#* aviv

"you have to admit, it's a little weird.," finally she slowed down, the miniature tirade she'd spiralled into upon finding Aviv in the crowd - a distraction which only held purpose enough to keep her own eyes from wandering. "pimping out dates all for the sake of the kids.." as if half the people here couldn't simply donate regardless. "one lucky fuck for the children or whatever."

The second that she heard the door handle rattle, the small blade in her hand loosed from her fingers, embedding itself in the door frame just as familiar features appeared and the door opened back on it's hinges. Perched precariously on the two back legs of the chair, Isla did little more than grin - a lopsided smile that held more taunt within it than anything else. "You're late." Was he? She didn't really know - nor care much, but left to her own devices for anything longer than a few minutes and the blonde; who'd grown too used to solitary, began to tailspin. And truthfully, that was never good for anyone. Isla wasn't exactly certain when it had happened, but somewhere between the Russian's descending on London and her incarceration, the blonde had found far more in common with the Rutherford's allies. Their chaotic volatile ways only proving that her own were just as necessary in this war. And Aviv? Had quickly become her favorite. Perhaps he wasn't late - but she was bored. Mindlessly numb from having to sit by and watch everything happen around her while she twiddled her fucking thumbs. "Oh, and you're out of vodka."