of being with a vampire that way." As her comments continue on and her gaze lowers, he cannot help it - his lips split into a broad, smug grin. "I'm Ivan. Ivan Fontane. It's…well, it's a pleasure, Isobel. And, if you'd prefer it if I kept my queries at bay, I'll do so. I don't mean to cross any boundaries, you know."

"Perhaps you should be a little from each column. Be happy that I have not seriously considered drinking from you, as I have had very little to eat this evening, and I am quite hungry." Isobel is exercising self-control. Elsewise, she would be upon him and feeding before he could protest. "Should the opportunity ever be presented, you may wish to experience the pleasure of it." Then again, she has only been even close to being with one vampire that way, and it was so long ago she cannot rightly remember. "Ah, the little dinner has a name. As to my preference you may query all that you like, but there are some things that are not mine to answer."

Ivan lifting his hand, he proceeds to massage the back of his neck in time with the beating of his steady heartbeat. "Yeah? Well, I'll keep that in mind, I think. Vampires are…fascinating to me sometimes. I must admit that. I do have a few reservations, though. There's just something about the power you can hold…it's unsettling." His gaze is firm, unmoving as it rests upon Isobel with a calculating intensity. But that does not last exceptionally long, seeing as before he knows it, he's back to smiling in good-nature. "That's fair enough. I wasn't aware I was asking about anything particularly sensitive, though. I'm sorry."

Sensitive would definitely be the right word for it, were she not beyond caring about it. Bridges can be built, relationships can be healed. Isobel remains silent and unmoving while the steady beat of his heart sounds like a drum to her ears. There is another, subtle flick of her tongue over her lips. "Power such as I posses is something to be used on a very quick meal. In truth, I much prefer a willing participant." Then again, had she truly wished to feed from Ivan at the moment, it's not as if he would remember it come time to leave. Only her unsurety as to his relationship with Will is keeping her from doing so.

Mood is such a fragile thing. It can be so telling as to what is threatening to occur, if only people take the time out to read it. And right now, that's exactly what Ivan can do. That flicker of tongue, the coolness in her eyes and in her tone…alone, each of these gestures possess little meaning. Together, it is quite significant when it comes to telling the story that is to be told. "I don't imagine that there's a shortage of those around these parts. Willing participants, I mean." He has a feeling, though, that if he sticks around much longer, whether he's willing or not will not be taken into consideration. "Mr. Grant isn't here, so perhaps I should take my leave."

"A shortage? Perhaps not, though I tend not to enjoy those…" Isobel pauses, as though forgetting the word. "Oh, what is that silly little term you humans coined?" A longer pause. "Fangbangers! I do not find them to be enjoyable at all. I prefer my food to have a little, flavor." She says flavor, but she implies taste. As seen when she gives him another look. "Perhaps you should. In fact, for your sake, little dinner, it would be wise of you to go." Oddly enough, as hungry as she is, she's not flashed her teeth at him as of yet. "You may, if you like, leave a message with me. I shall ensure that he receives it."

Ivan ends up nodding his head, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips speculatively as he already begins to back out. "Alright. It's been a please, Miss Symon. Ah…no, I don't really have any message in particular. Just…let him know I dropped by - that I'm not attempting to shirk my responsibilities. I suppose I'll see you around later then, mhmm?" And with that, Ivan is so out of there. He's no one's Little Dinner! …For now, at least.

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