|Isobel Brandt \\ Persephone (praxidike) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-03-12 21:35:00
|Entry tags:||hermes, persephone|
how we rise when we're born
Who: Isobel [Persephone] & Percy [Hermes].
What: Hermes crashes Persephone's meadow (no that's not innuendo) to see what her mom's making a huge fuss about, and Persephone learns some new skills. Yes, I could've worded this better.
Where: Persephone's Meadow, Dreamscape, Ancient Greece, 90210.
When: Never and ever.
Another sunny day graced her meadow; a light wind spread invisible fingers through the huge variety of flowers that grew there, making them dance in the sun's rays. Persephone half knelt, half lay in the middle of it all, so terribly bored.
Not that there was anything necessarily wrong with her meadow; she liked it just fine. It was warm, it was bright; it had all of her favorite plants. Well, it had almost all plants in creation, though right now it leaned more toward springtime flora, buds and petals raised up toward the shining chariot in the sky as Apollo wended his way across the blue yonder. Persephone had stared at the burning ball until it hurt her eyes, wondering what it would be like to fly across the sky like that. Even the moon's chariot at night seemed terribly interesting.
She enjoyed her plants, her dirt, getting her fingers and hands mucky with filth as she planted and unplanted and moved and redistributed the grasses and flowers and plants under her care. She just didn't think they would suffer were she to go out for an hour or two. A girl needed company, and plants did not make for the best conversationalists.
Persephone sighed to herself again, pulling her gaze down from the wide open sky above and glanced around as the wind moved once more over the area. Her brow furrowed as she noted plants were parting away from the wind, in an unnatural movement that implied something was there. Sometimes animals found their way into her meadow; consecrated stags or rabbits Artemis was chasing. This seemed different.
"Who's there? How did you get in here?" One hand felt around by her knees, fingers curling around a rock. "Show yourself!" She hurled the rock, hoping to squarely hit whatever was there on the head.
The rock didn’t hit the Slayer of Argos on the head, per se, but it certainly came far too close. In a swift, dutiful motion, Hermes raised both his hands to remove the Helmet of Hades, a swath of unruly dark curls falling upon his brow. He stood before Demeter’s daughter, cloaked no longer in invisibility but that of sustained movement, the transfer of ideas and ingenuity, truth and lies commingled together to breath new life into the most taxing of journeys. With a knowing smile, acknowledging the goddess’ insightful deduction, he offered a ceremonial bow of respect.
“It is only me, honored Kore. Be not afraid.” He turned the helm in his hands, fingers splaying against the well-crafted device, borrowed from a reticent uncle too preoccupied with his business affairs to notice it missing--at least, not yet. “I have brought a message for you, though it does not come from my father.”
Persephone climbed to her feet, surprised to see the messenger of the gods. Her arms remained by her side, and she closed the distance a little between them, glad to see another face and especially that of someone she recognized.
"My apologies," she offered. "I don't receive many visitors here, certainly not as of late. From who does your message come?" Her brow furrowed; she barely spoke with anyone outside her immediate family that it seemed odd someone would take the time to send her some kind of missive.
“It comes from one who does not often share messages of his own creation,” Hermes admitted, unable to withhold the truth from the goddess of spring. His hands stilled, the helm between them a seemingly unimpressive device. Although its power was great, its appearance was modest, much like the owner of the precious object.
“I have heard tales of your prolonged misery, of your entrapment amongst the lilies and crocuses.” There was the lightest of fluttering from the small wings which adorned his sandals as he stepped closer to Persephone, the feathers brushing against the soft grass of her meadow. “Would you like to escape this prison?” The Son of Maia’s question was direct and earnest, open curiosity reflecting upon his deceptively young countenance.
Though her mind shouted a resounding yes!, Persephone did not answer immediately. She had heard too many stories, knew too many ways that even the gods themselves could be tricked. Her mother had seen to that; scaring her child so thoroughly, why would she ever want to leave? She returned to her earlier question, one that Hermes had so nearly sidestepped.
"Who sent the message?"
The fair daughter of Demeter was no less candid than her mother, a quality Hermes respected, although it was contrary to his personal notions as to how their conversation would proceed. Ah, but he should have expected the Kore to be wary of outside forces, regardless of their intentions.
“No one,” the messenger god said lightly, “other than the very one who stands before you. I have brought an offering of assistance meant to alleviate your unusual predicament.” He gazed around the meadow, a veritable utopia...and yet nonetheless confined. For as much as the flowers might reach towards the sky, yearning for the sun they could not have, their roots acted as shackles. Persephone was, perhaps, no different than the garden she maintained; thriving, bringing joy to all in her presence, and yet fixed in place, restricted from ever leaving.
The prospect alone was enough to make Persephone step forward, the desire to be free so strong in her that it would propel her toward a cliff's edge without thought. She stopped herself after only a moment, though, her better sense taking control. Confusion moved over her face, slanting her brows.
"Why would you help me? What is it you want in return?"
“Nothing, honored Kore, but to see you free from the boundaries your mother has set for you.” Hermes studied his fellow Olympian with an acumen typically reserved for his more official duties, which was often followed by a condemnation and punishment from Zeus himself. This time, however, he was acting of his own accord, and there was an undeniable thrill to it. His words were peppered with the boldness he felt. “Am I not the god of travelers? I would belie my role if I did not offer assistance to a prospective traveler.”
Her mouth brushed into the barest hint of a smile, hope crossing her eyes that he was being truthful.
"I would love that, very much. If my mother finds out, though, there will be little I can do to save you from her wrath. But I suppose that's part of the fun?" She folded her arms across her chest, moving a step or two forward to close the distance between them, her eyes darting down to the helm in his hands and back up to his face.
"What would you teach me, Hermes Propylaios?"
He appeared utterly unbothered by Persephone’s warning of Demeter’s wrath; what could the goddess of the harvest possibly do to him that would not easily be avoided? No, Zeus’ messenger would not be put out of commission. So confident was Hermes in this solid reassurance that he continued with his scheme.
“I would teach you to cover the tracks you might make when you leave your garden, to dissuade any from following you without your consent. And furthermore, you will learn how to cross between this realm and the next, should you choose to do so.” Hermes extended the helmet out to Persephone, ready to release it into her care. “This will be the key to your freedom. Do you accept my offer?”
Her gaze moved from Hermes' face to the helm extended to her, glancing back at him in trepidation for only a moment. Then she reached out, her hands light on the offering as she agreed.
"I do," she replied, her voice firm. "I will be in your debt, but I thank you for this chance." She took the helm, suddenly heavier than it had appeared. Persephone tossed it lightly from hand to hand "Where did you come by such a thing?" She asked as she turned it over in her hands, examining it carefully.
The deal had been brokered. Persephone’s hesitant acceptance of its loosely formed details was sufficient enough for Hermes to press forward with his newest idea. “You owe me but a smile,” he teased.
Hermes paused before answering her question, a subtle halt unusual for one so often loquacious. “There are those among us with powers best left untapped...and there are those who--and forgive me, Great Goddess---fail to utilize the gifts they have been given.” Hermes motioned to the helmet which the young maiden was perusing. “The owner lent me his helmet; it was a show of gratitude and nothing more. I simply acted as his shepherd.”
Persephone held the helm with its interior facing up, as though she were about to don it. Her face was contemplative, but her gaze quickly rose to meet Hermes' once more.
"Then you'll have to thank him for me. This is a great boon to bestow upon anyone. How do I use it?"
Hermes’ laughter further brightened the cheerful meadow, delighted at the lack of guile Persephone possessed. She was, as had often been said, the newest of flowers to bloom. “You simply wear it as you would any other helmet; but you must also have the desire to move unseen, and you cannot waver in this unspoken faith.” Eagerly, he waited for the goddess to breach a new territory--one that was not simply physical, but also a symbolic sign of defiance against her entrapment.
Glancing at the winged god before her, she looked back down to the helmet, surprised it would be so simple. The helm lifted and settled itself on her head, almost of its own accord, as though the thing desired to be worn; she squeezed her eyes shut as though this would help the endeavor. It felt lighter once ensconced around her skull, and when her hands moved away, she wished dearly that she was not to be seen, that she might leave, that she might be able to wander away from her meadow to sights unseen.
She opened her eyes, looking curiously to Hermes. "Did it work?"
His face lit up first with surprise, and then pride; she’d done it, and with only the briefest moment of hesitation. The helmet had been drawn to her, its power invisible but alluring--a mirror of its true owner. Persephone’s image had flickered for an instant before fading completely, the meadow behind her extending indefinitely into the distance.
The only method of seeing Demeter’s daughter was now to sense her presence, the inkling of someone existing outside of the night’s shadows and yet still hidden by the light.
“You have disappeared, Kore, even from one as keen-sighted as myself.” In thought, he rubbed his beardless chin, taking a leisurely stroll around the recently invisible goddess. “But now you must try to move unnoticed. The slightest sound may give away your presence. Come, see if you cannot pass by me as silent as the spring breeze.”
Persephone paused for a moment, glancing down. The plants alone might betray her; just because she could not be seen did not mean she was not still there. She took a careful step forward, moving away from the taller grasses, and moving across to Hermes' other side. The wind was in her favor, moving in the same direction, brushing plants and other flora aside as her feet moved from place to place. Then she was behind Hermes, and though she had no doubt that he was aware of her movements the whole time, she could not help but be ecstatic.
"This will work!" She clasped her hands in glee. "The only way out is past my mother, and moving quickly enough, I could certainly leave for a short while without her notice. Oh, thank you, Hermes!" Before she realized what she was doing, she'd thrown her arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace, knocking the helm askew so that its invisibility faltered.
She was decidedly not a natural when it came to stealth, but Hermes had no doubt that with a little practice, Persephone would be able to fool the Goddess of Grain’s eyes. With enough determination, and Hades’ helm in tow, the doors of the three realms would soon be open to her.
“You are most welcome,” came his response. The smile on his face was evident in his voice; pleased with himself, Hermes accepted Persephone’s embrace. “Be certain to take care once you have left this garden; the roads should be kind to you, but if they are not, you know to call for me.” Lightly shrugging off Persephone’s hold on him, he turned to look her in the eye. “I must go now, Father is already calling for me. But heed my words, Kore. Seize your freedom, but do so with caution.”
Persephone regained some composure, stepping back and allowing Hermes his dignity. Her hands sought the helm and pulled it down from her head, her hair tossed askew. "I shall. Thank you again, Hermes. Thank you so much."