Sheriff's Estate - Will's Suite
The night is yet to come to its conclusion, though it is not yet quite approaching dawn. For a reasonable period, the door to the King's suite has been open; a sign that he is not opposed to visitors for the moment. The soft glow of a computer screen fills the suite with a flickering glow, and fingers tap across keys with remarkable alacrity. Many vamps are yet to bother with technology, but William Grant has kept up in order to maintain the edge he has always required.
Dressed only in a pair of tight-fitting, black shorts, the King keeps up with his business.
The night was favorable not long ago. Until a certain twin-souled entered the Extreme(ly Elegant) Events building. Until certain knowledge came to light. Quietly as possible, Isobel slips into the room of her Maker. He will know of her presence, thanks to the bond. The anger that roils through it. The irritation that she directs at him. But her movements are definitely quiet.
The door slams open, and she storms in. Eyes fall upon the computer and there is a thought that she should just knock it away. Instead, she folds her arms over her chest.
"Explain to me why you have not killed her yet."
For a long, drawn-out moment, Valentinus des Barres continues tapping away, apparently oblivious to the incoming rage and comment, but he does finish with a single, loud 'thunk' as his little finger hammers the enter key. He stands, in a slow, languid movement, turning around with a blank expression to face his child. Eyes snap across to lock on hers.
"Killed who?" he asks, mildly.
"Her. The little one running around with the bitch's face. Why does she still live?" Isobel moves swiftly to the computer, hand poised to strike it. As she reaches it, the hand draws back. "The face of the one who's fault it is I was sent off. The face of the one who tortured you by Kegan's design. Yet she lives in another guise. You knew about her, and you did not tell me."
There is one prevalent thought in Isobel's mind. « If you shall not deal with her, I will. »
Will stays unmoving, apparently impassive, as he simply follows Isobel with his eyes. "Perhaps," he replies, still mild, "you are referring to the newly employed pharmacist at the De Soto Pharmacy?" His voice hardens slightly as he continues. "The innocent mortal girl who is of no discernable relation to a vampire from our past."
"I have no care for who she is or what her employ may be. You kept it from me." Isobel is visibly upset. Completely angered. "The damnable twin-souled approached me about it. Spouting off in a public location, might I add, that she was the one who was responsible for your torture. He seeks a meeting." A smirk. "There, I have told you, your Majesty. What you do with the knowledge now is of course entirely your business."
"The information was not divulged to one who was clearly unprepared for it," Will responds, levelly. "Now that fullest information on the past history and lineage of the mortal has been appropriated, the knowledge would have come to you." His eyes have hardened a little, cold and predatory now. "You are referring to Mischa Alexandrov," he continues, "in a manner entirely inappropriate for dealing with your Maker, your liege, and one who considers himself your father, in every way that matters."
"So your judgment is clouded then. It is worse than I feared." Isobel watches him, icy gaze locking onto his face. "Once more will you become infatuated with that vile visage. Once more you will lose yourself in the depravity. Once more you will lose a Child. If that is your desire, so be it." Isobel offers a curt nod, her neutrality snapping back into place. "It is the twin-souled to whom I am referring, Highness. He is well aware that a meeting will cost him something."
"My judgement," says the King, "is clearly beyond your ability to comprehend in your current emotional state." He takes a single step closer to Isobel, staring the cold, hard stare of his age directly into her eyes, his words snapped off as he assumes a stance and tone of authority he rarely bothers to use.
"Naught to be lost, no child of mine to leave, unless she forgets lessons taught of the ages. Lessons of stoicism, of control and domination of emotion." Orders bite forth, accent flowing away from the gentle Southern touch towards something altogether older. "Shalt thou study the documents garnered until satisfied the mortal is of no threat or danger to the person of His Majesty or the Sheriff of this domain." A gentle click sounds as gleaming fangs unfold. "Shalt thou remember that anger begets ill judgement, that fruitful discourse comes from calm nature, and that it is an act of Satan to murder the innocent. _Then_ shalt thou return unto the presence of thy Maker and offer cold judgement upon the mortal." He stops motionless now, simply staring.
There are only four words which leave Isobel's lips at this point. Four words conveying all her ire, her distrust, her iciness. "Is that an order?" He may speak of lessons and her 'forgetfulness', but he has never heard the entire story of what Ysolde did to her. The countless tortures due to jealousy. The ire and wrath that was brought upon her daily. There are reasons she holds hatred in her for someone long thought dead.
« Should you not like my words, remove my tongue. »
"For the good of the innocent, for the good of the domain, and to keep your beast at bay," Will tells her, "do I do this." His eyes drop to the floor, and a sneer for himself touches at his lips. His resolves hardens, as his eyes lift up to Isobel once more, cold and dangerous again. "Until time such that full knowledge of the innocent is yours, as thy Maker I command thee to follow mine instruction."
A twitch. It is the only resistance from the Child. "Then it will be as you command." Isobel backs from the room, stopping only once to offer an extremely formal, over-exaggerated curtsey near the door as she waits for dismissal. "But I make it known that should I find this woman poses a threat to you in any way, I will keep my promise to the Queen of Iowa. There cannot be another black sheep or it will be the death of us all."
"As couched within my command," says Will, closing his eyes and making a clear effort to bring himself to calm. "The dossier will be with you within minutes." A delicate touch of redness filters to the corner of his eyes, as he turns away from the Sheriff. The gentle scent of vampire blood starts filtering across the room. "I never wanted to have to do that, Isobel, and for that I apologise. But innocents must be safe."
"Make no mistake, Master, a woman with that visage is never safe." Human or not. Breather or not. The ability to sway her Maker is there, and Isobel cannot allow that to happen. "By your leave then, Majesty." Her playful attitude toward him has frozen. There is no happy 'Valentine', no jesting 'father'. Simply cold formality as is now necessary.
"If she becomes threat, she will be eradicated by my hand," Will says, his voice not quite clear any more, touched by emotion. "Please, Isobel, do not let a mortal girl come between us. It would destroy me. You may leave as you wish." He is motionless, facing the weapons on the wall, eyes roving across them as the tears start to move down his face.
"It will be as you desire, Master. The documents will be perused and I leave the matter will in your hands." Whether she trusts him to deal with it appropriately or not. "Have them left in my suite. I have things to attend to." Still not turning her back on the King, she exits the room. Once the door is shut, she motions for one of the guards. "Find the Whip, and do it swiftly. I require an escort across the border before dawn."
