A Heart so Cold

"Graveyard humour is all we have in my profession," Isla pointed out with a smirk back at Archebold, nodding and stepping ahead so she could lead them from the infirmary. She locked the doors once they were outside, slipping the keys into her pockets and continuing out of the Temple with the Bloodfiend at her side. Not something she thought she'd ever experience in truth, given that Isla's work tended to be with the more obviously alive. The night was cool and brisk, and as he offered his arm she slipped her own through it almost without thinking. This was the first even remotely blueblooded gesture that the former-duchess had received since arriving in this place, and whether or not she wanted to accept, her response was automatic. And so they strolled through the streets lit only by starlight and the odd lantern flame from a window sill, Isla glancing about as if wondering where they were going. His own playfulness reflected back at him as she glanced up, grinning at his question. "I want to know all the secrets the world has to offer, Captain Cobb," she said. "Do indulge me." Isla the flesh is weak

archebold Fear is the price of imagination "You and I, species not withstanding, are actually one in the same. We both have associations with death, we both defy it, or at least seek to." He alluded, since Archebold for the most part could simply mock death, Isla seemed to spend every day seeking to deny it another soul. A coin with two heads, except one held a single scratch to tell it apart, an imperfection. How he viewed the healer. Though not in a condescending manor, but intrigued. "There is beauty in the darkness, so incomprehensible isn't It? We can't understand it, and so we are attracted to it. The lure of what has yet to be revealed...it's what drives us." As the manor began to slip and reveal itself from around the corner, the shell of itself appeared in ruin, masking the work that had been done inside. As they approached the rotted oak doors, he would reach and pull it open slowly. The wood creaking sounding like the manor itself was mourning being entered. Stepping in he would strike a flint to light a pool of oil, dipping a torch into it to burn their way in, lighting the halls to open a path for Isla to follow. Once upon a time the halls of this manor would have been a vision. Whomever lived here must have been someone of significance and good taste for the arts. Sculptures and paintings lined the hall, dusted and still strung with cobwebs. "Please, come in." He'd call to the healer as he turned to await her. Had she stepped in, the tapping of his walking stick echoed through the halls as they would continue. "It is still a work I progress..." He'd remark to excuse the appearance, though the rooms he frequented the most would accept the most attention.

Isla arched an eyebrow up at Archebold, connecting the threads loosely to them being one and the same, though her dry smile suggested she did not really think that to be the case. "I try my best not to have associations with death, being a healer," she said to him softly, though she didn't dispute his point. Associated she may be, but that didn't mean she brushed the back of death's hand every day. A ruined manor came into view and Isla tilted her head back a little, looking it over. "A big place for one man," she remarked. "It sounds lonely." Stepping inside at his direction, she glanced about as best she could by the starlight, up until Archebold kindly lit the torch and led them deeper into the manor. "Whilst I don't disagree that we are drawn by the unknown, by the curious, I find it much easier to navigate with a light," Isla said, smirking and letting her eyes dance across the dusty halls and webbed corners. "I get the impression that you have fine tastes," she said. Isla the flesh is weak

archebold Fear is the price of imagination "You're here. I'd say that must count for something." He remarked with a playful smirk. Archebold did learn to appreciate the finer things life had to offer. Living as long as he had, it just sort of came naturally. Be it art, music, or women his eyes learned to not just see, but study, absorb, appreciate every intricate detail. "You only find it easy to navigate in the light because you've only relied on yourself to get where you were going. However, what if..." Archebold stepped away from Isla toward a chain that dropped along the wall. He playfully grinned to her before pulling the chain. The mechanism triggering a sequence which extinguished the lanterns in unison leaving the manor in pitch darkness. Darkness...pure and still engulfed Isla. Only the faint tapping which grew closer could be heard until she would feel his hand slip into hers. "...You actually needed someone to guide you. You were forced to face the darkness, and leave yourself at its mercy." Had she let him, his fingers would web into hers. "There's no need to worry. I can see as clear as day...I'll guide you. Shut your eyes, submit yourself, and simply follow. It'll fun...I promise..."

Isla's lips parted to object, but she found she was entirely unable to do so. He was right, after all - she was here, and that said more than any imagined associations between the two of them. Instead, then, she pursed her lips and smirked up at Archebold, blue eyes caught in the flicker of the lantern light. Light which, apparently, would not last for very long. Her steps slowed as he walked away from her, the healer having just enough time to allow her eyes to flicker up to the mechanisms before he simply plunged them into velvety darkness. "You do little to make your guests feel welcome," she remarked, taking a faltering step backwards, and another, as if to find her way back to the entrance before she was engulfed in whatever madness lay before her. The tap of a familiar cane caused her pulse to quicken, and she was unsure whether or not to be glad for the hand that reached out and caught her own. With great reluctance and no small amount of trepidation, Isla heard the Bloodfiend out and allowed him to lead them on, though her eyes stayed firmly open. Indeed, she all but glared at his back. "What is this, Captain?" she wanted to know. "A game?" Isla the flesh is weak

archebold Fear is the price of imagination "Something like that." Archebold mused as he would ease Isla closer so that her arm would be tucked into his own. The darkness masking his grin as he felt the hesitation of her grip and felt the quickening of her pulse. It was sweet, the predictability of humanity. Their reliance on fear as their initial reaction to all things. "Consider it more as an exercise. An attempt to broaden your perspective. You spoke of it being easier to navigate in the light. I beg to differ. Light reveals too much, it's easier to lose focus, become distracted. In the darkness you are forced to focus, become more direct in the path you take from A to B." His thumb gently pressed against her wrist as he chuckled softly as he felt the rush of her pulse. "Is that fear or anxiety I feel? If you are too scared to perhaps learn something new, I can bring the light back. Though I assumed you were someone eager to learn." His voice was that of thoughtful understanding, though there was q hint of a playful tease to his tone as well, as if challenging her desire or capability to learn without boops.

A woman used to knowing things, or at least having the facility to figure them out, Archebold and his intentions were an enigma that Isla didn't appreciate. It didn't mean she didn't want to work it out, of course - but she was fast realising that his appearance at the infirmary was likely a token gesture to get her here. Even so, she found herself stepping closer to slip her arm into his, warmth rolling from her and meeting the curious nothing of the Bloodfiend's. "But you can still focus with the light," she mused, her voice swallowed up by the darkness. Even as her eyes adjusted, there was nothing she could make out - she was at his mercy and she got the feeling that was how he liked it. "The light allows you to see all your options, and you can decide which course will best take you from A to B." Isla stood fast by her logic, but as his thumb pressed against her wrist and he accused her of being scared, of all things, she swallowed hard and gazed up at where she assumed his face was. "Fear gets you nowhere... Lead on, then. I am eager to learn." Isla the flesh is weak

archebold Fear is the price of imagination "Fear is a powerful tool." Archebold countered smoothly as he guided her into his study. "It can bend will and break even the bravest. We all fear something. Even myself." As he led Isla into the study he would step away quietly. The room was filled with volumes of old tomes, maps, documents of various sorts. Weathered by time and cruelty that fell over the lands. At the south end rested a worn and dusted piano to which he tuned up personally. Archebold at first leaned against a desk to observe her, allowing Isla to explore if she chose to do so. "Where are you? You're absent of light but it does not mean you can not see." The room smelled of old pages, the air sense with dust. Drapes flung over the windows though a passing breeze could be felt from the wind that would push throw. Archebold slowly stood, walking behind Isla as he took her hand from behind and gently guided her fingers to glide along the dusted keys of the piano. "Smell, touch, listen...see." The latter whispered into her ear as the pulse of her neck could be seen. "Fear can also be invigorating, heightening every sense...pain or pleasure." Hands gently pressed against her hips as he turned her slowly to face him. "Do you see where you are now?" Seductively he would guide her hands to his faces, just grazing against his fangs. "Do you see me?" Fingers raised and gently brushed her hair away from her neck, darkness consuming his eyes. "You will make my tongue sing...and know just how generous I can be for sharing such a gift." Archebold leaned close to her neck, hearing her heart pumping as he grinned, lips grazing her neck. "So beautiful..." He quietly spoke before plunging his fangs into her neck. Arms firmly holding her shoulders, tightening if she attempted to squirm free, though his bite was surprisingly gentle after the initial pierce of her flesh. The taste, pure, untainted by magic or animal forms...pure and perfect.

Isla would not realise that they had arrived into a study for some time. Indeed, her senses were almost entirely focused on the Bloodfiend at her side, his voice filling her ears and acting as a compass in the darkness. "Is that so? What is it that you fear, Captain?" she wanted to know, arching an eyebrow up to where she thought he was. "A powerful tool it might be, but only if you know how to master it. Fear left unchecked is a dangerous thing." That might explain why she forced her breathing to slow and her senses to reach out as Archebold stepped away, leaving her to drown in the black. "...The room smells like books," she said slowly, closing her eyes at last; it was disorientating, trying to blink through the darkness. "And a window is open... there--" Cut off by his hand grasping her own, her fingers danced across the piano keys before pressing down, the low notes echoing moodily throughout the room. "I would have said a library... but this must be a study, surely." Her breath hitched in her throat at the touch of his hands against her hips, at his lips against her ear, and her heart hammered with something not-quite-pleasurable as she was turned around. Whatever Archebold said, the darkness belonged to him. No matter how many senses she engaged or how much she opened herself to it, Isla would be forever at his mercy in the shadows. And he knew it. "I see you," she all but whispered, fingertips dancing over the curve of his jaw, the sharp prick of his fangs. "And I see I have made a very grave misstep." There was nowhere to go - Isla's eyes fluttered open again and she floundered to step to the side, but was unsuccessful. Archebold leaned in, his lips cold against her neck, and she inhaled sharply. "No--" She fought him, not that it did much - the sharp pierce of his teeth and the strong grip on her shoulders restricted her movement in a remarkably effective way. Tears pricked in her eyes and she found herself frozen in the Ascended's grip, every muscle held tense. Until suddenly it wasn't. Isla melted into it after a few moments, though it was as if she had gone somewhere else in her mind. Her breath was soft and shaking, her hands gripping his shirt tightly, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Isla the flesh is weak

archebold Fear is the price of imagination At the first taste, Archebold's eyes had gone entirely black as he firmed his jaws. In truth her relenting simply urged him further until Isla appeared to sink into his hold. The rush of the feed, the savory taste that came with freedom, the sensation of how soft her body had felt when the tension was released...it proved intoxicating for the ascended, Mr. Cobb. He took and took and took until the floor beneath him felt uneven. Staggering back slightly, Archebold slipped his fangs free from their hold and cradled the unconscious Isla in his arms, fingers gently brushing her along over the side of her face. Arms scooped under her legs as he hoisted her off her feet, into the darkness that consumed the halls. Suddenly, there was light from a crackling fire. The sweet scent of wood burning, and the warmth that accompanied it filled the room that appeared to be the common area. Archebold had laid Isla gently over a firm leather couch which had been dusted and polished for her. A soft, silken sheet draped and tucked comfortably around her. Her head neatly resting over a soft pillow. The coffee table before her was a plate of meat, bread, and a cream-filled pastry. A glass of wine and milk held on either side of the plate. Had Isla awoken, she would find Archebold, barely visible through the shadows untouched by the burning fireplace. Hand resting over the lionshead knob of his walking stick. "While it isn't proper etiquette in most respects...I suggest starting with desert. The sugar will do well for you before you move onto the other courses." His voice smooth, polite. As he would allow her to get her bearings had she regained her consciousness. "For what it's worth...you were the finest I've ever tasted. I look forward to doing so again." Fingers gently tapped the gold knob of his walking stick before he continued. "You asked me what I fear, and I feel I owe it to you to answer. I fear for what I am capable of when there are no longer tethers to bind me. I fear that no matter what I do, I will be a slave, if not to another than to my own desires. I fear...me." {[bunny permission granted by Honey ]}

Isla dreamed that she was falling. Plummeting, oozing into the earth right into its molten core, until it all melted together dizzyingly into nothing. Inhaling sharply, she came to and felt the softness of a couch and pillow beneath her, instinctively relaxing into it but mostly because she didn't feel like she had the strength to do much else. Her limbs felt like lead - lead encased in silken comfort, if the sheet over her was anything to go by - and her head swam as she tried to bring the world into focus. Wood crackling merrily amongst a fire, and... food? Food and crockery of the likes that Isla hadn't seen since Northaven, perhaps. She frowned, thinking this still part of her dream... until Archebold's smooth voice rang across to her, and it all came rushing back. Her neck throbbed uncomfortably and her pulse quickened. Isla got an elbow beneath her and even got as far as levering herself upright before she was overcome by lightheadedness, slumping back against the couch. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of disgust at his comments, and while she didn't want to touch the food on offer let alone consume it, the medic in her knew it was for the best. "Is that what you told all your bloodbags, too?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper as she bit into the pastry and took a sip of the wine. The last thing she expected was to hear him expand on a question she had long forgotten she had asked, Isla closing her eyes to listen to his voice as she took another sip of the wine. "That makes two of us, then," she murmured. "...May I go?" Isla the flesh is weak

archebold Fear is the price of imagination Archebold's dark eyes gazed the the perfectly framed shadows of his face, fingers continued to tap the lionshead gently as Isla spoke. "No." He answered simply. "I told them many things to ease their discomfort. It isn't an easy thing to be asked to submit yourself for another's needs. So I said what I said to offer what comfort I could." The leather of his seat began to creak as he leaned forward into the light. "There is something about you though isn't there? Something that called me to simply take it from you." Archebold stood slowly and walked over to where Isla had sat up, crouching and resting his hands on his walking stick as he watched her eat quietly. "You sang to me, and I was taken by every flavorful melody." His cheek rested against the side of his hands as he watched her lips purse and savor the wine, gently, cautiously reaching into his breast pocket and taking a handkerchief out. He'd slowly reach over to her had she decided to pull back and dab at the corner of her lips, smiling softly as he did so. "You are free to leave whenever you wish...though I recommend you stay the night, give yourself a chance to recover fully. Come morning you'll be right as rain and safe of any pursuit from myself, if you have any reservations on such." Archebold would tilt his head aside to examine the punctures on her neck, eyes slowly lifting to her own. "What did you think? Feel when I took You? Truthfully..."

No? Isla arched an eyebrow in obvious disbelief, the healer setting down the wine (better to take that slow) and taking another bite of the pastry instead. The sugar helped, as he had said it would and as she had known it would, and she felt a little more focused as she settled back against the couch, sinking into the pillow and running an absent finger over the sheet that still covered her legs. "Is that so?" she said dryly, finishing the pastry and averting her eyes as he stepped closer, crouching down before her. He dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief like she was a child, and Isla reached up to close a hand around his wrist, as if to stop him - as if she could. A moment or two passed before she released him, her blue eyes focused on him again now, seeming a mixture of puzzled and concerned before she mastered the expression. Of course he was cool to the touch, she reminded herself, and obviously he didn't have a pulse. "Given your biggest fear, Captain, can you really believe yourself when you say I am safe from you?" she asked softly, picking up the wine glass again and taking a further sip to give herself something to do. She swallowed uncertainly, feeling his eyes on the marks on her neck, and she nearly choked on the wine at his question. Why did it matter, exactly? "...Disgust, at first," she said honestly, her grip tightening on the glass. "Pain, fear, helplessness... then, I don't know. I wanted to know more... how it worked, why it was happening and what the point of it was..." How it felt. She didn't say that, though. Isla the flesh is weak

archebold Fear is the price of imagination "Most certainly. You woke in comfort, cared for. Had I really desired to harm you or worse you'd wake in the cellar, strung up like some cured buy product of meat. A bag of life waiting to be drained at my very whim...but you didn't." Archebold responded to Isla 's question of safety, hands smoothing over the silken sheet than had covered her. As she continued to describe her feelings when Archebold had begun feeding on her, his head titled to the side curiously as he took in her observation. "The point is survival. Do the animals or the vegetation question motivation when consumed? Do you question before taking a savory bite of meat or a cookie? No. Instinct tells you what needs to be done in order to survive. There is no deeper meaning. Simply...survival. Though, like any fruit...when you find that perfectly ripened source you learn to savor every morsel." Clearly he was speaking of the healer, but it was an easy comparison to make. Archebold would motion for Isla to lay back, if she did so he would stand and tuck the sheet comfortably around her. "Rest...should you need anything I'll be in my quarters. Up the stairs, second on the left. No doubt you have more questions, and I promise to answer as much of them as I can but for now you need your strength. Come morning, you'll feel right as rain." His hands resting against the lionshead knob of his walking stick, Archebold bowed. "Bonum nocte, angelas iunae luman." An educated woman as Isla would might know the language in which Archebold spoke, an ancient language of romantic origin. If not, well perhaps he would translate for her one day. Dark eyes lingered on the healer as he offered a fanged smile before turning on his heel to take his leave.