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Arlington, Va 1859 (part I); CLOSED TOPIC - DO NOT POST
Topic Started: May 10 2005, 11:26 AM (382 Views)
Isiladura
Unregistered

Dear Diary,

My heart is breaking as I pen this. My parents are forcing me to go with them to Arlington, VA. I actually have to leave my home for a week--my beautiful, picturesque home here in Savannah. Whatever shall I tell my darling beau Jefferson? He will be wrought with angst and depression at the thought of not being able to see me for an entire week! Oh, the sheer horror and terror of it all. My parents are evil. That is all there is to it. They masquerade as church-goers, but I know the turth. Daddy is trying to convince my poor brother Antonio to learn Latin to become a priest. Why? So Tony can absolve Daddy of his adulterous life when he dies...

Sincerely,
Isiladura Divicci


The morning sun was hot as the family loaded into their carriage and set out North towards Virginia. Mr. Divicci had heard of a grand old house for sale near Gettysburg, PA and decided to take a few weeks off and take the family on vacation. Isiladura did not find it so inviting. She touched up her voluptuous Gibson-girl curls and adjusted her bustle as she climbed into the carriage. Pouting, she stared out the window as the scenery began to move.

"Oh, don't worry, dea'uh," her mother began. "It's only fo' a week."

"A week?! But yew nev'uh asked my opinion on the trip. What if Ah hadn't wanted to go? Yew would be holdin' me against my will."

Her mother just smiled as if to say, "That's a silly thought." Isiladura did not find it so amusing. She was nearly 25 and she hadn't a husband. In fact, she barely had a suitor. Jefferson McClintock was the only one who seemed even remotely interested in the stand-offish girl. Her long, black hair paled her fair skin, but added a kind of deep pink blush to her cheeks. She always looked like a fine porcelin doll--with narry-a chip to the pristine skin.

Hours past. The heat of the day turned into the cool of the evening as they finally pulled into Arlington. Isiladura had fallen asleep to pass the time, but now, she felt enlivened by the night air. Waiting for the doorman to open her door and assist her out of the carriage, she glared at her mother, still trying to impress upon her maternal fiend just how much she hated Daddy's little trips.

They checked into the hotel and the footman carried their bags to the assigned room. Mrs. Divicci went upstairs to retire for the evening, but Isiladura stayed downstairs. The scene here was younger, anyway. Amid the gamblers and "servers," she found a table at which she could sit and write in her diary. She pulled out the black leather and untied the silk ribbon that held it shut. She walked to the bar and leaned over, her cleavage spilling forward as she sweetly cooed her request.

"Ah'm sorry, suh. Ah don't mean t' be a both'uh, but...do yew happen t' have a pen Ah could borruh?"

She smiled sweetly as the bar keep stared at her. She waited while he reluctantly tore his eyes away from her to retreive the pen and ink. Setting them down, he slid them across the table to her and she smiled and thanked him before turning to go back to her table.

Seating herself, she opened her diary to a new page and began to write...

Dear Diary,

We have arrived in this horrid place known as Arlington. It shall be my death! There is not a single soul here that is worth talking to...and my heart is aching for my poor, sweet Jeffe--


She stopped suddenly in her writing and looked up. "Why, Ah do decla'uh..." was all she managed to whisper out. "Hello to yew, Mist'uh Ah'lington..." she said softly as her cheeks flushed a bit more pink. She bit her lower lip and watched him as he made his way through the hotel lounge.
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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It was only due to his adoptive family that he was allowed here at all. Dillon didn’t kid himself. Prejudices ran strong among many, and still there were those that ignored the more vocal public opinions about non-whites, and took daring steps to be seen with Negros, Indians and the like. That was what brought him out this evening, one of those brave souls had requested him for medical care.

Oxford educated, Dillon had chose white man’s medicine as his path in life, or now as fate would have it un-life. He had helplessly watched his mother and father die on the Trail of Tears and had almost died himself save for his white father. A physician who had empathized with the Cherokee and their plight, and at considerable risk to himself, provided care to those he could as they arrived on the ‘reservation, their new home.

The young Tremere didn’t know what it was about him that had the physician selecting him from among the orphans of his people. He wasn’t even sure how the man had been able to talk the chief into allowing him to leave. All he knew was he was whisked away within a week of arriving, and shipped back to Virginia, where he slowly learned the white man’s ways.

He was never forbidden to visit his people, and during the summers when he wasn’t’ attending school he spent time on the reservation. The poverty and hardships suffered there made him all the more determined to learn all he could and provide medical care.
At sixteen he found himself traveling with his ailing white mother back to England to stay with her relatives while he attended Oxford. He found a greater acceptance among the English than the American brethren and thrived.

He returned to his American home a physician, at began the uphill battle of acceptance. By Indian and White man alike. So now at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, two of those years which he had been a vampire, he found himself crossing the room with black bag in hand, having just visited his patient.

The man needed visitors and friendship more than he needed medicine. Something that Dillon didn’t’ begrudge. The fact that he was dying didn’t seem to phase the elderly gentleman, who had that very night told Dillon he was in his will. Amazing what the man thought was important, was all the stoic Cherokee thought as he glanced around the room, having felt as though he were being watched.

She was a very beautiful white woman, long, black hair, captivating eyes, and skin so fair it reminded him of those fancy porcelain dolls he had seen in shop windows. She was staring at him with a light blush covering her cheeks.

Inside Dillon sighed. He was cynical when it came to the opposite sex. They saw him either one of two ways, a ‘dirty’ Indian beneath them, or a novelty, something dangerous to brag about being with. He summed her up as the latter. Unfortunately his steps were going to take him by her table, and the last thing he wanted or needed was a gushing white woman drawing attention to him.

It wasn’t until he was next to the table that his eyes involuntarily dropped down to the book she held. He hesitated then slowed to a stop. Dillon never understood why he stopped, it had not been his intention, nor why he spoke to her, for that was a sure way to get noticed by those that didn’t approve of him here.

“I don’t think I have ever known anyone that kept a diary before.” He murmured softly, his dark eyes filled with reserved curiosity.

He immediately regretted his words and actions and with a nod of his head turned to back towards his intended path, the front door.
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Isiladura
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Haunting.

That word described the very presence this man portrayed to the young, naive girl from Savannah. She watched him in mild fascination as he walked toward her table. Her heart skipped a beat as he passed by, then sank with disappointment as he continued on. She picked up where she'd left off, but not for long...

"I don't think I've ever known anyone that kept a diary before."

His words were soft; his voice, melodious. She looked up again and blushed a bit more as she allowed the smile to slip onto her face. He was talking to her. She did not understand why she felt so...envigorated by this man's presence, but she did. Quickly and demurly, she looked him over and smiled--but not before he turned to leave.

She was surprised. Had he just wished to make a statement about her idle writings? She looked back at the page, then up. "S'uh! Wait..." She felt her cheeks readening. A few patrons turned to look at her then turned to see to whom she was speaking. Looking for something--anything--to give her cause to speak with him, she grabbed a coin from her purse and tossed it on the floor casually.

"Yew dropped somethin'."

She bent forward and half the male population of the bar leaned with her. Seizing the coin, she stood up and walked to to the tall, dark stranger, a slight smile on her lips. "He'uh. Ah do believe this fell from yo'uh pocket when yew passed by." She winked and smiled.

Noticing he was uncomfortable with the attention, she came to the realization that the man was Indian. Bitting her lip, she hoped that he would not think her some white woman mesmerized by his mystique. Feeling the eyes of every patron upon them both, she spoke loudly enough for nearby gossipers to hear. "Walk me t' my carriage, s'uh. If yew will."

Lacing her arm through his she turned toward the door. Suddenly she remembered her diary lay open upon the table. "Oh! De'uh me! Excuse me one little moment. Ah left my book on the table." Unattaching herself from him, she "hustled her bustle" to the table, grabbed her diary and pen, then rejoined the stranger and took his arm again.

"Now, Ah am ready...Let's go outside fo'uh some fresh ai'uh. Maybe we'll have a bit mo'uh privacy an' we can chat." She smiled again and began to walk to the door. As they approached, she stopped and waited for him to open the door for her. She was all about manners and what is acceptable...which is why she found herself in a very uncomfortable situation. She looked up at the man and smiled. Purring softly, she spoke her greetings. "My name is Isiladura. Ah know it's ha'hd t' say. If yew'd like, yew may call me Isily." Her large, brown eyes twinkled as she looked at the man. For some reason, she found herself captivated...

Perhaps it was the sense of adventure--he was forbidden to her. She was being courted by another. This man was Indian--an outcaste, but in her mind, she was as well. She had few friends and fewer suitors. She did not really love Jefferson, but he was there to court her and her parents liked him well enough...

She could not introduce them to this man, however. The horror on her mother's face lept to her mind. The anxious trigger-finger of her father made her shiver. Yet, the gentleness she saw in the hands of this new stranger intrigued her. The prolonged silence, however, had her unnerved. Perhaps she had forgone her upbringing and shown herself too forward? Quickly her eyes dropped to the floor and she folded her hands in front of her...waiting...
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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"Yew dropped somethin'."

Everything inside him stilled at those words. He cautiously looked back over his shoulder to see her picking up what appeared to be a coin. A coin he knew he had not dropped. Before problems could erupt his eyes diverted so that only his profile was too her as she approached.
Her accent was as attractive as she was, but being seen like this with her was asking for trouble. Reluctantly Dillon held out his hand for her to drop the coin into then nodded, making sure he kept a respectful distance.

Before he could move however she was coming up with another sure-fire method to get him even more attention. Walk her to her carriage. He almost groaned. None of this thoughts or feelings reflected on his stoic face. Dark eyes imperceptibly glanced around the room to make sure this wasn’t creating a disturbance among those there.

Much to his relief, outside of a few curious observers, most were ignoring their interaction. It wasn’t until she returned again and stood waiting at the door that he realized there was no avoiding whatever she had planned. Dillon reached out and opened the door, still not speaking or responding to her introduction.

It gave him little satisfaction to see the beginning of discomfort in her face. “Dr. Dillon Cloudhawk.” He said as he followed her out into the night air but only after closing the door firmly behind them. “What you did was very foolish. While you might find it ‘exciting’ to have your honor protected from a ‘Injun”, I have no desire to be on the receiving end well meaning white men.”

His words were low and tinged with lightly veiled sarcasm. “Miss…. Isiladura. Whatever entertainment you are looking for, you will have to find elsewhere.” Dillon refused to entertain any attraction he might have felt, two fold reason, his vampiric state, and his heritage. Yet when he looked down into her face, he found it almost impossible to not ‘feel’ .

Impatience and anger at himself filled him. “Walk.” He murmured. “Standing here talking like this isn’t healthy. So please…walk.”
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Isiladura
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He finally spoke and to her ears, 'twas a melody so sweet.

His voice, anyway. The tone held captive by it, however, screamed of repressed anger and bitterness. Isiladura's brow furrowed in confusion and thought as he spoke. She mulled his name over in her mind, Doctor Dillon Cloudhawk. But the reprimand came quite quickly.

"What you did was very foolish. While you might find it ‘exciting’ to have your honor protected buy an ‘Injun,' I have no desire to be on the receiving end of a well meaning white man."

Isiladura blinked. What had she said?! Her brow furrowed more deeply and she looked to the street trying to remember. Had she pointed out he was an Indian? Had she asked him to protect her honor? She opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off before she could start.

“Walk. Standing here talking like this isn’t healthy. So please…walk.”

"Well, at least this time yew said, "please," she quipped and turned to start walking. "Yew know, the only reason Ah told yew t' walk me outside when Ah did was Ah noticed yew were uncomf'table in the'uh. That, Ah will have yew know, m' good doct'uh, is when Ah even noticed yew was Injun." She stopped, turned to face him, crossed her arms over her chest and assumed a pouty face. “Besides all that…Ah don’t even have a carriage out he’uh. We just arrived not mo’uh than an hou’uh ago. Ah am not from A’hlington—in fact, Ah’ve nev’uh been he’uh. Ah am from Savannah, Geo’uhgia. Anyway, Ah had yew join me out here so’s Ah could talk to yew. Yew a’he the fu’st person Ah’ve seen he’uh that even looked remot’ly int’restin’ t’ talk to. Besides, one day Ah will write a law that says a g’uhl can talk t’ any boy she wants.”

She stopped yammering for a moment, still pouty and still with her arms crossed in front of her. She watched Dillon carefully. She had now become suspicious. And that intrigued her. You will be mine, she thought. Ah gair-on-tee.

It suddenly occurred to her that he said it was not healthy for the two of them to stand outside and chat. She found that statement quite odd as the night was chilly, by her standards, and she hadn’t an evening jacket.

“Ah do decla’uh! It’s right cold out he’uh. Yew said it was unhealthy t’ stand in one place an’ talk. How is this healthier? Ah’ll catch my death of cold out he’uh.” She paused and eyed him coquettishly. “But then, Ah s’ppose, that would give me a good cause t’ call for yew, now wouldn’t it?” Her coquettish grin turned into a smile and she turned her back to him and began walking forward into the cool night air.
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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She couldn’t be that dense. Was his first thought as he automatically walked along side her. However as he looked at her expression and into her eyes, Dillon realized she really didn’t understand what it could mean to be an Indian in a white man’s world. He wondered if she was deliberately blind or sheltered.

A small smile threaten to curve his lips as she prattled on about where she was from, her choice of who she talked to and then the coolness of the night. Dillon didn’t ‘feel’ cold or hot, for that matter he hadn’t given much thought to those things since becoming a Tremere. His eyes noted her clothing and with a small sigh he stopped and set down his black bag then took off his suit jacket and carefully placed it about her shoulders.

He tossed back his long hair, which was worn in a loose pony tale. It was tied back at the base of his neck with a leather cord; which was out of place with his conservative dress. He wore dark brown slacks and white long sleeve shirt, with matching brown suit jacket and boots. Habit had him keeping a knife tucked away, but accessible in his left boot. Satisfied she was provided warmth he picked back up his bag and began to walk again.

“Do you have slaves?”

While his question seemed to come from nowhere and was unrelated to anything she had said, it was very deliberate. Dillon looked down at her with a raised eyebrow as he waited for her response.
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Isiladura
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Isiladura stopped. Such a gentleman, she thought. Coyly, she looked at him and smiled. "Why, thank yew, Doct'uh." She giggled a bit and pulled the jacket around her shoulders. It smelled very earthy--much like she imagined he smelled. She took a deep inhale and closed her eyes, smiling a bit as they walked along.

"Do you have slaves?"

She blinked, jolted suddenly from her reverie. "Slaves?" She craned her neck to look at him. Something was not right with this line of questioning; she could sense it. "My family owns slaves." She left out the ownership deliberately. She detested the idea of "owning" another human. She was brazen enough to even make jokes about it in public. Somehow, she knew that society would advance to the point where the color of a person's skin made no difference. She just hoped it would be in her lifetime. "Ah have s'uhvants...an' if yew must know, they a'uh both black and white. Ah treat them with respect and they love me fo'uh it." She smiled victoriously and cuddled into his jacket. "What about yew? Do yew own slaves?"

Her large, brown eyes were sparkling in the starlight. But, they remained transfixed on her new object of desire. She knew if her mother saw her talking with one such as him, she would pitch a fit.

Her mother. The woman was driving her bats. "Yew need to marry, da'hlin'. Yew a'uhe gettin' up in years. Why, yew are almost 25! And yo' still single....Ah want grandchil'n!” No one ever seemed to ask Isiladura what she wanted. It seemed no one cared. She did not necessarily even want to be married. Sex was not “sacred” to her as it was to her parents. She, however, was a lady and never mentioned of any sexual encounters—not that she, to this point, had had any. She did, however, kiss Jefferson one night in a rather passionate manner. It went only a little further, but he—yes, he called it off. Most likely out of fear of her father.

Her father regarded infidelity about as much as he regarded breathing. It was just something he did. And this trip to Arlington was no more for family vacation and land prospecting than it was to find a surly prostitute and have his way with her. Isiladura and her brother Anthony were to come along and keep their mother company. But, how could the young girl tolerate such restrictiveness? She was highly progressive in her thinking and sought out positions of impact—on society, in her church, where ever leadership needed to be. Oft times she was ridiculed and shunned by those of her own age and especially by those of the opposite gender. That Dillon conceded to speak with her startled her. Her father made sure to keep the fear of God (or at least, himself) in the hearts of any young man that would speak with his daughter, as well. Upon their first meeting, he would often take the young man to his gun cabinet and show them the rifle he had cleaned, loaded, and cocked. “…In the case of any…inappropriateness with m’uh daughte’uh. Ah am c’uht’n yew unduhstan’.” Invariably, the young man would swallow, nod, and never speak with Isiladura again.

All the turmoil within stirred in her expressive eyes as she stared up at Dillon, anxiously awaiting his answer.
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Garith Monroe
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Regent-Ft. Worth Chantry
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The journey into Arlington had begun at VMI, where he had been granted leave to accompany his Father on a business trip. As a boy, he had enjoyed the trips, seeing them as an escape from his mother and older sister's doting eyes and attentions that no male child should have to endure.

Yet, endure them he did, as his Father often reminded him that it was a mans' duty to be longsuffering and patient with the fairer sex. Now, astride the dapple grey gelding, his Father riding his favorite roan mare, the two Sothron gentleman had made the journey in at an easy pace, neither pushing the horses or themselves too hard. Accompanying his Father in the wagon was his family's long-time friend and business partner, David, a darkie his Father had purchased long before Garith's birth from a villianous owner.

David was nearing forty now, Garith reckoned, and had taken lessons under Mrs. Monroe's tutelage. Once David was proficient in cyphering, reading and the cathecism, Logan Monroe had handed David the papers declaring him a freeman, along with an offer to earn a sweat equity partnership in the fledgling Monroe Enterprises.

The two men had worked hard at the business and it soon was one of the larger importers of fine goods from the New England states, England, France, Spain and the West Indies. David had bought land for himself, built himself a fine homestead and, with Logan's help, purchased and freed the woman he married and settled down with. David and Rachel's children had begun their early education, along with Garith and his sister, in the Monroe's front parlor.

The conversation had been both serious and light-hearted throughout the journey and as they arrived in Arlington, Garith's attention turned to the people and buildings they passed while his Father spoke business with David.

Drawing to a halt in front of the hotel, Garith dismounted quickly, taking the reins of his Father's steed which were tossed to him and then catching hold of the bridle of the nearest horse to him of the pair that were harnessed to the wagon. It would be his job, as it had been since he was old enough to accompany his Father, to see to the care of their animals while his Father and David secured them lodgings for their stay and decided where to have their first meal in town.

Following the meal, David would disappear for a while, returning to meet them later with bundles he had procured for his family. Logan would arrange business meetings to cover the next few days. And Garith, as a child, had been free to wander and explore with the proviso that he, "Mind his manners and his character."

Now, as a VMI cadet soon to graduate, he was keenly aware that eyes were on him not only as a representative of his family, but also as a cadet of the prestigious school. At some point, his Father would expect himself and David to join him in the meetings.

But this first day would be mostly spent on his own.

After tending to the horses and then meeting his Father and David for dinner, he had headed out in search of a bookseller. From the age of thirteen, he had taken to discovering the world books opened up to him. And while owning many by any one person was something not common to his day and age, by the time he had left home for VMI, he had begun building his personal library, something his Father called an "excess" and his Mother refered to as his "little eccentricty".

He had been fortunate at the booksellers. A reprinted volume of Augustine's The City of God in the original Latin text. It was not his habit, generally, to read while walking as that led one to be careless and unaware of their surroundings. So he had paused under a street lamp to open the book and begin reading a bit of it just outside the bookseller's shop. Becoming immediately engrossed in the style and commentary of the great Apoligest, he took a step, and then another, without realizing it, tipping the book this way and that to catch the passing light from the artificial illumination afforded by the lamps. He stopped reading and looked up as he ruminated on the words he had just read just in time to avoid walking straight into the back of a man slightly taller then himself, well-dressed, and carrying what looked to him like a medical satchel.

He side-stepped as he smoothly closed the book and drew it to his side with one hand, judiciously and narrowly missing a collision with the man who, he then noticed, was in the company of a very attractive young woman.

Tipping his cap to Isliadura as he continued on his path past them, he then nodded to the gentleman in her company, only then taking notice of his bronzed reddish skin.

Ma'am. S'uh. P'ahdon me.

He continued on his path, only glancing back once he was well past them and smiling faintly to himself as he then looked back down at the treasure in his hand. He thought them an odd pair, even for a progressive city like Arlington. And while he bore no prejudices, his time at VMI and his youthful years of travel and overhearing much warned him that someone may well take exception to the striking young white woman being in the company of the Indian gent, no matter how well educated the man may be.

"Massa Garith, Mista' Logan sent me to find you."

He turned back and stopped short as he next nearly ran smack into David.

Is somethin' wrong, S'uh??

"Oh, no, S'uh! Mista' Logan says tell you ou'ah firs' meetin' in the mornin's bout 8 and we's headin' ov'ah to the theat'ah whe'ah some strings is playin' Chopin o'ah somethin'. Wantin' to know if you wants to come 'long?"

He smiled at the invitation and at David's speech. David's level of education was well hidden behind the way he spoke. It was something his mother had never quite been able to get David to understand. He was capable of reading the English language with a fluency and beauty in his baritone voice that was melodic and strong. Yet his everyday speech was, according to his Mother, much as it had been when they had first brought David into their home as an uneducated, mistreated young man not much younger then his own Father.

Tell m'ah Fath'ah thank you but Ah will decline this evenin'.

Holding up the book slightly, he gave David a sheepish grin, the older black man grinning right back in understanding.

"Aw'right, but you knows how you'ah Pappy feels bout you and them books."

Garith laughed and nodded, taking his cap off and swiping the heel of the same hand back along his head and then replacing the cap.

Yes, S'uh, Ah know. Thank you, David.

The dark-skinned man hurried off about his business and Garith watched him go, watching as David passed by the same couple Garith had nearly collided with.

Seeing them again, he had an almost sense of something pending, as though trouble might befall them at any moment. Taking up a position on a bench under the nearest street lamp, he opened the book and began reading again while keeping a distant eye on the situation with the Indian gentleman and the white woman.

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Dillon Cloudhawk
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He nodded to the young man who passed them stepping over to make room. Even here out in the open walking like this, they would be under scrutiny. It made Dillon uneasy, though non of that showed on his face.

He paused bringing their walk to a halt, nodding again as another gentleman passed, the responded. “Hardly. And, since your family DOES have slaves, I find it hard to believe that you do not understand the implications of being seen with me like this.” His eyebrow rose again. “Unless you are a woman that enjoys the thrill of seeing a man of another race beaten for daring to be with you.”

Dillon wasn’t unaware of the watchful eye of the youth that had passed them. He wasn’t sure what the young man thought, or would do. Arlington liked to think itself a progressive city, but as with many southern states, it held onto old prejudices of status and color of skin for its ranking.

Cherokee born, he had a status in the community only through his white father. Dr. George Tompkins. He was a well-respected member of the city, and his idiosyncrasies, as in having an adopted Indian son, was overlooked. Dillon often thought that once his father passed away, those ‘privileges’ he was afforded would suddenly vanish.

He had little knowledge that he was already making a name for himself, as not ‘that Indian’ doctor, but as a fine gentleman and a physician. His own prejudices tended to cloud his vision, which his father told him on many occasions that was the problem.

Dillon glanced back to the young man noting him apparently reading his book under the glow of the street lamp then looked back down at into the beautiful brown eyes of Isliadara as he awaited a response.
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Isiladura
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She wasn’t sure if she was having a good time or not. Nonetheless, Isiladura was a fighter and she always got what she wanted. Right now, she wanted Dillon.

As they walked, she began to think. Dillon and Isiladura Cloudhawk. She thought she right liked the sound of that. She smiled as they walked. When they stopped, she looked up at him, then glanced behind him. Someone was coming.

“P’ahdon me, ma’am. S’uh.”

Isiladura smiled and nodded her head. It was customary in Savannah. Those people were so cloistered and so stuck on themselves it was no wonder Isiladura fought until she won. She had to. She was, after all, the best. She looked back up to Dillon as the other man walked by.

Isiladura listened to him talk. She smiled sweetly, demurely as she listened. Finally she tilted her head to the right and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Yew know what Ah think?” She began. “Ah think yew a’he afraid. Ah think yew a’he afraid yew will be burned at the stake because yew’s out he’uh talkin’ with me. Ah also think yew a’he afraid that Ah will seduce yew and then leave, braggin’ about how Ah bed the Injun man. Well, s’uh. Yew a’he wrong on both counts. F’uhst of all, if anyone is wantin’ t’ hunt yew down and h’uht yew because of me, well, they have anoth’uh thing comin’. They will have to h’uht me befo’uh Ah will allow them to even git close to yew.” Here she stepped closer to him and smiled, placing a delicate hand on his chest. “As for seducin’ yew then braggin’ ‘bout how Ah bedded an Injun. Well, s’uh. Ah am a lady. A lady tells nothin’. Besides, Ah didn’t lie to get yew out he’uh alone for just one night.” She winked and dropped her hand to his stomach, lightly, and began playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. Glancing around Dillon, she noted the young man who had passed them earlier. He was ordinary in her mind. But, familiar—perhaps, she thought, he reminded her of Jefferson. She looked back up at Dillon.

“Yew think Ah am stupid, don’t yew. Well, s’uh, just because someone thinks a little bit diff’rently than the rest don’t make them stupid. Yew watch. The’uh is comin’ a time when the Injuns, the blacks, and the whites will all co-exist as equals. That, m’ dea’uh Doct’uh, is how things should—and is gonna—be. Even if Ah have to go to Washin’ton, Dee-c m’self. Now. Enough o’ my silly ramblin’s. Ah dragged yew out he’uh, frankly ‘cause yew fascinate me. Ah admit, Ah’ve nev’uh seen anyone quite like yew in my life—white man, Injun, or black.” She was rambling. She knew she was. She was getting nervous. Nervous that this man would turn around and walk away from her and never see her again. She weighed over carefully as she rambled if it came down to a choice if she would choose Dillon or Jefferson. In the span of about five minutes, she made up her mind. There was only one logical choice.

Dillon.

“Do yew want children?”
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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“Do yew want children?”

Gone was the stoic Indian as he stared at her with something akin to stunned shock flickering across his face and filling his eyes. Slowly he blinked then struggled to gather his wits back about him.

Did he want children? Hell of course he had, once, long ago. But those days were gone, as well as his ability to reproduce. His vampric state compensated him for the loss of mortal life and children, he was satisfied with the trade offs he received. But, like most women she wouldn’t understand that, nor understand that for him, there were other ways to have children, childer… Though even in that, there would be a distance, as the one he took would be more blood bound to the Tremere as a whole and not just him. As his composure re-asserted itself Dillon weighed her for the first time as more than a flighty white woman looking for adventure.

She had strange ideas, ideas that he had heard before, but from men of his acquaintance. She had a quick wit, and a bold mouth, both of which he found attractive and intriguing, and perhaps something the Tremere would be interested in. He would recommend she be watched for the possibility of entry to their clan.

Dillon sighed and shook his head as gentle amusement filled is own dark eyes. “No, I don’t want children, most certainly not half-breed children.” It would be for the reasons she may or may not think, but it was honest, to a point. ‘As for the other…” He trailed off and shrugged, his innate honesty wouldn’t allow him to discount what she had said, though he didn’t have to verbally agree with it either.

“Please accept my apologies for offending you. I did not mean to suggest you were anything other than a lady.” It was only then that he finally realized WHERE her hand was. Quickly he grabbed it and pulled it away from his shirt. “Stop that.” He hissed taking a step back. “My god woman, didn’t I just tell you…”

Dillon stopped realizing HE was attracting attention, if from no one else defiantly the young man on the bench. His head dropped for a few moments as he once again gathered himself. Then slowly he raised and expressionless face to her. “I don’t think you are stupid, far from it, but facts are facts, what MAY happen in the future, is not what is our reality today. It is to your benefit and to my health that our being seen together cease.”

Dillon felt a strange pang at his own words but refused to examine them or examine why. “I am sure there are plenty of white ‘respectable’ men around that would be thrilled to escort a beautiful woman such as yourself. You would be better off asking one of them to walk with you.”
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Isiladura
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"No, I do not want children. Especially not half-breed children."

Her brow furrowed. She hadn't actually thought of that. "Oh," came her soft response. But, it was not for long that her head remained lowered for in an instant the raging "heathen" he seemed to believe himself to be leapt out from within his chest as he seized her wrist and stepped away from her.

She jumped back, fear for the first time heading her features. Drawing her arms up in front of her and turning her face to the left, she closed her eyes, half expecting him to hit her. Her father would have done such a thing.

"Ah-Ah-Ah'm sorry..." she stammered. Quickly she turned away from him, cuddling up tighter within the warmth--and smell. Her large brown eyes filled with tears. Tears of memories of her father and Jefferson, tears of embarrassment, tears of sadness and loss. Her chin quivered as he spoke his words to her.

“I am sure there are plenty of white, ‘respectable’ men around that would be thrilled to escort a beautiful woman such as yourself. You would be better off asking one of them to walk with you.”

"Sh'uhe the'uh a'he. An' they a'he all bohrin' as the day is long." Turning to face him, tears spilling over her cheeks, she dared to take a step closer to him. "If Ah had wanted to walk with any body othe'uh than yew, don't yew think Ah would have?" She reached a hand out of the jacket and whiped her face, sniffed, then dared to enter a staring match with him.

"Yew wouldn't be able to handle my truth. Believe it or not, Ah don't want chil'ins either. But no one eve'uh both'uhs to ask me what I want." Isiladura stopped and looked to the ground and sighed. "Maybe yew a'he just like all the oth'uhs..." She stared at the dirt street for a moment, then squeezed the jacket tightly around her once more and took a slow deep breath through her nose, breathing in the scent. Opening her eyes, she stared at Dillon squarely in the face and took the jacket off without pomp or ceramony and held it out at arms length for him to take, should he want it.

"Ah s'ppose Ah's wrong about yew. When Ah saw yew walk in tonight, the'uh was sumthin' about yew that made me look up an' take notice. Ah though yew was different. Ah reckon Ah was mistaken..." Her voice trailed off and she stood staring at him.

Her heart raced. Somehow she knew that if he turned and walked away from her, she would have to fight tooth and nail to find him again. But she would do it. She would prove to him that she was not some saddle-brained girl from Savannah who liked the thrill of entertaining men of a different color. She would prove to him that she always got what she wanted. Some how...some way...

But right now, she needed to know where he stood. She need to see some sign--any sign--that he was just as interested in her as she was in him. He was quite stoic--expressionless--difficult to read. She watched him as a hawk watches its prey. The time had come. The moment was now.
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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Had he a beating heart it would have stopped. Her reaction to his pulling away infuriated him The rage that rolled over him in a heated wave wasn’t directed towards her but to the man that had struck her. He recognized the signs, it was one of the unfortunate things he did see as a physician. Batter daughters and wives not to mention ”ladies of the night” who often found themselves at the receiving end of a male’s fist.

Dillon found it ironic that it was the ‘civilized’ white man that raised his hand in anger against the fairer sex. His people revered life, and understood the unity needed between man and woman, it would bring disgrace to the man should he ever raise his fist towards his wife or child.

He listened in silence to her words, and watched helplessly as tears trailed down her silken skin. Nothing of his expression changed, he couldn’t afford it to. Her challenge to him, didn’t go unnoticed, but he had faced harder challenges more demanding ones that she presented. It was the tears, the depth of feeling in her voice and on her face that moved him.

Dillon knew he was probably going to pay a high price for his next actions, he wondered silently how high as he reached out and took the coat then stepped close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body.

The small back bag dropped to the walk by his feet as he gently swung the coat around her shoulders. His hands hesitated for a moment at the base of her neck as he pulled the collar of the coat towards itself under her chin. Slowly one hand raised and with gentle finger tips he wiped the tears off her cheeks.

“There will be consequences.” He murmured softly. “I wonder if you truly understand how ugly it could be…”

Dillon trailed off then stepped back and leaned over to once again pick up his bag. His met her gaze as he straightened, then looked around noting those about and also taking note of reactions. With a sigh he offered his arm and said quietly. “Lets return to the Hotel, its better to be seen in a crowd than found alone by someone.”
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Isiladura
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Part of her wanted to nuzzle her cheek against his hands as the brushed her face before pausing at the base of her neck. Her heart began to beat faster as she lifted her eyes to his face and his fingertips—soft and gentle—glided over her skin. A soft smile came to her lips and she sniffed a bit.

“There will be consequences. I wonder if you understand how truly ugly it could be.”

Isiladura smiled as she took his arm. Looking up at him coyly, she spoke. “Ah do und’uhstand, s’uh, just how ugly. But believe me, if Ah were not willin’ to accept the consequences, Ah would not have approached yew ea’uhli’uh.” She winked and him as they headed back toward the hotel. She glanced at the young man leaning against the pole. He was still watching.

As they past through the threshold of the establishment, the many patrons just went on about their business. The barkeep regarded them with a look of critical disdain, but said nothing and merely went about cleaning glasses. “Yew should take yo’uh coat, s’uh. It will cause less…attraction.” She slipped the coat off and handed it to him, allowing her flesh to brush against him as much as discretely possible. “But, if it’s not too much t’ ask…Ah would appreciate a token of yo’uh affection.” Her head lulled to the side and she looked up at him with her large, brown eyes and a coquettish smile playing on her lips. “Don’ wo’uhry. Ah’ll give yew a token of my affection, as well…”

She reached deeply into one of her skirt pockets and produced a bound leather book tied neatly with a black satin ribbon. She looked at it and looked up at him. “Come with me t’ my table.” She started walking forward and found a table with two empty seats. She seated herself and while she waited for him to either join her or, at least, walk over to her, she pulled out the pen and ink and opened the book and wrote in flourished lettering: “To Dr. Dillon Cloudhawk. A man of honor, mystery, and intrigue. Love Isily.” She set the pen down, blew on the ink, kissed the page, then closed the cover and tied the ribbon. Looking up, she smiled, waiting, wondering…
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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It didn’t get easier. He eyed the barkeep and sighed softly. This was a mistake. He knew it. Before he could change his mind, he found himself holding his jacket and watching Isiladura make her way through the tables to a vacant one.

Dillon draped the jacket over his arm and more slowly walked towards the fairly secluded table. He nodded to several business men that he knew as he passed, ignoring their smiles and knowing glances towards Isiladura.

He stopped and stared down at her silently for long moments weighing weather he should go or stay. Silently he placed his black bag on the table, then donned his jacket his dark eyes never leaving hers as he did so.

“A token?” He finally murmured as he drew out the chair and lowered himself into it. “I am afraid…” He eyed the paper suspiciously then looked back up at her, “That I have nothing worthy enough to give you.”

He had never met anyone like her before, and for the first time in memory he was at a loss on how to handle the situation. She was the forbidden fruit. One that was tempting him like no other, he titled his head then nodded to the paper.

“What is that?”
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Isiladura
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She smiled to him and pushed the book toward him. "It's my token to yew," she cooed. "It's a di'ry. Ah thought yew may want to write down things impo'tant to yew," she smiled and allowed the fingers of her right hand to linger on the cool black leather.

After some moments of silence, she spoke again, leaning over the table a bit. "Do yew like me?" She was entirely serious. She wasn't trying to be forward, she was just...direct.

What she did not notice, however, was that her mother had emerged from their room upstairs. Isiladura had lost all track of time. Her mother spotted her almost instantly. She noticed that Isily was with a man and her Mother smiled slightly. Her mother was always happy to see her with someone. It just meant the possibility of grand children.

Mrs. Divicci had her long, black hair down this evening. It had been in a bun, but the bun was untwirlled and it now hung over her left shoulder to about her hips, curling at the ends. With fluidity of motion, she approached the table where her daughter and potential beau were sitting, smile upon her lips.

When she was within about five feet of the table, she discovered that the man sitting with her daughter was not of the White man's blood, but rather...and Indian.

"Isiladura Regina Maria Divicci!" Her voice pierced through the bar as if Isiladura had performed a table dance...naked. "What in the name of God's Son a'uh yew doin'!?!"

Isiladura paled. She reluctantly tore her eyes from Dillon and looked to her mother, then looked around at the now silent bar.

"Moth'uh..." she said trying to calm the woman.

"Do not 'muth'uh' me, young lady! Yew git on up to yo'uh room!"

"Muth'uh!" Isiladura stood, stamping her foot. "Remember that 'condition' Ah told yew Ah was havin'? This nice man happens to be a doctuh an' he was tellin' me what Ah might have." She stared sternly at her mother.

Her mother looked from Isiladura to Dillon...then to the room full of on-lookers. She had made quite a scene and was now feeling more than a little embarrassed. "Well...then yew just finish up yo' convuhsation an' git on up to yo' room. It's nea'uhly midnight."

"Yes, Muth'uh."

Mrs. Divicci tossed a rather dispariging look at Dillon then marched herself back upstairs. The room remained silent until well after she had slammed the door. Isiladura was still standing, staring at the place where her mother had been. Her fingers were curled into fists and now, some small droplets of red liquid began to appear. She exhaled and released her now stiff fingers. Looking down at her hands, she saw the blood, then looked over to Dillon, her lips parted. She looked frightened.

"S'uh...Ah..." was all she managed to get out before she collapsed onto the floor.
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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Dillon looked down at the diary intrigued despite himself. He had never written down his thoughts or feelings before. He wondered if it would assist him in his studies at the Chantry. He smiled at her question, slowly understanding this was a facet of her personality, this outspokenness.

His dark eyes soften as they slowly caressed her delicate face. Then he inclined his head in a formal manor as he replied softly. “Yes, I like you Miss Isiladura. I have a feeling my life is never going to be quiet the same again however.”

A small teasing glint entered his dark orbs and played about his mouth, as he began to slowly relax in her company. Neither had the chance to appreciate the moment for suddenly a horrified female voice rose close by, effectively silencing the room.

Dillon forced himself not to react or give the appearance of guilt. Instead he slowly pushed back his chair and stood then faced the angry woman. That she was Isiladura’s mother he had no doubt, the resemblance was there. Of course her words also re-enforced that. Her reaction was nothing less that what he expected.

He didn’t say a word but watched the byplay between the two women silently. The last thing he wanted to do was add fuel to the situation by speaking.

Though surprised by Isiladura’s words he also saw the wisdom of them. He knew her mother was far from pleased with the situation. Dillon didn’t know if to be relieved or disappointed when her mother flounced away and went back up the stairs. It left both of them standing and open for the more than blatant stares they were getting.

He didn’t have a chance to react or say anything for as he looked back at Isiladura she paled and collapsed. Surprised Dillon became the doctor he had trained for, and quickly rounded the table to her side. He dropped to his knees and picked up her hand, his fingers expertly finding her pulse.

As other drew near he looked up and waved them back. “She has just fainted. If I could get a glass of cold water for her please.” He said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine white hankie.

A patron handed him the requested glass and with a murmured “Thank you.” Dillon dipped his hankie in the water then very gently touched it to her lips, then fore head. While he knew smelling salts would bring her around faster, he firmly believed in allowing the body to recover as naturally as it could.

It wasn’t until he saw the change in her breathing that indicated she was become more aware of her surroundings that he discontinued his ministrations. As her eyes fluttered open he pitched his voice in manor to where only she would hear and asked very softly. “Are you pregnant?”
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Isiladura
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Isiladura thought she would melt feeling him so close to her. Her eyes fluttered open and a smile gently creased her lips at seeing him. But then, he challenged her honor by asking her the question.

Pushing herself up, she whispered to him, "Of co'se Ah'm not pregnant! Ah'm still a v'uhgin." She looked into his eyes and searched them. She understood he was asking her out of a purely medical position, but that didn't mean she had to like the question.

"Why a'he all these people starin'?" She started to try to stand to her feet, then caught sight of the blood on her hands. "Oh...Ah s'ppose that would be why..." Sheepishly, she cimbed to her feet and back into her chair. Feeling all the eyes still upon her and the good doctor, she looked around, almost skiddishly, then stood back up.

"S'uhs...ma'ams. Ah am fine. Please, go back to yo' own business. Ah cin take ca'uh of my own." She plopped herself back down in her chair and the gawking onlookers--caught in their ogling--turned their backs and went back to their own...business.

Isiladura turned to Dillon, as if begging him with her eyes to sit down. She desperately wanted to at least arrange another meeting with him. She decided. She was smitten and there was no getting around it.

"Please, s'uh," she whispered. "Retu'uhn to the table and sit with me...let's have a drink o'uh two befo'uh Ah have to climb those stai'uhs to my p'uhsonal, livin' hell."
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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He wondered if she realized the inner strength she possessed. He saw the ire in the brown depths of her eyes at his question, but he also saw the truth. Dillon had already come to the realization she wasn’t a school child fresh from the class room looking for marriage, but past her teen years, which explained her more forthright attitude.

As she climbed to her feet he gracefully rose, one hand out, though not touching, but ready to assist should she need it. He too was extremely aware of the prying and curious eyes, but this time when she spoke it didn’t surprise him. In fact a small smile touched his lips as she dealt with the on-lookers, which he took advantage of by opening his bag and taking out a small bottle which he uncapped.

“I had not planned on departing Miss Isiladura.” He replied softly to her invitation to rejoin her. “Give me your hand please.” He continued as he drug the chair around so that he could sit closer to her. Dillon tipped the bottle against his hankie then held his hand out for her’s. “Lets get it cleaned up. You don’t’ need infection.”

His eyes slowly studied her face seeing the combination of determination and resignation. “Is it so bad. Do they mistreat you?” He asked softly. Was it her father that abused her, was that her hell. He had to know.
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Isiladura
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Her body felt like it was shaking. It was not. But, still. The idea of his flesh touching hers made her shiver with excitement. She looked at her hands and then to his and carefully--almost shyly--held her hand out to him.

"Is it so bad. Do they mistreat you?"

Isiladura blushed, bit her lip and looked away from Dillon for a moment. The ointment he was using stung her hand. She jerked her head slightly to the left and flinched, but held her hand steady.

"Mistreat me? Whatev'uh do yew mean by that?"

She knew exactly what he meant. But, how did he know? She hadn't any bruises. Her father hadn't hit her in over a week. Then she remembered. She had flinched when he pushed her hand away. Now, she was trembling. She did not fear much in life--except for her father.

"Please..." she whispered..."Don't say anythin'. He'll kill me, Ah swea'uh it. Please, let's talk about sum'thin' else." She shook her head and looked up to her Mother's room. The door was shut. She was certain her mother was asleep.

"What of yew? Yew a'uh so very in'trestin', Doctuh Cloudhawk. Yew seem to hold back what yew really want t' say fo'uh fea'uh of not bein' prop'uh and respectable." She stopped speaking for a brief moment and grabbed both his hands and drew her face near to his. Her dark brown eyes penetrating his, she stared into the pools of his eyes, then spoke softly. "Yew needn't fea'uh anythin' with me." She offered him a delicate smile then slipped her hands from his and turned back to face the table, expecting him to either pull in closer to the table, or move his chair to be across from hers.

"Ah would very much like to get away from this place..." she breathed out at last. "Ah don't ca'uh if my Muth'uh is upset. Ah am an adult. Ah am 24 yea'uhs old and can make my own decisions." She offered a half-way convincing smile. "What do yew think? Yew can show me around A'hlington!" She smiled widely, her pristine white teeth shinning through her dark lips and excitement in her eyes. "Oh, an' Doctuh Cloudhawk? Yew don't have t' be so fo'uhmal. Isily is right fine with me." She winked and discretely blew him a kiss.
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