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Arlington, Va 1859 (part I); CLOSED TOPIC - DO NOT POST
Topic Started: May 10 2005, 11:26 AM (383 Views)
Dillon Cloudhawk
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Tremere Primogen of Dallas
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The fear in her eyes tore at him. So he had been correct in his assumptions. Dillon was careful not to let the anger show through, knowing at this moment she would misinterpret it as directed towards her.

He automatically changed his tone into one he had learned to use when gentling a horse. Carefully he finished up cleaning the tiny cuts made by her nails and recapped the bottle. “I would never do anything to endanger you Miss Isiladura, and that includes confronting your father.” His gaze was compassionate as it lingered on her distressed face for a moment.

Then he turned and pulled his bag over, and placed the bottle and hankie inside. He heard her words of gentle rebuke about his prim and proper ways, but it wasn’t until her hands took his and she drew closer that she saw his reaction.

“I don’t fear you.” He replied softly, his eyes flashing with the depth of his tightly held emotions. “Perhaps it is you that should fear me…” He drew back putting a bit more space between them, but didn’t move his chair as he watched her as one would prey for a long silent moment.

She was bold for a southern woman, as open as a book, refreshing and yet dangerous. He could understand why his white male counterparts would be hesitant to commit themselves to her on a permanent basis. The wife you chose often enhanced your status or killed it.

Dillon had no such concerns, for his path was set and he had all the time in the world, literally, to obtain what he desired.

“It would be my honor to escort you around Arlington … Isily” His head inclined formally accepting her invitation. “I fear, however , it can only been during the evening hours. I am committed elsewhere during the day, a commitment I can not break.”

It was a known fact that Dr. Cloudhawk spent his days serving those on the reservation or in furthering his medical studies, and only in the evenings did he attend those in that needed a physician in the city. It worked out well, for many a nights doctors were awoken by a frantic family member to only find, that the child had croup or and elderly had a cold.

The fact they had a young man, who could tend to these type of needs and others so they could get their rest was welcomed by the few physicians that practiced in this growing city. None questioned when he truly slept not even his Indian brethren who also only saw him at night, assuming he took care of the whites during the day.


Dillon watched her silently, waiting for her decision.
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Isiladura
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Isiladura smiled as a faint, maidenly blush washed over her cheeks. Smitten she was by this heathen man. The "thrill" of bedding him did enter her mind--but not because he was of the "forbidden" flesh, but because he made her feel every bit of the lady--woman--she was. He was so gentle, so tender, so caring. Isiladura assumed he was that way because of his training, and yet, something told her that, had he selected another profession, he would remain as he was with her.

"The night suits me right fine, Doct'uh Cloudhawk. Oft times, Ah pre-f'uh it." She smiled and looked around the establishment, her eyes glancing back up towards her mother's hotel room. "Ah do belive Ah have struck upon an idea, s'uh. Why don't yew leave f'uhst. Ah will foll'uh when Ah think it safe to do so. That way we don't draw attention to ou'selves and we don't encite...a riot."

As she sat speaking to him, she yearned to touch his face, his hands--any part of him. She was almost breathless with desire--a feeling she had never truly felt before. Her eyes involuntarily watched her mother's door for the emergence of her would-be captor, but her eyes failed to watch the front door through which her father would be entering in short fashion.

And enter he did. Drunk. A pistol shot announced his arrival. Isiladura jumped up from the table, gasping and frightened. Her large eyes looked like those of a deer who has just been snared in a hunter's trap. Her entire upper body tensed as she stood there and she tried to hide herself in the crowd of people that were now looking to see who had fired the shot and why.

"Daddy..." she breathed out. "Dillon, run...please..." Her eyes plead with the man. She mouthed something to him, then breathed it out. "Ah'll meet yew later tonight...at the cent'uh of town..." She didn't know where that was, but she'd find it.

And her father would not get the chance to hit her or her mother any more. Isiladura was determined to make him stop. In Savannah, he was a "respectable" man with a pristine reputation. His cheating and his abuse were swept under the carpet, so to speak. Isiladura had become very good at masking the marks left by her father. Perhaps that is why she did not believe in "slavery."

Mr. Antonio Divicci caught sight of his daughter. "You!" He said in his slurred speech as he ambled over towards her. "You oughtta be upsta'uhs in bed." Isiladura took a few steps back, her head shaking slightly.

"Daddy, yo' drunk. Just go upsta'uhs now, like a good boy."

"No!" He raised his hand and Isiladura flinched. His blow landed on her left cheek. She nearly fell down, but she would not go down so easily. She breathed out as the pain slowly subsided and turned her head back to her father. She had her head lowered and glared up at her father from beneathe her brow. She didn't see, but her mother had opened her door and was now standing in horror at the top of the rail, looking helplessly down upon her baby girl and her brute husband. Tears poured over her face and a wave a shame filled her.

"Antonio, please!" She yelled from the top rail. Mr. Divicci looked up and saw her, his furry increasing.

"Ah thought Ah tol' you to stay inside, woman!" He lifted his pistol to pull the trigger but instead of holding aim on Mrs. Divicci, he turned the gun on Isiladura. "An' you. What a'uh you doin' up at this time o' night?" Bang! A bullet whizzed by her head. She took a deep breath, held her head up, and stayed her ground.

"Ah am an adult, Daddy dea'uh. Ah make my own decisions."

"You do as Ah say, young laday." Bang! Another bullet whizzed past her right arm.

"Ah do as Ah please an' if yew want t' kill me f'uh it, so be it."

Bang! Bang! Two bullets in rapid succession. One whizzed by, the other grazed her left arm. She whinced in pain and whimpered, but still she stood firmly.

One bullet left, Isily thought. "This tiame, Ah ain' gonna miss," he stated flatly with his drunken drawl. He walked up to Isiladura and put the gun to her forehead. The sound of a slamming door was all that was heard from Mrs. Divicci and dead silence in the rest of the room.

"Do it."
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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He was experienced enough to see the desire that rose up in her beautiful brown eyes. He had seen such expression before in a white woman’s face, but not quiet like this, there was something different there too. Dillon wasn’t comfortable with her suggestion of slipping away, if anything he felt it was better that he be seen openly, to protect her reputation.

It was time to slow things down, to let her know that IF anything were to become of this…..friendship? relationship? Hell he didn’t even know what to call it, that they needed to take it slower, and be more thoughtful in their actions.

Given that Dillon rose and moved his chair back around the table, it was during this move that all literal hell broke loose. He vaguely heard Isiladura to tell him to run. RUN? That took him aback, for he had no intention of leaving, let alone running anywhere. The Tremere didn’t’ have a chance to fully become offended as shots rang out, followed by a woman’s screeching from above.

Dillon didn’t carry a gun, for many reasons, and his first reaction was to cover Isily then find out who the hell was stupid enough to come into the hotel shooting. He turned in time to see the bold white woman step closer to the older male that was very obviously intoxicated.

Torn he watched as she addressed him as her father. Their position in the room put him at a disadvantage; he was now on the opposite side of the table with Isiladura several feet away her back to him, and her father facing her with little room between them. He was vampire, and with that came a few ‘tricks’ that mortals didn’t have, one of those was speed. However, it would leave him open an vulnerable to breaking the masquerade, unless something else could divert the attention of those staring and trying to make up their minds what to do.

Rage flowed through Dillon as the man struck his daughter, the words held no meaning as father and daughter confronted each other, nor did the bullets that flew by her and then him. Divicci was a dead man walking; he just didn’t know it yet. Hysteria broke out in the room, the mother still calling out, now others shouting and the barkeep pulling out his own shotgun yelling for the drunken male to stop.

Dillon carefully moved from around the table as Divicci grabbed his daughter and swung around to face the crowd, his gun pressed to her head. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone was glued to the taboo being played out before them.

He knew he didn’t have a choice; he couldn’t stand by and allow her to be killed. Though he faced his own retribution should the masquerade be broken, he valued human life, and this particular life he found he could not let be lost over such a thing as a drunken rage.

Fate sometimes had a hand in things, and thus it was that the lad he had seen earlier out side, worked with the fates as he came bursting into the room. All eyes that had been riveted upon Isily and her father automatically swung towards Gairth who came to an abrupt halt as he realized what he had stumbled into.

Dillon reacted and with a preternatural speed that no human eye could detect, he was at Isily’s side, the gun grabbed from her fathers hand and thrown to the floor, sliding to a stop by Gairth’s feet. The man himself swung around and hit with enough force that he crumbled to the floor at Dillon’s feet.

By the time everyone was once again focused upon Isiladura, Dillon had his arms about her and was guiding her to a chair. He began barking orders, though they came out calmly, there was no doubt he was in charge.

“Could someone please take Miss Isiladura’s father up stairs to his room, I will attend him later. I need some more light over here, and if any one of your ladys could please stay with Miss Isiladura’s mother, I am sure she would be more than appreciative.”

His eyes met Garith’s briefly. He wasn’t unaware that the lad was probably the only one that may have seen something unusual in what occurred. He nodded once then turned back to Isily. “Let me see your arm.” Dillon murmured gently.
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Isiladura
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Isiladura swallowed hard and let out her breath as soon as her father hit the floor. She was numb. All she knew was that her father had come close to killing her this time. She felt the strong, protective arms of Dillon around her shoulders, guiding her to her chair. Once she was seated, she stared straight ahead of her, then closed her eyes. Her lips pulled downward at the corners and she bent forward, burrying her face in her hands and resting them on her lap. Her body began to tremble, then shake with each silently sob she let out.

She didn't even hear the soft voice of Dillon--her now favorite doctor--requesting to see the wound left on her arm by her father's outburst. She was in her own world.

"I'll go upstairs an' tend to th' mother," one of the serving girls said. She was very plain looking, but had a scar on her face. Her firey red hair was pulled back, but the night had been long and many patrons drunk, so unintentional tendrils fell about her face. As she walked by, she regarded Isiladura with a look of sympathy and pity, then climbed the stairs to the room in which the mother stayed. Lightly, she knocked on the door. The door opened but a crack and the woman spoke in a soft voice. "Ma'am, my name is Annie. The Doctor thinks it'd be a good idea if I sat with you for a while." A few more soft words were exchanged, then Annie disappeared behind the door.

A few of the men decided the show was over, so they set down their drinks and reluctantly picked up the now-snoring man and carried him up the stairs to a different room than the one in which his wife and daughter were to be staying.

"Ah cain't...." Isiladura whispered out between sobs. "Ah cain't stay he'uh. Please....please don' make me stay. If yew won't take me somewhe'uh else...at least take me back to Savannah."

She took a deep breath and swallowed hard again. The pain was starting to come back to her cheek and arm. She sat up and looked over at Dillon. He seemed concerned. She looked down at her arm. "Oh...Oh, my gawd..." She looked to Dillon. She seemed so broken from her usually strong demeanor. Underneath her strong will and forthright facade, she was still a woman--a girl. It struck her that Dillon had asked her a question. She looked at her arm, then back to him, then whinced as the pain leapt to her cheek. She closed her eyes and spoke with a seriousness that seemed almost...unreal.

"Dillon...marry me. Take me away from all this. Ah know it's not a woman's place t' be askin' an' Ah'm sh'uhe yew think Ah don't know what's goin' on...but...just get me outta he'uh...please..."

Her voice was soft and tearful. Her thoughts muddied. Did she really understand what she was asking? She wasn't even sure. At this moment, all she knew is she wanted out. She wanted away from her family. Away from her living hell and with her only piece of heaven--her doctor. She didn't care what others thought anymore--not these people. They would understand, surely, if she were to go away with Dillon.

Sweat drops began to bead on her face, neck and chest. Her skin was cool and clamy. And...she was rambling.

"Heav'n...peaceful tranquility of life...do not leave me. Do not run from me...do not love me fo'uh any sake but that o' love..." Her voice began to trail off as tears fell from her eyes.
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Garith Monroe
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The couple had departed the street for the inn and he had placed his whole attentions on the book in his possession. Augustine's words fascinated and challenged and drove him to deeper consideration of those doctrines he had been so carefully schooled in, first by his parents, later by the Pastor.

He was lost in a particularly tricky Latin translation when the first shot rang out from the hotel. Slamming the book shut, he tucked it carefully into the inner pocket of his cloak as he rose, then took a halting step toward the place.

Had his earlier fears on behalf of the woman and her red-skinned escort come to fruitition?

As several more shots rang out, he began moving more decisively, walking at first then breaking into a full out run.

By the time he burst through the front doors of the hotel, he confronted a scene the likes of which he had no expected.

Patrons were drawn to the sides, the barkeep in the dining area had his shotgun trained on an unlikely pair-an older gent and the woman from earlier. A man and woman skittered out the door behind him as the eyes of the occupants fell on the newly arrived Cadet.

He was nothing if not observant and it didn't take but a fraction of a second to realize that the young woman was both bleeding and in dire straights, the older gent holding a pistol to her head.

What happened next he could not later recount in exact detail. But he knew he had never seen anyone move as the Indian medical man did. When all was said and done, he would attribute what he had witnessed to the Indian's training or some Indian lesson no white man was privy to. But as he watched Dillon Cloudhawk intervene on Isiladura's behalf, in that moment, he was not so sure there was not something ethereal or supernatural about the alacrity with which he responded to the situation.

His eyes briefly met the Indian Doctor's and he nodded only slightly in return. Some of the other people were still standing around gawking, while two of the men had gone to the side of Antonio Divicci and were casting disdainful looks Dillon's way.

An indian stirking a white man was about as favorably looked upon as a black man doing the same thing, regardless of the reasons. He also noted that none of the women present had made any move toward the stairs or seeing to the woman the Indian had refered to. More trouble was brewing over Dillon knocking Antonio out, the dark cloud that hung over the pair seemed to be gathering in more ominous companions.

Stepping further into the room, the cadet spoke up in a quiet yet firm tone, turning his attention directly at one of the woman standing around oogling the activity.

Ma'am, would you be so kind as to see to the woman the Doct'ah mentioned? Thank you

He spoke with the kind of quiet authority that demands his request be carried out, without question. So he did not watch the woman as she hurried away but turned his attention to the men. Moving closer to the men who were crouched down by Antonio Divicci but whose attentions were now on Dillon, he tapped the closest one to him on the shoulder.

Do you requi'ah assistance, S'uh, in seein' this gentleman to his rooms?

The man who was probably ten years his senior looked up into the fresh young face of the cadet and bruskly brushed his question aside with a "we can handle 'im". The two men turned their attention back to Antonio and shortly had him propped up between them and hauling him up the stairs.

As soon as the man answered him, he stepped away from them to look around the room. Some of the onlookers were turning away in embarrassment to return to what they had been doing before the commotion. Some were still eying the Indian as though waiting for an opportune moment.

Stepping over to the bar, he motioned to the bartender, speaking a little louder as he looked around the room again.

Drinks around, please, S'uh.

Reaching into his trouser pocket, he pulled out several bills and a few coins and placed what he thought would be enough money to cover a round of drinks for those present. Counting through the money, the bartender's eyes widened slightly and he uttered a hasty, "Yes sir" as he was suddenly inundated with drink requests.

Now that he had succeeded in drawing the majority of the attention off of the Indian and the white woman, he started in their direction when a new problem presented itself in the form of the town law enforcement and one of the patrons who has hastened out of the building just after Dillon had knocked Davicci's lights out.

As the town's deputy started in their direction with a "Hey, Indian, I want a word with you", Garith glanced at Dillon and Isi then intercepted the lawman.

S'uh pe'haps Ah can be of assistance in this matt'ah.

Thankfully, the VMI cadet uniform was readily recognized in these parts and the reputation of the Institute for turning out honest, fair-minded young gentlemen was well-established and so the lawman stepped off to one side with the cadet.

In hushed tones of earnestness, Garith explained to the lawman, to the best of his ability and based on the knowledge of what he had seen, just what had transpired, offering the lawman his personal assurance that whatever viciousness the Indian had been accused of was not only exagerrated, but anyone believing such untruths perpetrated as truth would have to be quite narrow-minded and called into question the progressiveness of such a fine city as Arlington.

The lawman for his part, whether convinced by the sincerity of the young cadet, or not wanting to be thought of as backwards and unprogressive, accepted the cadet's account and departed without further incident.

He was young, barely twenty, but his father's insistance that he be privy to business negotiations and roundtable discussions of everything from apologetics to science and modern technology had instilled in him the ability to generally turn any argument favorably his way by asking the right questions while not setting the other person on the defensive. This learned trait had proven quite successful as he had taken on leadership duties among his fellow cadets, and now was proving its worth in a far more delicate situation. And it would prove itself over and over again in future years in dealing with the Clan that would later embrace him, as Prince of a chaotic city, and as Regent in a city held by the opposing sect.

Walking over to where Dillon was ministering to the injured young lady, he stopped to one side of Dillon, removed his cap, and nodded to Isi, his eyes going to the work the Doctor was doing as he addressed them both.

Ma'am. S'uh. Is the'ah anythin' Ah might do to be of assistance he'ah, Doct'ah?
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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As much as he wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. One of them had to think of her reputation, and apparently he was the appointed one. Dillon accepted his bag from one of the patrons with a murmured “Thank you.” And as two more lanterns were set on the table he blinked and drew back.

“Thank you.” He said again, carefully pushing back the oil burning lamps, situating them where the light would be to his advantage. “If I could have some ice?” He quizzed without looking up, his hand already taking her chin and turning her head so he could see her cheek.

The rage he had felt at seeing her struck remained as he watched the bruise that was forming over her delicate skin. His eyes flickered at the drop of blood close to her mouth. Dillon took both her hand in his and said her name softly. “Look at me Isily” He said softly. He could see from the dilation of her eyes that she was in shock, both from the gunshot wound and the open confrontation. “It will be alright. I will get someone to stay with you. You don’t have to fear your father.”

He felt the tension of the room, and he knew that things were not over yet. He couldn’t afford to acknowledge them, knowing that the very thing he feared would come to pass if he did. It was either strike the man or kill him and of the two options, striking him was the safest.

Dillon was stunned by her sudden marriage proposal and quickly darted a look around to make sure no one else overhead them. It was then he noted the young man taking charge of the situation. His curiously was aroused, but first things first. “Isily, listen to me, you don’t realize what you are saying. I promise you, I give you my word, and your father will never hurt you again.”

Her father wouldn’t, for Dillon planned on paying the man a visit before dawn, and making sure he never awoke. He would be found in the morning, dead, perhaps it would be the drink that finally killed him, perhaps his heart failed. It would be a mystery, but few if any would ever morn the man.

“Let me tend your wounds.” He whispered turning the chair so he could have better access to her arm. Gently he tore the flimsy material away from the wound, relieved to see the bullet had no more than grazed her delicate flesh. He knew it hurt like hell, like all things, the less critical the injury, it seemed the more intense the pain. “There won’t be a scar.” He smiled at her, as he reached in his bag and took out the small brown bottle he had earlier.

“Its going to hurt for a while, and be tender, but you will be alright Isily.” Dillon looked up as Gairth spoke weighing the male before him before slowly rising to his feet and holding out his hand.

“Thank you.” Dillon said simply, acknowledging the roll the cadet had played in not only saving Isily but in diverting the law and the patrons from himself. “I am in your debt.” There was no doubt that the Indian meant every word he spoke. Glancing back to his patient and the woman that was worming her way into his life an heart, Dillon came upon an idea.

“I am Dillon Cloudhawk, this is Miss Isiladura.” He met Gareth’s eyes and asked softly, “If I could impose upon you one more time, would you see to it that Miss Isiladura is looked after and protected. I believe that the townsfolk would be more receptive to a …..cadet watching over her.”

He didn’t elaborate, he knew he didn’t’ have to.
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Garith Monroe
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He grasped Dillon's hand firmly and shook hands with the man, shrugging off his thanks.

Don't mention it, S'uh. Tweren't anythin' any true gentleman wouldn't have done.

"I am Dillon Cloudhawk, this is Miss Isiladura.”

Glancing over at Isi behind Dillon, he nodded again.

Pleas'ah, ma'am.

His attention returned to Dillon as the Indian quietly made his suggestion, Garith having no trouble in catchng his implication.

Ah'd consid'ah it a priveledge to watch out fo'ah Miss Isiladura, Doct'ah. M'ah name is Garith Monroe. Ah'm in town with my Fath'ah and his business p'ahtn'ah fo'ah a fo'aht night o'ah so. Oh, but...Ah am compelled by duty to accompany my Fath'ah on some of his meetin's.

His brow furrowed a moment as he considered the dilemna. He certainly understood the Doctor's concerns for the young woman since it was qutie apparent her own father, whose duty it was to protect his child, might well do her harm himself!

Nev'ah mind. Ah am su'ah when Ah have explained the circumstances to my Fath'ah, he will excuse me from the business of business this once.

As though on cue, his Father and David entered the lobby of the hotel, Logan Monroe whistling jovially one of the melodies they had just heard performed that evening. David caught a few blank looks as they passed, some people turning deliberately away. It pained Garith to see how people acted in the presence of the man whose children were like brothers and sisters to him and who he could, in a more progressive time, easily have called Uncle.

Pah'don me, just a moment, S'uh. Ma'am.

Excusing himself from Dillon and Isiladura, he walked over to his Father and fell into step with him as the elder Monroe and his partner walked toward the stairs. Logan Monroe was a man of principle and character, things he tried to instill in his own children. As Garith began quickly unfolding the events of the evening for his Father, Logan stopped dead in his tracks, his ruddy complexion taking on a deeper shade of red as he listened. Finally, he could contain himself no longer.

"What manner of monster treats any woman so! Let alone his own flesh and blood! Of course, of course. You have my complete agreement, my boy. Tend to this other matter and David and I shall just have to muddle through without your negotiating skills."

The elder Monroe clapped his son on the back and winked with the last statement. Accustomed to his Father's outbursts when something struck at the heart of his beliefs, Garith hid a faint smile, carefully maintaining his mask of concern and humble deference to his Father's intonations. After bidding each other "good night", Logan and David headed up the stairs to their rooms while Garith turned back to Dillon and Isi, the cloak fanning out slightly around him as he did. Walking back to them, his smile was warm and genuine.

As you no doubt ov'ah hea'd, the matt'ah is settled.

Looking over at Isi, he bowed formally.

Ah am at you'ah disposal, Miss Isiladura, fo'ah the duration of ou'ah stay in Ah'lington.
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Isiladura
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Her head lulled around on her neck as if there were no vertebra to support it. She whimpered a little bit. She heard his words...such soft, sweet sounds of sanity in her upturned world. Within, she could see herself trapped inside a glass box, banging on the walls and screaming, yet no sound would penetrate. She wanted these people--all these people to go away. How bigoted they were--even in such progressive times. How prejudiced. How biased.

The shock was beginning to subside and numbness was settling in. She could feel every bit of the pain, but she was starting not to care. She was used to pain. What hurt her more was the fact these people--these hypocrits--were the ones keeping her from the one man that saved her.

All over skin color.

She had learned to not like the white boys. Perhaps that is what caused her to look up at Dillon when he entered the room that night. Perhaps that is why she felt drawn to him. He was not of her "people." Jefferson never struck her. He had other ways of trying to hurt her. Manipulation....mind control...mental and emotional abuse. Sometimes, those wounds would take the longest to heal.

"Isily, listen to me, you don’t realize what you are saying. I promise you, I give you my word, and your father will never hurt you again.”

She heard the words as if they were coming to her from a great distance. Her lips parted and her face looked almost like that of a child's whose heart has just been broken. "...Ah'm not crazy, Doct'uh..." she whispered to him, although she was almost certain he did not hear her.

"It won't leave a scar." She smiled at him and tried to reach out her other hand for his, but he stood to talk to the cadet behind him.

She closed her eyes in a long blink to clear away the pain so she could see the white boy to whom Dillon was speaking. He seemed nice enough. Too nice in Isily's mind. She smiled to him faintly with all the charm of a Southern Belle put in a very uncomfortable social position.

He excused himself to go speak with his father and who she assumed to be their servant. She watched their interaction for a moment then turned back to Dillon. "Ah...Ah'm a might chilly..." She just wanted to have him near her. She was frightened, hurt, alone...and in very deep trouble. Her head started to throb from all the blood rushing violently to her swelling cheek. She closed her eyes in a drawn out blink again. This time, she opened them quickly and sat up straight in her chair.

"What manner of monster treats any woman so! Let alone his own flesh and blood!" Isiladura paled and looked as if she were going to pass out again. She looked around the room. Some where staring at her again. "Of course, of course. You have my complete agreement, my boy. Tend to this other matter and David and I shall just have to muddle through without your negotiating skills."

Isily sighed. First her father, now this guy. She didn't care what pedigree this youth had--he was white. She was certain she was growing tired of the so-called "Christian" men. She looked up at Dillon. "Please...don't leave me with him..." she whispered, pleading. She knew her pleas were for naught. Dillon lived in the present--the here and now. Isily lived for the possibilities--the future. She would force change on other people if she had to, but she would get what she wanted. "Fine...Ah will go with him, but only if yew come along...say yew a'he his p'uhsonal physician or somethin'--anything really!"

She stopped whispering quickly as she heard the young man approaching. "As you no doubt ov'ah hea'd, the matt'ah is settled," he drawled. She looked at him with fearful eyes masked with polietness as he bowed to her. She was, after all, Southern born and bred. "Ah am at you'ah disposal, Miss Isiladura, fo'ah the duration of ou'ah stay in Ah'lington."

She nodded and swallowed hard again. "No disrespect to yo' fine city, but Ah ruth'uh hope to be leavin' he'uh very soon." She eyed Dillon letting him know she was unhappy with this "arrangement" and began to rise to her feet, albeit quite wobbly. "Isiladura, as Doct'uh Cloudhawk has already info'med yew. Ah am from Savannah, Geo'gia visiting with my...family. P'ah'n my Fath'uh's behavio'. He gits like that whenev'uh he's had too much t' drink. Why yew all a'he lucky he didn't shoot no one. He has the best lawy'uhs the'uh a'he. He'd have gotten off with just a wa'nin'." She shrugged and looked at Dillon squarely in the eyes. "It's happened befo'he." She held his gaze for as long as permitted by their surroundings and then looked back to the Cadet.

"VMI, huh. Very prestigous," she leaned in to whisper to him. "But Ah am not impressed." Standing back up straight, she again tossed a look at Dillon. "Oh, f'uh Heaven's sake! Let's git from he'uh befo'he he wakes up and tries again!" She gathered up her skirts--and checked to make sure she had her diary, noting Dillon's still upon the table. She looked back to him then quickly to the table once he had her eyes, then to the Cadet.
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Garith Monroe
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Regent-Ft. Worth Chantry
Leadership
How would his mother put it? He smiled faintly as his mother's voice played in his mind's ear, "Bless he' heart, she'll make a fine showpiece on some gent's a'm if he can learn he' some sense."

Lacking the gentlewoman qualities he had come to regard as common traits among the Sothron women he had been around, she was brash, reckless, careless about who she endangered and what she said. She was demanding and presumptious, placing her own desires above the welfare of those around her.
And it was readily apparent by her statements about her Father that the fear of God was instilled in her where he was concerned, despite her bravado earlier in his presence.

His lawyers may have been quite the dandies in Georgia, but his reputation and his barristers would have gained him no favors in Virginia. Had he in fact shot one of the patrons, he would indeed be cooling his heels in the local jail rather then in the comfortable bed he now enjoyed. The disturbing thought that followed was that if he had shot Dillon Cloudhawk, an Indian in the white man's world, he probably would have gotten nothing more then a slap on the wrist.

"VMI, huh. Very prestigous," she leaned in to whisper to him. "But Ah am not impressed."

It was all he could do to supress the chuckle that threatened to rise. She may have been a few years his senior, but she had much to learn. He was indifferent to whether she was impressed by his schooling or not. His Father's training, the experiences he'd been afforded for one so young, and yes, even his leadship training at the school, had allowed him to diffuse what could have been a very ugly situation.

As she became a swirl of activity around the table, his gaze traveled to the Indian Doctor. Did this woman who seemed so fixated on the poor man have any idea of the risk she was putting Doctor Cloudhawk at?!?! Did she even care?

Or was he simply a means of drawing her Father's attention and ire as she sought a way out of what was apparently an ugly relationship.

As he stepped aside to make room for Isi and Dillon to pass, he met Dillon's eye as the doctor walked by him, shaking his head once very faintly as though in a manner of warning.

For all her beauty and tenacity, this woman, this Isiladura Davicci, could well be the death of the Indian man she demanded attentions from.

He fell into step with Dillon, his eyes on the woman just ahead of them as he whispered softly.

Providence has certainly blessed he' with he' fai'ah sha'ah of fo'titude.

He cast a brief sidelong glance at the Doctor, his warm smile holding a hint of the whimsical, before turning his full attentions back to the Sothron young Lady.
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Dillon Cloudhawk
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Tremere Primogen of Dallas
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It was almost through resign eyes that Dillon watched Isi. He knew she wasn’t happy with his arrangements, but they were sensible ones, ones that would keep both her reputation and his skin safe. The doctor in him wasn’t thrilled that she was already up and moving around, he would have preferred her to take her time and allow the shock to totally dissipate.

When it became apparent she was going to push forward he reached out and plucked up the diary she had given him and tucked it safely away inside his bag.
Dillon noted Gairth’s expression reading immediately the carefully guarded disapproval. What caught his attention was it was directed towards Isi and her actions. Life and circumstances had been wonderful teachers in reading people, no matter how carefully they tried to guard how they felt.

A small part of him was relieved. He had read the young man correctly, a part amused, for he too had similar thoughts about the young woman’s boldness. Unlike Gairth, however, Dillon found himself as a moth drawn towards a bright light, unable to resist the beauty before him, even if it meant he was burned.

As the turned and headed towards the stairs Dillon was cognizant of the eyes that watched them, some suspicious, some just curious. An involuntary smile crossed his lips at Garith’s comment and he nodded. “Agreed.” He murmured as they closely followed her.

“I would like someone to stay with both her and her mother tonight, if you could arrange that?” he slanted a glance to the youth. Dillon didn’t kid himself when it came to Isi and her reactions and thus when they reached the top of the stairs he called her name softly.

Dominance was part of his repertoire of vampirc ‘tricks’ though he rarely tried to use it. Making sure Gairth was out of direct line of sight he pitched his voice so that only the beauty before him could hear. Locking his eyes with hers he ‘encouraged” her. “Isiladura, I having Gairth as an escort during the day is for the best, it will make ME feel better to know you are being watched over. Rest tonight, and allow him to watch over you tomorrow. I will see you again tomorrow night.”

He held her gaze for long moments then turned back to Gairth. “Thank you again for your assistance. I am going to tend to her father, and then I need to see to other patients. I will see you both tomorrow night?”

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Isiladura
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Pouty and frustrated at not getting her way, the spoiled little princess marched up the stairs. She did not want to be at this place. She did not want to be anywhere near her father when he awoke--or her mother. Her father hadn't seen Dillon until he hit him. Maybe he wouldn't even remember...

Occassionally, she tossed glances over her shoulder at the two men. Her cheeks flushed. Were they talking about her?! What were they saying?? They thought she was a bad woman--she knew it. She fought back the stinging tears of anger that were rising to brim her eyes.

No, Isily, don' yew cry, now...Yew are strong'uh and bett'uh than that.

Reaching the top of the steps, she simply headed to the door to her room. As she reached for the knob, she heard the gentle, dulcet tones of Dillon's voice glide to her ears.

"Isiladura, I think having Gairth as an escort during the day is for the best; it will make ME feel better to know you are being watched over. Rest tonight, and allow him to watch over you tomorrow. I will see you again tomorrow night.”

Something didn't feel right. She narrowed her eyes and regarded Dillon with an odd look. She accepted what he said, yet...something seemed...odd. She shook out her head and just nodded to him.

"T'morr'uh night, then. G'night...Dillon," then looking past him, she regarded the youth nearby. "G'night, Cadet."

She smiled quickly and uncomfortablly at Dillon and opened her door herself, slipping into her room. She felt funny. SHe felt awful. She felt shameful. She curled up on her bed and began to cry. Reaching into the folds of her skirt, she pulled out her diary and opened it to the page where she had left off earlier in the night. Reading quickly over it, she decided to leave it alone, turn the page, and start a new entry.

Dear Diary,

Well, tonight was actually wholly eventful and I am quite certain to dream and nightmare about it for a long time to come. First of all, I arrived in this God-forsaken place and sat myself down to write. Well, a right fine man walked into my life and I know that he and I will be forever changed. I think, however, that my brazenness has, yet again, gotten me into trouble. The man's name is Dillon Cloudhawk--Doctor Dillon Cloudhawk. He is a very handsome man and one of the kindest men I think I have ever met in all my 24 years. I'd say he's nicer than Jefferson, but that really ain't sayin' too much. Anyway, he swept me off my feet, but he doesn't realize it. He's so handsome! Oh, did I mention he was Indian? No, I don't think I did. That would be our one draw back. This society would rather see its children sufferin' through miserable than be bound to a man of a different skin color.

Anyway. Momma caught me with him. She wasn't none too happy, but I think she'll like him. It was just the shock of seein' her baby girl with a man that wasn't the one they chose for me. Well...that Daddy didn't choose for me. Daddy likes Jefferson...and after tonight, I can really understand why. Daddy says I need to be tamed. That I'm a wild horse that needs broken.

He came here tonight. When he was done with his whore, he came here. Drunk. He fired off several rounds form his pistol--one of them grazed my arm. It's a good thing Dillon was there. He's so kind and gentle. Daddy held the gun to my head again. This time, though, I didn't beg. I didn't capitulate to his will. We were in a public place. And none of those white boys even lifted a finger to help me. Dillon did. And what happened? He was ridiculed for it! I wish there was a way he and I could be married.

Married...Oh, god. I think I asked him to marry me tonight...I was dilerious, but...still...that would be nice. I feel so stupid. So awful. So...guilty! Perhaps it was my fault that my daddy came in, gun blazing, and hit me. Still...I don't know. Oh, and before I came into my room, Dillon was bidding me goodnight, telling me that Garith would be watching over me...it almost felt the way it feels when Jefferson tries to get me to do what he wants...almost like a mind-control...

Love,
Isily
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