Deal With The Devil

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.

It's close to midnight, and something evil's lurking in the dark…

Well, something stoically neutral is resting on a couch, leg up as she allows it to heal. Her meal for the evening, while not positively fresh, has been poured from the blood bank bag into an oversized coffee mug and heated up. Now, she simply looks like an innocent eighteen year old, curled up against the arm of the couch, and sipping from the warm mug. Her thoughts deep, her worries deeper. The fact that there is an event she has to photograph this evening at the hotel is the furthest thing from her mind - she has more on her plate than worrying over petty human issues at the moment.

She may have better things to do then to worry about petty human issues, but the petty humans don't. And thusly, Ivan has approached the mansion, with a steely determination and the sheer strength of will propelling him forward.

Oh, he is so different now. So different then he was his first, tentative foray into the land of vampires.

Walking with entitlement and power, he is escorted through the giant building carrying a briefcase of sorts that smells suspiciously of blood. The human variety. He pauses directly outside of the room Isobel is sitting in, having been informed that the Sheriff was out (again?) and that he ought to make his deals with her. Now, he awaits to be announced and invited in.

Hearing noises in the outer room, Isobel shifts on the couch. Her still-injured leg is covered with a blanket, as is the rest of her lower half. She's still moving speedily despite the injury. Were she to feed from a fresh source, she would heal more quickly, but she's making due without causing further issue.

While Erica is not on duty this evening, a small American-Vampire by the name of Kent is, and he announces Ivan's presence. Once the doors are opened, Isobel eyes the briefcase curiously.

"To what," she asks dryly, "do I owe this pleasure?" There is no light, joking tone that can be usually heard in her dealings with Fontane.

And it's good that that she isn't, because Ivan is hardly in the mood for jokes. Once given the clearing to enter, the well-dressed man sweeps inside, his jaw clenched as always, and he nods to Kent in appreciation, watching the vampire takes his leave before even bothering to look over to stare at Isobel with cool intensity. "Business, of course. Always politics. But it doesn't have to be…unpleasurable for you." His word choice is even and deliberate, paired with a tentative lick of his lips, hopefully indicative of his willingness to cooperate, to a certain extent.

"I am dismayed, appalled even by the lack of order and accountability among your kind. And frankly, I'm here to represent human interests on the matter. This current system…this 'vampires do whatever the fuck they want with no regard to human law' thing? Yeah, it's not working." There is a pause as he takes in her appearance. "…I'm not disrupting anything, am I? I'm looking to work for a reasonable solution for all."

Of course. Politics. Isobel remains silent, allowing him his minor little diatribe as she finishes her mug of blood so as not to lurch forward and feed on him in her need to heal. "You may take a seat," she says, motioning to the couch across the way from her. "Have you become a proponent for that /church/ now then?" Church said in such a way that she disbelieves that it actually has any religious base.

"And please watch the language with me, Mr. Fontane. As I have told you before, I was a lady in my time, and a lady I remain. I dislike that word," she chastises. "Without explaining any of our politics to you, I will simply say that things in Dallas are about to change. To my knowledge, the Voluntary Vampire Extinction Movement is no more, and therefore shall not be a burden upon the city or its humans any longer."

"That 'Church' is filled with biggots and weak-minded fools. Believe you me, were I in any way affiliated to that church, I would not be standing here, willing to discuss issues with you. My problems would already be resolved, and the city would be missing a good chunk of its vampiric citizens." It's not a threat that Ivan vocalizes. It is simply the truth - cold, hard, and matter of fact. In fact, there is nothing remotely hostile about the cool, calculating way in which he stands, though to those who are familiar with body language a different story may be told. He is still clutching at that briefcase, tight enough so that his knuckles are a pale ghostly white. There is tension around his mouth. His other hand is thrust into the pockets of his slacks, to hid the tight fist its balled into.

He does, however, recognize his folly with a glimmer of something sharp. Slowly, his brows furrow and he offers Isobel a nod. "I apologize. I lost myself there for a second, I hope you understand." But even if she doesn't he will continue on. "Yes. Things will change. Now, I'm proposing the draft of a new set of vampiric laws, and the creation of a new political bureaux. A special ops, so to speak, to enforce the new legislature. Competent, highly trained, professionals who serve to make sure all races remain as safe as humanly - and inhumanly - possible."

The only indication that Isobel is really actually listening to him is an arched eyebrow. The vampire then frowns at him. "You are a fearful man, Fontane." Again, the lack of humor should perhaps be a bit disconcerting to him. All she says of his matter of laws is, "I will pass along your proposal, though I will suggest that you speak with Mr. Grant /before/ instituting any of this. As /I/ have /already/ stated, things will change, but that does not mean that your overzealous proposal will be accepted. We do not try to control your laws, and you should truly not be proposing to control ours." There is a pause as the mug is set down on the table. "Forgive me if I do not trust your highly trained military-esque professionals to ensure the safety of everyone. Having lived as long as I have, Mr. Fontane, I have seen special task forces attempt to rule over a group of people they are meant to keep safe, and it always ends in oppression and war."

"Would you prefer the systematic extinction of so called 'troublemakers' of your kind?" Ivan deadpans, staring at Isobel without fear, without emotion. The tension within him? Barely suppressed rage. "I can arrange for such. I am," he begins, stressing his point with exaggeration, "the only thing keeping from military involvement to take the city. The only thing keeping brutality out, and the use of state-of-the-art military technology in keeping your kind in line. I suggest," he drawls, "unless you do not fear the second death to not patronize me. I was proposing a joint system. Between the two of us. The task forces would consist of men from both our fronts, organized into groups of three. Two humans and one vampire. There is no hidden agenda, just justice."

"I suggest, Mr. Fontane, that you calm yourself and listen to what was said." Isobel continues to frown at him. "Your threats on my person are not, at this moment, going over well with myself, which means when it comes to bringing your proposal to Mr. Grant, my views on it will be exceedingly jaded." While he seems to be getting angry, she just seems… bored? At least that there are a million other things on her mind. "Two humans can easily overpower and kill a vampire with the right tools. Groups of two. One of us, one human." The blanket is adjusted to avoid her leg being seen. She hates to show weakness. "No military involvement. And I cannot commit to anything without the approval of Mr. Grant. I may be caring for the vampiric population in his absence, but I am not about to embark on such a tactical endeavor without further information. I will not be bullied into it, Fontane. Perhaps you have heard the old adage? You catch more flies with honey."

"Get your facts straight. I'm not threatening you. I have nothing to fight with, and lack the ability to do so altogether. What I am trying to impress upon you, Miss Symon, on you and that Sheriff of yours both, is that I am on your side. What I am trying to get you to understand is that I'm not here for me and for mankind - I am here for vampires. I am setting these rules in play so that a mass execution needs not occur. I don't need you, but you need me." Ivan pauses, smiling in a wry humorless fashion over to her. "Afraid of being overpowered by two humans? When the sheer supernatural strength and speed granted to your kind gives you the advantage straight out of the bat? I'm afraid not, Miss Symon. Two humans to every vampire. You may have physical superiority, but it is our numbers that counteract that fact, and I will not have it stripped away."

Beat. "On a more personal note, I have a proposition to make to you specifically. I need you to recast the sheriff's protection over Faith Tyler. She's…losing her mind again. Thanks to vampiric rape. She's going insane all over, and I don't have the time to wait until the task force is set up to stop her attacker."

"Did you and your little friend not take out a vampire, who possessed all the supernatural sped and strength bestowed upon him? It has much less to do with fear, Mr. Fontane, but allow me to say this; one human, one vampire, and one /additional/ supernatural. Werewolf, shifter, or witch. I care not. For if you, and that woman of yours," who it's obvious she feels are weak, "can destroy a vampire so easily, having two humans would be dangerous to our kind and our very existence."

Isobel runs her tongue over her teeth, her canines sliding down considerably. Healing takes a great deal of blood, but as she does not wish to show weakness at the moment, she dare not get up to get another bag. "As for the Sheriff, I will send him to you upon his return." If he returns, which is only one of her worries at the moment.

Her eyes snap to his face, peering at him. "Look at me," she says softly, "and tell me the truth." It is less of a glamour, and more of a sharpened, somewhat forced request.

"I am not a human, Miss Symon. It was by virtue of my powers alone that I managed to subdue that vampire long enough for her to stake him." And if Isobel didn't know of his actual nature, now is as good a time as any to enlighten her. It should hammer down how serious he is about the proposition. There is a pause from Ivan, speculative and thoughtful, before he allows her a nod of recognition. "One human, one supernatural, and one vampire. Agreed."

Frozen green eyes meet with hers, unflinching in the face of whatever vampiric witchcraft she casts over him. A strange sensation shoots through him - the vaguest recognition that this is not normal, that she is doing something to him - but it does not prompt him to skip a beat. "The truth is my girlfriend is losing her mind yet again because of vampires. The truth is every night I lie awake wondering if one will attack one of my sisters, haunted by the knowledge that there world be nothing I could do to stop them within the law. The truth is, I'm starting to hate your kind, but I don't want to. I'm trying so hard not to."

The non-humanness of the man in front of her explains why she has been so drawn to drinking from him. Isobel nods as he agrees to her request, and then states, "Leave the papers for your proposal, and I shall see that the Sheriff," whoever that may wind up being, "receives them."

Allowing her eyes to drift closed to break the mini-glamour, Isobel frowns. "Set up a meeting between myself and the girl so that her situation can be assessed. I assure you that no harm shall befall her if she is to come of her own free will. I cannot protect the entire world, Mr. Fontane, nor can I enforce a claim upon her which she will not accept. The only way that I can /legally/ lay claim to her based upon our doctrines, is if she allows it. While I can offer her protection outside of that, I cannot prevent her from being claimed by another."

"She wont be claimed by anyone. Not even for her own protection, she's adamant about that. But, then again," Ivan lets out a bitter laugh, finally jerking his hand out of his pocket to run restlessly through his hair. "I'll have her come, see you, under select conditions. She's not to be bitten from, or glamoured. Exposure to your kind like that…it breaks her. She's not going to be able to fix herself, if this keeps happening. She's…" Beat. Isobel, most likely, is not the one to reveal his semi-desperation to. And so he frowns, angry with himself. "She needs to be given that untouchable state once again. She needs to be off-limits to everyone. I know you can make that happen. And I'm willing to pay for it."

Suddenly, he's moving. The briefcase is set down, flicked open, and revealed to house a handful of formal papers - propositions, without a doubt - as well as a bag of blood harboring the blood banks seal. Facing her grimly, he holds it up so that she can see. "Before coming," he begins, "I dropped by the blood bank and requested two liters of my own blood to be drained. Make it happen."

"I do not have that power," Isobel says, slightly amused that he seems to think that she does. At least, she has not that power /yet/. "But send her to me, and allow me to do my best to convince her that it is the best interim solution." A sly eye falls upon Ivan. A slow grin. "Unless you, yourself, wish to be turned to lay your claim upon her?" That is, after all, the most pragmatic of solutions.

The blood is looked upon, and she is unable to help the fangs from flashing out at him. Yet oddly, she does not move to collect it. "That takes the fun out of it," she says, feigning a pout.

"But you have sway with the Sheriff. He trusts in you, otherwise you wouldn't be in the position you're in. Please. Miss Symon…Isobel." Solemn, still, Ivan implores to the woman for her assistance, brows furrowed darkly. The vampire suggestion, surprisingly, is given a moment of consideration. But then his word choice is picked slowly, deliberately. "I still have things to do alive. As tempting as your powers may be, the cost is quite high."

He inhales deeply, eyes flashing in a dangerous fashion. "There's something else I want. I believe we can work it out so that you may have you 'fun' and drink it too." He'd snort at the pun if his thoughts weren't so brooding and dark and hateful. "Hiro Nishimura, I believe is his name. I want him dead, and I want his fangs for decoration. Now, if you're not willing to do so, that's fine. I have other resources I can exploit. But I thought I'd give you the offer."

Isobel is silent for a good long while. Silent, eyes staying upon the blanket as he speaks. "There is nothing that you cannot accomplish in life, with the exception of fathering children, that you cannot accomplish as a vampire." Beyond that she does not press the issue. "Should you reconsider, do let me know. It has been a long time since I have sired a Child, and I do believe that you would be an asset to our race."

Murder Hiro? This causes her to fall silent again, and she goes as still as a statue. "On that, I am unfortunately unable to help you /at the moment/, as he has just rendered a service to the Sheriff for which his safety was promised." Her tongue runs over her lips. "As much as I would love nothing more than to drink /from/ you, Fontane, murdering one of our own kind bears a heavy penalty - one that until our own political issues have settled down, I do not think I should undertake. I would hate to leave Mr. Grant unprotected during these troubled times." Stormy eyes stare right at him, "Though I do appreciate the offer, as I know what a sacrifice that would be on your part."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps I want children of my own?" Ivan counters simply, offering the barest shrug of his shoulder. And then, there is a wry, bemused quirk of his lips. "Perhaps I like the taste of pizza too much to give up just yet." However, unlike usual, he does not balk at the offer of Making him into one of their kind. He merely shakes his head, slow and easy. "Thank you, but no thanks."

When she turns down his offer, his shoulders are shrugged almost casually, not looking particularly bothered. The bag of blood is tossed in her direction dispassionately as he continues to speak in low, even tones. "Fair enough. I, however, have made no such promise, and will agree to no such thing. I suppose I should warn you, then, not to get in my way. And not to seek retribution for it. It will not reflect well upon your kind." Beat. "If Mr. Grant would like to know the nature of his heinous crime and why he deserved to die, then tell him it was carnal in nature and that he took from her already precarious innocence."

"As I said, should you reconsider the offer, do let me know." A wink is offered to him. Isobel is about to amend what she said about Hiro, then pauses when the bag of blood comes down upon her injured leg. The only inkling that anything is amiss is her teeth clamping down upon her lip and her eyes closing. Vampires of her age should be able to handle the pain but she has greatly avoided such things for the majority of her life.

"Then allow this, Ivan Fontane. Should retribution be sought, I will lay my claim to you and take the punishment in your stead, and speak on your behalf should a Tribunal be called. I will, however, explain your reasoning to Mr. Grant when I see him next." If she does.

Her reaction to the thudding of the bag is noted, and though Ivan's eyes travel over to her, he does not comment. At first. "Sorry," he grunts. That's a question meant for another time, perhaps. He offer to claim him is met with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes and a thoughtful purse of his lips. Finally, he blurts it out: "Why? Why would you be willing to take my punishment onto you? It doesn't make sense." Beat. "Also…remind him that I need to meet with him. Soon. I don't know where his vacation has taken him, but it has been far too long."

"Hardly a vacation, Mr. Fontane. He was seeking some information on the VVEM. Then there were some difficulties, which have now been taken care of, which have wrought more difficulties." Isobel is not ashamed as she offers the bag of blood back to him. "Would you be so kind as to place this in the bar fridge, and retrieve a bag of the O positive?" The blanket is moved then, and she makes a face. "Unfortunately fire is one thing I have never been able to quickly heal from, and I do not wish to put unnecessary pressure upon it until it heals fully." Which it should after another bag of blood. "With any luck, he will return early next week. If not, then I will be able to finalize the decision you request."

"You didn't answer my question," Ivan points out with a purse of his lips, but then he's tossed back his bag of blood. And there's no way for Ivan to maintain his level of stoicism when faced with the surprise of the rejection. Slowly, his brows furrow, and he looks to the official seal of the bag thoughtfully. "Mhmm. I was under the impression that you wanted to feed from me." Beat. "If you'd like, I can return this and supply you with another blood type." Slowly, he makes his way to the bar fridge, looking for the exact sort she'd like and moving over to supply her with it. "What did fire do to you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, I wish to keep that bag," Isobel says, "but I wish to enjoy it later." Because he /is/ a supernatural, and she has no idea what his blood will do to her. Ergo, it's safer to imbibe it when he is not standing right there. When he returns with the O positive, she tears the bag open, dumps it into her mug and starts to drink it… cold. It tastes awful this way, but she needs it lest she continue this weakened state.

"Seared the flesh from my leg. Bloody flamethrowers. While the technology amazes me, things were once much simpler and preferable." The blanket is left off her leg now, so that he can see what the blood she ingests does to her. The scarred flesh healing nicely with the more blood she drinks.

"As for why I am willing to take the punishment, it is due to the fact that I feel, in part, responsible. Had Mr. Nishimura actually listened and not touched the woman as he was told, and merely laid a claim on her as was requested, you would not be feeling the way that you do at the moment."

Ivan looks to her, solemnly, watching the way her flesh heals as she imbibes the liquid. With furrowed brows, the tension in his person heightens just slightly. And as soon as he opens his mouth, it's clear why. "It is partially your fault." He intones, emotionless. "He should have been allowed to remain under the delusion that she was untouchable. He has been taking advantage of her insanity, of her sex since the very beginning." Beat. "But, you're not the only one who's at blame. We all are. I was under the delusion that he would leave her well enough alone, that I was over-exaggerating and that she didn't necessarily require protection from a claim. I should have dealt with the issue earlier. I should have killed that mother fucker when I had a chance. Pardon my language. There's simply no other way for me to refer to him as."

Isobel would go into how she was given orders to tell them that the woman was sane again, but she has already had that discussion with Ivan. "Do not forget that it is her fault for befriending him. I /did/ attempt to warn her about that, and tell her that not all of our kind are nice without reason. His reason, obviously, was to manipulate her, but I have no idea as to the cause." Quiet for a moment as she finishes the mug of cold blood, she watches Ivan. "Whatever the level of responsibility each of us bear, I will see to it that those in charge at the American Vampire League are made aware of his actions. They are meant to be our goodwill Ambassadors, and I can hardly see this incident as being good will to anyone."

"It's not her fault," Ivan practically snarls out, particularly harsh and persistent on this point. "You do not blame the raped for the perversions of their attacker. However, she should have behaved more prudently, yes. She should have fucking listened to me when I told her never to see him again." He takes in a deep, deliberate breath. "I should go. I should see if she's alright, and I wouldn't want my language to offend you any further. And…yes." Beat. "I was honest, you know. Of course you do, you used that mind control trick of yours on me. I was serious when I told you that it is, and has always been, my intention to do well by your kind. But you are making it difficult for me to want to do so."

"You will need to forgive me for playing that trick on you, Ivan. Considering everything that has happened lately, it was prudent that I ensure where your loyalties lay." Isobel watches him, and then offers a peaceable smile. "That is all that I meant. Not that the attacks on her person were her fault, but that she should have exercised more caution in dealing with him." There is a brief pause as she allows herself to stand, leg healed to near perfection now. "The short of it is, Mr. Fontane, that Mr. Grant may no longer be the Sheriff of Dallas upon his return. As I do not know what will happen should that come about, I am going to request that until you hear from either myself or Mr. Grant, that you do not send Miss Tyler to this location. I bear no ill will to humans, despite the efforts I put into making your woman believe so. In fact, were it not for a man named Wit, I would have never even taken it upon myself to frighten her. He was flashing her photo around Mary's one evening, and thus allowing every vampire in the vicinity to know who she was. I do believe it was the evening she was missing from the Green Oaks facility by Mr. Nishimura's hand."

Ivan watches Isobel easily. "I understand. However, I wont react quite as well the next time you play that little trick on me. Word to the wise," he points out, lifting his chin in an imperial fashion. Then she stands, and the taller man ends up crossing his arms over his chest mildly. "Mhmm. She won't be sent anywhere without me for the foreseeable future, so worry not. Anyway…thank you for your audience, I suppose. I wish you well, when all the political shuffling have finished up. I don't pretend to know what's going on, nor do I particularly care in light of my own problems, but…if I'm needed, I suppose an arrangement is always open to be made."

Audience. As though she is a queen, or royalty. Isobel ponders that, since if things go the way she believes they will she will technically be the King's child. The thought nearly makes her laugh, but she holds her stoicness and merely nods at Ivan. "Keep her safe during the day. If I am unavailable to keep an eye on her at night, I will send my most trusted to keep an eye on her from a distance to ensure her safety." Allowing him to move to the door if he wishes, she glances toward the fridge. "Thank you for the sacrifice. I appreciate the pragmatism of giving me what I desired without putting yourself in a position you do not wish to be in." With that, she offers him a nod of dismissal.

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