Services Offered

Sheriff's Estate - The Vault

Cabot is scoping out the proverbial liquor cabinet that is the frozen blood supply, not quite sticking his hand in the cookie jar, but at least eyeballing it up so much so that it's probably his evident next step, should this be the moment the Sheriff happens to wander in. How he got here is probably by escort by one of the fancy estate's personnel, he being not altogether a welcome visitor, but a visitor besides.

Ensconced in her rooms with a rather talented young woman who serves the renaissance faire community well, Isobel does not truly favor the distraction. As she arrives in the Vault from her chambers, and spies Cabot, her brow lifts.

"Mr. Cabot. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

There are pins that are sticking out of the half-sewn dress, and pieces of loose fabric that dangle down. A look to the stairs sees the talented young woman rushing up after the Sheriff.

"I just have to finish pinning a few things, Ms. Symon. If you'll stand still?"

"Jennifer, you will await me downstairs, or you will leave the premises, do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes m-ma'am…" And down the woman scurries back down the stairs.

Before he even turns around, Cabot is protesting. "Ain't no 'mister' about it, Sheriff. But I'm mighty glad to hear you think it's a pleasure just the same." And now he turns, raking his gaze over the dress, midway through construction as it may be, and cocks his own brows. "I'm not altogether sure what game that is, but it looks like it might be fun. Would have thought you'd be more inclined to stick the pins in other folk than have them stuck into you, though." He cracks a grin, and around now is when Jennifer pops up and then is summarily dismissed. Cabot leans against the bar. "Forgive me for interrupting."

Sarcasm is so difficult to pull off when maintaining an air of utter neutrality. Isobel looks down at the mess of her outfit and smirks.

"Hardly a game, Mr. Cabot," she reiterates, emphasizing the formality. "Was there something in particular that you needed or had to share, or were you merely making a social call?" There is barely a hitch in her voice. Just the icy neutrality that she uses in most cases when dealing with her vassals.

Gently removing several of the pins, she slips the unsewn sleeve from the dress off of her arm and settles it upon the table. "Or were you perhaps looking to raid my ice box for something that surpasses the synthetic?"

Not being inclined to correct Isobel more than once, Cabot offers a shrug of his shoulders and a non-committal, "It's been a while since we got ourselves nice and introduced. You didn't call; you didn't write. Had to come down and make sure I didn't go and let myself get forgotten." Glancing at the freezer, he says, "I rightly hope you aren't one of those vampers figuring they're fooling themselves about this stuff." Meaning Tru Blood. "Sure, I drink it plenty, but I also used to drink bad wine when I was alive. Didn't go around pretending it was better than the good stuff when in the company of those that knew better." His air isn't utterly neutral, but he's probably a least a bit of a question mark of a wild card, in terms of how to read him.

Ditching the bar, Cabot comes around from behind it and says: "I heard a rumor you got yourself a derelict vampire under wraps, or something like that."

"Let me make myself perfectly clear, Mr. Cabot," Isobel says, her voice reaching an icier pitch. "You and I are far from equals. While I will offer my hospitality to any that seeks it, do not be fooled, or lulled into thinking that we are anything but Sheriff and vassal. While you are in my city, you heed my rules. Should you have a complaint, you can try the Magister or the King."

All the while, her ire is neatly wrapped in that neutrality, giving nothing away other than simple words. "With that being the case, you may have a bottle of Tru Blood and state the reason for your presence, beyond fishing for information that you will not receive."

"I read you plenty clear, Sheriff. Ain't nothing equal about us; I know that. But I also know that I'm not in the habit of breaking laws or complaining, so I'll tell you straight that there isn't a thing for you to worry about where that's concerned." Cabot's stare is pointed, but he offers a tilt of his head in a brief expression of deference where it is due.

"Any road, I'm not here to waste your time or drink your bottled Blood. Here's how it is. I'd be plenty remiss if I passed up on the opportunity to offer my… services …to such a long-legged creature as yourself." Even when offering up platitudes, he sort of misses the mark (if the charm he clearly figures he possesses doesn't manage to seal the deal), but you can't fault a dude for trying. Can you? "Truth of it is, I'm hoping you'll think about putting me to use."

"Suit yourself," says the partially dressed Sheriff, as she removes the other sleeve. Poor Jennifer will have her work cut out for her in reattaching and pinning the items, but as the sleeves dangle just a tad, Isobel would be remiss in keeping them intact at the moment. Especially since she is going to need to take care of an issue. Blood and guts on a new dress simply will not do, especially after chastising the Whip for such hideous decorum not long ago.

"The question, Mr. Cabot, is what services do you think that you can possibly offer me?"

"What's probably easier is telling you what services I won't offer you. That's the much sought-after service of saying 'yes' all the time, so if you're in the habit - and I don't figure you are, but it bears sayin' - of corraling sycophants and backscratchers, I'm not your vampire. Aside from that, though, ain't much I won't do for a Sheriff with their head on straight." Cabot watches idly as Isobel dislodges her sleeve, but says nothing about it. Actually the only other thing he says is, "Believe you me, I've done my fair share of traveling and met more than my fair share of deranged vampire bureaucrats."

"Who, pray tell, is to judge whether my head is on straight or not, hmm?" Isobel seems almost bemused by the thought that this child is offering his services in such a manner. "You are far too young to have even seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to deranged bureaucrats, Mr. Cabot."

She says little else, neither acceptance nor rejection of his request. She merely breezes past him to the refrigerator and extracts herself a bag of AB Negative. This is quietly, and gently poured into a mug, which is then settled into the microwave. While guests are offered the synthetic variety, she will not bother with that in her own home.

"That's surely not for me to say." Cabot continues his idle-watching as the Sheriff passes him by, he himself just sort of cooling his heels in the bar/freezer area. As far as bureaucrats are considered, he merely comments, "You don't have to be older than Jesus to suffer assholes."

Up the stairs Marius comes; the portal leading into the deeper sanctum sanctorum sounding the hint of a click as the latch is pressed.. and again as the door closes once again behind Marius. His expression as he enters the Vault is one of neutrality. Nothing is given away in manner or mien.. that is, until he spots first the Sheriff.
Pausing in his step, he offers a half-bow to the lady, adding, "My Lady." The gown is noticed, but goes unremarked for the moment.
The other vampire, then, is given his unflinching, empty gaze as the measure of the man is taken. Not a word is spoken there before he begins to cross the room towards the refrigerator.. and where Isobel stands.

"You would be wise to curb your language around me, Mr. Cabot. I find I do not care for such utterances when there are far better words that could be used to describe miscreants and buffoons." That is all that is spoken to Cabot, before the Sheriff turns to offer a curt nod to Marius.

"Your timing is impeccable, Marius. This man," she says, motioning her hand in a dismissive way toward Cabot, "is seeking to sell me on his 'services', whatever those would be beyond being a yes-man which he refuses to do. Do you wish to sit in on it and weigh your opinion? I should like to see how my sword arm in the city views such an offer."

"Not that I'm an expert or anything, but there's a pretty big difference between a buffoon and an as— what I just said." He stops a hair short of repeating the unsavory a-word, but not short enough to cast him in the light of someone totally self-controlled. Cabot glances over at Marius and says to him, "Hey there, compadre." He stands back, listening to all the rest of what is said, and all the half-bowing and my lady-ing, rubbing his jaw with such a contemplative expression as one might have cause to think he were inwardly taking notes.

"Sword man, is it? Good thing. I reckon I left that off my list, but swordplay was long out of fashion by the time I came around. I'm not half bad with a rifle, but it's been a while, and I'm not altogether too big a fan of shooting folk, right to bear arms be damned." And then he smiles, as if to laugh at his own little joke. Probably the 'be damned,' part.

With a respectful nod, Marius acknowledges, "As you wish, my Lady."
Turning around, his arms rise to cross before him, his expression turning back into an impassive, unresponsive one. It's the sort that causes breathers a great deal of discomfort when faced with the reality that vampires are really not 'like them'.
"Are you offering your services as a bodyguard, then? Or as a target for practice?" Either would be interesting. "We now have an arena so that blood spilt shall not damage the floors, and the local constabulary will remain unaware of what transpires." Not that they get involved in vampire issues..

"That all depends upon the buffoon. I have known quite a few that would fit the bill of both." Isobel's glance, accentuated by the *ding* from the microwave may in fact denote that she may just be speaking of one at the moment, though it really is all rather subtle.

"We had not really gotten to that point, Marius. I do believe it was merely services, of any variety with the exception of being a yes-man." Extracting her mug, she takes a long sip from it, allowing the warmed blood to trickle down her throat. Her tongue snakes out to lick a drop from the corner of her lips, and she smiles. "Correction. I now have an arena which I am sharing with certain entities."

The glance and the ding and the quip all in concert prompt Cabot to grin, not being the sort of vamper so far up his own ass that a little ribbing is more than his vanity can handle. As far as Marius's question is concerned, he says, "I figure that all depends on the body that needs guarding. Anyway, I like to think of myself as a jack-of-all-trades. Seems to me like our Sheriff here's a pistol in her own right, and I didn't wander in here on the pretense that I was going to go about telling her what asses to kick or how." With a pointed look in Isobel's direction, he assures her, "Not that I wouldn't oblige, if requested." Back at Marius. "Anyhow, in my experience, you can't ever be short on good help, be it the cowboy boot wearing, requisitioning, secret-hunting, secret-burying, vampire poster boy sort. I can play fetch, I can sit still, and I can help with crossword puzzle clues. I'm dead; I ain't got much else to do." Maybe he's been watching too many movies, but this jack of all trades sure seems to think he's got plenty to offer - to the point that there's no good name for it.

"Yes, my Lady. You have an arena," he concedes with equinamity; An arena that Marius and Valentinus will avail themselves to. In true vampire style, once invited, it'll be hard to 'uninvite them', as far as the liberal usage of the grounds are concerned.
Marius' eyes narrow, and he stands stock still as he considers the words. This isn't something that the veteran has much experience in. This, this is the lady's purview. Infiltration, politicking, court intrigue? Always passes above his head, and he's always been pleased with that. "It is for you to decide, Lady. I will simply be sure that there is no betrayal of trust, should something come from this offer and negotiation."

Isobel is very silent for a long while, eyeing the two men. She reaches down to extract her phone, and realizing her garb, frowns slightly. Setting the mug down atop the bar, she slips behind it to the phone there. Sliding it from the wall, she dials a number.

"Gregory, do me a favor. Run a background check on one James Cabot, born…" She eyes the man in question, then turns back to her conversation. "Less than two hundred years ago. I wish the information before the dawn."

Returning the receiver to it's position on the wall, she turns back to both men. "Mr. Cabot, I shall consider your offer." All dependant upon what she finds out. "Should it be accepted, you will learn of your duties from Marius, who will keep a close eye on you until I am satisfied that there will be no disloyalty."

When Isobel looks his way, Cabot offers promptly, "1837," and then goes back to eavesdropping on the rest of the mobile conversation. When the Sheriff gets off the call, he's already grinning like the cat that got the cream, figuring himself as good as hired. But his record isn't so clean that he doesn't not say, "I'm sure the occasional indiscretion will be taken in the manner in which it was intended?" And then he looks back to Marius and says, "Well, all right, then. I guess I'll leave you with my particulars. I'm staying at this vamper hotel. I'm sure it won't be hard for you to find, being the only one in town." Since business is more or less done, he looks pretty much like he's ready to take off, lest told otherwise.

The gown has not gone unnoticed, really. Remarking upon it before an unfamiliar vampire could give the impression of disrespect, regardless of what is said. As a result, whatever it is that he wishes to say in regards to it will remain until they are alone. The searching through the voluminous sleeves and skirt would normally elicit a smirk, but again, this is neither the time nor the place.
Marius' role is established, and it's one in which he finds a great deal of comfort.
"I know of the inn, yes." As Cabot has stated, it really is the only one in town. "If I find that the indiscretion creates a problem for the Lady directly, I will respond… appropriately." His brow rises, the only real indication of quiet amusement. "If I find the indiscretion amuses me… we will discuss that. Will we find something that will be a real problem?"

"Gregory will let us know within the hour," Isobel says, of her swift working private detective. "He has resources that I am certain would astound local authorities." There is a reason that Gregory was chosen for this particular position, and that reason will remain hers and hers alone to know. For now, at the very least.

Returning to her mug, she takes another long sip and eyes the two men. "Provided that the indiscretion does not involve the Magister, or fleeing from another Area to avoid punishment, then it will be as Marius says."

"Mostly that depends on how you define 'real problem.'" Cabot says, but then Isobel gets around to defining 'real problem' in vampire terms clear enough for him to understand, and he protests: "Nothing like that. I did spend part of the 80s as a roadie for Motley Crue, though, and that sure wasn't pretty all the time." Brief nostalgia aside, he straighens up from having been leaning against the bar or whatever, and says, "Guess I'll hang around the minibar and hope for a 'welcome aboard' call."

While Marius understands English, therea are a couple of words in there that simply escape him. Roadie for Motley Crue? As a result, the Whip is happy to simply remain quiet and allow Isobel to handle the rest. His presence, and his duty is to carry out summary judgements against those found guilty by her word, and nothing more. If the Magister takes issue, then punishment will be meted out..
He is a sword, and nothing more.
"We will be in touch." At least that much can be assured.

"I see," Isobel says with a miniscule incline of her head. She didn't spend much time in America during the nineteen-eighties, though she's aware of the band due to her Child listening to such tripe. "Yes, we will be in touch. You will hear something by the end of the week." Truthfully, she is not beyond hiring random vampires for various things, but at the moment she's not about to take on anyone she can't shape to her liking, or trust implicitly.

Two fingers are waved at the guard by the door who moves forward to show Cabot out.

"Marius, do find yourself a bag of O positive, and tell me how your new bunkmate is doing."

With no more ado, Cabot says, "Much obliged for your time, Sheriff." To Marius, "Be seeing you." And with that, he gets on with the being shown out part of things.

Once the other vampire is shown out, the air about Marius seems to.. de-tensify? Un-tensify? He rolls his shoulders and cants his head to the side ever so slightly, a hint of a smirk touching the edges. "My lady?" is spoken as if to say, 'whatever do you mean?' "She is.. stubborn, but learning. Slowly."
Maneuvering around Isobel to get at the blood in the refrigerator, he's restored some of the holdings to the best of his ability. Tearing the bag with his teeth, he pours the viscous liquid into a mug.. and as is his habit, dips a finger in to lick it before putting it in the microwave.
"One of your new gowns, my lady? The trim.. appears to be real spun gold?"

"One of my…" Isobel looks down at herself and frowns. "Indeed. Really, it is for the grand re-opening of my new little play house, but we were interrupted when Jensen called downstairs with the news of our guest's arrival." Though she has no shame, and no feeling to cover herself, the disarray of the dress causes the frown to deep briefly.

"Be careful, Marius. Ms. Baker is quite adept at manipulation. Never believe for a moment that she is actually learning. She will fool you for a time, then strike back when we least expect it." The frown returns to a neutral look, and she gives him a dead stare. "It is what I would do, were I in her place. Wait for those in power to become complacent, learn their weaknesses while I could, all while under the guise of behaving myself."

"What is your desire that I wear? My armour is still in order and the ring is without rust." Marius takes great care of his armour and his sword. Both are carefully cleaned, oiled when necessary and stored appropriately. "I do not believe that any of my court clothing still exists." Only the practical clothing remains through the ages.
His brows raise in askance, a sure sign that Isobel's words certainly take the veteran by surprise. "I.." While he has fought in battles started by such a thing time and again, to be able to recognize it so close to him is beyond his ability. Again, there is not a great deal of intrigue that surrounds the man or governs his life, and that's the way he likes it. "I see.." There really is only one thing for that, "If I find that is the case, she will die." A personal betrayal as well as one directed at the Sheriff?
"Thank you for the warning."

"My dear, you are a warrior through and through, and you shall dress the part if you so desire. You will be comfortable, and you will show those present of the command that you bear to the best of your ability." Isobel smiles at him quite teasingly. "I have no fear of you disappointing me, Marius. You never have in the past."

The look of surprise upon his face is enough for her to know that he hadn't thought of it quite like that. "Mmm. A woman scorned is the worst possible enemy." A lesson she learned quite early on thanks to Ysolde's jealousy. Though she herself did not retaliate, thinking that Will did not want her, she has seen the same in many a woman over the years. "It is my belief, at the very least, that Ms. Baker actually likes a strong hand. She acts the mouse, but the anger of a lion lurks below the surface. Should she even think to betray me, and should you find it necessary to kill her due to it, I should really like her to be the first, Magister sanctioned death, at the new arena. I am thinking of having a secondary arena built solely for this purpose, with the King's permission of course."

"Then it will be as you command," Marius responds, a bow in the making even as the *ding* of the microwaves sounds. The smile that returns Isobel's is one rarely seen through the ages, and if one thought it possible, it might actually be momentarily reflected through the ice-blue orbs. "I will be your ever-loyal Captain of Arms." A peasant rising through the ranks…
At least he doesn't claim knighthood… something reserved for the truly favoured, and tangentially royal.
His expression takes a serious turn, however, as he pulls the mug from the microwave. Again, the finger is dipped and the crimson-coloured drink swirls. Pulling it out, he licks his finger as he considers the words. "She requires a firm, steady hand. She fears me now, however, truly. It was after I bade her silent when she whimpered over the pain the silver gives her. I warned her that she should be silent because some take great pleasure from the sounds of torment." He's certain Isobel knows exactly of whom he refers.
"Since then, she has been a great deal more.. compliant."
The idea of a secondary arena, though, intrigues Marius. "I am certain that Valentinus will agree to this."

"Also, you will do me the honor of wearing my favor?" Though the foolish young thing she was at the time (truthfully not that young — merely finding herself once more) is long forgotten, she cannot help but tease him all the more.

"Let her whimper over the pain. She brought it on herself." It would appear that beyond those few words, the discussion of the thorn in her side is over with for the moment. Except… "Do tell her that if she believes the silver anklet to be bothersome, that I will gladly chain her in a silver coffin until I feel like dealing with her once more."

Another smile touches her lips, though briefly. "I am certain he will, though he will likely need to see to it that the Magister agrees as well. I have no wish to step on anyone's toes as it were. Valentine and I have done that far too much already, what with dispatching Kegan and taking over Dallas entirely."

"I still have the one you gave to me in the year of our Lord 1663. It was.." Here, Marius raises his eyes to the the ceiling, ice-blue eyes staring into the middle distance, "…because of a challenge made. One had insulted your birth, and the brash warrior took exception." He lowers his gaze once more, the hint of a smile curling the edges. "On September 19, 1663, Sir Alexandre de Villiers died for the final time."
Turning to face Isobel once more, he places the mug of blood down and offers a real, true French-court obeissance.. on knee, "It would honour me greatly to wear it yet again, my Lady."
The other topics are held off.. simply out of brief necessity, and only for the moment.

"Your memory pleases me, Marius." Many would have figured they would have been forgotten over the years, so obviously she made quite the impression on him at the time. Had she a heart to warm, that may just have done it. "I should warn you, however, that Valentine is as of yet unaware of our previous relationship. As I have only recently come upon him again, I have not had a chance to share all my past adventures with him."

Isobel is far from hiding such things from Will, it is merely that she has not had a great deal of time to share with him every memory that has formed who she is today.

"You are once and every my champion, Marius. For that I am eternally grateful."

Marius is truly not any different today than he was centuries ago. If anything, he was less controlled then simply because there was less of a chance that he could suffer his final death at the hands of the sheep from which he fed. Now, instead of having nearly 300 years of experience, he now has 600 years, and he shows no sign of calming and taking up with civil society. He is a made man, and while he can be dressed up in robes and paraded in royal court, there are limits to his patience and tolerance. Isobel knows him.. and understands him.
Waiting for permission to rise, Marius lifts his head to lay his gaze upon her. Eternally is a long time. "There has been nothing untoward in our relationship." The quirk of a smile remains, "It is fate that brings the three of us together. We can do great things, my Lady, the three of us." After all, behind every great man is a woman, yes?

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