Tonight is the big night. The night before Easter, and yes, Isobel intends on making poor Elliott stay out late so that he's overly tired for the Easter Sermon. Plans have been made, though as not to make it look like a strange date the suggestion has been that everyone shall arrive at the theater separately.
Like a good woman, Isobel has arrived at the theatre quite early. There is no nervousness, she just had to see about picking up the tickets and appropriating the proper seats. A small private theatre box. Her dress is a beautiful shade of crimson, a mixture of barely-there mesh and velvet. Quite stunning, and she's turned more than a few heads. Her hair is left to spill about her shoulders, bangs drifting to the right. She stands in the middle of the atrium, still as a statue. Eyes upon the door as she waits for the two men in her life to appear.
The timing of this event could likely be better but it is not his place to dictate such things. The soon to be priest did mention that he would make himself available for this outing and he is not about to go back on his word. It is merely a good thing that he had not previously established plans due to the fact that it is the night before the holiday. He likely will not sleep at all before services the following day. Elliott takes great pains to look crisp and proper in his new suit; unlike the last outing he does not match the Sheriff of Texas. The suit is black, as is the shirt beneath, yet he wears a silken dark blue tie. Despite the effort put into his looks, his hair still holds the somewhat messed appearance that it normally does, most likely due to the fact that it should be trimmed. Punctual as always, he arrives and immediately takes note of Isobel. Her dress is rather revealing but even so he manages to keep his eyes to hers, not daring to look her over. Some might call it respect, others might call it fear.
The mid-twenties-looking man that drifts through the doors, barely a few seconds late, does so with effortless grace despite the close-fitted suit that clings to his short, slender figure. Black (of course) of jacket and shirt, the man's throat is wrapped in a tie; crimson silk. Silent steps carry him into the room with grace that borders on the inhuman; he cares not for subtlety today. Lacking a partner, William Grant drifts towards Isobel, only one glancing sweep of the room given to ascertain bodies present.
Well don't they look a pair. The two men in her life, looking quite the same — almost very literally. Except for the color of their ties. Though Will is making his way toward her, Isobel has her eyes locked on Elliott as she nods to the man to come toward her. She cares not if he does the whole roving eye bit, the dress is worn for her and no one else. Tonight is also about formality, which she knows her Maker will frown upon. Without looking at him, she quietly murmurs, "My liege."
It may not bother the lovely woman before him, but it would do no good to have his eyes travel. Isobel will find nothing but respect from the young man who apparently does not act his age. "A pleasure to see you again, Ms. Symon." Elliott would say more, or even extend an arm, but he does catch what is said. A quick assessment of the situation is made as he views the King, knowing nothing of his position and harboring no ill feelings for the man. He does realize rather quickly, however, exactly what was meant when she told him that he reminded her of someone. If he knew more he would introduce himself but for now he simply watches reactions and interactions.
As those words filter into Will's ears, his eyes move, though the rest of his expression remains impassive. He locks on to Isobel, slowly and deliberately raising a single eyebrow. "So formal?" he queries mildly, as he comes to a gentle stop in front of the pair. Now utterly motionless as only a vampire can. He does not appear to have acknowledged the very existence of Elliot.
"Mr. Hartigan, I am quite pleased that you could join us this evening." Isobel has nothing but a smile for the little priest, trying to put him at ease. Moving toward Elliott's side, she takes his arm. Mostly so that she can present him properly. "William Grant, this is my dear friend Elliott Hartigan." She gives a small glance to Elliott and then nods to Will. "Elliott, this is my Maker." Since both names have already been spoken, she feels free enough to say that. She glances beyond Will for a moment then sets her eyes upon him. "We are in a formal setting, and it was only prudent to behave in such a formal manner."
Much needs to be learned, apparently, for he was not aware that one refers to their maker as a liege. It is an odd situation leaving him somewhat at a loss for what to do. So Elliott does what he would do if these were two living creatures; he extends a hand. "It is also a pleasure to meet one that is so well spoken of and highly respected." If only he knew. As awkward as he may feel, Elliott's demeanor is that of a rather composed man. His eyes stray to Isobel as she takes his arm, even if only for a moment.
"This barely achieves formal," Will tells Isobel, tone waxing dry and humoured as he does so. "Remind me to have a white tie dinner soon." His attention shifts towards Elliott, the faintest hint of a smile vanishing as he does so; not unfriendly, just without expression. "Isobel tells me much about you," Will says, a glance shooting her way as he meets the handshake with a firm touch of his own. Cool, solid flesh in a single up and down before release, his power threading its way forwards and into the mind of the mortal man.
"You do not wa—" Too late. They are shaking hands. Isobel makes a mental note to teach Elliott the proper vampire greeting later. "White ties and blood hardly go hand in hand," she remarks to Will, watching the two men very carefully for a moment. "Elliott here is going through seminary school. He will soon be a priest." Small talk, perhaps to distract the King from the thoughts of the man beside her.
Proper instruction prior to the meeting would have been helpful but what's done is done. Only after the handshake does Elliott look to Isobel, careful that his eyes remain where they should be. "Do not what?" Apparently he's already done something incorrectly but he doesn't linger on the thought. The greeting has been made and now he simply serves his duty as an escort, allowing the two immortals to speak. Even if it is about him and his slightly fading desires. So a nod is given, small and brief, to confirm what the Sheriff says.
"I find the splash of colour add a certain panache to an otherwise monochrome situation," Will tells Isobel, though he does allow for a mental communication. « Not going to ask what I found? » he wonders, innocently. He does allow a nod for the discussion of Elliott, even including him in the well-humour and pleasant tone to his voice now. "It is good to find a man of God who does not subscribe to the foolish and misguided fanaticism of certain groups. I was once a man of the Church myself, in many ways. Isobel has found a veritable reminder of myself."
« Were it meant for me to know, I would know. » Isobel may be curious but she does not wish to pry into the poor nervous soon-to-be priest's mind. "Pure luck and chance," the Sheriff replies, her voice taking on a fond tone. "I do so miss attending services, even though they no longer offer them in Latin." A smile at Elliott as she asks, "Do you speak Latin, Mr. Hartigan? Is it something that they teach in your seminary?"
Even with the mistake made, it appears that he is not openly unwelcome in the eyes of her Maker. "I believe I know of what you speak. I may associate with one of those who belong but could never agree with their goals." There are reasons that Elliott has been most careful to not speak of vampires around Miss Tyler. Suddenly reminded of his age, the soon to be (maybe) priest again nods, ever so slightly. "Only a little, I'm afraid. I'm not beyond learning more if it is something that you would wish, for evening services." The fact that he's beginning to feel like a doppelganger is not mentioned at all, not even as both bring it to the surface. "It's actually comforting to meet those who have also been part of the Church at some point, no matter how long ago."
« Shame. It was really very interesting. Nice dress. » Will's mental tone is teasing, and he'd likely be sniggering were it not for the iron control he has over his facial movement. "Isobel can teach you properly, for then we can discuss in a language richer in specifics than our own." He does bring forth an indulgent smile for the man. "I will always be a part of the Church, Elliott. I am a Christian man, and have been such my entire existence. There is no barrier to faith upon becoming a creature of the night."
"Oh, would you?" Isobel turns a dazzlingly girlish smile upon Elliott. "If you have never heard mass spoken in Latin, I would suggest attending a service that does so. You will find it much more enlightening than listening to someone drone on in English." When her services are offered to teach the man Latin, she nods. It may not seem like an order, but as it is a slight directive from her Maker, it will be done. "The only difficulty, of course, is that one can no longer attend services when the church holds them in the morning. I would love to attend an Easter service again, but Sunday mornings do awful things to my complexion." Her icy gaze shifts to Will for a moment, her head tilting slightly. « Now you are only teasing me, Valentine. If you wish to tell me, feel free. Though I shall not beg like a child to know what the man was thinking. »
"I apologize if I've offended or implied anything unintentionally. I do agree and that is why I have made a point to be at the church after sun fall. To become immortal does not always change one's faith, or so I've been told." This is precisely how he encountered Isobel to begin with. "Then it shall be done. It is a request I would be happy to fill, especially if you are to be patient enough to educate me." Elliott is completely oblivious to the other conversation and very luckily so. "Are you implying, Ms. Symon, that I will drone as well?" Beat. "If I am to continue down this path, there will be services available."
The mental communication does continue, with Will's mind's tone vastly amused. « Of course I am teasing you. You bring a veritable clone of myself into my presence? One might almost think you were fond of this one, the way you are smiling. I approve of him, at the moment. » A brief smile is delivered to Elliott. "There was no offense, just explanation. There are few enough people in this world who acknowledge the Lord, and fewer still amongst my kind, despite my efforts." He does not quite manage to totally ignore Isobel's girlish behaviour, sweeping a glance over her for a moment. "Which path?" he queries.
« I did tell you that I was fond of him. I am almost loathe to turn him should he desire it. » Isobel allows her eyes to roll upward briefly. « He would look good in your armor as well. » "I have all the time in the world, and thus if you prove to be a good student, you shall receive the utmost patience on my part." There is a great deal of delight in her voice now. That someone would be willing to learn the language just to provide the services. "You are not yet a decrepit old man who speaks in a monotone. I find your voice delightful, and I am sure that once you become a priest you will cause the female population of the church to grow exponentially." As he is not exactly difficult on the eyes either.
Is she perhaps flirting with him? This is the same question he's had before and he never knows quite how to deal with it. He would likely leave if he were aware of what is being said. "As you wish." This is said with a slight tip of the chin to acknowledge that Elliott is indeed willing to learn a language just for Isobel. "The path of the church, Mister Grant. As I am not yet a priest I do have the time to change my mind, although I am not certain if that will happen. I have agreed to keep my options open, so to speak, as I am still quite young." He's not commenting on anything related to women as the man is attempting to not think about such things.
« My armour, » Will reproves mentally, before abandoning the mental teasing in favour of verbal speech. "The choice is ultimately yours," he allows, with the hint of a nod tilting his head a fraction. "If there is any way I can assist you in making your decision, please do ask."
Were a mask of neutrality; albeit happy neutrality not locked onto her face, the woman would very likely gape at Will. As is she just allows a blink and then smiles at Elliott once more. "That was the deal, yes. You keep your options open, and I get a nice tour of the various places in the city I would not think to visit. I am still considering buying that one establishment. I think it would be quite amusing to own my own knights." Even if they /are/ just actors.
"If I do decide in favor of a different path, then I would be more than willing to assist you with your knights." Managing a business has practically been breed into the man. Elliott does smile towards Isobel before his attention once more shifts to her maker. "That is quite a generous offer and it is greatly appreciated."
"Knights," Will says, faintly amused. "Is there something I should be purchasing for you, Isobel? A playground? I could simply train you myself." His lips float into a smile, though only briefly. His voice does drop slightly lower, as he speaks to Elliott, suddenly extremely serious of face and tone. "Have Isobel pass on my details, or simply be in touch via email, and I will give you the perspective of a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon." A name not as familiar as Templar.
"I have been considering buying the Medieval Times establishment, because their play-acting rather amused me." Though she has other reasons for wishing it as well. Such as learning falconry. "If you wish to purchase it for me, that would be a wondrous gift." A little smile to her Maker, then her visage becomes neutral once more. "As you wish," she adds to Will.
Even if clueless of the positions of those he is in company of, it doesn't go unnoticed that Will is offering to purchase something for Isobel. It seems blatantly obvious that they are of more wealth than he, at the very least, even if he is far from hurting for money. Further, it doesn't escape him that Will is making quite the offer. For some reason he is feeling as if he's been blessed with a rather unusual gift. Elliott takes a moment to take this all in, to appreciate the small bits that he can assume without much worry. "I look forward to hearing every detail."
"Then we shall see if they require a new and beautiful patron," says Will, gracing Isobel with a fond, almost father look. His attention does shift back to Elliott. "Details, perhaps not. The life you may choose to take is not an easy one, nor is it without its benefits and blessings. My experience, though long since outdated, may offer you some perspective, is all." He pauses, sweeping a look across the room, gauging the crowd. "What exactly did we come here to see?"
Were she a human girl, she'd likely squeal with delight. Her own money can be saved for making renovations to the estate once the King moves to the new one. The tickets are retrieved from her purse, and she hands them out to Will. "We have a private box upstairs. It was supposed to be an operetta, though apparently there is a traveling tour that is going through the area." The tickets are to Wicked. "I have heard that it is an amusing story." She looks at the two, very similar men. "Shall we head up before the light announces to take our seats?"
"It matters little how dated a man's perspective is, just as it is foolish to walk into a situation unprepared." It would be wise for him to hear what Will has to say and of course he will respect and appreciate it all. As the tickets are produced he smiles once more, actually eager to see a good performance. "I have heard only good things. This promises to be more entertaining than our last meeting." As nice as the conversation is, Elliott will be eager to take his seat and has to make a point not to make this obvious. It does feel as if he's in high school and meeting his potential date's father.
"You have wisdom, despite your youth," Will tells Elliott, before he rests a brief touch on Isobel's arm, still fond. « Am I angry father enough for you? There is someone here I must speak with. I shall allow you a few private moments. » "It shall be a fine show. I have spotted a man I must speak with," he comments, "therefore I shall see you in the box, shortly." The elder vampire starts to move across the room, making a beeline for a middle-aged man who appears to be trying to avoid notice. Quiet, measured steps carry him with easy grace. Perhaps the chat could have waited, but he is polite enough to allow the pair a few moments to themselves before the show begins.
« Hardly an angry father, Valentine. Do you approve though? » Isobel watches as her Maker heads toward the man, a slight downward curving of her brows. This is replaced by a smile as she nods toward the stairs. "Shall we then, Mr. Hartigan? You can tell me all you know of this show as we head up. All that I am aware is that there is green face paint involved, for I have seen the actress running between dressing rooms."
