2019-08-13 - The Two Izzys Meet

It is a particularly humid day when a cherry-red Jeep drives up to 13 Elm and stops in front of it.

In spite of her deepening connection with the town conspiracy theorist, Isabella Reede has never actually been to his residence, given her perennial need not to impose herself on anyone for more than necessary; one could be forgiven to think that she has changed her mind on that stance, but the fact of the matter is, she isn't there to see him. She is still technically recovering, but her downright miraculous stay in the hospital and with all of its mysterious agents has enabled her to reclaim much of her old mobility - save for a few persistent aches and a few stitches, none of them have really impeded her daily routine, unless she decided to execute some intense and very rigorous movements; an affliction that she was rather rudely introduced to the other night when Alexander Clayton attempted to take her to bed.

Attempted being the operative term and standing in front of the address now is giving her certain and glaring reminders of other unfinished business she could see to if only her body would cooperate.

"This town," she exhales, exasperated, before she proceeds to walk up the front porch and ring a doorbell. She has a cellophane-wrapped package with her, with gold and red ribbons binding the top; a tin of some sort, something simple, but delicious for the lady of the house.

Whenever the door opens, she certainly looks a lot better than the last time Isolde had seen her. No longer bleeding out from gunshot wounds to the chest, the archaeologist looks as fit and determined as ever, the high-noon sun chasing the golden flecks within her predominantly green eyes. She's dressed simply, and in deference to the heat; shorts, if not just because it often takes some very special occasions for the professional adventuress to even be seen in a skirt or dress, and it's too hot for a pair of jeans, sandals with modest heels and a loose, short-sleeved top made of pristine white linen with colorful beadwork decorating the neckline, sleeves gathered up underneath her elbows with ribbon detailing. A moonstone pendant - simple, but lovely - rests close to her heart, its adularescence leaving motes of rainbow light to scatter over the fine fibers of her top. Her hair is pulled up in a loose twist, an apathetic arrangement at best, but one that leaves dark locks framing her face and renders it looking more like an artful disarray rather than an actual uncontrollable mess. She wears no makeup, save for ocean-safe sunscreen, and clear gloss on her lips.

"Isolde?" she wonders, once she answers the doorbell. "Hi, we've never officially met - I'm Isabella Reede." She extends her hand forward in offerance of a handshake. "I would have called ahead but um...I never got your phone number."

Isolde is getting very tired of being stuck in the house. She had managed to sneak out for a walk yesterday, but otherwise she has been confined to her room. Which is to say, the living room of 13 Elm Street. Luigi is loving it though. The little green conure has certainly been getting his way - Discovery Channel, Animal Planet. All that good stuff.

Isolde was currently curled up on the couch reading a book when Isabella knocked. Her brow furrowed, not expecting any visitors. Standing up, she peeked briefly out the window first and then brightened, opening up the door. "You're alive! I mean. You're out of the hospital!" Isolde motioned Isabella to come inside. "It is nice to see you again. When there are not bullets flying. My name is Isolde." No last name offered. Her long red hair is loose and a little wild. She wasn't been bothering to brush it much since she hasn't been going anywhere.

Her attire is simple. Grey sweatpants and a green tanktop. There is a giant stuffed frog occupying half the couch as she let Isabella inside and then closed the door. "How are you feeling? Do you want anything to drink? I will give you my number today before you go!"

You're alive!

The exuberant exclamation has Isabella blinking once, before she lets loose a small laugh, her hand reaching up to splay slender fingers against her ribcage. "I am?" she wonders, mischief lighting up her eyes. "Thank god. I was just thinking to myself all of this might just be a fever dream and I was actually living my next life as a cactus." Her easy expression fades, another sigh loosening pain-induced tension from somewhere within her ribs. "In all seriousness, though, I'm certain I would've been worse off if you didn't go out of my way to look after me. You were one of the last things I remembered before passing out the way I did."

Fingers lift to rub the back of her neck. "It was kind of embarrassing, actually," she tells her ruefully. "I'm normally more capable than that."

She steps in once she's invited, letting the door close to leave the interior cool and shaded; the day outside is a sweltering mess. Green eyes fall on the conure, lips quirking faintly in a wry grin. "So that's him, eh? The famous Luigi," she says in a jesting fashion, her intense, inquisitive stare slipping over the way the house is laid out. The blue walls get a lingering look and for some reason, that smile quirks up higher. "I'm doing alright, much better than I thought I was going to be. What about you? How are you feeling, you didn't exactly come out unscathed either." A flash of guilt, the reminder of just how worthless she actually had been that she couldn't even protect one person adequately.

She catches the lack of a last name, but doesn't inquire after it just yet. "You don't have to fuss," she tells her with a faint smile. "I brought you this." She lifts up the colorful cellophane package, with a tin inside. "It's chocolate from the town patisserie. It can be prepared hot or cold. Would you like to make it together?"

Isolde's eyes widen for just a moment before, "Coming back as a cactus would be boring. The fever dream would be preferable." A touch of concern when Isabella sighed due to the pain, but she wasn't keeling over so - it was okay for now! She would keep an eye on her though. "You are very welcome. And you helped me so. I appreciate it." She looked over towards Luigi, who was eyeing YET ANOTHER NEW STRANGER. This was just all very bad to him and he squawked to let them both know it before jumping up and rattling his bell.

A child throwing a temper tantrum. "Chut Maintenant." Isolde chided Luigi affectionately. "Luigi. This is Isabella. She is a friend, don't be mean." Then another grin was given to Isabella. "Don't mind him. He's took forever to get used to me." There's a light shrug of her shoulders when asked how she was doing. "I am doing good! The bed rest is boring but, I got off easier than you and the Captain. Laughing hurts still, but not as much as it did."

Those clear blue eyes finally turned down to the cellophane packaging. "It's so pretty!" The paper. Her nose wrinkled up. "Cold chocolate? Is that like. Chocolate milk?" Or was it more like a candy bar? Her mind started to wander along that train before she shook her head to snap back to focus. "Let's do hot chocolate. We...have a pan somewhere. Do you need a pan?" Starting to lead Isabella into the kitchen.

And thus, Isabella would soon learn that this kitchen was not made for cooking. What with the bare cupboards, bare fridge (aside a canvas bag full of vegetables and some miscellaneous fruits and veggies for Luigi), and the kitchen table covered in various plants.

Coming back as a cactus would be boring.

"It really would," Isabella muses with a grin; privately, she does think it's fitting - a prickly, green plant that's difficult to eradicate? That's definitely her.

A somber expression touches on the look of her as she wanders in further, wiggling her fingers to Luigi. "Nice to meet you in person at last, Luigi," she tells the conure, before she tilts her head to Isolde with a hint of amusement in her eyes, imbued in the line of her mouth and the way it curves upwards. "I hear he's sweet but wary of strangers," she says. "But I'm glad that you're doing better, even if it's boring and honestly after what happened to the both of us, that can be good, sometimes. Between you and me, though, I can definitely relate to that. I don't do so well in bed rest, either. I get antsy if I'm not working." Fingers lift, to push through her hair, though this is a futile endeavor at best; sideswept bangs simply just fall back over her eyes again.

There's a curious look to Isolde. "I was wondering what language that was," she says. "I remember it but I couldn't understand the words. French? I always wanted to learn."

Once they enter the pitifully bare kitchen, there's a glance around but there's no judgment; she's been in camps in the middle of the desert, where space is at a premium and most foodstuffs are simply tossed into holes in the dirt to cook. "A saucepan would be helpful, yeah," she says, though she is careful to stay out of Isolde's way - this is not her space, and she is clearly deferring to the other woman as she bustles around in the kitchen to look for what they need. There's a glance towards the plants on the table, taking a few steps over so she could peer at them curiously.

"Do you garden?" she wonders, before finding a spare space so she can carefully unwrap the tin, mindful not to tear the cellophane since her companion seems to like it so much.

"I would rather be a frog." If her obsession with frogs wasn't already pretty obvious from the stuffed animal and the frog charm bracelet she also wore. "He is sweet, once he's used to you. I think he will get used to you soon enough." There is a touch of a glimmer in her eyes when she says it. "I am hoping I can go back up to the Farm soon to be working again. I like being outside with all the flowers."

Then she is searching for a pan. They have a casserole dish, so they have to have a pan. "It is French!" She offered, finding a sauce pan and having an 'ah ha!' moment.Then wincing because 'ah ha'ing wasn't quite so safe to do yet. "I could teach you a little maybe. If you want. I learned from my mom." Setting the pan on the stovetop. She seemed a touch wary of the oven area itself "I will let you deal with the heating and stuff...you just tell me what else to do."

Isolde carefully leaned up against the counter. "Starting too. Most of those are Alexander's. But because I am learning stuff at the Farm, I got my own flowers too. To start. I planted some in the backyard a few days ago. From their little holders." The flowers on the table are a mix of aromatics mostly and some regular flowers you'd pick up at Lowe's or something during the season. "I might bring some Lavenders from work to try replanting. Do you do any gardening?"

The frogs, she knows about, and that grin lingers on her mouth as she talks about them, tempering in the corners when she drops something she didn't know before. "The farm?" Save for Isolde's college past with Alexander and a certain affinity for a major romance language, Isabella knows very little about what the other woman actually does - nothing about what she does for a living, and while she is familiar enough with some of her interests by way of observation and flat-out asking the not-private investigator about them. "A flower farm?" Dark brows draw together, in an effort to remember if there are such things around, but her geographical information with respect to the areas surrounding Gray Harbor is woefully out of date, trapped in the gray, nebulous limbo between townie and outsider.

Luigi gets another glance, those incessantly curious eyes watching the conure as he flits from one end of the room to another, given free reign in this small, quiet domain. There's a curious tilt of her head at the faint shimmer in Isolde's eyes when she says the words, fascination and a certain sense of envy at finally taking a good look at her vibrant red hair, its rich color an eye-catching asset. "You think so?" she wonders, folding the cellophane carefully and setting it aside, as well as the red and gold ribbons that she untied so carefully from the package. "I'm in the water a lot, so while I'm familiar with plenty of marine life, I honestly don't know much about birds. Alexander said you like animals? Well, frogs of course." She nods to the plush on the couch, grin broadening faintly. "But others too, yeah?" Something softens in her expression. "You seem like a very sweet person."

The offer for French lessons has her smiling faintly. "That'd be great," she confesses. "I travel often, usually." When she's not stuck in a city bent on killing all of them. "It'd be handy to learn, definitely, but only when you have the time!" Her hands lift. "I don't want to impose or anything if you have better things to do."

Moving to take over stove duties, she cracks her knuckles in an exaggerated show of getting ready, though Isolde's wariness regarding the stove and oven don't escape her notice, either. "Okay! First of all, do you like your chocolate dark or normal?" she asks, managing to find a cup so she could measure out some water. The tin is set on the counter for Isolde, and while she busies herself with the water, she pays attention to what the other woman says, flashing her a quick look now and then despite her fingers busying themselves with another task. "I'm afraid not," she tells her, sheepishly. "Better people than me have tried. When it comes to keeping plants alive, I'm relatively hopeless. I'm jealous of people who can do it effortlessly, though. I love flowers, too, but I don't exactly have the affinity or the know-how to grow them myself."

"The Lavender Farm. It's a little bit outside of town." Isolde offers, watching Isabella work. Studying the woman that has so captured her best friend's attention. Idly glancing towards the door as if expecting Alexander to walk in and see them, and stifling a giggle when he imagined what his reaction might be. Sliding her gaze back towards Isabella. "The season is almost over though I think. Do you know a Dr. Glass? Alexander says I might be able to talk to her. To do reception work or something. " Nodding a bit. "I very much think so."

"I don't know much about them either. Though, I have a yellow dress with parrots on it. It's pretty, because birds are pretty. But. That's all I know." Isolde spoke it so sincerely. "Well, aside what Luigi can and can't have." Pushing a hand carefully through her hair on the side that didn't get grazed with a bullet. "Frogs are my favorite. But I like all animals. Itzhak has a skink and a snake! I got to hold the skink. Her name is Iris, she's very cute. I haven't gotten to meet Lemondrop yet though." The snake, presumably.

"Thank you Isabella. So do you! Alexander said you are an archaeologist? That sounds so exciting. Like Indiana Jones!" Isolde flashed a grin. "It isn't a bother. Teaching. It could be fun." The French Lessons of course. Then her attention is back on the chocolate. "Uhmm let's try dark!" A glance over to the plants. "It is very difficult...but Alexander does a good job with his. Maybe he can give you tips."

Upon close inspection, there doesn't seem to be anything all that special about Isabella Reede, in the end - attractive enough, certainly, with those striking green-and-gold eyes, but far from voluptuous and certainly not the only good-looking person in a sleepy city that is surprisingly full of them, clearly a young woman who enjoys an active lifestyle with her sun-kissed complexion and long limbs. But there is something about her that is unapologetically alive and restless, the storms of her usual manner emanating from that slender body in waves; in the end, too fragile, perhaps, to contain it all.

"That place must smell like heaven all the time," she tells Isolde in a conversational fashion, lifting her attention from her work with another smile visible. "Soothing, too. Back in the days of Ancient Rome, Romans from every class used to put lavender blossoms in their bathwater. It's very popular now, trendy even, but truthfully, the practice has been around for hundreds of years." The water starts to boil, and the young woman turns down the flames carefully, leaving it in a low simmer. "And...Vivian Glass? Yes, I know her. She's a friend, from Los Angeles, and a very good psychiatrist. I think you'll like her, she's very professional, but underneath the elegant exterior, she's actually a woman of very dry wit. She's very easy to get along with. I know she's been looking for a receptionist for a while, so if that's something you would like to do - office work and the like, then you should totally give her a ring."

Mention of the dress with parrots does remind her of the initial conversation regarding Isolde, and the archaeologist continues: "Alexander said you like dresses, too. I have to buy a new one pretty soon for a formal function." There's a hint of resignation there, indicative that such events are not her favorites - but it is for Byron, so she will attend. "So I was wondering if you liked them, you'd like to come with me?" The devil in her surfaces - utterly irrepressible, because it always is - as green eyes fall on her companion. "It's fine to say no, by the way," she tacks on hurriedly. "I know we really don't know each other, but I thought it could be fun and we survived a firefight together." She flashes her a wink. "I think that's a bond worth cultivating, but that's definitely talk from a Navy brat who heard too many stories from her father about overseas engagements."

Itzhak is becoming a familiar name and interest lights up her expression. "Alexander mentioned a friend with that name, do all of you hang out in the same group?" she wonders.

Asked about her career, there's a wry twist to her mouth. "Sure," she says with a laugh. "I mean, I don't want to burst anyone's bubble, but the first few years of my academic track were really boring. A lot of digging in the dirt, a lot of documentation, a lot of cataloguing and staying in libraries. But once I was able to combine the discipline with my diving, it became a hell of a lot more interesting." A dreamy, far away look asserts itself over her lightly-tanned features, there, as if imagining herself back in a few other past expeditions, hurtling through the rush of color from vibrant marine life against a field of endless sapphire-blue... "If I tell you stories about my past adventures, I'll probably skip the boring parts and get straight into the treasure hunting. I know people say there's a stark difference between real-life study and the films, but sometimes..." And she lowers her voice, as if imparting a secret to Isolde, those eyes glittering with her earlier mischief. "...there's this sweet spot where they overlap. I'll tell you a story about long-lost Spanish gold sometime."

She glances at the tin and nudges it to Isolde. "Okay, well that means four of the chocolate discs," she tells her. "And then we'll melt them. I think there's a dehydrated creme layer in each so we don't really need milk." Which is fortunate, because she has absolutely no idea whether the fridge will have any.

There's another glance at the plants. "Honestly, I had no idea he knew how to grow things," she tells her. "We've only known each other for a few weeks, so there's a lot I don't know about him."

Isolde is a very good listener and she decides that she llikes Isabella's voice. So it's easy enough to listen to her. She feels like she can relate to the woman on some levels. More than meets the eye in her own way. Her mind was broken in various places from various events - mostly Veil Side and Veil Influenced - through out her life. It was difficult for her to verbally express herself in the way she wanted sometmes and she knew that many people thought she was crazy. Thought she couldn't handle things or take care of herself. Isolde knew these things and yet, if she tried to express how she was definitely more put together than she seemed...it didn't translate well. So she just let it happen. What's the use in fighting? As long as she knew she wasn't entirely insane, nothing else mattered.

"I will get her number from Alexander then and call her." A bright smile at the idea of dress shopping. "That could be fun. Where do you go shopping?" Because surely she went to nicer places than the second hand store that Isolde frequented right? "Maybe I can find nice interview clothes too. We will see. I like dresses though, yes."

Then those blue eyes go wide when Isabella starts to elaborate on her work, a rapt sort of fascination. "Lost treasure?" Her voice is a hushed whisper. Expression almost childlike. It's no wonder most people think she's got more a few marbles loose. Or maybe something else mentally wrong with her. "Maybe we we are dress shopping! Or another time." As for a good time to tell the story of the gold. Then she is carefully putting in four of the chocolate discs into the water.

"So many fancy foods lately." Isolde mused. Then back tracking to earlier. "Itzhak is a mutual friend yes. He is a very good thing. He won me the stuffed frog on our date." There's a little hint of blush crawling across her freckled face. "Alexander is a good man. He has had lots of bad things happen to him." Looking to Isabella then. "I think you are a good thing for him. I hope you are."

She would have to be - dreams of tenure are still on the table, and Isabella has been inured with the crystal-clear necessity of being an able storyteller in her line of work. And had Isolde worn a different face, perhaps it would be easy to dismiss her, with the girlish way she speaks - as if two decades younger than she actually is. But the archaeologist sees those eyes, the attentive way she absorbs information, and the bits and pieces Alexander has warmly communicated to her about his roommate and friend - she was a survivor, and to those who bother to look past the patina of simple joys and innocent interests, it would be clear to anyone.

Ultimately, archaeology is about gathering scattered fragments of the past, in order to create a picture of various peoples and how they lived. In many ways, that principle colors much of Isabella's personal interactions.

"I have her number," she says of Vivian, already looking for her phone, pulling it out from her back pocket. Glancing at the text message waiting for her there, from a number familiar to the both of them, her expressive mouth tilts upward in a faint and rueful smile, stowing it away to be replied to later. "It's the least I could do. You can tell her that you're Alexander's friend, and that you know me also, if you would like."

Where does she go shopping? The young woman laughs. "Seattle," she tells Isolde with a wink. "We can make a trip out of it, if you would like. It's only really an hour and a half-ish away, and it's not that long of a drive. There's more variety there, especially if you're looking at interview clothes also. We can take our time, have lunch, we can see other things too, if you would like. The Chihuly Garden and Glass is a beautiful space, and there's also the Woodland Park Zoo, it has about three hundred different species of animals, and they have summer concerts playing there for free all the time. Do you like Jazz? Though if it's too far, I'm sure we can find some places here, also."

At the wide-eyed look and hushed whisper, there's a grin, eyes brightening at every word, indicative of a young academic who is utterly passionate about her work. "I'll tell you all about it. It's a story about a secret project and how a marine exploration company based in Florida found five hundred million dollars worth of Spanish gold in the bottom of the ocean," she tells her gamely, even as she shifts a little bit to the side so Isolde can put the discs in. She manages to find a wooden spoon, so she can start melting the chocolate.

Details about Itzhak has the green-eyed woman inclining her head, and a full blown grin plays on her mouth, rounding her cheeks to apples. "A date?" she wonders out loud, catching sight of the blush threatening to crawl over her companion's cheeks. "Let's see, from what I know of the guy, he apparently has a beautiful mind, has a snake and a skink, and that you like him enough that you've mentioned him a few times already and you're blushing." She is definitely not above teasing someone that she is just starting to get to know. "Handsome guy?"

He has had lots of bad things happen to him.

That, though, is evident, though something about how Isolde says the words causes Isabella to temper her smile. "I know he's good," she reassures the redhead quietly. "I've told him that straightforwardly. I think most people who bother to look know that, it's just that he's struggling to accept that, himself. And while I don't know the definitive shape of his pain, I know he's very self-aware, also, and is very intimate with his flaws. If he's struggling to believe that, I think there's a reason why, and that reason is probably a good one."

She turns to start stirring the pot a little more. "Maybe one day, he'll tell me. If not, that's alright also. I like him the way he is." She rolls her head back and groans comically. "Which makes me wonder what that exactly says about me."

"Sure, you can give it if you want." Isolde offered with an nod. Her eyes widened again at the talk of Seattle. "That would be good! I love jazz music. And a giant zoo! Maybe to get ideas for our next date. We talked about going to a jazz club thing...maybe he would like a zoo too." Clearly talking about Itzhak again. "I haven't been to Seattle in a long time." She watches Isabella stirring up the chocolate and water - watching it slowly start to melt.

Isolde looks over towards Isabella again when the woman calls her out about Itzhak. It maybe makes her blush further. "He hears songs...the people who are glittery. Like us. We all have a song. I saw his mind, when we danced. I was so happy." She admitted, "And I wanted to share it with him. There's so many bits and pieces...and he's so sad Isabella." And she sounds sad saying that. "I want to help him be less sad."

Isolde pushed a hand through her hair carefully. "And he is handsome, yes." A fleeting touch of a grin. "You will meet him soon I'm sure. I hope. I think you will like him." She nods a bit as they turn back to Alexander. "We are both getting used to having...people. Friends. " She chuckled then. "He has that...toured, handsome, older guy thing going on. He kinda always has." She divulges like it's some kind of top secret secret.

"I love Jazz, too," Isabella tells her with a smile, passing her phone to Isolde so she can take Vivian's number, and so she could also input her own in the device. She doesn't seem to mind unlocking it, and giving it to someone she is just getting to know to take. "It's great to dance to, and listen to, also. Especially when Summer's ending pretty fast, might as well get in the good, hot weather while we can. But I'd be happy to help you gather up ideas for a next date, too. Who am I to get in the way of true love?" She presses her hand dramatically on her chest, and bats her lashes at Isolde in an exaggerated fashion.

She seems content to listen to the other woman talk about her new romance, and at witnessing her guileless joy at describing Itzhak, she can't help but envy her, in a way - how she expresses herself so easily, how these softer, gentler emotions slip over her face and causes her to radiate with an uncomplicated sort of joy. As she turns off the stove so she can pour hot chocolate carefully in two mugs, she absorbs these freely shared details of another's life, and some part of her can't help but be relieved - that Gray Harbor hasn't managed to kill Isolde's capacity to experience genuine happiness.

And he's so sad, Isabella.

The way she says that gentles her sunkissed mien. "You're a good person to want to see him happy for the sake of seeing him happy," she tells her quietly, honestly. "And I'm sure that he wouldn't be going out on dates with you if you aren't already doing that, making him less sad. People tend to gravitate to things and others that resonate with them - if you're just starting to get to know him, I'm certain that's the case. Though..." And here, something more mischievous passes over her features. "Don't give it all away too quickly. I think the most important thing is to have fun. And lots of it. If the two of you love to dance, there are places around here that do Big Band Swing Nights. That's fun. I used to go when I was in high school, I bet the ones for those of age are even more spectacular."

Her face takes on a more rueful cast. "Caveat, though, I'm not exactly all that experienced with relationships, either." Though she's not about to tell Isolde she's never had a serious one in her life.

She steps closer to Isolde, handing her a mug and leaning against the counter with her at a companionable distance, blowing the steam delicately off the top of hers. "Well then, you're halfway there," she jests, when they start talking about Itzhak's looks. "And I think so, too, if he hangs out with the both of you. I don't get out much either, when I'm working, I tend to lose track of time, but I'm sure I'll be visiting occasionally. I would be happy to meet him when the time comes, most definitely. Friends..." And here, there's a quiet laugh. "They're good to have. You know what they say, no man's - or woman's - an island. People need other people, there's a reason why those who are alone for too long tend to crack."

He has that tortured, handsome older guy thing going on.

The expression on Isabella's face at that is comically indescribable, if not just because she's still aching over the things he's done to her - and the things he couldn't do to her due to the fact that she is still recovering from major surgery - from the other day, and she manages to look at a convenient spot somewhere in the kitchen as she takes a sip of her hot chocolate. "He's alright," she says, maintaining that confident, easy and casual facade. But she later sneaks a sidelong glance at Isolde and flashes her an impish wink.

If there was anything Isolde could thank the Veil for it was the way, it broke her down. Instead of a crazed psychopath or wanting to kill herself (well these days at least) it had stripped her down to the core. Of course this meant that negative emotions came easier too. Fear and frustration. But they were all fleeting. All of them were. She was content now but it wouldn't take much to flip the switch. "Maybe. I hope so." When Isabella Suggests she is already making Itzhak happier.

"Ideas are good. A big band send night sounds fun." When Isabella mentions true love, though it's in jest, an odd look comes over Isolde's features. Hard to pin down exactly what it is she is feeling. Maybe she's thinking about someone. Or something. But the pouring of hot chocolate snaps her out of her reverie.

"I am not an expert either. I don't get asked out ever." Isolde answers finally with a smile. "Learning as we go. And taking things slow." Very slow. They hadn't even properly kissed yet! But that was okay. Isolde wasnt in any rush. Especially not now that she had a whole chunk of memories after being in the hospital that required more methodical researching. Internally and externally.

"I know another of his friends is August. He gave us lots of vegetables. I need to meet him better." Isolde mused. She also would have fiddled with Isabella's phone in order to put in her number and get Vivian's.

Isolde smirked at Isabella's he's alright comment. Like 'Uh huh sureeee'. Then she finally picked up her mug to take a call so. "Mmm! This is very good!" Isolde gave a bright smile. "Thank you again for bringing it."

There's a glance over at Isolde as that strange expression blankets her features; Loss is as just as intimate to her as fury, and it is hard for Isabella not to notice. Her connection to the other woman at the moment is a casual affair and while the potential for a more significant friendship is there, she has never been the sort of personality to impose herself on anyone - it would be hypocritical, in the end, to demand to be let in when she isn't capable of that, herself, in her best days. But those intense, perceptive eyes linger on her companion for just a moment, unable to help but wonder whether those who remain in the thrall of Gray Harbor's curse will forever be tied to tragedy - and whether it is possible, at all, to break away from it.

And she has tried to, actively. She has been successful for over a decade, and yet...

Her hand reaches up once Isolde has retrieved Vivian's phone number, and put in her own, if she desires, and the archaeologist tucks the device in her back pocket. "That's surprising," she tells her with a smile, when she confesses her lack of dates thus far. "Your hair would catch anyone's attention. It looks like sunset."

She is not prone to flattery, and while her words are complimentary, they leave her expressive mouth with the conclusory decisiveness of a young woman who is almost always certain about her own truth. "And there's nothing wrong with slow. Sometimes that..." And there's a self-deprecating twist to her mouth there. "...can be a little difficult, especially when you're looking forward to something very much, but..." And here, that devil's mischief returns again. "...delayed gratification can be a very effective catalyst."

She is definitely not explaining what that means, from her perspective. And nor is she replying to that knowing smirk; she maintains that look and air of innocence, so exaggerated and unconvincing that Isolde can halfway expect the police to pull up on 13 Elm, and arrest her on the spot.

Slender fingers cup her mug and lift it upwards so she could take another sip of the dark chocolate drink, closing her eyes as she savors it; she is a tactile creature, also, a perpetual slave to her senses, the sort of person who gives herself over to the sheer experience of something, no matter how small or insignificant. It is simply the way she is, unable to help the cyclones and wildfires of her own nature. "He mentioned that August was a horticulturist of some sort," she offers. "Or a botanist, and that he runs some kind of nursery." There's a slight furrowing of her brows. "I know Alexander had to assist him due to some recent injuries, but from what I understand, he seems to be doing better. Either way, I'm glad they weren't alone when that happened." A shadow passes over her prevailing good humor, eyes narrowing faintly in remembrance. "An old friend of mine was with them, also," she murmurs.

But levity returns; Isolde's cheerfulness is an infectious thing, and she'd find the younger woman's smile returning effortlessly. "I'm glad you like it," she says. "Let me know when you're free in the next few days, alright? And call Vivian so we know when she intends to have you come in for an interview, that way we can plan our trip."

Maybe one day Isolde would feel comfortable in talking about the cause of that expression. Once she knew it was real and after she confirmed a few more things. Talking was important, she believed wholeheartedly in talking. Yet, some things were just not meant to be talked about either. Some things would sit on a shelf for the rest of her life, buried with her in the dirt.

"Not really." When Isabella tells her it's surprising she hasn't been asked out often. "I looked a lot worse off before I came here. Dirty. Strung out. And, at least a little crazy." She admits. Hating that word but, it was fitting. "And most people think something's wrong with me. so-" Another shrug and smile. "But thank you. I like my hair. Your hair is pretty too. It reminds me of honey a little bit."

A soft giggle at Isabella's implied meanings. "It has been a very long time so, I am okay with waiting a little longer." For now at least. There is a beat of pause, and then she refocuses on Isabella with a grin. "Just make sure there is a sock on the door..." Dissolving into giggles again for a minute. Then Isolde pulls herself together and takes a careful sip of her cocoa. It really is delicious. Shehasn't had hot cocoa in forever.

The older woman sobered up some when Isabella mentioned the injuries. "I heard Alexander got hurt. But haven't been able to catch him yet. To talk about it. I am glad he is okay though." And by okay, Isolde means 'not dead'. "Is your old friend okay?"

"I will let you know!" Isolde confirmed. "I will get in touch with her soon and then we can go to Seattle and get pretty thing!" She set her mug down after a moment, gently. "I am glad you came over Isabella. You are a nice lady. I hope we will be good friends."

"It's a beautiful color," Isabella tells her, and means it, though she refrains from actually reaching out and touching her tresses. "But I might be somewhat biased." She winks. "I love red. It's my favorite color." The observation of her own has her letting out a small laugh, reaching up to pat the disarray pinned to the back of her head. "I've never heard it described that way before," she tells her, honestly. And then, with great dramatics and exaggeration, she presses her hand in her heart and feigns a swoon. "Keep talking like that and I might have to go for you instead."

She's clearly jesting, by the way those mirthsome eyes turn to her companion. "There's nothing wrong with waiting," she says. "Like I said, delayed gratification is-- "

Just make sure there is a sock on the door.

Her fingers freeze on her cup. Her expression flattens visibly, and she starts turning her full attention to her hot chocolate, draining it - as if she could flood the words that threaten to spill over, to wash them down before she says anything incriminating. She remembers her lingering frustration and now surrounded by reminders of Alexander - from the plants on the table to the color of the wall - it suddenly drowns her in an overwhelming tide.

"I'm...not...in a hurry to get there either..." says Isabella 'Lying Liarface' Reede, from around her cup.

She will endure, however, so she finishes her chocolate and sets it on the sink, turning to Isolde and letting her smile return. "Captain de la Vega will live," she murmurs. "I've been surrounded by military men all my life. I know a warrior when I see one. I wouldn't be surprised if the world ended in some cataclysmic solar flare, and he would still be around, with five cockroaches." Another mischievous grin. "He'll be fine, but I'll send him your well wishes when I see him next. I won't call him old, though."

She exhales, and gestures vaguely. "I wouldn't be any manner of decent human being if I didn't see how you were, and thank you for what you've done for me. Talk soon, okay? We'll go to Seattle, have fun, come back, and hopefully you'll be brimming with ideas after."

With that, she will linger, for a bit, before she takes her leave.