Noah Jett Fitzaptrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maybethatsalie) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2013-12-26 02:22 pm
maybethatsalie) wrote in muserevival2013-12-26 02:22 pm
Quote of the Day 020.
“Because that's what kindness is. It's not doing something for someone else because they can't, but because you can.”
- Andrew Iskander
Noah had no idea where he was when he woke up. But he was warm. More warm than he had been in a very long time, and it felt like he was wrapped in cotton wool. He laid still, scared to move in case it all disappeared around him. He was in a dimly lit room that was decorated in a lot of soft and calming colours. He was in a bed too, propped up in it against a mound of pillows. It was a sleigh bed and the quilt tucked up around him looked homemade. Where the fuck was he?
It was only then that he realised something was stuck to his forehead and he reached up to pull it off. It was a yellow Post-It with a scrawly handwriting on it. He held it close to his face, squinting a little in the soft light to read it.
Stay put and rest.
If you try to do another runner, I'll put a bullet in your arse.
I'm not having you drop dead on my watch, kid.
- Euan
Noah side-eyed for a moment, spotting a print of a castle on the wall. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but could it be that the cop he met and barfed on in the cafe had brought him home to give him somewhere warm to sleep? He rubbed a hand over his face and then looked at the note stuck to his finger, bewildered. Mostly, people didn't have the time of day for him. Mostly, they just thought he was a useless homeless bum who didn't want to do anything to help himself. 'Go and get a job, you lazy piece of shit!' was a regular thing hissed at him. Like it was that fucking easy.
He was still feeling like hell, and there was a rattly wet sound in his chest with every breath he took. He was sick, as much as he hated to admit that. He hated stumbling at his hurdles. The headache that felt like his brain was being smashed from the inside out was awful, and he realised that even if his first instinct would be to try to run away, it would be throwing this astounding kindness back in Euan's face. No one had ever shown him this much compassion and kindness, and this guy was a complete and utter stranger. He knew nothing about Noah except some piecemeal and censored facts Noah had offered when they sat together with New York passing by the out the cafe window.
He had no idea where he was, or why, or even what could make a person do something like this before him. But he stuck the Post-It to the nightstand, picking up the pen that had obviously been left there when the note was written. He paused, looking at the pen shaking violently in his fingers with his much his hands were trembling. After a moment, and holding his wrist still, he scribbled a slow, 'Thank you' at the bottom of the note before letting his painful head sink back on the pillow, eyes slipping closed against the light before tears could come.
Noah Cameron :: Original Character
- Andrew Iskander
Noah had no idea where he was when he woke up. But he was warm. More warm than he had been in a very long time, and it felt like he was wrapped in cotton wool. He laid still, scared to move in case it all disappeared around him. He was in a dimly lit room that was decorated in a lot of soft and calming colours. He was in a bed too, propped up in it against a mound of pillows. It was a sleigh bed and the quilt tucked up around him looked homemade. Where the fuck was he?
It was only then that he realised something was stuck to his forehead and he reached up to pull it off. It was a yellow Post-It with a scrawly handwriting on it. He held it close to his face, squinting a little in the soft light to read it.
Stay put and rest.
If you try to do another runner, I'll put a bullet in your arse.
I'm not having you drop dead on my watch, kid.
- Euan
Noah side-eyed for a moment, spotting a print of a castle on the wall. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but could it be that the cop he met and barfed on in the cafe had brought him home to give him somewhere warm to sleep? He rubbed a hand over his face and then looked at the note stuck to his finger, bewildered. Mostly, people didn't have the time of day for him. Mostly, they just thought he was a useless homeless bum who didn't want to do anything to help himself. 'Go and get a job, you lazy piece of shit!' was a regular thing hissed at him. Like it was that fucking easy.
He was still feeling like hell, and there was a rattly wet sound in his chest with every breath he took. He was sick, as much as he hated to admit that. He hated stumbling at his hurdles. The headache that felt like his brain was being smashed from the inside out was awful, and he realised that even if his first instinct would be to try to run away, it would be throwing this astounding kindness back in Euan's face. No one had ever shown him this much compassion and kindness, and this guy was a complete and utter stranger. He knew nothing about Noah except some piecemeal and censored facts Noah had offered when they sat together with New York passing by the out the cafe window.
He had no idea where he was, or why, or even what could make a person do something like this before him. But he stuck the Post-It to the nightstand, picking up the pen that had obviously been left there when the note was written. He paused, looking at the pen shaking violently in his fingers with his much his hands were trembling. After a moment, and holding his wrist still, he scribbled a slow, 'Thank you' at the bottom of the note before letting his painful head sink back on the pillow, eyes slipping closed against the light before tears could come.
Noah Cameron :: Original Character