Norm's apartment was slightly cleaner than normal (normal being as clean as a single guy's apartment can get), but only because some of his stuff had been haphazardly stuffed into boxes. Another difference; some natural light was making its way into the place. Half the suncatchers were missing from the windows,... a garbage can contained fragments of the missing ones.

Norm himself was lying on the futon, face covered by a piece of sheet music. His hair stuck out from under the page - still spiky, because he liked the style, but the red-black had faded to an ugly reddish-gray. One hand hung over the edge of the futon, clutching the strap of his saxophone. One sneakered foot dangled over the armrest, the other (sock-clad only) resting on the floor. It looked as if he'd stopped in the middle of doing several things at once, and couldn't motivate himself to continue any of them.
Which was exactly what had happened.

"If you go in six different directions at once, you will accomplish nothing. You'll fall over, though. I am assuming that is what happened."
Nick had come silently through the wall, and ended up kneeling in front of the couch, smirking translucently at Norman.

Norm sat bolt upright, giving a startled yelp and dropping the saxophone with a loud thud. He looked shocked, anxious, fearful... and then he recognized Nick.

"Don't do that," he growled, relaxing and reaching down to gather up his saxophone and check it for dents, "...I mean, geez, would it kill you to knock or something?"

"No." There was a ghastly sort of humor on his face when he said it. "It wouldn't. But it's such a lot of work, when I can just come in through the wall. I do apologize for startling you, though. Is your saxophone all right?"

"...Yeah, looks like it's fine," Norm said sulkily, after a few moments. He almost wished it wasn't, so he'd have a reason to keep being grumpy - it was so difficult to stay mad at Nick.

He slid off the couch to gather up the sheet music, which had drifted to the floor. "You were lucky this time. Warn me before you come in, okay? Next time you might not be so lucky, and I don't want my saxophone damaged."

Nick's mouth turned upwards at the corner. He was in a teasing mood.
"And what exactly would you do to me if I 'wasn't so lucky' next time?"
He's in remarkably good humor, and he appears to have forgotton his coat. So he's in remarkably good, see-through, blood-splattered humor.
Or has Norm gotten over all that?

Well, he can get through an encounter with Nick without having any urges to hurt himself or Nick, so, yes, he's gotten over it.

"I don't know..." Norm dragged the saxophone case over with a foot, to put the instrument away. A faint smirk twitched at his lips for a fraction of a second. "Call the ghostbusters? Or a zealous priest?... Something like that. What're you doing here, anyway?"

"Just checking up on people, you know. Making sure everyone is still alive and threatening me."
He gets to his feet, sliding one hand easily into his pocket. Even dead, he can't help but look ridiculously composed at all times.
"You'd be astonished by how little I have to do with my time. And you have too much. Perhaps I could help you."

"Wha...? Oh, no, I'm not busy or anything," Norm protested, clicking open the saxophone case. "I'm trying to do a lot of things at once, but they don't all need to be done right away. That's just the way I get things done. Do a little of everything."

He began stuffing the saxophone into its case. He was so accustomed to the routine he barely had to watch what he was doing, but he paid close attention anyway - mainly for the purpose of having somewhere to anchor his gaze.

"I'm trying to, uh, tally up the pros and cons of moving away from here. It's hard to decide whether I should or not..."

Humming softly, he sat beside Norm, steepling his fingers under his chin and looking vaguely troubled.
Moving away?
Away away, or just kind of away?
"You mean...do you mean just find a new place to live, or do you mean leave the city?"
If it's the former, it will all right. Nick won't be losing one of his few...friends, acquaintances, whatever you want to call them. But Nick can't leave the city, so if Norm goes...Nick will probably never see him again, which bothers him.

"I'm not sure." Having set the instrument back in its case, he snapped the lid closed and flopped backwards into the couch. "If I move within the city, it's kind of not worth moving at all. He'll still find me."

Norm sighed. He still didn't believe Logan's promise to leave him alone.

"If I move away - well, among other reasons, I really can't afford to move away, 'cause I'd have to quit my job. So either way I'm screwed."

"Who's 'he'? "
He looked a little more worried. Vague, still (it isn't proper to show strong emotion, perhaps), but worried.
"I..."
Surely, surely he wasn't going to say this.
"Know of a house. No one goes near, really."
He said it.

"Logan. The one who - oh, wait, you don't know about him." The kid had never actually told him his name - Norm only knew it because it had been cut into his back, like a brand. "Anyway. He sent me to the hospital for a month, and now he's stalking me. He caught up with me the other day,... said he'd leave me alone. He probably just said it to mess with my head... And there's Mort's sister, too..."

Norm raised an eyebrow, looking sideways at the ghost.

"What're you talking about?"

"He sounds like a thoroughly nasty person. You know, if he bothers you again, you can call me. I'll think of a way to do that soon. I can't actually do much, but they don't know that."
He smirked when Norm looked at him, although there was a hint of discomfort in his expression, as if this was territory he almost did not want to enter.
"A house. I know of a house. If I was a real estate agent, I'd tell you that it's a...what is it they say? A real fixer-upper. But it's a beautiful estate, minus the cobwebs. I'm sure you'd like it."
Yes, Nick does realize that Norm doesn't seem to be the type who has enough money to buy an 'estate'. So why is he keeping with this kind of talk?

"Uh-huh. And just where is this... 'estate'?" Norm asked, playing along, but trying not to sound too skeptical because Nick seemed to be in earnest. He was doing quite a good job of pretending, too - his thoughts weren't seeping out and betraying him. The apartment was curiously devoid of the usual thought-whispers that hung around like cigarette smoke on clothes.

"It's sort of on the outskirts. Long drive, top of a hill, big iron gate...some trees...you know."
Nick was still being perfectly serious. His ethereal eyes were as earnest as they could be.
"The matter of ownership, and unfortunately of upkeep have...fallen through the cracks. I could arrange for it to surface again."

"Nick..."

Norm sighed, pushing up his glasses so he could rub at his eyes.

"I appreciate it, but... you've gotta be kidding me. Honestly..."

"You're being stalked and therefore want to move house. Why would I joke about something like that?"
One of the two is missing some crucial information, I think.

"... I think you're missing the point." He shook his head. "Look, I can barely afford to move, as is. In or out of the city,... so this is, it's kind of, impossible. My options right now are, stay here, be stalked. Move somewhere in the city, get stalked later. Or leave the city altogether, losing my job and probably having to live with my family until I can find work."

Norm shook his head, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up in weird ways.

"Like I said. 'M stuck, any way you look at it."

He waved a dismissive hand and Norm's talk of affording things with a soft chuckle, but his face became more serious a moment later.
"You don't want to move in with your family." Said with certainty; not a question.
"I could help you with the...the stalker. I'm sorry...forgive me for being so forward. It probably seems a little...much to you, excessive, effusive...it's merely that I'd rather not see you go. I have so few friends."

"No, it's okay."
He shrugged, still looking uncomfortable, but managed a weak sort of laugh.
"...Unless you plan on following me 24/7, there's not much you can do about the stalking bit. Thanks for the offer. Really. But I don't think you can help."

"It doesn't take me long to travel."
What he meant by this was 'please don't go,' but he was a tiny bit too proud to actually say that.
"All you'd have to do...just call. I'd hear you."

Norm smirked faintly.

"Yeah? How's that work...?"

The smirk suddenly turned into a fierce, forced grin.

"Hell, I'm dead if I stay here, dead if I go,... I don't know why I'm debating over it. I might as well just not waste my time in worrying over whether moving a mile or two will affect the outcome. 'Cause in the end, it won't."

"I have no idea. But it does. It would be louder and clearer if you had something of mine. I--"
He stopped speaking, going rather more transparent when he saw Norm's rather frightening smile.
"...but if you wouldn't feel safe here, by all means, leave the city. I would not want to pressure you to stay; no one knows the results of a lapse in judgement as well as I."
His voice was fainter now, almost as if he was fading into the air around him.
He had allowed years of death to isolate him, and was as a result now somewhat timid.

"No. It's okay. It doesn't matter." A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. "It really doesn't. I might as well stay."

Sigh.

"So. What's new in your li- uh, death?"

Nick took a deep breath (or its nearest deathly equivalent), and laid a solid, cold hand on Norm's shoulder.
"Why? You don't have to answer, just...wouldn't it be safer, out there?"
He ignored the question about himself. Nothing had been going on in his...existance. He was bored...bored, but mostly lonesome.

Norm shivered - it was near-impossible not to, though he did make an effort.

"Well, you'd think so... but, really, I don't think I'm safe anywhere," he replied listlessly, "I'm just,...not. Didn't think of it at first, but moving won't make a difference. It never helped before."

He sighed, shaking his head and drawing his hand away.
"That's too bad. I don't suppose it makes any difference, then...but I can tell you that I'd do my best. And...I...would dearly love to see someone living in that house."

"Yeah, I know you'd do your best," he echoed, with a mournful look. "But you don't have to."
Mainly because, in Norm's opinion, he can't help.

"...I'm sure you'll find someone. Why's it so important?"

"I know I don't have to. I will."
He nodded firmly. Yes, that settled it.
"Why...the house? Oh, yes. It's my house. And it's so dead and lonely."

"I've never heard of a house being dead and lonely before."
He frowned.
"Sounds kind of sad."

"It is." he said forlornly. "Kind of sad, that is."
And that was all he said. After that, he seemed lost in thought.

"Come on, I'm sure you could find someone to rent it out to, if it bothers you that much," Norm smirked, joking, "I bet there're lots of people who'd like to live in a dead, lonely house. Or use it for a movie set or something."

"A movie set?!" For a moment, he became very solid and very offended. After glaring at Norm, he sighed and lapsed back into translucency.
"It wouldn't be dead and lonely anymore, if someone lived there."

Nick is scary when he's solid and offended.
It probably has something to do with being dead. And the blood.

"Is that supposed to be a hint?" Norm inquired, with a hesitant smirk.
He wouldn't want to anger the ghost,... not when he doesn't know if all that blood on his shirt really is his own.

Nick would be even more offended if Norm suggested that he'd murdered somebody.

"It might be." he admitted, with a sigh of mock-defeat. "Perhaps."

"Wow. You're so precise."

Why, yes, Norm was being sarcastic.

"In my day, one had to be able to dance around a subject for hours to avoid being labelled coarse and uncultured. You young whippersnappers have no finesse."
Well, he seemed to be cheering up a bit.

"I have finesse. It's just been put on hold. Anyway - what do you mean by 'in your day'," Norm mimicked, smirking, "Just when exactly was 'your day', anyway, you old geezer?"

"1917. It wasn't much of a 'day', actually...elegant parties, all candlelight and champagne and beautiful women. I was young, rich, spoiled...I thought I was having the time of my life. Looking back, I wish I'd done so much more."
He did feel that his life had been rather insignificant and superficial. Nonetheless, he wished for a glass of champagne.