Robert wasnât sure if he was surprised that she accepted the offer, he figured a young girl seeing an old man like him coloring by himself would probably make her RUN the other way. ( Needless to say, Robert didnât have much experience interacting with women outside of Nikitaâthe corps was a boyâs club practically by LAW. )  â  Bobby. Whatâs yours?  â  He gave his name easily, at least now he didnât have to feel too bad about not knowing her name either. Getting out of his chair, Robert rifled through a stack of coloring books in the desk drawer where he found the one full of cartoon kittens. Picking out two that didnât seem to be used too much, he glanced at her over his shoulder and held them up for her to see.  â  Butterflies or horses?  â
âDelilah.â She answered, settling herself down in the chair. âOr just Lilah. Nice to formally meet you.â It meant a lot to the young woman that she knew the names of her campmates and maybe even a little about them. She wasnât even half of the way there yet, however. It would help if any of them ever decided to come to her for advice or care. Glancing up at the coloring books he offered, she let out a small laugh. âIncredibly hard decision. Eh... Horses.â
Ashley had found some white fir from this very spot just before, although now she couldnât remember where exactly it had been. Slightly oblivious, as always, she continued to step through the area, feet crunching on a few leaves. She paused, to ensure nobody or nothing was following her, before setting about finding those damn leaves she needed. As somebody grabbed her suddenly, Ashleyâs mouth went open, ready to shriek, only to recognise the girl crouching down. âHe?â Ashley asks, voice imitating hers and dropping to a whisper. She peers up, spotting the bloody, staggering man. Ashley feels the blood drain out of her face. She had been so close, without even realising, like an idiot. âOh.â She sinks back down, next to the other girl, and lets out a shaky breath. âThank you. I.. I was careless. It was stupid. Thank you so much. You basically just saved my life.â At times like this, Ash wished she was a fighter. Then she could just pull out a blade and stab the thing. Gut it for all its worth. But⊠She wasnât that person.
It could only be from some kind of strange luck that Delilah hadnât been caught, what with her unassuming eyes and steady gait. She could see that the figure in the near distance was male, but what frightened her was that he didnât seem to be dead. Or rather... undead. There was definitely something wrong with him but he didnât seem to be one of the zombies which she had learned to fear so much. Whatever it was, it was making her wary and unable to get back on her feet to continue what she had been doing. The faint familiarity of the other girl comforted her just slightly, enough for the blonde to at least try and think rationally. âYouâre very welcome. I just... canât say weâre out of the woods yet.â She paused, anxious. âWould you stay here with me? He canât be stickinâ around too long, right?â
  â hey! â at this moment, oona sayer is nothing more than a MESS of platinum hair and rosy cheeks, jerking away from the fingertips that grab for her wrist â deep down she hopes not to offend, but physical touch is not something she often finds pleasure in ⊠not these days. but her eyes lift from the girl to the figure in the distance, blood-soaked and lusting for more. it wasnât all too unlike the dead that roamed among them. â i âŠÂ â sheâs not good with words but she hopes that huddling beside the other is an indication of thanks. who knows what kind of trouble she could have gotten herself in ( not that she couldnât get herself out of it, mind you. )Â
  â how long have you been here? â her question lacks personal motive or semblance of small talk : she simply wants to know if this person would be moving on soon. â i donât have time to wait. â
The other girl was familiar in the sense of looking into a mirror; the fair hair, the rosy skin -- the small build. A silly protective urge came over her because of it, even though it was probably likely that they werenât similar in any other ways. Not that it made Delilah want to save the stranger any more than all the other survivors she would meet. She certainly made a terrible job out of protecting herself. âAbout ten minutes. Iâm not sure what heâs doinâ or planning but Iâm hoping for an escape plan.â Concern passed over her features as the other mentioned she had no time to wait. âYou donât want to encounter him though, do you?â
âDeliââ The last syllable was dragged out of her mouth as the familiar blonde tugged at her sleeve, smile quickly disappearing from her full lips as she processed the fear written on Delilahâs. The brush was thick where she knelt, but Rhiannon wondered how much protection the cover of simply foliage could afford them. âWhatâs happening?â The thready voice replaced with the hiss of a leaking hose. âDo you know him?â Her brow furrowed so deeply, the finely shaped hairs threatened to crash into one another and Rhiannon felt along her waistline for her gun ( as if a soldierâs gun in the shaky hands of a prodigal girl was any threat against the man who wore blood like medals and glittering weapons like diamonds. The normal fear that paralyzes her must be shoved somewhere else if she means to survive with her friend. That scares her as easily as any threatening man.
Doubling back for another glance, Delilah began to realize just who she had dragged down with her. Should she feel gulity or safe? The last thing she wanted to do was get a girl she had newly been calling her friend into any kind of trouble. Not to mention that the sort they might be dealing with could very well be the kind that was hard to come back from. Dark eyes went back to remaining trained on the unruly male just ahead of them; feeling like her heart was bouncing in her throat. âIâve seen him before. Something doesnât feel right,â She couldnât help but get the sense that the man was waiting for something, or someone. Simply thinking this much had the girl feeling uneasy; usually she was one for running until all danger was behind her. âI think heâs waitinâ for someone. We might be best keepinâ quiet until we know whatâs up.â
At least she saw them and was given the chance to get away. Maybe crouching behind a bush was still a bad idea ( they could still find her ) but it didnât feel like her lungs were working the way they should. She wanted to move on but dared not shift an inch in case of making a sound. Hopefully her petiteness was working as an advantage in this situation. She allowed herself to peek as the raider -- or whoever he was as the only thing that mattered was that he was covered in blood -- staggered as they turned. Delilah was someone who believed in the good in people, but anyone could see that this person only desired to do harm. Not to mention that they were armed to the teeth. Glancing to the side, she noticed another survivor coming her way and instantly made a grab for them; attempting to tug them down beside her and whispering hurriedly âYou should probably wait until he goes. Trust me,â
   Robert knew it was an odd sight, a grown man fast approaching forty coloring furiously into a booklet full of cartoon kitties and puppies, but the therapist his mother set him up with at the VA ( he stopped going after only four sessions, and heâd tell you they were four sessions too many but maybe they had done some good ) told him it could be a useful exercise, take his mind off things. Besides, it wasnât like there was much to do in a world driven to basic necessities. The girl, Delia, he thought her name might have been, seemed amused but not repulsed.  â  That would be awfully kind of yaâ, miss.  â  He smiled lightly, though waved off her offer.  â  But Iâm afraid I might break them if that is any indication.  â  Now he gestured towards the graveyard of crayons on the floor, some broken in half but most just tossed for their general poor performance.  â  You could join me, if yaâ like. Iâm sure Iâve got another book arounâ here somewhere.  â
She had thought since the beginning that this whole apocalypse thing would slowly bring out different sides of people. Maybe because it was messing with their heads or simply as they didnât care anymore. Delilah still got frustrated thinking about all the things she hadnât managed to do before the outbreak and were now impossible of doing. As adventurous as she was, her bucket-list had been about three pages full. It sent her heart into an achey mess; the idea of all that had been lost. She shrugged and passed the other a smile. âI guess I could spare a few.â The tiny woman looked around for a chair to pull up by the table. âSorry, whatâs yaâ name again?â
  â  Oh fuckinâ damn it all! â  A deep, southern drawled voice rang out as purple colored wax broke apart between calloused fingers, subsequently discarded and THROWN at the wall opposite of his chair. Digging through the box for another similar shade of grape-somethinâ-or-other, Bobby pressed the tip down against the page ( because this was his coloring book and if he wanted the adorable cartoon cat to have contrasting purple and orange stripes, BY GOD, the cat was going to have some God damn purple and orange stripes! ) and barely suppressed a frustrated sigh as the tip of the crayon broke. This must have been number SEVEN, he groaned in thought, given the amount of broken crayons that lay on the floor. His attention was stolen by the feel of EYES on him, making him look up from the booklet and give an explanatory hiss through gritted teeth,  â  These RoseArt bullshit crayons are a fuckinâ crime against humanity!  â
Her back turned abruptly at the ring of an undeniably frustrated voice calling out to no-one in particular. Or that was her guess, anyhow. It didnât really sound like a two-way argument. Curiosity making her feet move forward, Delilah walked until she found the room the curses were spilling from, popping her head in the doorway which decided whether she wanted to enter or not. The blonde should have been headed in the direction of the room of one of the camp members who needed her help; their sad eyes had been bothering her for days. Seeing what the man was actually doing had amusement entering her dark eyes and she had to bite the inside of her cheeks to stop from giggling. Not that she was judging at all, it was actually kind of nice. âDonât know if thisâll help at all, but I have a pack of metallic color pens in my room if youâre interested. Theyâre a favourite from before, but guess yaâ could lend âem.â
Mortality â such a terrible trait. There was nothing good about this mundane way of life, a body as weak as the will of Zeus and a heart full of confusion. The feelings didnât bother him; , rage has always been one of his best traits. It should have been a punishment but Zeus forgot it might quickly turn into his own downfall. The mortals were running around like cockroaches, taking all they could from Dyonis during the night and living in fear during the day. Praying to their beloved Gods who were no longer there to protect them. The mighty Zeus forgot he could not be strong enough to deal with all of them by himself and Ares knew that soon all of it will be chaos. Without their powers, the  noble Gods were no longer able to help their little peasants. However, Ares could still start the war he desired. War was not about power, it was about the rage in oneâs heart. Zeus won this fight but the mighty God could never win the war. He loved the mortals so much that he forgot they were meant to be weapons.  The smile on his face grew as he turned to face the other, the wine on his lips reminding him of the blood which would be drowning the streets of Sparta. âYou should enjoy this.â His words were not sarcastic,  there was nothing more pleasant that the downfall of Zeus.
Chloris was quickly finding that mortality -- in all of its complex meanings of the word -- was not as terrible as she had first believed, and some still made it out to be. Humanity was without a doubt beyond troubling at the best of times and these shells they were forced to occupy were even more strange. Bumpy, fragile things that were so easily breakable. She had never been much of a careful being; delicate of course, but immortals never really had to worry about healing and recovery because they knew it would occur without thought. These humans had so much to worry about, it was startling. Damiana turned to the sound of the voice with a slight wince. âThat depends on what exactly you are referring to. If it is this--â She gestured between them both and the flesh coating them. âI have to admit it is not quite what I expected.â
How undeniably soft human life seemed as one trampled through bushes and reeds; the earth scraping bare flesh as they progressed on. Chloris was in tatters; not really understanding how fragile these bodies truly were as she looked down at her legs. How strange! They were bruised like peaches, red and scratched, but the pain was nothing like she had imagined. In fact, she didnât feel it all that much. Noticing another blonde head nearby, pure glee ran through her at the knowledge of just who it was. âPersephone! My dear friend.â She dropped her skirts back down to her knees, stopping the investigation of such strange and tender skin.
âSo this is what a garden smells like!â He bears a grin that swallows his features and leaves no room for sadness or anger, âHave you smelled these?â He plucks a grouping of honeysuckle from its home and holds it out towards the other, blue eyes wide. His curiosity towards the world outside the ocean was untamable, heâd been so young when he was given the title of God, he never had the chance to experience the things he wouldâve as the mortal he was born as.Â
As a mortal, she had found herself never wanting to leave the sanctuary of whatever garden she would come across that day, and heaven knew a lot of humans liked to keep theirs spectacular. Chloris never would have dreamed! It seemed that she hadnât been giving those tiny morsels of life enough credit. Apparently they could be just as dedicated to what they loved doing as much as they all did up above. So obviously she was drawn to the conversation, her mortal features lighting up. âOf course I have!â She had to hold back her hands from touching the shrubs; reminding herself that she could not simply grow life wherever she stepped in this form. âSweet, are they not?â
â As I saw fair Chloris walk alone, The feather'd snow came softly down, As Jove, descending from his tow'r To court her in a silver show'r. The wanton snow flew to her breast, As little birds into their nest; But o'ercome with whiteness there, For grief dissolv'd into a tear. Thence falling on her garment hem, To deck her, froze into a gem. â
BASICS.
Deity: Chloris ( ΧλÏÏÎčÏ ) - Goddess of flowers and a nymph of the Islands of the Blessed.
Mortal Identity: Damiana - âone who tames - subdues.â
Faceclaim: Emily Berrington.
BIOGRAPHY.
A daughter of the titan Okeanos, it was natural for Chloris to turn out to be a very gentle being. A voice of reason, of softness and taking after her father, not wanting anything to do with the war most of the Olympian Gods were a part of. She never showed a side and refused to pick one; choosing to remain neutral in light of the whole situation. She chose peace and believed thoroughly that keeping it would prove to have the best outcome. Unfortunately for her, only several of her companions agreed with these optimistic opinions and that was never going to be enough.
She was never destined to be the greatest or most popular Spring Goddess, but her purpose stayed true to her heart the whole time. New growth and fresh blooms sprouted wherever she went in the Elysian Fields. Among these days were the same time she met her husband ( not that it seemed to be heading that way in the first place. ) Zephyrus the God of the west wind, was quite different from her and seemed to like getting what he wanted. He took her against her will, but it wasnât a matter of kicking and screaming, more like she was simply unconvinced they would be suited.
As a lot of romances happen, she warmed up over time and eventually married him. They had a son named Karpos, the beautiful God of fruit. She supposed they were happy, yet the curse of falling down to earth came as quite the unwanted shock. Chloris quite believes Zeus should have just punished the select few who actually did wrong instead of just making them all suffer -- because she is sure she did nothing wrong. That said, being mortal isnât all bad. The biggest downside is her lack of powers to grow anything at any time, and so she has been spending her days around all the nature she possibly can.
CONNECTIONS.
Persephone ( Rhiannon Benedict ): Perhaps jealousy should be required for the likes of Persephone, so similar to herself and yet so different. Probably stronger. Only it is not envy which she feels but rather a strong friendship and admiration of the other Goddess.
The innocent flock like sheep
Their efforts are in vain, the wolf is back again
I hope he comes for me
Iâm not out-running him and Iâm not gonna scream.Â
Iâll put you to sleep.
My fingers through your hair, into your skin, Iâll be,
Ten fingernails deep,
And I wonât let you go, you will not bury me.
