Sheriff's Estate - The Vault
The night is clear, the blessings of an open sky touching the estate with moonlight. The Vault is peaceful, not long since vacated by a younger vampire, leaving the King of Texas alone with his synthetic blood and his thoughts. Stretched languidly in his customary position on a couch, for once the mighty screen on the wall is alive, showing an orchestral scene, the Danse Macabre floating out from hidden speakers.
Will is relaxing, though eyes are open and fingers delicately tap against his leg; a sure sign he is starting to make a decision. A discarded and empty bottle of synthetic blood sits by his side - two other empties stacked neatly in the kitchen.
A brief outing before her night off officially starts. Isobel Skye Symon, Sheriff of Area 9, is returning to the estate after a brief discussion with her bodyguard. She carries with her no anger, no ire — though she should. It is perhaps fortunate that Ms. Baker is not still in the room, for certainly that would draw the Sheriff's wrath and potentially have eyeballs rolling on the floor before the evening is through.
Though she enters the estate quite alone, there is a treat that will be delivered shortly. Perhaps more than one, should Mary enter her offices this evening. "Ahh," she says spotting Will immediately. "Good evening, my liege." Making an outward show at a curtsey, she wanders over toward the couch. "Apologies for not being here when you awoke but there was one thing that needed tending to before I could relax." The painting will come as close to dawn as she dares, just enough time to get in the early hints of purples.
"Your absence afforded me opportunity to converse briefly with young Susan," Will replies, with threads of amusement filtering to his tone. "I feel I have impressed upon her the necessity of maintaining her immortality." Slowly, he sits up, the white bathrobe about his shoulders falling back, to be shrugged back into position. Barefoot, only shorts and robe, the vampire unfolds from his seat, standing to his full and mighty height of five feet eight inches. "Business was concluded successfully?"
"Did she mention raising hand against my bodyguard? Injuring the man?" Isobel's cheerful demeanor snaps back into a decidedly icy one. "Do not trust that manipulative bitch one iota, Valentine. She will merely manipulate you into feeling compassion for her and then act as though a spoiled rotten and petulant child." After spying what was done to Clarence via the security feed, and speaking to the man himself, she is not much caring if Susan maintains her immortality or not, and the flutter of annoyance easily slips through the blood-bond. "That being said, I have given my man free reign to do her harm should she lift a hand against him again. I will not have those in my employ being treated like scratching posts for kittens that know no better."
"She is terrified of me," Will returns, mildly. "Do not fret about her; I feel that she knows a single wrong footstep will spell her doom. Enough of her." He dismisses the youngling with an airy waft of a hand. A wry twist of lips draws him forth into further speech. "I have something for you, though I fear it is not necessarily good news." He slips a hand delicately into a pocket, drawing forth a white envelope, stamped with the mark of his solicitor. He does not yet offer it forward.
"Then I kindly thank you for your assistance," Isobel says, dipping her head forward in a show of respect and dismissal of the subject. There is a little seething through the bond, and a simple, « She should be terrified of me. » Which means that perhaps she was far to lenient for the situation. She will need someone to teach her ways to appear more harsh.
"Something for me?" The mark of the solicitor is noted, and she eyes him quizzically.
Artfully ignoring the passage of speech through their mental bond, Will takes a few steps towards Isobel, holding out the envelope. Still wry, he replies, "For your birthday, I had intended to purchase the medieval playground you were discussing. I have managed to obtain a copy of the ownership documentation, though I fear when you read it you will realised why the owner is unlikely to sell it to me. For that I apologise." The envelope twitches slightly in his hand, an invitation for her to take it.
"My birth— " Indeed it is her birthday, but that he made an effort to remember means more than any gift that he could have thought to procure her. That gratitude too, slips through the bond. Placated and happy once more, the Sheriff smiles at him in an almost sweet manner. "Oh, Valentine! You had no need to try to get me anything. That you recalled after all these years…" Snatching the twitching envelope, she gently opens it.
A peal of childish laughter bubbles forth when she sees the name upon it. "You have my thanks, Valentine, and you shall of course be welcome to show your sword mastery there any time you desire. I will have to contact my day man and have him run it business as usual until after the last show, and then I shall be the first in there to learn falconry!"
Will stands stoic in the face of the joyful outbreak, though the hint of a pleased smile touches his expression, even reaching his eyes. "I fear I might prove a little rusty in my swordsmanship." A clear and blatant lie. His head tilts slightly, as he watches Isobel. "Perhaps I have pleased my favourite daughter with the gift?"
Were circumstances different, were they not vampires, and were a display of utmost emotion something that would end her reign as Sheriff, Isobel would gladly step forward and give him a kiss upon the cheek. "You most certainly have. This is the most thoughtful gift I have received in all my many years, and that you recalled that it was my birthday is enough to warm my icy heart." The papers are read over thoroughly, and plans are already being made for the establishment.
"I made an oath to myself, many years ago," Will tells her, seriously. He looks upon her with a hint of fondness, almost fatherly. "I pledged before God that I would never forget anything important. The minutae, the trivia, the meaningless, yes, but never anything I deemed important." His eyes close briefly, his mask falling back into place. "Do you have plans for the evening?"
"My only plans for the evening were to find a nice young businessman to spend the evening with and feed from, and make my way to the lake for my yearly painting." The night is still young, so Isobel can still continue with her plans before the dawn. "However, for you, father, I will easily change my plans." The paperwork will be brought down to her safe as soon as their conversation is completed.
"No," Will replies, with a gentle shake of his head. "Today is the day you may order the King. Execute your plans or change them; I am at your disposal as you see fit." He dips towards a bow, teasingly courteous.
"Then you shall wait here while I prepare, and you will join me this evening. Spending another birthday alone feels maudlin, and I wish to enjoy every moment of it." Isobel speeds out of the Vault and down to her rooms where she locks away the papers and gathers some of her painting supplies. "We shall talk at the lake, and I will supply a delectable meal for you," she says upon her return.
Will inclines his head, gracefully accepting direction. "Your wish, my Sheriff," says he, inclining his head towards the door. Otherwise motionless, he manages to break into a brief smile. "By foot or vehicle?"
"One cannot enjoy a delectable meal if one is on foot," Isobel points out. The art supplies are placed upon the floor and she loops her arm about Will's. "I shall have the car brought round, and the supplies put in it. We shall stop by the Carmilla to procure the meal, and then be on our way to the lake."
"Perhaps something petite for me?" Will wonders, mildly. He turns his head now, to look at her directly. "Isobel," he says, seriously, "I cannot express how gleeful I am that I found you once more. You understand that, yes?"
"Petite and blonde? I know just who to procure." Isobel spends a lot of time with the willing donors at the Carmilla, only because she cannot stomach the synthetic. There is a pause in her steps and she turns her head just enough so that her icy blues can peer at her face. "You need not express it, Valentine. I know, for I can often feel it through the bond. I am happy that fate saw fit to assign me to Dallas."
Slowly, he allows a nod. "Good. It is something that is difficult to express through words, and something I find hard to express in the modern era." His eyes drop to the floor. "I fear for us, for me. That I am losing the remnants of emotion, that I am becomming disconnected from the world. I fear nothing more than the monster, and it is at my door. You must help me keep it away; you are necessary for me now, my child."
That is a great deal of responsibility to put on the woman, but Isobel accepts it with grace. So it is, and so it shall be. "The house is filled with much humanity, though I shall do my best to keep you from becoming that monster, just as you ground me from becoming like the one I most fear." A smile is offered, perhaps to alleviate things just a little. "Shall we be off then? I shall teach you how to paint the evening sky."
Again head dips to a nod. « Thank you, » he murmurs, mentally. He lifts his head, bringing forward a wry, dry smile for her. "I am no artist, but we shall see what entertainment we can find in my failing efforts and childish attempts." With that, he starts to make his way to the door.
