#hostjohncameron

@hostjohncameron

A large wooden box was certainly an interesting way to travel. Curled up inside, Kit Snicket had to rely on sound to figure out where she was. The last thing she needed was to pop out in front of the wrong person. So Kit kept her ears pricked: The rumble of traffic. A woman with a strong accent giving orders. Someone with a Boston accent- what was he doing in Paris? - commented on how large the box was. She felt herself being lifted and moved. 

At last, stillness and quiet. Unless Kit was very mistaken, she was in John Cameron’s dressing room. And if she was sorely mistaken, well, she would find her way out of trouble somehow. Kit unlatched the box from within and stood, glad for the chance to finally stretch her stiff and cramped muscles.

“Well, would you have notes of who you would have been sent out with at least? We might be able to track them down and make some progress into just how you came to be in this alleyway,” John suggested as it slowly dawned on him that he hadn’t ever properly introduced himself to the librarian. He wasn’t exactly new to the organization and yet somehow, their paths had not crossed until this night. And he still wasn’t exactly sure why he had been sent to the alley outside of vague notion of providing backup to someone.

“I’m John, by the way. John Cameron. And I suppose the logic for why they’d send the librarian is about the same as to why they’d send a radio host.”

The silence  that has fallen upon all of Paris, as most of its citizens are tucked nicely tucked tightly into their beds, dreaming of charming Crickets that weave the most enchanting of tales, is suddenly disturbed.

“U-Um...excuse me! J-Jo--uh--no, no, wait--h-host--um--Mr...Cameron...sir...?”

Nervous stuttering and aggressive, but gentle knocks against one very exhausted and shattered  man’s door breaks the city’s collective peace, as the sky begins to slowly begins to grow lighter again.

Julian the Janitor’s entire body shivers as he stands outside the door to John Cameron’s humble home, from intense and overwhelming fear, anxiety, and the burdening weight of his conscience...and from a night as frigid and unforgiving as he anticipated the host would most likely be upon finding him there. It had grown so late by the time he finished his usual rounds of cleaning at the Eiffel Tower, and that John Cameron may be trying to get some rest does cross his mind, of course.

But…