Noah laughed at Bea's reaction to finding out about one of his former careers. "Yeah, the higher-ups couldn't see me there either after a while," he said, not sounding as if he minded much. "I started out before I got into tattoos. Seemed like their level of discomfort grew with each one I added." He thought it was a crock of shit that a teacher had to look conservative to be successful; he knew his students had liked him and that they'd learned from him. To him, that seemed to be what mattered the most. Unfortunately, a lot of others didn't see it that way.
Noah would have had to have a damned good reason to go back out there, himself. He figured the only thing that would make him do that would be somehow finding out that a friend or family member was out there, needing his help. The government safehouses weren't any great shakes after being at this one, he'd discovered.
"They'll either think you have a roomie or maybe that you're schizophrenic," Noah teased her. "You know, if the voices in your head talked out loud? It could happen, I guess. Used to be a chick at the school who carried on whole conversations with herself in her office. You'd walk by and there she'd be, yammering away." Not that that lady had been schizophrenic, just weird, but it was a pertinent example.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, making a slight face when he felt the sweat there. "So hey, I'm gonna go clean up. I could drop this shirt over the fence and kill some zombie ass with the smell at ten paces." He gave her a nod and a smile. "It was nice runnin' into you." He wasn't always that well-mannered, but he'd always gotten on fairly well with Bea. She was good people.