, we'd sink like titanic (but faster)

[leonard janson]

leonard james janson ,
^{TWENTY-FOUR, TOURIST , EXCITABLE .}

my mind drew a blank,
^{COULD YOU TELL ME YOUR NAME, HON?}

my full name's leonard james janson. my parents really did loathe their little baby enough to call him leonard. they've always told me that there are excellent, useful people named leonard, and there are - leonard nimoy (my parents are trekkies because they're nerds) and leonard cohen, for starters - but they're both practically octogenarians. there's not even any real way to shorten leonard without still sounding like an eighty-year-old either, so i'll answer to virtually any variation of leonard (or leonard itself): lenny, mainly, but sometimes people come up with some seriously strange things. james is my dad's name, and janson is obviously his last name. it means son of jan, or something like that, but, well, it's been a while since there have been any sons of jan in my family.

are you legal drinking age,
^{COULD I SEE SOME SORT OF IDENTIFICATION?}

i was born on may 24, 1985, so i'm 24. yes, it really was that long ago, and, yes, my younger friends take an obscene amount of pleasure in singing that damn bowling for soup song every year on my birthday. other than that, though, there's nothing all that special. i was born, that's about it. my mom has never been the type to tell stories of how painful or not painful the pregnancy was, so i'm thankful for that. there are some things that nobody needs to know, and i think knowing whether or not your big fat head took forever coming out falls under that category. let's see....i guess bob dylan was born on the same day as me. that's interesting, right?

what makes you really happy,
^{WHAT BRINGS A SMILE TO LIGHT UP YOUR FACE?}

oh my god, can i say everything? honest to god, there are very few things that i absolutely and completely dislike; i'm not picky. basically, i like a lot more things than i dislike, so here goes: people, crowds, performing, music, broadway, having fun, spontaneity, big words (seriously, i get so happy when other people use ten-dollar words), tv, guitar hero/rock band, my macbook pro, the internet, being happy, loud noises, bowling (despite my complete lack of skills in that area), cold weather, snow, french food, british accents and, last but not least, new york city.

what makes you sad or mad,
^{NO ONE WANTS TO SEE OR BE ON YOUR BAD SIDE?}

i don't like....well, i don't know. i guess i don't like people that stereotype others (ohmygod, you sing and dance - you like dudes!), big cats, cursing (even if i do every now and then, it's kind of embarrassing), driving and anything associated with driving, bears (damn you, stephen colbert!) and fish.

they say that love is a battlefield,
^{HOW'S YOUR WAR GOING, WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR?}

i'm straight. everybody's either shocked or appalled when i tell them that (and secretly convinced i'm in denial or something), but, really. i like girls. i've even got proof: back in high school, i was in love with this girl--really in love with her. we did virtually everything together; from ninth grade onward it was kind of sickening. but after we graduated, we - well, i - had some issues. basically, i left without saying goodbye, and i haven't seen her since, due to summer intensives, and, well, other things. i still love her, it's just...complicated. since then, i haven't really been involved with anyone (which doesn't help matters any, really, but...whatever).

everyone has a crazy secret,
^{WHAT GOSSIP DO YOU HAVE HIDDEN FROM US?}

i guess my biggest secret is that--it's kind of embarrassing, actually, if you substitute horrifyingly for kind of--well, fine. i'm afraid of sex. i don't know what it is, but it scares the everliving daylight out of me. i can't even watch sex scenes in movies, and the instant anyone starts talking about it i bolt. it's the reason i left the love of my life back in california - i was too embarrassed to admit it to her.

its a scary world out there,
^{WHAT'S GOT YOU QUAKING IN YOUR BOOTS?}

i guess my biggest fear is that i'll never perform again - after being hit by that car and the months of physical therapy, but that doesn't seem very likely, but the thought of it strikes me cold. because of the accident, i'm also terrified of cars, for obvious reasons. another thing i'm afraid of is, well, sex, like i already said, and along with that the fear that i'll never get over that fear. finally, i'm really just afraid of never being with someone i love again. cheesy, yes, but painfully true.

did you ever play soccer as a kid,
^{YOU SEEM TO KEEP GOALS IN MIND, IS THAT TRUE?}

first and foremost, i want to get back home and back on broadway. that's the only reason i'm here, after all. it's just been miserable without it, even though paris is fantastic and all. i just miss home - i miss speaking english, for one thing, and i just miss being home. anyway, i'd also like to go back to my hometown one day and apologize to my old girlfriend; i don't want her to hate me, i just--i don't know. anyway, once i'm back home, i'd really like to originate a role and win a tony for it; that would basically vindicate my entire existence.

no one wants to talk about 'em,
^{BUT HOW'S THE FAMILY GETTING ALONG THESE DAYS?}

my family has pretty much always been there for me. i know that sounds incredibly cliche, but it's true. when my older brother, jack, was off playing football and being a manly man, i told my mom that i wanted to take ballet lessons. rather than throw a fit the way some mothers would, my mom was completely and totally cool with it. my dad took a bit more convincing, but once he'd decided that it was really what i wanted to do and that i'd make a horrible football player anyway, he was okay with it. he was never really supportive, but it was hardly a scene out of billy elliot, at least. my older brother and i have never been particularly close, but it never bothered me that much, mainly because lucy, my younger sister, is such a wonderful person. she was always willing to listen to me complain about anything (lessons when they got too hard, people being jerks at school or anything like that), and i'd do the same for her. both my mom and dad are in real estate back in california, and my brother's in graduate school studying sports medicine. lucy's a senior in high school.

now that we covered the agenda,
^{IS THERE ANYTHING I MISSED OR LEFT FOR YOU TO ADD?}

i think the reason that i'm in paris would be helpful. while i'm basically just a tourist, i'm actually here for medical reasons - about a year ago, i was hit by a car leaving rehearsal. to put it lightly, it sucked. it was my first show after i graduated from juilliard, and i'd spent the year after i graduated as an understudy in the same show. finally, i got to take the lead, and, of course, six months later, i was hit by a car. it was just fantastic. anyway, after a bit of research, my parents and friends and i finally found that the best place was a little bit outside of paris, so, well, here i am. it's been four months so far, and things are going relatively well - i can walk, at least - but it's still going to be a while before i can dance again. (and, sure, four months have passed, but i'm still so much of a stupid american it's kind of pathetic. my french isn't exactly pristine yet.)

hey, what's up hot mess? i'm angie. i'm pretty cool because i've been doing this for four-ish years. and i'm only seventeen! anway, i can't wait to get started, i've even read the rules. i can prove it: bop to the top! i can be contacted by pm or msn: [e-mail], and i love using zachary quinto as my character. hopefully, i'll see you soon.

Apparently, sleeping just wasn’t going to be an option tonight. George had been trying to sleep for the past three hours without even the slightest hint of any relief whatsoever. He’d been lying in bed, tossing and turning and staring up at the canopied top of the bed—he was practically positive that he now had every curve, wrinkle and pattern of the stupid thing memorized. There had to be some better way to spend the night. George wasn’t normally an insomniac or anything like that, but tonight seemed to be the exception. It was pointless to just keep on lying in bed, and he knew that, but, well, you never knew. There was always that slight chance that he might fall asleep, or something. But what was far more likely was that he was simply going to lay here for the rest of the night and regret it the next morning. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying one last time to fall asleep before giving up completely. Finally, a few minutes later, he sat up in bed, stretching his arms back behind his head. Well, what was there to do now? It was too early in the morning (or too late at night, George wasn’t quite sure which it was) to go downstairs to get something to eat, and he didn’t really feel like walking down to the kitchen. He could stay up here and read, or something, but, honestly, reading felt too much like studying. Then again, studying did always put him to sleep. That was what he was aiming for, wasn’t it? Besides, he did have that one book that he’d been meaning to read for quite a while, now. It had absolutely nothing to do with school—otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to read it, period—but, still. That wasn’t the point. The point was that he didn’t have any school books that weren’t packed into his trunk, and this one just happened to be right next to his bed. Maybe it was so late and he was tired enough that it wouldn’t matter whether the book was any good.

Either way, he picked up the book. It wasn’t exactly strenuous reading, since George was just reading it for fun, but it was something to do, and, after all those hours lying awake and bored out of his mind, anything was a welcome interruption. He leaned back against the headboard and opened the book. He read the first line, paused for a moment, blinked, and then read it again. There once upon a time was a man who was partly Dave – he had a mission in life. Wait, what? Maybe this whole lack of sleep was getting to him. He put the book down for a moment, frowned at it, then picked it up and read the line again. Nope, it was definitely still the same. Maybe this whole reading thing wasn’t going to work out. Apparently In His Own Write was a bit more strenuous reading than he’d thought. Well, there went that idea. What was he supposed to do now? He could always go down somewhere, or something. There might be someone else there—someone else who’d had problems sleeping too. That was always a possibility, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like it could hurt anything going down, anyways. There weren’t any rules about it, and, at least it was something to do. Anything was better than sitting in bed, bored out of his mind, so, why not? He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside. After slipping his feet into a pair of trainers and dressing, he quietly left the dormitory, careful not to wake his blissfully asleep dormmate when he grabbed his messenger bad near the door. He didn’t want to disturb him; after all, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t sleep. Why deny them of what he wanted? It didn’t make any sense. Admittedly, not much George did made sense the vast majority of the time, but this wasn’t one of them. Waking up his dormmate wouldn’t help him, especially if he was planning on sneaking out after curfew.

Where he finally decided to do, however, was one of the ever-so-common decisions he made that made virtually no sense whatsoever. The West Wing probably wasn’t the best place to go late at night, but, honestly, he could hardly care less. He’d wanted to just relax for days, now, and what better way to do it than to act? What better time than now? It wasn’t like anyone else would be there at this hour. Besides, Paris Prep had that crazy open-door policy anyways, so he wasn’t going to have any problems getting into the room. Now was probably one of the only chances he’d get to act by himself for a while (he had quite a few plans for the next week), so he might as well take advantage of it. If he got caught…well, he’d take the punishment. There wasn’t much else he could do, really. He certainly didn’t plan on getting caught, but there were always complications. What were you going to do? Having made up his mind, George walked quickly down to the West Wing, quietly as he possibly could. He opened the door to the auditorium and looked around. There was no one there—it was after midnight, what else could he expect?—and for that, he was most definitely thankful. He didn’t want anyone else distracting him; it was so much easier to let go when it was just him around. He didn’t have to worry about what other people would think or whether or not they would like what he was doing; it didn’t matter. He was just doing it for him, and that was honestly what he needed right now. He dug through his messenger bag looking for the play he’d brought for just this purpose: The Coast of Utopia. His parents had taken him to see it on the West End when it had decuted, and he’d been wanting to do one monologue in it for quite a while. Vissarion Belinsky’s in particular had always fascinated him, but it was one that he’d never had the courage to do in front of anyone. Now was the perfect chance to try.

“I am not an artist. My play was no good. I am not a poet. A poem can’t be written by an act of will. When the rest of us are trying our hardest to be present, a real poet goes absent. We can watch him in the moment of creation, there he sits with the pen in his hand, not moving. When it moves, we’ve missed it. Where did he go in that moment? The meaning of art lies in the answer to that question. To discover it, to understand it, to know the difference between it happening and not happening, this is my whole purpose in life, and it is not a contemptible calling in our country where our liberties cannot be discussed because we have none, and science or politics can’t be discussed for the same reason.”

Throughout the monologue, his voice had progressively gotten louder and louder, more and more fervent. He was so wrapped up into the monologue that he didn’t even notice the door opening and someone else coming in—apparently someone else couldn’t sleep either.

ps, the image is by know your onion! @ caution 2.0

template made by cammi. but she did base it slightly on
kari's template from goodbye is a second chance. thnks!
stealing is mean. i promise i'll hunt you down if you steal.

[olivia torres .]