Brief as it is, Noah swallows nervously under the weight of the Hatbox Ghost’s glare. Damn it, he’d been trying to be polite. Why is he always so bad with people, living or dead?
But at least the ghost has answered their question. Noah gives him a nod and hurries in the direction indicated- the Host doesn’t need to tell Noah twice to get a move on!
...Of course, it would help if he actually had a bit more to go on than a single direction, cluttered and unfamiliar as the attic is. He can’t go fast without risking knocking over a table full of flowers or a stack of gift boxes or tripping over a piano. And it’s dark, and the dust makes him sneeze a few times. Once again, it’s reminding himself that somewhere in this mess there’s Cameron that keeps Noah from doing what he really wants, which is to curl up in a ball and whimper.
Needless to say Noah doesn’t talk much, except for the occasional quiet question-slash-comment like “This way?” to make sure he’s not getting himself lost. Or been left alone up here.
Eventually the moonlight on one end of the attic starts to properly filter through the junk and then, quite suddenly, Noah can see someone standing in a doorway.
“Hello?”
Someone tall, fair, holding a book open in his hands but peering warily out into the gloom of the attic.
“Cameron!” Oh God, the sight of him makes Noah almost cry with relief. Forgetting the presence of the Host or anyone else in the attic for that matter, Noah hurries forward. Cameron clasps one hand on Noah’s shoulder (the Host might notice he’s still keeping the book open with the other hand).
“Noah!” Cameron looks startled, definitely, but not upset. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t show up after work, and you weren’t picking up your phone, and then I ran into Mali and she said you’d gone here, so I went to find you, but then I ran into this ghost-” Noah breaks off, embarrassed at his own rambling and the inanity of what he’s saying (even if he’s reasonably sure at this point that Cameron won’t disbelieve him), as well as it occurring to him that the Host might want to get a word in edgewise.
“Anyway,” he finishes lamely, “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am. Are you okay? You sound terrible.”
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But at least the ghost has answered their question. Noah gives him a nod and hurries in the direction indicated- the Host doesn’t need to tell Noah twice to get a move on!
...Of course, it would help if he actually had a bit more to go on than a single direction, cluttered and unfamiliar as the attic is. He can’t go fast without risking knocking over a table full of flowers or a stack of gift boxes or tripping over a piano. And it’s dark, and the dust makes him sneeze a few times. Once again, it’s reminding himself that somewhere in this mess there’s Cameron that keeps Noah from doing what he really wants, which is to curl up in a ball and whimper.
Needless to say Noah doesn’t talk much, except for the occasional quiet question-slash-comment like “This way?” to make sure he’s not getting himself lost. Or been left alone up here.
Eventually the moonlight on one end of the attic starts to properly filter through the junk and then, quite suddenly, Noah can see someone standing in a doorway.
“Hello?”
Someone tall, fair, holding a book open in his hands but peering warily out into the gloom of the attic.
“Cameron!” Oh God, the sight of him makes Noah almost cry with relief. Forgetting the presence of the Host or anyone else in the attic for that matter, Noah hurries forward. Cameron clasps one hand on Noah’s shoulder (the Host might notice he’s still keeping the book open with the other hand).
“Noah!” Cameron looks startled, definitely, but not upset. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t show up after work, and you weren’t picking up your phone, and then I ran into Mali and she said you’d gone here, so I went to find you, but then I ran into this ghost-” Noah breaks off, embarrassed at his own rambling and the inanity of what he’s saying (even if he’s reasonably sure at this point that Cameron won’t disbelieve him), as well as it occurring to him that the Host might want to get a word in edgewise.
“Anyway,” he finishes lamely, “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am. Are you okay? You sound terrible.”