It is an arrangement that he's taken somewhat seriously, even if he's doubted that he'll actually get the chance to see the woman again. Imagine the surprise when he's called upon for exactly what was promised: a night out. The night is planned on the fly, thus leading the somewhat strange duo to the doors of Medieval Times: Dallas. Elliott is looking not one bit like a man of the cloth this evening, instead opting for a casual black suit and tie with a scarlet dress shirt. "This," he begins, once they've already been assigned a color section. "Is most likely not at all accurate. However, I felt it would be rather entertaining to see just how those of today envision the past. At least in order to make a profit."
The most amusing thing about the evening thus far is that they have happened to match. Isobel arrived wearing a snug black turtleneck, and a black skirt with scarlet and white vertical stripes, black nylons, and high black boots. Her hair is kept off her face by a scarlet headband, and she looks every bit the eighteen year old she was when turned.
"I have never been," she mentions quietly, "as I do not eat." Nothing more than the truth from the Sheriff of Dallas. "Though I am certain the show will be rather entertaining. It has been ages since I have been to a tournament."
It doesn't seem to bother the soon to be priest that they match. If anything, it almost comforts him. They look like the typical young couple, or perhaps one that has grown up around proper mannerisms. As they wait, Elliott is careful to keep his arm offered if she feels the urge to take it. This is not a date, he reminds himself, but that doesn't mean that he can't act is if it is. "It's all completely scripted. I could tell you the outcome but that would ruin the show." This is said with the faintest of smiles. The moment passes as soon as they begin the actual seating process. "The falconry is rather impressive, however. But if you'd rather we go somewhere that doesn't serve food, it's not too late."
A look is given to the arm, and after a long moment Isobel takes it. If only to keep up the appearance of a couple out on a date. "Most theatrics are scripted, though real tournaments were not. Just as I assume that no one will actually be injured or killed in this "castle"." Having grown up in the shadow of a real castle, this faux one is met with a little distaste. "One does not have to enjoy a meal to enjoy a joust, it will be fine." Unlike some vampires, the thought of humans eating food does not disgust her.
It wouldn't break his heart if she declines as he isn't certain what actions are desired from him on this outing. The man is comfortable enough but is also wise enough to know that disrespect can lead to death. "I'm certain that occasionally there are injuries, real ones, but not too often. OHSAA would very likely shut this place down if they didn't keep things safe." Elliott is mindful of what he says and who might overhear it. That is why he falls silent until they are seated. The seating arrangements are far from elegant but he does allow her to sit first as a proper gentleman should. "The food honestly is not all that good anyway. I for one won't miss it." No, he will not be eating this evening. As he speaks, he keeps his tone low to ensure privacy.
"Regulations are a pain, but that is what happens when you try to make a profit." In the future, such places will likely become more accurate, and it occurs to Isobel that purchasing one of these establishments would not really hurt her portfolio at all. When they are seated at the long tables, in the colored section, she tilts her head. "The feast was usually held after the tournament, not during." When he mentions not eating, she shakes her head. "By all means, enjoy yourself, Mr. Hartigan. Do not starve yourself in order to appease me." Unlike those who are preparing to cheer, she simply crosses her legs at the ankles, tucking them under the chair. Her hands fold together neatly upon her lap, and she turns to her escort with a girlish smile. "The Andalusian stallions will no doubt impress."
He's not really one to comment on regulations as they keep him safe. "In a time where lawsuits are so popular, it really is for the better for the establishment to have some policies in place. If not, they would never make money." It would be different if the employees couldn't die. When the woman approaches to take their dinner orders, Elliott politely passes on a main course. He does, however, order some tea. "I believe that they have dinner during so as to make the show times shorter. It maximizes the amount of tickets that they can sell in the evening." This man is all about a business mindset and it shows. "As for dinner, I'll enjoy myself perfect well without. I ate not too long before we met and still am a firm believer that it is rude to eat around company." Especially company who is not participating in the meal. "In that I do agree that you'll be entertained." And not too much later the lights dim and the stallions are marched into the arena like area. The show is about to begin.
The wench approaches her, and Isobel behaves herself. "Type AB Negative if you have it." Not that she /can/ drink it, but best to keep something in her little pewter goblet for appearances sake. "If you do not, a glass of red house wine will be fine." Her response more a dismissal of the poor woman. "I suspected as much, though I can see that dinner could distract from the production, which defeats the purpose of the production in the first place."
The blood issue is one that she'll have to bring up to Elliott at some point. He'll actually do his best to accommodate her. Elliott watches the wench and makes sure that she wanders off without so much as a cross look. "I am prone to agree with you. I'm not one to play with my food while I'm attempting to enjoy such a performance." Still his voice is soft, respectful, and his posture is near perfect. "Perhaps they could shuffle the guests, or even expand to have two arenas. They wouldn't really need additional performers if they staggered their showings. It might actually increase the amount of showings in an evening."
"Do not get me wrong. I /do/ enjoy playing with my food from time to time," Isobel says, a distinct wink offered to the man. "However there is a proper place for such things, and it is not in public." Her eyes drift about, glancing to the different sections. "What they should do is hold a real tournament, with men from the time period they wish to portray. You would be surprised at the differences."
That is a comment that he's not exactly sure how to react to. Elliott casts her a glance, catching that wink. The slightest touches of pink reach his cheeks before he clears his throat to compose himself. "Yes, well, as you said; some things are certainly not meant for public eyes." Then they're back to criticizing the show and he seems eager to chime in. "It might not be so difficult to arrange such things. I am more than willing to do research and I bet you could easily find those willing to participate." There are many enthusiasts that would give such a thing a shot without realizing how dangerous it might be, and there are even more vampires that could likely be persuaded. In his opinion, at least.
Much less danger to a vampire, especially if one knew what he was doing. Isobel shifts her attention up to the "king" as he gives his spiel, and then watches as the horses are trotted out for their show. "Now they are things of true beauty. The night was worth it just to see the horses. I have not seen Andalusian's since my time in Spain, and that was centuries ago."
His access to vampires is rather limited so it would prove difficult for him to find any willing to help. Still he too watches the king as he speaks and shakes his head. The dialog is horrible and the acting not much better, but thankfully the horses come out to play. "I much prefer the falcon, but this is a close second." It's clear what sort of things motivate Elliott. Falcons are free; they fly. "Then perhaps the next time I show you around the city I can find somewhere else with Andalusian horses? Or something else that is period appropriate."
"You need to relax, Mr. Hartigan. I can smell your nervousness." Isobel glances at him sideways, then reaches a hand over to place on his arm in a gentle manner. "The falcon has a false freedom. While she is able to fly for our enjoyment, she will be hooded before her arrival, and have jesses upon her legs to keep her from flying off."
Eh, he. A finger loosens the tie about his neck as she speaks of his nervousness. "This is rather important," he points out. "I'm not exactly sure why, but I don't want to disappoint." With that said, Elliott is fully willing to speak about the falcon. "Ah, but what would it be like to be a falcon in the wild?" His eyes are almost alight when he speaks of it. "Just as with the horses, they're all caged animals. But at one point these animals were meant to roam free."
"Humans were also meant to roam freely, yet the bindings of matrimony and religion, as well as the yearnings of men who desired power, have caged us all." Isobel is silent for a long time, then she smiles. "Perhaps, when the time is right, I can offer you the opportunity to briefly feel what it is the free falcon feels when she is free." Not flying, exactly, but super-speed does come very close. "I will not kill you if you disappoint me, though as you are showing me far more kindness than most humans it is doubtful that I would slay you regardless."
Something causes him to pause, to focus his eyes on Isobel as if he's studying her every facial feature. He still has yet to take in her whole form as that would be unholy. His heart rate actually increases slightly as he finds himself realizing just how attractive she is but the thought is dismissed as soon as it is entertained. "I honestly feel less bound by my religion than I do my father, but I suppose you do make an excellent point." There is no anger found in Elliott's tone. She asked that he consider all aspects of life prior to accepting his collar and he is doing just that. "Although, perhaps it is not my place to feel as the falcon does." Beat. "I appreciate your kind words." He also appreciates her decision not to immediately kill him. "I also find no reason not to show you kindness. I just believe that there is a certain level of respect that you're to be rewarded as well."
Even the most minute change in his heart rate causes Isobel to close her eyes, her tongue setting to where her fangs would extend, as though to keep them from doing so. "We are all bound by something, but it is still a binding. Parent to child, wife to husband, man to religion, vampire to blood. No matter which we choose to call it, it is a type of binding." A slow, wry smile turned upon the little priest. "Who is to say what is or is not your place? God has designs for everything, does he not? Perhaps you are meant to feel as the falcon does before you take up the cloth."
The very moment that she closes her eyes he shifts back to the show. His heart begins to slow as he does so, the unholy thoughts wiped clean from his mind. "This is true. Everyone has a place that best suits them, a duty to life that brings with it some bindings. Is it not best to chose your bindings rather than have them chosen for you?" Her question causes him to close his eyes, considering what all may be implied by them. "I would think that the only hesitation I would have to attempt to find such freedom is that I might not go back to the cloth. Although I suppose that is part of our deal, is it not? That I am to make sure that the church truly is the path that I wish to choose?"
When his heart slows, it is easier to keep her fangs under control. "I would not know, Mr. Hartigan. Quite frankly when I was young, the way of it was to allow a father or a liege to choose your bindings of matrimony, then the husband's duty to do so." For a long while, she too focuses upon the show. Watching the horses prance and play to the delight of the audience. "After a husband was lost, it was once more up to the liege to decide what to do with the widowed woman, thus, being young and unable to bear children, I was sent to the nunnery." A melancholic look mars her features briefly. "Even in my death, it was not of my choosing. Nor was it my choosing to leave the one who turned me, or to lose my own Child." It would not have been her choice to become Sheriff either, had her Maker not requested it of her. "That was the deal, though I refuse to tempt you to such things. The decisions must, of course, be your choice. I may not have been given much of one throughout my life, but I refuse to force someone to stray from something that they so desire."
No matter how much he wants to look at her, eyes remain focused on the show as she speaks. It wouldn't be very respectful to look at her with pity, after all. Not only has his heart rate slowed but it's almost skipping a few beats, the truth behind her past obviously getting to her. "I feel selfish," he finally admits, turning his attention back to the Sheriff beside him. "To be complaining ever of my father's wishes. I'm sorry for that, Ms. Symon." A hand reaches out to hers, to fall on top of it extremely lightly. It is not Elliott's desire to be flirtations but rather to attempt to be comforting. That is something that his chosen path entails, after all. "In light of what you've just told me, I do appreciate the respect that you are offering me, a strange man that you had a chance encounter with." How is he to respond to what she's told him without overstepping his boundaries? It's impossible.
Compassion, from a human. Isobel Symon is not used to such things, and as he touches her the only indication that she notices his warm hand atop her cool one is that her eyes shift there momentarily. "It was normal in my time, and a foolish thing to be sorry for. That is the great thing about evolution; although the only difference these days is that people truly believe that they have the choice, when they do not." A nod is given to him, then a tip of her head toward the entrance of the stadium. "I do believe that your falcon is up next, the pageantry before the joust."
Would she truly expect anything less from the man? "These are different times. Movements are made in the name of peace, of evolution and freedom. Is it not best that some people feel the freedom that they might not have? If anything it gives a hope to the people, even if it is a false one." His words are mere ideas, not exactly aimed in the direction of any particular person. Elliott looks down at his hand then and begins to move it away. "I've overstepped. I'm sorry for that as well." The falcon does then hold his attention, at least his physical attention. He actually smiles as he watches it fly but is mindful of his so called date for the evening.
"War is made in the name of peace. Is quashing an entire nation a way to make you feel free? Is the murder of innocent civilians the best way for people of this country to feel freedom that they may not otherwise have?" There have been many wars that she has witnessed first hand, and it shows in the intensity of her words. Still, Isobel watches the grace of the bird as she flies over head, soaring above the crowd to the amazement of most. "It is a pity that one cannot practice falconry at night, it was something that I never got to try my hand at. I suppose that a Great Horned Owl could be used, but as they capture their prey based upon their sense of hearing, unlike their diurnal counterparts in the falcons, the hunt would be rather boring."
The only thing that comes close to pulling his attention away from the magnificent bird is the fact that what she says is rather depressing. He's fortunate that in his lifetime he's really only seen the effects of one war, one that has been going on for four years now. That hand nearly goes back to hers but he thinks better of the action. Elliott is not one to lead someone to the wrong idea and he honestly should not be having any feelings for the woman beside him. "I wish that I had something to say to that," he finally says, his eyes on her form only. "But that is a debate that will never end. I'm opposed to war in general but I'm also not fool enough to think that all problems will be resolved with a handshake and a pillow fight." Her comments about the birds do not fall on deaf ears, however. He is already forming some plans. "If you owned a location such as this it would be possible to practice it. Perhaps we can come in on a night in which they're closed."
"I have never had one of those either," Isobel says, with a dry laugh. In response, of course, to the pillow fight. "As long as humankind desires power, there will be wars." Which is much the same as it is in the vampire world, though fortunately in the vampire world the wars are on a much smaller scale. "There will be times of peace, there always are, just as there always were. But it is not in human nature to go for long without coveting something else, or making a strike to show others the reach of their power." His movement is noted, and her smile becomes just a little coy and sly. "That is a very astute idea. One I had already been considering actually."
It takes him a moment to retrace his words to figure out what exactly she's speaking of. Then he actually chuckles. "Well, if you would care to have one someday, I believe I know the perfect pillows to use." The light hearted part of the conversation dies away as more talk of war is made. Elliott shakes his head; his attention now fully on her as the falcon is forgotten. "Is it different for you? I admit to knowing very little about it. Are you able to look past the idea of wars or is it something that never changes?" Despite the conversation he does find it rather comforting to see a smile coming from Isobel. "I can try to arrange it if you'd like."
While Elliott's attention is off of the falcon, Isobel appears to be transfixed. Each movement, each swoop of the falcon is watched with great interest. It does not mean she is not focused on her companion. "I have survived through numerous wars. I watched as Jeanne d'Arc was burnt alive at the stake. War is something that will never change." The topic is something that can change, however. "The difficulties of owning a business such as this would be the need to find a trusted human to take care of business matters on my behalf, at least during daylight hours."
It isn't her attention on the falcon that has his eyes moving elsewhere. What she says about wars, about those she's seen injured just get to the man. Elliott focuses on the tea that had at some been delivered. "It's a pity that it's impossible to escape." There are no telltale signs that he's actually considering life as a vampire but only that he's trying to see the benefits of it. "That does present a great obstacle." It is not his intent to ruin her idea, not at all. "Trust is something that is difficult to establish. Even I suffer from this and I have nothing to worry of. I'm certain that there are those out there that you can find."
Thanks to Ysolde, Isobel honestly has difficulties trusting anyone but herself. While some modicum of trust is offered to her Maker, that is due to the bond that they share. "Unless war is one again brought to the door of the United States, it is very likely that it would be much easier to ignore. Within the confines of Europe and the United Kingdom it was less so." The wench finally returns with their drinks as the food is being delivered to those around them now that the falcon is done and the tournament is about to begin. An ordeal is made in order for it to appear that she is indeed drinking the TruBlood, but she in fact is not. "It would be most simple to cause a human to do what I wished, but again, enforcing someone to do something against their will is only something that I would use in extreme circumstances."
"I would like to live in a world where most of the war can be ignored or avoided. But then again I know that the world that is so perfect in my mind truly does not exist." He is thankful for his tea and for the arrival of her drink. He watches as she pretends to ingest the synthetic, his eyes curious. "Is it really the same?" The question is entirely out of the blue and Elliott immediately looks down at his drink. "If my questions are bothersome, please let me know. I should be more respectful." Still she mentions trust and the ability to make a person do as she pleases. "Perhaps I am truly ignorant of the world, Ms. Symon, but I'd like to believe that there is someone out there that you can trust. I'm here, after all, and I believe this is entirely of my own free will."
"There may come a time when such a utopia is possible, though I do not see that happening for at least a few centuries." By which time she will likely have come to the end of her life. Another faux sip of the synthetic is taken, and she holds the pewter cup out to him. "You are welcome to try it." Afterward, she is silent. "They are not bothersome, and I did offer you full disclosure. The truth of it is that I cannot rightfully answer your question, as I have no idea. I am unable to stomach the chemical process that they use, so in a sense I am /allergic/ to the synthetic."
Elliott rolls 1d100: 1d100(55)=55
A century is a unit of measuring time that doesn't sit well with the soon to be priest. "Well, then all I can hope for is that someone, generations from now, is able to enjoy that which I cannot." Elliott's attention only really returns to her when she's offering him the synthetic. He takes the cup that is offered and looks at it curiously. He looks unsure but then does nip at the drink, his face wrinkling as he does so. "I wouldn't wish that upon anyone." Yet she's explaining that she can't really drink it so he's hesitant to return the cup. "If you are allergic, then why did you order it? We need to do something else for you."
"Appearances, darling. Were everyone to know I was allergic to it, they would have access to a weakness I do not desire them to." At least with the ordering it, she can glamour the wench to bring back the near full mug when the show is over and have her believe it is empty. "The only other recourse, Mr. Harting, would be to draw one of these lovely humans aside to have a little nip, and I would rather not do so in your presence." When he tastes the blood, she smiles. "It is enough to sustain most of us nutritionally, but is hardly as tasty as feeding off the hoof."
He has to watch her closely now, something odd striking him. "Yet you showed no hesitation in explaining this to me." He's not certain if he should feel honored or scared. "Although you have my word that nothing mentioned will ever be repeated." Eventually he offers the cup back to Isobel, if for only for appearances sake. "I would equate that to soy burgers as opposed to actual beef. It is similar, it offers you nutrition yet it simply is not the same." Elliott looks around to everyone that is nearby, taking comfort in the fact that their conversation is being utterly ignored. "If you need something," he begins as he eventually brings his eyes back to her. "I would prefer you to choose me instead of one of them."
Delicate fingers curve around the pewter mug, and she again lifts it to her lips. "You asked, and part of the deal was to not withhold the truth from you." Her tongue flicks out over her upper lip, then she winks at him. "Besides which, if the information were to get out I would know the source." Only the faintest hint of a threat in her voice. "Mr. Hartigan, while I /do/ appreciate the offer, you would not enjoy the way in which I would feel necessary to feed from you."
"Fair enough, m'lady." It may come across as a threat but her words do hold truth to him. Now Elliott can only hope that her weakness never is revealed or else he will be immediately hunted down. His expression goes dark for a moment as he considers her words and all of the options available to them. "At least I would know what was happening. I'd prefer it to be me over one of them." It is not his intent to argue, or even insist on the feeding. The man is simply stating his opinion. "I do admit that I have no idea what you mean by the way in which you would feed from me, but is the end result not the same?"
"For me it would be, for you I do believe you would find yourself breaking your vows." Isobel watches him, with great interest. "Though if you /do/ wish to experience it, I could oblige in a different manner, though it may be more uncomfortable for you." Out in the center of the arena, the jousting commences. The Yellow Knight rushing toward the Red Knight, lances crashing against shields, sending small wooden shrapnel against the fine netting the surrounds the arena. "Were this a real tournament, they would continue fighting until one or the other was no longer able to move."
It is absolutely amazing how she is able to simply switch topics as easily as she is. For poor Elliott, he is left watching her, stupefied. "If you already said that you were declining, I'd feel as if you were coming on to me." He swallows hard as he watches her, that faint bit of pink returning and his heartbeat once more increasing. Elliott is thankful for the movements on the field and her explanation. "That is something that could happen if those involved were immortal." The comment is made but then he's right back to the topic at hand. "I just worry. I've brought you out this evening and it is because of me that you're not able to eat."
"Biting into someone's wrist is hardly a come on, I assure you." Isobel eyes the man beside her, giving him a thorough once over. "My preferred way would be much more pleasurable for you." She keep the mug to her lips, as she watches the show. Feigning sips here or there. "There is an establishment where I can obtain willing nourishment, and if I prefer something more akin to the synthetics I will simply pay a visit to the Lonestar Blood Services."
He swallows again, his eyes decidedly on the tournament below. They're far better off there. There are many times that he prepares to speak, only to fall into silence. All the while his cheeks hold the telltale sign of a blush. "I am certain that you will find someone far more desirable," Elliott finally says. He takes cue from her and brings his tea to his lips, if only in an attempt to hide his face. "However you would like me to assist you; just let me know. It would be improper for me to allow you to go hungry, after all."
"There is nothing undesirable about you, Mr. Hartigan." There is no hint of flirtation, simple matter-of-factness. Although, she does bear the faint hint of an amused smile upon her lips. "The more you flush, the warmer your blood gets." With no fear of reprisal, or shame, she reaches out to stroke her index and middle finger along his neck, very close to the carotid artery. "You are tempting me to simply take that which I desire, and I refuse."
In all the encounters that he's had, now would be the time that he would prove to her just how strong of a man that he is. Now is the time that he proves just how much or how little he is bothered by her presence. "It is not my goal to tempt you, I assure you," he finally comments, his tea finding a home on the table before he spills it. Despite the way his heart is beating, Elliott does well to keep his demeanor rather calm. "I meant what I said about me preferring you choose me over one of those here, but that is all." Not once does he pull away from her or attempt to remove those fingers from his neck. "I do apologize, but it's not often that I find a beautiful woman so close to me. I'll be sure to keep myself in check." Even as he speaks he attempts to get his heart rate under control. This obviously is no reason to be excited.
Isobel leans in very slowly, so that her lips are right beside his ear. "I can feel your pulse, and I know, little priest, that it is not /all/. The thought of what you could be feeling excites you, even if only a little." The vampiress does not draw back at all, simply making it look as though she's getting gently cozy with her "date". "You were right about this story being contrived, but it is enjoyable regardless of the poor acting."
If he were to have the space to do so, he would be making the sign of the cross. As it stands he does not so he is left with an Isobel so irresistibly close to him. "You are making me have doubts," he finally says, as if to correct her. Or, perhaps, he's agreeing with her. "It is not my intention to use you as a way of fulfilling some deep rooted curiosity." About vampires, that is. "And I find that as I continue to attempt to talk and climb myself out of this pit I am only slipping deeper within it." Elliott still isn't pulling away, perhaps being selfish in his actions. "I can assure you that this is not why I agreed to this outing."
The sign of the cross would do very little to keep her away as it is naught but an old wives tale. "That was part of the deal as well, to see if bringing you out into the world would see you with doubts." Isobel still does not draw away, waiting to see how long it will take him to extract himself from her. "Intention or not, you /are/ excited by that which you do not know, and I must admit that it amuses me." For a moment, for a /very/ brief moment she can almost see why Ysolde had so much fun toying with Valentine's emotions. "You will simply have to ask yourself if attempting to climb out of the pit is worth it."
Once she is done speaking he clears his throat. Even if his heart is betraying him, literally, there is still time for him to be the better man. "My dear, Ms. Symon," Elliott begins, his eyes attempting to lock on to hers. "You are an extremely beautiful woman. If your point is to tempt me, than you have succeeded." The way his words barely trail off indicate that there is more to this than him simply admitting defeat. "I will not, however, give in to temptation so easily. Not only would it serve me no good but it would be portraying you in less of a light. I will admit that you have proven that doubts are able to be cast, but I don't believe that simply falling into the pit is the best solution." The man seems extremely sure of his words even if he is doubting if they should have been spoken. "And hopefully your amusement is not casting an ill light on me."
"An ill light? Hardly. Actually you remind me a great deal of someone." The fingers stroke the carotid artery once more, then the vampiress draws back. A wry amusement visible in both her expression and her voice. "Should I wish to honestly tempt you, Mr. Hartigan, I would provide you with your heart's desire, then take what I wished from you. The point is merely to cast doubt, as you play my winsome guide to the wonders of the city that I may not peruse of my own will."
It would be a lie to say that he is not relieved that she does not think poorly of him. Still he finds that he must keep his cool if only for appearances sake. A slow nod is given once she pulls away, his mind actively working to find his next course of action. "Well played," Elliott finally speaks. "But I do wonder, Ms. Symon, what will happen if you cause me to actually want to act on these desires?" He's making no immediate plans but it is a very real possibility. "For I do not plan to discontinue your tour of Dallas yet to constantly expose myself to temptation will either make me stronger or have me falling into the abyss, so to speak."
The pewter mug is lifted to her lips once more, the jousting coming to an end. There is now an interlude, where in the prince is being captured by supposed bandits, and while it is plausible that such a thing could have happened, for a prince to be out with such a small retinue is unfathomable. "That would entirely depend upon you, Mr. Hartigan. Very few humans catch my interest. The question would be what would you do if you succumbed to your desires?"
The question leaves him rather speechless and so he focuses on the scene with the prince. He may only be a mortal and have lived for two decades but even Elliott finds this part a little unbelievable. It is done for the show, he realizes, but it is moments like this that turn him off from the entire thing. "I would know that I failed in my so called calling," he eventually says, his eyes still on the show. "I know that temptation will follow me no matter what and that being able to resist it does not mean that I should not take that vow. But if I am to fall into temptation then such a vow will not be made." He pauses for a moment as he deliberates whether or not to continue. "And I would feel horrible for attempting to do such a thing with you."
"But if you are so swayed from your calling, was it truly your calling?" Isobel places the pewter mug down upon the long bench-like table, then eyes the show once more. With the prince taken away there's another spiel from the king, and dessert is being delivered. "Yet if you are able to resist the temptation, then you would know for certain that it is what you were meant to do." She shifts her attention to him, then smiles. "Why should you feel horrible for attempting such a thing with me?"
It is a lot to think about, his mind already weighing the options. "It certainly is a position where my career can be made or broken in one moment. Yet if I am not to follow the path of the church, how else would I best serve this area?" Elliott really has no desire to return to his father, that much is perfectly clear. He will not follow in his footsteps. The last question is by far the easiest and he turns to face her as he replies. "Because you deserve more than to be used as a beacon of temptation. Such a role is beneath you and it is not my place to lower you to that."
At least he is being afforded the options. Isobel smirks. "I could always hire you to take care of the arena during the day, should I decide to purchase it, or one like it." Trust is being offered, warily, but it is being offered. "What if I desire to be used as such? Is that not my choice to make, Mr. Hartigan? If you prefer another, that can be provided to you."
The moment of trust, no matter what form it comes in, does not go unnoticed. He watches her closely, head tilted ever so. "It would at least be something that I am good at." Yes, Elliott is trying to remain positive given the gravity of the situation. He considers her words before shaking his head. "Then it is your decision to have made, not mine. I do not wish to feel as if I'm using to you fulfill some dark fantasy of mine. That is not my intention, not at all." He goes back to watching the show. "I highly doubt that another could tempt me as you have, if I am to be so bold."
"You flatter me, Mr. Hartigan. Though I am left wondering what it is about me that is able to tempt you so well." Isobel watches as the show continues, the Red Knight attempting to decimate the reviled Green Knight. "You would be well suited for it, and should it come to it I will request your assistance. The final choice will of course be yours."
An unfair question, that, and one that leaves him speechless during the bout of red versus green. "You are an extremely attractive woman, Ms. Symon, but it is more than that." Normally the soon to be priest is not at a loss for words so he is having difficulty with this conversation. "I believe you're the first who has taken such an active interest in my life and for whatever reason has attempted to aid me in making the correct decisions." Beat. "I should be asking why you are so interested." This of course is said while Elliott continues to watch the show. "Either way I should thank you. No matter what your motivations, you have been quite helpful."
The question is fair, and when he poses it she laughs. "As I said, Mr. Hartigan, you remind me of someone. Therefore, taking an active interest in your life, and attempting to aid you in your decisions has piqued my own interest." It is the truth, though perhaps not the entire truth. Isobel waits for the Green knight to apparently overcome the red, and then turns to him. "My motivations are entirely pure at this point." That does not mean that they will remain so for very long.
It is and will be his downfall but Elliott believes her. "I believe you," he even comments, his eyes moving to lock onto hers. "As I also said, I respect you for who you are. I just don't want to be tempted and then end up doing something to harm you in the end." Were he familiar with how relationships work, or how things operate, he would make a move to accent this. Instead he just watches her, content to be close without doing much more. "I should wish to think this someone, then, at some point."
It may indeed be his downfall. When the eyes lock on, the temptation to glamour him is there but she holds herself back from doing so. "There are very few ways you could possibly harm me, Mr. Hartigan. Should you be worried about my feelings, it would be best if you did not. I have not harbored feelings for a while." Eyes shift back to the show. "Now if this were contrived writing, they would have the evil knight win as it will be the most unexpected outcome."
That is an interesting turn, something that is very good to get out now. "I appreciate your honesty. I would not have expected anything else, but it is good to know that were I to develop any such feelings would be foolish." It does seem to push him into resisting the temptation even as she is so close and looking back at him. She can glamour him all she likes and very likely will have the same outcome. "Sometimes evil does triumph over good. In this case I believe it would make more sense to have the victory go to the side with the most amount of numbers." Elliott obviously has never been a war before.
"Theoretically that makes the most sense, and there are many humans that would agree with you." Isobel smirks, thinking of the little dinner. "Though one does not need numbers to win a battle, simply wits." The honesty was for his benefit. She faces him then laughs. "My dear Mr. Hartigan, it is not that such feelings would be foolish, it is simply that I do not believe you would develop them, no matter the temptation."
It's difficult to tell what he should comment on first, so the man simply nods. In fact, his attention moves to focus on the end of the show and only that. As with earlier it does not mean that he's not listening or even paying the slightest bit of attention to his faux date. "Are you saying that if I am to fall, it will purely be to lust and not of any just feeling?" This Elliott has a hard time dealing with but he does well to hide the truth. "I'm not so certain, but then again I would like to think better of myself."
"Not at all. You are likely quite capable of having feelings, and more than capable of lust." Isobel watches him rather than watching the tripe of the show. "When you fall, it will be for your own reasons and have very little to do with me."
He swallows again, this time right before finishing the rest of his tea. "You seem rather confident in that." Eventually he allows his eyes to venture towards hers. "And if I were to give into lust, into temptation, that would make me no better than those who actively seek such things from you." Wherein you stands for vampire kind. Elliot shakes his head. "Perhaps it is the fool in me, but I would much rather not have you see me in that way." He is not a fangbanger.
Isobel laughs, then smiles at him. "Mr. Hartigan, no one /dares/ to seek such things from me. Though there are many who seek such things from others, and it is a symbiotic relationship. They desire sex, and we desire blood. Win-win either way." Her pause brings another smile, drier. "/When/ you fall, I assure you that I will not see you in that manner. There is a difference between a fangbanger, and a willing companion."
Well, that all is food for thought. It's tempting, it would be only too easy to just fall right at this very moment, to sign his life over to something other than the holy path of God. Elliott is not one to just give up, no matter how much doubt he may be feeling. His hand reaches out for hers as he had done earlier in the evening. "Then, when it happens as it seems evident that it will, we shall see what happens. Until then, I shall continue to enjoy the company and hopefully you shall be able to enjoy Dallas."
"I have a location for our next outing, if you are willing to humor me." Isobel grins just a little, her eyes shifting toward the hands once more. "I have rather enjoyed the evening despite the historical discrepancies."
"Perhaps that is why it is important for you to visit here. You've seen what there is to offer and how many people seem to enjoy it." Elliott is trying to make the night seem better than what it may actually be. "Now something can be done about it." Though when she mentions the location of the next outing he merely nods. "I am open to any suggestions that you may have. This is for your benefit, Ms. Symon."
"Then we shall enjoy an evening at Bloody Mary's. The proprietor is a friend of mine." Isobel awaits his reaction, and then grins. "You are correct, now something can be done about it. Even if only hiring a vampire historian to collaborate with the corporation that owns this venue, so that historical accuracy can be provided."
The suggestion doesn't seem to actually sink in at first as he attempts to remember where he's heard the name before. Then he puts two and two together and simply nods. "Very well. I've never been there, personally, so it will be interesting to see what can be found." This is all said without batting an eye. Elliott is a man of his word, after all, and for the moment has no reason to distrust Isobel. "Shall we wait until everyone leaves to follow suit, or should we slip out before the crowd?"
"I suspect that you will go into culture shock. It is hardly what you would be expecting." Perhaps it is what he would be expecting though. "I should like to introduce you to someone as well, if he is available." The fact that this man beside her has no inkling as to the power she possesses in this city amuses her. "That all depends on if you care to stay behind as my dinner," she says to him, quite playfully.
Culture shock is not something that he's expecting, not in the least. "Introduce me to someone? I'm assuming this is not the owner of this Bloody Mary's that you spoke of?" Elliott is completely clueless. He may have spoken to several vampires in his life but he's never gotten into the politics of their kind. At her quip about dinner he just stares at her. "I believe that this will just be cycling the conversation over again, m'lady, as I believe I have already made offer of that."
"Actually, you would likely equate him to my father," Isobel says, laughing gently. "He is not someone I wish to upset, and if we are to continue on much longer, I seek to obtain his permission." And also to prove that she is not Ysolde, and is not manipulating the poor man. "You are correct in that, as I do not feel that you are ready to become a meal. I /would/ like you to enjoy yourself as well."
"You want me to meet your father? I somehow feel as if I'm in high school." This is said as a joke, mostly, although he's finding a good bit of humor in it. Either way, Elliott nods. "I look forward to meeting him, then. Whenever he is ready just say the word." When she speaks of being ready, be merely pats her hand before he stands. "Then we should go so that you can find me when I am ready."
"Equated with a father. He is my Maker." Isobel has no fear of telling the man this. "I feel that the two of you would get on quite well, actually." When he stands, she moves with a cat-like grace, standing suddenly and easily. Her posture is perfect, her appearance unmarred, not a wrinkle in the clothing. "We should, and I shall. When the time comes, I would be honored to feed from you, Mr. Hartigan."
