violet-porter

[violet-porter]

Lily and her young co-star Kyle Harrison Breitkopf who plays her son Henry on ‘The Whispers’.

#that child looks like an alien #straight up #( visage. )

[violet-porter]

Come Talk To Me | Bon Iver

i did not come to steal this is all so unreal can’t you show me how you feel? now come on, come talk to me

#( swallow song. )

[violet-porter]

Allowing the weapon to fall to her side feels a little like getting off one's feet at the end of a long day; an incredible relief. The metal still cuts into her hand, a reminder that she is still unsafe, but so long as she's not staring down its sight she feels a little better. For the first time, she allows herself to get a good look at the man she's only just stopped viewing as a threat. Her consideration of his face is cut short though, as she feels bile rise in her throat at his warning. It was foolish of her to consider herself reasonably safe in their stronghold, but she can't quell the shattering feeling that starts deep in her stomach.

Briefly, she looks out over the roof, expecting to see them coming now, but only darkness and soft-bodied trees stare back at her. Violet realizes she's been holding her breath and chuffs a sigh. "Thank you, Anthony. For the warning." Reluctantly, she returns her gaze to his.

"I appreciate it." Sincerity has always been her strong suit, and on this roof she's nearly made her gratefulness as palpable as the chokingly humid night. She begins to walk past him, mind reeling, wondering who she should wake first, who's the best shot, praying they don't make it here at all, but catches his arm with her hand as another thought dawns on her. Holding his bicep, firm but still gentle she cants her head inquiringly, "Are you alone? You'll stay here with us until they pass, won't you?" 

the absence of god :: cheyenne

Anthony had decided to wander the empty streets of Cheyenne that night for a good kill. The time and lighting of the day did not seem the least convenient for hunting but it was the challenge that allured him out of the airport that night.

"Anthony Hunter," he returned her an introduction. The formality was quite unnecessary  given the state of their lives, but it did bring a sense of comfort and familiarity of what their lives used to be like. "I didn’t mean to intrude - but there’s a bunch of walkers out there who’s coming their way here." 

He had narrowly escaped the walking dead when he saw them. He knew Marie-Rose would take the responsibility to inform any survivors in the vicinity. He was merely doing this to make her proud. It was a shame she wasn’t around anymore. 

#( chat: anthony. ) #( cheyenne. ) #( icon chat. ) #( four weeks. ) #( the absence of god. )

[violet-porter]

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder | The Secret Sisters (from The Hunger Games Soundtrack)

#( swallow song. )

[violet-porter]

There is no place for immediate trust in the face of an apocalypse. Violet has to remind herself of this, as her knee-jerk has always been to trust others, whole-heartedly, without question. Before, she'd seen it as a strength. Tonight, as she feels her hands automatically go to lower her weapon, she tells herself it's weakness. Re-fixing the weapon on the target, still just a shadowy figure issuing a deep, distinctly male voice. She pauses, glancing briefly away as she considers his question.

"...You could say that. What is it that you need?" Leader is a strong word for what she is, but she supposes it's apt. After all, she's had the others look up at her, and seen the hunger for some direction in their eyes. It's disconcerting, a little scary, most of the time, but she's glad to provide comfort and guidance when she can. "I'm Violet. Porter," It seems archaic, somehow, to introduce oneself in such a situation, but old habits die hard and Violet is nothing if not polite. "And you are?" 

the absence of god :: cheyenne

The sound of a voice took Anthony’s attention. He snapped his head up and saw a figure on the roof. So much for trying to keep his footsteps light and quiet. He shook his head disappointedly at himself before looking back up at the woman. Her blonde hair seemed to reflect the limited light there was.

He squinted in the hopes of getting a better vision of her. “I’m not here to steal or anything.” 

Survivors these days were extra cautious. The bigger their group was, the more wary they become. He couldn’t blame her for sounding protective - she probably had a load of butts to look after from any potential threats.

"Are you the leader of this group?"

#no no not at all #glad to interact with anthony #i am unsure about the quality of this reply but i wanted to get something out today #( cheyenne. ) #( chat: anthony. ) #( four weeks. ) #( the absence of god. ) #( gif chat. )

[violet-porter]

Water. Violet grins. She can do water. It feels so good -- so normal -- for the elder to be able to provide some semblance of comfort for the youth before her. While solidly built, with a body that looks strong and wholly capable, Violet just can't help but feel there's something terribly   fragile perched in Amelia. Somehow, the younger reminds her of a baby bird, freshly hatched; all covered in feathers, moist and tamped down to fresh flesh. Of course, she's not stupid enough to say so, but the feeling feeds an growing urge to coddle the young woman. 

                        Moving away from her for a moment, she pours some water                         from a plastic gallon jug into a cup for her. If there was one                         thing they had in ample supply, it was water, which was a god                         send, really. 

"Here you go, dear," she holds the cup out to Amelia with a gentle,  subdued smile. She resists the urge to place a hand at the back of her head and gently ruffle the dark, slightly disheveled locks there,  as she might with her daughter, Naomi. Instead, she settles into a seat, gestures with a small patting for Amelia to join her.        

toska :: amelia & violet :: cheyenne

It was going to be another long day, another day of surviving hopefully. Felt so insane to even think about the fact that this was how life would be like for a while. Waking up each morning automatically happy you made it to another day without being attacked by the undead. She smiled to herself remembering the day she joked around with her husband about a zombie apocalypse. What she would give up to be whisked right back to that time, to the moment she was happy and something like the present seemed impossible. Of course she needed to get over it, stop thinking about him, and the past she would never have again. 

Amelia glanced at Violet after the woman squeezed her shoulder; the small touch calmed her a bit. It was as if for that one moment everything might be okay, even in the midst of everything. She felt silly thinking that but it helped if only for a second. Snapping out of her thoughts at the sound of the woman’s voice speaking to her. She thought about her question longer then she meant to as if she were actually going to tell her all that she needed. The one thing she wanted more then anything…the one thing no one could give her she couldn’t ask for. “Just water, I could really use some of that” She gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

#( cheyenne. ) #( two weeks. ) #( chat: amelia rogers. ) #( toska. ) #( icon chat. )

[violet-porter]

#( visage. )

[violet-porter]

the absence of god :: open :: cheyenne

Lead-weighted lids droop low over her light eyes, her head lolled over to her left. It's her watch turn, and even though she has no idea what time it is exactly, Violet guesses it must be at least three or four in the morning.                               For a moment, she allows herself a petty wish: that she'd switched watch                 turns with someone who now dozed peacefully behind her. She's always                hated staying up this late. Even before everything. At three or four in the morning there is too much uncertainty and silence for a woman who has spent the better part of her life feigning confidence and propping up silences that threatened to crush this feigned confidence with a steady stream of words.                  Still -- she comforts herself with a glance upward, shifting in her seat on the                 roof -- it's always nice to see the stars. Her eyes find Orion and she allows                  herself a small smile. He is made of the three brightest stars in the sky. Her                 smile dissolves as she recalls that their bright burning means that they are                 close to death.  Brushing a piece of hair from her eyes, tightening her grip on the gun she's not sure she'll ever be able to use. She doesn't want to think about death.  She has to think about it all day long, and has nightmares about it when she falls into fitful sleep. Surrounded by death. Everywhere, the dead walk.  Somewhere, her sons and husband are likely dead. Her daughter may die.  Inside her now, the vicious replication of flawed cells starts her on her way to her demise.                  Suddenly she feels such a pressure in her chest, she thinks she may cry until                 she hears the footfalls behind her. Clumsily she draws her gun, tries to harden                 her eyes at the figure approaching her (probably just a member of her group,                 but one can never be too sure). "Who's there?"

#cheyennestarter #ohmygod this is longer than i meant for it to be i'm sorry #also the icon is so inappropriate #but i couldn't find a better one #sighs eternally #also any of the loners should feel free to respond too #we can easily say that there is some flaw in the design of the building that allows for easier roof access than #the group had anticipated #( icon chat. ) #( cheyenne. ) #( two weeks. ) #( the absence of god. )

[violet-porter]

It isn’t easy; spinning warmth and smiles from nothing. She’s often left feeling like some emotional Ariadne; dutifully sitting at her loom, but having to create her own twine before she can begin her real work. Not that she holds dim smiles against anyone else. She just can’t help but feel that she needs to keep kindling the fire of her hope. Succumbing to the numbing sense of desolation, would feel too much like giving up. Even if the idea is enticing. She thinks it must be the way people wandering through snow must feel just before they freeze to death. They will just lay down for a moment. They’re so tired, and the snow is so soft. Her smile flickers out, and she turns her gaze away momentarily. 

Violet gives the other woman’s shoulder a firm squeeze before withdrawing it, dropping it to her side, before shoving both her fists into the pockets of the sweater that hangs loosely off her thin frame. “Do you need anything?” There is a pause, in which she reflects briefly on all the things that she needs (her sons, her ex-husband, her sisters, the knowledge that she and her daughter will make it safely through this morning) that no one here could provide. “Anything I can get you, I mean.” She amends. 

toska :: amelia & violet :: cheyenne

Amelia hadn’t slept much the night before, it mostly consisted of her tossing and turning, while also thinking about how bad everything had gotten. She would often dream about waking up to realize none of it was real, that she was back in her old bed feeling comfortable. Of course she would snap out of it just as soon as the dream started. Remembering that it wasn’t fake and that her life would never be the same…no matter how much time passed. 

She spent the majority of her morning walking around in the area’s she knew were safe. Hoping that would calm her down or at least help with how sad she was feeling. Turning the corner she noticed one of the leaders of the group by herself. She returned the smile Violet sent her way or at least she tried to, it ended it up being a little less welcoming then she meant. “Good morning, Violet” She nodded softly at her, not bothered by the woman touching her shoulder.

#( cheyenne. ) #( chat: amelia rogers. ) #( toska. ) #( two weeks. ) #( icon chat. )

[violet-porter]

Brushing what were once bangs, but are now just overgrown layers, out of her eyes with a heavy sigh, she tries hard not to think about how bad her hair must look. It's petty. So, so terribly petty and vain, to be worried about her hair in the face of the apocalypse, but between the humidity and the finger combing, she knows it must be reaching rather astonishing heights. Casting her gaze sideways, mind ceasing vain preoccupation to focus on something more pertinent, like the approaching member of her group. She offers the young woman a soft, smile. A tender hand laid on the other's shoulder. She's never had any concept of "personal space," and this has remained true, even now. "Morning, Amelia." 

#( icon chat. ) #( chat: amelia rogers. ) #cheyennestarter #( closed starter. ) #booooom #and ofc feel free to use gifs! #i just prefer icons #if you need me to change anything let me know :D

[violet-porter]

#( visage. )

[violet-porter]

Penelope’s Theme - Nathan Johnson

#( swallow song. )

[violet-porter]

I’d rather have a heart than a mind. I’d rather expose too much than too little. I’d rather say hello to strangers than be afraid of them. I would rather know all this about myself than have more money than I need. I’d rather have something to love than a way to impress you.

Po Bronson, What Should I Do with My Life?  (via cold-winter-days)

#( musings. )

[violet-porter]

#( visage. )

[violet-porter]

Daughter | Switzerland

#( swallow song. )