White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Nineteen

1952 — New York City, New York

   Eleanor Fraser had only lived in small cities with little noise, little people, and an enchanting sense all the way around. Hastings was a small seaside village. New Orleans was small, soft soft sounds but a merry attitude by those who lived there. Paris was big, yet quiet and filled with soft-spoken people and their soft-spoken manners. The countryside of France was also quiet, little villages with the only noisy thing being chickens in the early morning. Even the Nazi-ruled locations they had been to was quiet. Nothing was as noisy is New York City.

   The city was hustling and bustling with many people, cars, animals, and supernatural beings that blended in to the colourful kaleidoscope. Eleanor had never heard such a loud city. Cars sped by, people walked among the streets and flipped the drivers off when they almost got ran over. The lights at night were blinding, something the young vampire wasn't used to. But, she was excited, delighted, and there was also a sense of fright. If it weren't for Thomas and Gianni being at her side, she would have gone crazy.

   Every Sunday afternoon, they went out to a restaurant called Keens Chophouse in the Herald Square theatre district. It was a host to many Broadway actors, movie actors, and anyone involved in the playmaking business. It was one of the ways how Eleanor Fraser became good friends with the young James Dean. He was a young man of twenty-one, currently starting in a Broadway show called See the Jaguar. The man always held a breathtaking smile on his lips, sometimes a smirk, and he could get anything he wanted by calling the other a pretty name. He had called Eleanor 'darling' too many times, making her smile and her cheeks reddened with that simple pet name. 

   "I don't know what you see in him," Gianni said with a face. He was staring at James Dean, who sat in a table with a Hollywood director.

   "I see nothing but a pretty face," she said with a small smile. "And a nice body."

   "Eleanor!" Gianni leaned closer to her, arms crossed. "He's nothing but a stupid actor."

   She let out a soft laugh and shook her head. "He's a good kisser, Gianni. And he knows how to treat women better than the majority of the men in New York. And..."

   "You and Thomas have sex with him," the boy finished for her, a teasing smirk on his lips. "It's one of the many reasons why I have been tempted to leave so many times."

   "You have left!" she said, hitting him in the arm. "Lately, you've been staying with that friend of yours. What's his name again?"

   "Peter," Gianni said with a smile, shaking his head. "You've met him several times, Eleanor. He's the one that asks whether you're my aunt, my sister, or the one I'm sleeping with."

   She made a face and shook her head. "I don't like him," she simply said. "He's rude."

   "He fought in the war." Gianni made a face and crossed his legs as he shrugged his shoulders. "He has every right to be rude and angry."

   "You fought, too," she reminded him. "Not in the front lines, but you did something fantastic."

   In total, they had saved 483 children. All of those children had passed through their homes, which were three, and had been taken either to the United States of America or England. She remembered each child, their small and fragile faces as they came and left. Over the years, she had kept a journal with all of their names, age, where they came from and where they went. And those children had sent them letters and drawings, all of them saved in a small trunk that was in the attic of their current home in the City.

   Gianni let out a scoff and shook his head. "When I get my arm blown off, then I can be rude and angry." He leaned back on the chair and lit the cigarette he had between his lips. "In the meanwhile, I'll just complain about you and Thomas."