Hello Hello {Fleur}

[Quinn (DELETED 7869)]

Harper Rock was quite a change from Boston. It was colder, and there were things that didn't make sense, though there were things in Boston that hadn't made sense either. On holiday, it seemed more of a sentance than a vacation, as her supervisor seemed to force her, since she tended to be a workaholic, and it became unhealthy at times, as to how many hours she put into it. The hotel was atrocious and unkept, of which Quinn was in the lobby, as she would fix it, even if she wasn't supposed to. The magazines would slowly become organized, straightened, and put in an order that made sense. First they were organized in an alphabetical order, and then by date. Once this was done to the woman's approval, she would organize them by color.

Quinn needed order, she loved it. It was why she was prone to putting every single bit of information from work in a well organized spreadsheet. It was because a spreadsheet demanded order. Unlike the outside world. There were too many variables that changed, and created chaos. Perhaps that was why Quinn hated to leave her office, and she felt uncomfortable around people. People weren't able to be organized in neat and orderly forms, at least in methods that this woman seemed to require.

A thought of home nearly destroyed Quinn's mood, causing her to quickly finish reorganizing the magazines and running to the phone. She needed to call home. She needed to make sure everything was where it should be, and to be sure that nothing was left unattended to. Fumbling for changes, as she reached the payphone, she inserted the change, then dialed home. It took a few seconds, and then there was a voice at the other end, it sounding somewhat sleepy. The man that was tasked to apartment-watch sounded like he had just woken up. "George. Good, you're still there. I'm calling to make sure everything is going well, and to make sure that the lights are off in rooms you are not in. Also, make sure the windows are closed tight, and that all of the light switches, when you are not using them, are in the downward position."

The phone clicked, and the man had hung up on her, perhaps so used to the woman's actions and mannerisms. " ... Hello? George? Are you still there?"

[Fleur]

Fleur liked hotels. She liked the smell of hotels, and she liked the feel of hotels. Something about the buildings left her feeling refreshed. Even though she never rented a room, she lingered in lobbies and helped herself to some of the facilities. People usually left her alone, as if they were driven away by some unknown force, so she typically went in and out of rooms as if she were a guest. On that day, Fleur sat on one of the couches in the lobby, her body almost rigid in its unmoving state, and stared into space. No, she didn’t stare into space. Fleur watched as Dorothy ran around tables and chairs, trying to beat an “all-time record,” which the deceased girl had only just made up.

“Why are you being so rowdy today? You should play the quiet game,” Fleur finally spoke, breaking an hour-long stretch of silence. Around her, some people eyed her, trying, and failing, to find the person she addressed. Of course, Dorothy refused to play the quiet game, and Fleur sighed, the air rushing from her nostrils in one big go. For the second time in three hours, Fleur dispelled the girl. Two more spirits took the girl’s place, one of which looked like a living, breathing human. When Fleur greeted them, they both launched into reasons why they needed her assistance, and she quickly lost interest. Fleur focused on another woman in the room, a woman on a payphone.

“Is George real?” Fleur finally addressed the woman, having waited until the phone call ended. “I find it difficult to phone the dead.”