Hal's day had been, quite frankly, terrible. Cutler had completely refused to cooperate, Fergus was asking why they simply couldn't kill the solicitor yet, and Hetty had massacred an entire primary school. He closed the door to his office and turned to lock it, before hearing a rustling sound. He stiffened, drawing the smells and sounds of the room into his brain, separating and sorting them until he found the identity of the intruder. He relaxed, (visibly, he was sure), and turned.
"Hello Milord." Isobel was perched on the edge of his desk, demurely nibbling on what appeared to be a dish of ice cream. The rustling had apparently been her silk dress moving as she crossed her legss. Hal nodded in reply, removing his hat and coat and leaving them on the coatrack. He sauntered over to Isobel slowly, a predator to his prey. The closer he got, the more a sharp, warm scent entered his nose.
"Blood? On Ice cream?" Hal teased, leaning next to her. She uncrossed her legs, moving to the side for him almost subconsciously.
"I'm an innovator." Isobel said darkly, smirking and offering Hal a spoonful of frozen cream and rich copper. He closed his mouth aorund it, eyes never leaving hers.
"Mm, you're right, that's good." Isobel's smirk grew. "I'm having trouble with one of my recruits." Added Hal thoughtfully.
"Who, Cutler? I don't trust him." Isobel licked a swath of silver up her spoon. "Mm. There is something profoundly wrong with a man who will not kill his wife."
"I agree." Hal took both spoon and dish and set them on his desk. "But I'd like to test a theory." He took both of her hands, pulling her around in front of him. He pulled her arms out wide, pressing her into him. Hal kept his eyes fixed on Isobel's face. Sober, yet never quite free of that infuriating turn of the lips. She always seemed to be smirking, pale copper hair and blithe hazel eyess concealing a truly manipulative and murderous nature. A fascinating oxymoron that Hal rarely grew tired of.
"And what theory is this?" She breathed, traces of a French accent coming back into her tone the closer he came to her. He softly laid her back on his desk, watching as her hair pooled about her head and her pupils dilated to the point where her iris was obliterated and the whites of her eyes were in danger of the same. Her canines had sharpened, her breathing stilled, and her expression softened in it's intensity. Hal leaned further forward, lips brushing hers.
"Could you kill me?" He breathed, eyes fixed on Isobel's. She swallowed, seeing a predatorial glint in them.
"Only if you wished it, Hal." There. Isobel was, despite her mannerisms, stiffly formal when it came to names. Because she was born French nobility, Hal had long since decided that her need for proper name decorum was second-nature and impossible to break. She addressed the other Old Ones with an epitome of respect, other vampires by their given names. She was impeccably polite to both werewolves and humans alike. And Hal, she addressed as 'Milord', or if she was feeling familiar, 'Henry', but she only ever called him Hal when she was dead serious. Well, that, or infuriated, but he highly doubted her breathing was so shallow because she was angry.
"Hm." He hummed, satisfied, releasing her and stepping back. She appeared slightly winded, a bit disgruntled that he had done nothing else, and more than a bit puzzled.
"How can we judge Mr. Cutler for not killing his wife when we ourselves would not kill each other?" Hal asked thoughtfully, running his fingers down his chin, though any beard he once had is now long gone. Isobel blinked, startled, then huffed a bit.
"I take it you dislike my answer?" Hal asked bemusedly. Isobel shot him a masterfully disdainful look.
"Obviously."
~*~*?/(1955)/?*~*~
"Greene!"
"What, sir?"
"We're out of coffe, PC Greene."
"It's not my job to get you coffee, sir."
"Yes it is."
"No. It definitely isn't."
"You're a girl, Greene. It's definitely your job to get me coffee."
"Piss off, sir."
~*~*~*/(2011)/*~*~*~
"Hi." Tom said cheerily to the girl staring awkwardly at him. She was a new worker at the cafe, and she had yet to introduce herself.
"Hiiiiiiii..." She said, warily drawing out the word and looking him up and down concernedly.
"I'm Tom." He stuck out a hand.
"Louisa..." She replied, taking it gingerly.
A/N: So, there it is. I reread the chapter and realized how horrible and insulting it was to the rest of the story. So I fixed it. Review, please?