Hey Jane (Part Two)
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: Hey Jane (Part Two)
Rating: PG
Characters: Hermione/Charlie
She woke on a small sofa, her fingertips trailing to a flat and musty carpet, her cheek imprinted with the lines of a cordouroy cushion. She blinked woozily at the little oval coffee table in front of her. There was an array of glasses there, slick with unidentifiable residues.
She felt a rush of appalled disgust ~ she didn't approve of drinking, not since she'd seen what it had done to ...
To whom? she wondered. A relative of hers... someone she couldn't quite remember.
Come to that, she couldn't remember much of anything.
She sat up slowly, telling herself not to panic, she would surely be all right in a minute. While she was waiting, she picked up one of the glasses on the table and gave it a cautious sniff. She regretted it instantly, it smelled vile, like... well, she didn't know what to compare it to, but it was horrible. There was also of small dish containing something that looked like congealed caviar, she instinctively recoiled from that one without further investigation.
"Must have been some party," she muttered to herself. She picked up a shopping bag that was on the floor by the table. The artwork on it was very strange, an elaborate black and white drawing done in the style of art nouveau, of what looked like a mortar and pestle, a really big soup kettle, and a variety of plants. The banner at the top read "Snape's Extraordinaries" in precise calligraphy. The sight of it was not comforting, it was not like any shop bag she'd ever seen, as if it were some sort of practical joke. She wadded it up and stuffed it to the bottom of a wastepaper basket under the end table. Then she swept all the strange containers with their alarming contents into the basket, too. There was no way she was washing up after that.
The last item on the table was, oddly enough, a stick. A pointy stick. She hesitated about throwing it in the trash, she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was something one ought to recycle instead. She left it where it was, and went to have a look around.
The flat was very bare, with nothing personal about it. She wouldn't have even thought anyone really lived here if she hadn't been here herself. There was a minimum of furniture, all of which was very cheap and plain. In the kitchen, the drawers were stale and empty, except for a few packets of plastic-wrapped cutlery of the sort given out with takeaway. She also found a saucepan and a few dusty tins of soup.
She fought down tears as she wandered back to the living room and sat down on the now-slightly-familiar sofa. She supposed that a sensible person would go directly to hospital at this point. But what if they kept her there? She would be Jane Doe, resident of some icy ward. She shuddered. Surely even this sad little flat was better than that. Maybe all she needed was a bit of rest.
It was then that she noticed that the end table had a little drawer in it as well, so she pulled it out by its ring handle and was much enheartened to find a sheaf of papers. It was a lease agreement, and the name on it was Jane Donovan.
Well, that was one mystery solved, she thought, with a giddy bit of relief, and a slightly hysterical laugh. Her name was Jane, after all. But "Donovan" was much better than "Doe".
Upon reading further, she also learned that the flat was paid up two years in advance. Who did such a thing, she wondered, then realized that, apparently, she did.
Jane rose from the sofa again and ventured into the bedroom. She discovered that there were no clothes in the closet, but she did find blankets and a towel. There was also a tiny, dessicated bar of soap in the bathroom, which revived enough under a stream of water to give a decent lather. By the time Jane had showered and dressed in the same, wrinkled clothes, she had worked up enough courage to return to the living room and sweep the curtains away from the window.
The scene outside was unfamiliar, but rather comforting in its lack of strangeness. She saw several rows of perfectly ordinary-looking flats, a rather pathetic bit of landscaping struggling to survive in the common areas between the buildings, and cars trundling along a nearby road. She took note of the fact she was on the ground floor, and the unexpected thought crossed her mind that she wouldn't have to carry groceries up the stairs.
Jane struggled a moment with the fastenings on the window, eventually wrestling it open. The soft shirring noise of traffic from the road wafted to her ears, occasionally punctuated by the rumble of a bus. Jane went back to the coffee table and picked up the funny stick and carried it to the window. She dropped it into the twiggy, yellowed plants below, and dusted off her hands.
~~~
Continue…
Title: Hey Jane (Part Two)
Rating: PG
Characters: Hermione/Charlie
She woke on a small sofa, her fingertips trailing to a flat and musty carpet, her cheek imprinted with the lines of a cordouroy cushion. She blinked woozily at the little oval coffee table in front of her. There was an array of glasses there, slick with unidentifiable residues.
She felt a rush of appalled disgust ~ she didn't approve of drinking, not since she'd seen what it had done to ...
To whom? she wondered. A relative of hers... someone she couldn't quite remember.
Come to that, she couldn't remember much of anything.
She sat up slowly, telling herself not to panic, she would surely be all right in a minute. While she was waiting, she picked up one of the glasses on the table and gave it a cautious sniff. She regretted it instantly, it smelled vile, like... well, she didn't know what to compare it to, but it was horrible. There was also of small dish containing something that looked like congealed caviar, she instinctively recoiled from that one without further investigation.
"Must have been some party," she muttered to herself. She picked up a shopping bag that was on the floor by the table. The artwork on it was very strange, an elaborate black and white drawing done in the style of art nouveau, of what looked like a mortar and pestle, a really big soup kettle, and a variety of plants. The banner at the top read "Snape's Extraordinaries" in precise calligraphy. The sight of it was not comforting, it was not like any shop bag she'd ever seen, as if it were some sort of practical joke. She wadded it up and stuffed it to the bottom of a wastepaper basket under the end table. Then she swept all the strange containers with their alarming contents into the basket, too. There was no way she was washing up after that.
The last item on the table was, oddly enough, a stick. A pointy stick. She hesitated about throwing it in the trash, she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was something one ought to recycle instead. She left it where it was, and went to have a look around.
The flat was very bare, with nothing personal about it. She wouldn't have even thought anyone really lived here if she hadn't been here herself. There was a minimum of furniture, all of which was very cheap and plain. In the kitchen, the drawers were stale and empty, except for a few packets of plastic-wrapped cutlery of the sort given out with takeaway. She also found a saucepan and a few dusty tins of soup.
She fought down tears as she wandered back to the living room and sat down on the now-slightly-familiar sofa. She supposed that a sensible person would go directly to hospital at this point. But what if they kept her there? She would be Jane Doe, resident of some icy ward. She shuddered. Surely even this sad little flat was better than that. Maybe all she needed was a bit of rest.
It was then that she noticed that the end table had a little drawer in it as well, so she pulled it out by its ring handle and was much enheartened to find a sheaf of papers. It was a lease agreement, and the name on it was Jane Donovan.
Well, that was one mystery solved, she thought, with a giddy bit of relief, and a slightly hysterical laugh. Her name was Jane, after all. But "Donovan" was much better than "Doe".
Upon reading further, she also learned that the flat was paid up two years in advance. Who did such a thing, she wondered, then realized that, apparently, she did.
Jane rose from the sofa again and ventured into the bedroom. She discovered that there were no clothes in the closet, but she did find blankets and a towel. There was also a tiny, dessicated bar of soap in the bathroom, which revived enough under a stream of water to give a decent lather. By the time Jane had showered and dressed in the same, wrinkled clothes, she had worked up enough courage to return to the living room and sweep the curtains away from the window.
The scene outside was unfamiliar, but rather comforting in its lack of strangeness. She saw several rows of perfectly ordinary-looking flats, a rather pathetic bit of landscaping struggling to survive in the common areas between the buildings, and cars trundling along a nearby road. She took note of the fact she was on the ground floor, and the unexpected thought crossed her mind that she wouldn't have to carry groceries up the stairs.
Jane struggled a moment with the fastenings on the window, eventually wrestling it open. The soft shirring noise of traffic from the road wafted to her ears, occasionally punctuated by the rumble of a bus. Jane went back to the coffee table and picked up the funny stick and carried it to the window. She dropped it into the twiggy, yellowed plants below, and dusted off her hands.
~~~
Continue…