Sweet Dreams.

[Eleanor Jansen]

She had discovered the pamphlet in the hospital waiting room. It had stuck out from the others, which displayed needles and smiling faces of children and afterwards she had wondered if it was just an act of her brain seeking subconsciously more information. This pamphlet despite looks was different from the others. It sported the same cheesy faces with camera posing shots of children and young adults, families and babies, photogenic people to attract the eye around vivid colour schemes and layouts in bold font. Eleanor had never seen a person take one of the pamphlets from the wall before except for the young children who stole them and made paper planes, which soared through the waiting room attempting to poke out your eye. Still, she had found herself attracted to that particular one and she had taken two. One was buried at the bottom of her sock draw, the other she had left on the kitchen bench the week before she had left, only to find it in the trash the next morning without a word. She barely needed her copy now for every mind burned into her mind. It was the risks involved with donating organs, the facts and the statistics that told the other side to the story. It spoke of the deaths on the table and the likelihood of a complete recovery. It spoke of the painful weeks that followed the operation where you suffered and fought many illnesses yourself. And although you had begun completely healthy, it showed your own chance of survival. And what it all came down to was Kate and her stupid fucking cancer.

Everything for Eleanor came back to Kate and her cancer. They were so closely joined as people it was hard to see where one began and the other stopped. You couldn’t have one without the other. There was no Eleanor if there was no Kate and there was no Kate if there was no Eleanor. Circumstance had drawn them together but it was love that had held them that way. And right now, Kate needed Eleanor’s kidney. And for the first time Eleanor, with the facts in her hand, wasn’t sure.

Eleanor was twenty-four, Kate was twenty-six and it was already a bloody miracle that left the doctors spell bound and scratching their heads. There were days when Kate shone will the brilliance of the sun, where her smile alone could light up the room. But when those days lead onto those weeks the Jansen family found themselves holding their breathe waiting for the moment when everything would spiral out of control like it had before. The worst came when they least expected it, so expecting the worst had become a natural habit. And like always it soon became a fact, another scratchy comment on Kate’s medical file. They were back to square one.

Kate needed a kidney. It was just that simple and that was exactly how the doctors had said it. They knew Eleanor well enough to know that going in circles was a waste of time. There was no prancing around the word cancer, not when it consumed everything you did.

It was late afternoon when Eleanor had left St Mungo’s with the excuse of an appointment. She’d given blood at the Muggle hospital, visited her sister quickly and after picking up some decent coffee, she’d returned back to the hospital.

Only to crash on the couch in the staff lounge.

Eleanor had promised herself she would only rest her eyes, she had promised her light head and dazed gaze that she was just going to hold a blink for a little longer, put her fee tup for a moment and then-

She fell asleep.

Nestled on the couch in the staff lounge on the ground floor, her lime green robe abandoned at her feet, Eleanor curled her toes. She was too tired to think. Too tired to read another word on the pamphlet that lay loose if her fingertips Eleanor breathed peacefully.

She’d sleep for just a moment.
Just a little more.
And then she’d get up and face the world.

[Lorelai Swanson-Grey]

Her first week there had gone by fairly quickly. She had been hired as a Healer less than a month ago, and had finally been able to start. Oh the looks she got. From the men, it was the elevator eyes. From the women, it was scrutiny. From the trainees, it was envy. Normally, Lor would have had to start from the ground up in a job like this. But Lor wasn't just any normal person. No, she was brilliant. Top of her class, she had taken the last year of her schooling to intern at St. Mungo's, flittering from floor to floor and Healer to Healer. That was her training, and had ended her up as a Healer once her school work was done. And now she was walking the halls, the start of the second week, like she owned the place. Lor had always had that exhuberating confidence that surrounded her.

Her tiny silver cell phone vibarated noisly in her pocket, as she walked down the hallway, with plans to skip her break in favor of checking up on a few more patients. Of course, it was an annoying muggle contraption, but Seb had insited that it was quite the mircale, being able to contact your loved ones at any given tim.e Yeah, as long as the rates were low, you had reception and you weren't standing near any tall buildings. Then it was perfect. Grabbing the phone casually out of her pocket, she glanced at the caller I.D., thinking it to be her step father with updates on her bank account, or maybe the veterinarian with news on Gatsby's worms. Imagine her shock when she realized it was her mother. The Reigning Lorelai Swanson-Grey wasn't exactly the person she enjoyed talking to. In fact, it was almost ridiculous the amount of talking the actually did. Since her eighteenth birthday, the mother had only made efforts to contact her daughter, when she told her she had a miscarriage. Lor hadn't even known her mother was pregnant.

She stopped in the middle of the hallway, pausing, pondering. Should she even bother to answer the phone? Anything her mother ever told her was bad news, so did she really want to hear this? Then again, what if Seb, her step father, was injured? She would certainly want to know something along those lines, but at the risk getting into a row with the wench she had the misfortune of sharing DNA, as well as a name, with?

The Swanson family had always lived quite comfortably in a large chateau in England. That is, until her father died and her mother went to pieces. Her mother became someone she didn't know anymore, sleeping around, doing drugs, getting generally messed up. Lorelai completely disconnected herself from her mother until Sebastian Grey came into her mother's life. The man was decended from French royalty, and carried the money with him. Her mother married for the wealth and status that had been stripped from her when her husband died, but Lor actually felt some connection to the man. He treated her better than any step-father would, and she found she had more in common with him than she did her mother. However, what Lorelai did not like was the person she had to become at her new home with new money to fit in. Spoiled, selfish, and she rebelled against it, and left home as soon as she was able.

Rolling her eyes and finally giving in to the still-ringing phone, she pulled the phone out of her pocket, moving her hands to flip it open when she heard a cough from behind her. It was the distinct kind of cough you would hear if someone was trying to get your attention. She wheeled around to find a rather large nurse pointing to a sign with her thumb. NO CELL PHONES. Blushing a bit, she raised her hand in apology, and stuck the phone back into her pocket. Making way toward the front desk, she quickly punched in the area code and number of her mothers through the reception desk.

"Hello, mum?"
"Darling. Princess. Cumquat."
"I'm busy."
"So I'll make it quick. Sebby and I have discussed it and we have decided to renovate the house."
"So?"
"So what time would you like us over? Say, seven tomorrow morning? I can have everything packed by then with a wave of my wand."
"I don't understand."
"Well you surely don't expect us to live under construction! Surely not! We shall be boarding with you for some time."
"And by boarding, you mean..." She sensed the worst coming.
"Living with you, of course, junoir."
"Don't call me that. And I don't have enough room." She hissed through her teeth, glaring through the phone.
"Oh pish posh. You'll have plenty of room once you put that smelly dog of yours in a kennel for the time being, of course. He'd simply destroy all my best gowns. Not to mention the furniture."
"No, mum, I don't think you understand I-"
"Seven it is. Oh, don't sound so glum, dollface. It will only be for a bit...eighteen months tops."
"What!?"
Click.

Lorelai slammed the phone down on the receiver. Never good news. Her mother had made plans to stay with her. In her single apartment. She was expecting Gatsby to be gone, as well as the place to have enough space for the tons of furtniture her mother was no doubtedly bringing. No way in fucking hell. This was exactly what she had made a point to escape. The shocked receptionist was starring at her, and the phone, having just come back from her lunch break, no doubt. She was about to open her mouth to say something when Lor held her hands up in submission.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Storming off back down the hall, she tore through the door to the staff lounge, slamming the door closed behind her, all to eager to begin her break now. Moaning loudly, she stormed into the room, tossing her clip board on the couch in utter frustration. She walked over the wall, resting her forehead on it, when she heard a moan coming from the couch. Jumping a bit, she wheeled around, caught by surprise.

"Oh. Oh! Oh! I'm so sorry!"

She rushed over, picking her clip board off the couch where it had hit a girl who had been sleeping on it. She bit her lip, wonderinh if she had just beat a Healer-in-Charge with her clipboard, for she still did not know the names of everyone around here. But she quickly realized it was a trainee, and eased a bit, looking at her sympathetically.

"I truly sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was in here."

[Eleanor Jansen]

I'm like making threads and then not replying. I feel evil.
-Laughs-
But it's because I have both a Chemistry and Physics test soon.
So I'm studying and being good.

But I will hopefully get all my posts nailed by this weekend.
-Beams-

Gosh, we're so pretty.
-Pokes-

[Ben Jones]

Well, if you've bitten off more than you can chew, maybe I can step in and you can pretend like you don't need to post so urgently............
Because yes, you are very, very pretty.
Vous êtes très belle
*oh snap*

[Eleanor Jansen]

-Pokes-
You should join Jason.
You can yell at Elle for sleeping etc.

[Eleanor Jansen]

Eleanor was lost in a world of white. Funny how the place most people went to before they died was the same colour heaven claimed to be, the same colour the sun actually was. White was the colour of purity, of innocence and in Eleanor’s opinion, the colour of naivety. How many brides deserved to be wearing the white dress of their wedding day? Eleanor dared no believe in God nor religion and despite the fact that Sara lingered in the tiny church in Kate’s hospital, dared not fool Eleanor. There was no room for religion in her house, no room for God although it was thrust upon them. Now was the time to believe, the preachers said. Now, more than any other time, God will help you, God will save you. God was a figure for those who needed that glimpse of faith to pour their life into. God was that ounce of something that reminded people of a better place. There was no room for something that offered illusions, no room for further heartbreak. Not in the Jansen house at least, and certainly not in their hearts.

It was then between the slight stir of her mind and curl of her toes; she was hit by something. Hard.

“Oh c’mon.” She mumbled before rubbing at her eyes.

Eleanor blinked bambi eyes, soften with sleep. To Sara, there were two types of beauty in the world. Her daughter Kate and her daughter Eleanor. Kate resembled a china doll, so tiny, so fragile, as though one touch could snap her clean in two. Her hair was the colour of finely spun gold, fine, silky and perfect. She had the skin of ivory and the smile that lit the room. Her eyes danced with dark spirits and the guilt of knowing what she was preventing, but at age twenty-six she was a hero herself, and an inspiration. She shone with the knowledge that many never understood and the strength that had brought her so far.

Eleanor on the other hand was like wildfire, unpredictable. She conducted herself with charming ease outwardly; her smile like a thousand summers burned into your mind. She brought life to any situation, a laugh, a smile, such contentment with everything, outwardly. Kate and Eleanor were a dichotomy, like two halves of a whole. They were what made the other a complete person, a better person and when their hands slid together grasping, forming the lifeline they had had since their first moments together, they knew that without the other there wasn’t anything. They were holding hands around the stretch of the world, so much between them, but so much holding them together. That was the way it was always supposed to be.

The room swam for a moment before her eyes, she felt herself for a fleeting moment, sway. Instinctively she moved her hand to her arm, the bandaid hidden under her sleeve. She pressed two fingertips against the material and blinked, focusing. Eleanor had sat up to fast, had pushed herself too fast in the moment, of all people who had ever had to give blood she should have known better.

“Ha- What?”

Blink.
Blink.
Blink.

And the world that swam before her fingertips like the twirl in the step of a ballerina, righted itself once more. Her eyes came to rest on a girl, around her own age, dressed in the same lime green that was draped over the end of the couch at Eleanor’s feet.

Two hands reached for her face and slid down her forehead, cheeks and then nestled in her lap as she pulled herself into an upright position.

“Not easily the nicest wake up I’ve ever had but not the worth either. You and my brother would get along brilliantly.”

Elle shook her head and offered the girl the first smile since her rest.

“Eleanor Jansen. Somewhat, nice to meet you.”

She offered her a hand from her spot on the couch.

[Its Jason]

I coullllddddd do that...
And Ben wouldn't know where to look
*0.0*
But I need to get my other character in somewhere...I could be an asshole as Simon...
*hmmm*
What do you think? this is your guys's topic anyways...

[Carrie Martin]

-pokes-
jump in as you wish, Jassssson

[Aimee Kensington]

Agreed. Enter as you will.

[Simon Dalry]

Simon Dalry lived in a pristine, classy world full of expensive clothes, fine jewelry, large manors, and, most importantly, magic. Every pair of robes he wore were tailor-made especially for him, and everything else he wore to blend in in the non-magical world were laced with the fancy names of rich Muggles. He liked to travel in style, entering a room flanked by handsome and important young men and women like himself. Even when he had to go out on his own, he made sure to make a grand entrance. At his sixteenth birthday party, he had joined his guests by Apparating-a year before he was supposed to learn how. When he lacked creativity, however, he threw open the doors to one of his friend’s large manors in a rush of gusto, an exquisitely beautiful girl on each arm.

To Simon, women were the best way to look great. It hardly mattered what he was wearing or if he had combed his hair if he had a gorgeous girl on his arm. However, he was extraordinarily picky about his women, and didn’t like to use the same girl twice. There was only one girl that Simon had re-used, who had taken Simon back for the millionth time, who knew him better than he knew himself. His parents expected Simon to marry (sooner rather than later) his on-again, off-again girlfriend Jacqueline du Monte. He had cheated on Jacqueline, and Jacqueline had retaliated much the same way, since the first time they became an item, when they were fourteen. Six years later, Simon was still cheating, leaving, getting lost, coming back, fighting with and for Jacqueline. His time was spent pretending he didn’t have a girlfriend, unless he was with her, which was when he showed her off to everyone he knew like the perfect trophy she would someday be. They were all but betrothed.

“Betrothed” was an old, sterile word that the people around him, the parents of his friends, thought about all the time, but felt it would be too tacky to actually say out loud. Instead, they pretended as if their children were engaged, and hinted frequently and not-so-furtively that they would be married before the age of thirty, at which time they would inherit the family business (whatever it may be). Simon would be inheriting the family business of being fabulously wealthy and blue-blooded. Their very old money came from creating the most modern handle to the Wizarding Wand, more comfortable to hold and better looking. Every wand sold came right back to the Dalrys. His family did not selfishly keep their money, though. They donated a good portion to the Wizarding hospital, St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Inuries, and built them two wings. The Dalrys were, at least in their own minds, royalty at St. Mungo’s. All his life, he had made the same sweeping entrance into the hospital and ordered those inside around. Not many people liked him, he was aware of that, but he was only looking to show off to his friends, who usually tagged along.

He hadn’t been in the hospital in weeks. He was sure all hell had broken loose, and the crazy, horny bastards who called themselves Healers had fucked everything up. But on a boring, lazy day, what else was there to do? He hadn’t had a free day in a while, and he was going to use this one to its highest potential. If there was one thing Simon hated, however, it was Muggle travel, and the St. Mungo’s staff preferred that Simon not Apparate into the heart of the hospital. But who were they to tell him what to do? If it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t have jobs. They should be thanking him when appeared, with a nice, loud crack.

The waiting room to St. Mungo’s was, as usual, disgustingly clotted with deformed people, both Muggles and Wizards. A man at the front of the line was kneading his hands, which were large and purple, speaking to the Welcome Witch in a deep voice. Simon didn’t give the man a moment’s glance, flashing a charming smile at the Welcome Witch, who had known him since he was a baby.

As he wound his way through the hallway, he smiled at, touched, and laced fingers with every pretty girl he saw. The older ones, the girls that knew his name and nature and were, quite frankly, not flattered, received a mild grin and maybe, an air-bite. For as long as he could remember, or as long as they had been working there, Simon had been shaken off, scolded, shot down, slapped on the wrist, and whacked with wadded-up newspapers by nearly all the attractive women at St. Mungo’s. He loved older women, even they didn’t always love him back (which was more often than not). He knew the boundaries, but liked to toe the line sometimes. Usually, though, it was a lame pick up line just to get under their skin. He loved chatting up old friends, the Healers-In-Charge who didn’t like to give him much of their time, and found great fun in pestering the new trainees, both male and female. The trainees would scuttle around, unable to shake him off and not sure about what to do with him, and would become more and more flustered until their supervisor came and told him what to do with himself.

Today, though, it didn’t seem as if there were any really new or horribly interesting trainees. He was yelled at a couple times, to get out of the way, to shut up, and finally, from a pretty Healer who had known him long enough, to fuck himself. He blew her a kiss and ducked around the corner, slowly making his way up to the staff room, where hopefully, some of the pretty Healers would be taking a break, drinking coffee and unwilling to go back to their jobs. But the question was: which would they rather do: go back to work, or speak with little Simon Dalry?

When he entered the staff room, Simon was pleasantly surprised by the feeling that he had been looking for a few flecks of gold and had found a brick of the stuff: in front of him and a little to the right were two brand spanking, gorgeous new trainees. Not just your average gorgeous, either, like most of the girls he knew. These girls were barely older than himself and rather familiar, maybe from school. They couldn’t have been that much older than him, which was a misfortune, but whatever. This was probably better than a hot thirtysomething. He grinned, trying to shake off his asshole-like tendencies, and breezed up behind a brunette, who was talking with a sleepy-looking, equally hot girl on the couch, just as she was introducing herself. Eleanor. What a nice, sophisticated name. His parents would love it. And what a beautiful trophy Eleanor Dalry would someday make. He resisted the strong urge to place a hand on the small of the brunette’s back, and failed at suppressing his inclination to take the other’s hand in his, and bring it to his lips.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you both, I must say. It’s not every day I see two very beautiful girls at a hospital-not to mention healthy girls. Although you do look sleepy…long shift, I suppose? It’s brutal work, only for the best.”

Enter S. DALRY, with a small nod.

[Come on, be nice, Em. He's not a huge asshole YET.]

[Hadley James]

-Grins-
I'm always nice.

[Ben Jones]

Bullllllshit!

[Hadley James]

Fine, Fine. I'll try to be nice.

[Lorelai Swanson-Grey]

-dies-
owes a post...later