callum
“Bridgette,” he said softly, almost with an air of trepidation. Yes he’d said her name aloud before, but it was almost like learning it for the first time. This time he couldn’t stop his cheeks from burning. “I’m sorry, I wasnae sure if it would be appropriate for me to call ye by yer first name.” Back home he almost exclusively referred to the lords and ladies of the clans by their titles and last names. He wasn’t sure if he knew the actual names of the lords’ sons. Maybe it was too formal but it was how he’d been raised. Still, when she corrected him, he felt a sense of relief. He didn’t like the formalities of the royal courts and he’d secretly hoped to become someone a little more intimate with her, even if it just meant getting to know her beyond surface level. Of course that would depend heavily on if he could get past the anxiety that rose within him whenever she came in close proximity to him. Her reaction to his compliment had caused a tinge of confidence to spark within him. Cal had been so sure he’d made an absolute fool of himself, but it seemed this interaction was not going as poorly as he perceived the one on Halloween. “I dinnae think there’s a wrong choice. I’m sure no matter which dress ye chose ye’d look… Magnificent.” He glanced down at himself a moment, a bout of shyness creeping in. He had not been complimented tonight - the stares he’d been receiving were the exact opposite of praise - but even if he had Callum was sure no compliment could move him like one from her. “Well I took yer criticism to heart, obviously. Didnae wanna disappoint ye again. I guess I succeeded. And thank ye as well. It’s nice to ken at least one person out there can appreciate Highland dress without gawking.”
If you had asked him a day ago if he’d make an attempt to speak with Bridgette Charming, Callum would laugh in your face. Even if she’d somehow managed to capture his heart and have a grip on it for a few years now, he just wasn’t the type to go out of his way or to really put himself out there. He’d been so brusque and uncomfortable at the Halloween party, he was certain he blew his chance. But here and now… he supposed maybe he was doing something right. At least something right enough that she seemed interested enough to strike a conversation with him. Maybe he wasn’t the boldest or outgoing prince - that much was true… But maybe tonight he wouldn’t walk away full of regret. “I guess it’s a preference thing. Auradonian food is fine, really, but it’s times like this I miss the cuisine from back home. And I’m just generally nae a sweets kind of guy, so I was never gonna be blown away by the spread.” He took a sip of his drink when she questioned it. Glancing at the liquid remaining, he shrugged a shoulder in response. “I’m Scottish, we drink,” he said, and his tone had finally lost the ridged and awkwardness. “No, I’m just nae a big fan of… this,” he motioned around them. “I’m nae good at social gatherings, nae without a bit of liquid courage anyway.” In truth, he was sorrowful, almost perpetually so, but that was not a secret he was ready to willingly part with. Not even to the one he’d been so infatuated with. The reality of his predicament - of the tension back home and the homesickness that’s seeped into his bones and gripped his soul - was only divulged to the glass in his hand, and that was how it would be. “What about ye? Nae trying to flush yer demons with endless free drinks?”
Her brows furrowed when he said he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to use her name or not. “Well it’s my name, so please use it. I’m not the biggest fan of pet names.” She found them degrading, and there was no one in her life who she liked enough to allow her to call her anything other then her name or variations of it. Once, in elementary school some girl tried to call her bubbles and Bridgette retaliated by cutting off one of her pigtails during play time. She’d convinced the teacher they were playing hair salon and she didn’t mean to cut her hair, the girl had moved at the last minute and it was an accident. So, long story short, just call her by her name. “Unless you were going to call me by my official title, which while always lovely to hear, isn’t necessary. I know I’m a Princess, no need to say it whenever you talk to me.” She took a long sip from her glass then, corner of her lips curving upwards while she drank. Her blue eyes continued to take in his taller form and the craftsmanship of his outfit. She was curious to see if the rest of the men back in Scotland looked this put together in a kilt, but she gathered the answer was no. The image of dad bods and beer belly’s hanging over the waistband alone made her want to gag. “You most certainly succeeded. Honestly I wish more of the men took some time and effort when it came to fashion. I’m sick of all these pastel suits. I want something rich. Also, would it kill someone to wear a boot. Just once, for me?”
“And as for your previous statement. I absolutely looked magnificent in all options, but I think that’s just because the Gods were kind and granted me with my mother’s looks. The dress however, was not cute. I understand there are plenty of young, up and coming designers out there looking to get their looks recognized, but I have a very specific brand of aesthetic and there are just some things i will not be caught dead in. An entire dress made of white lace that makes me look like my grandmother’s fabric doily? Not an options. Anyway,” she had gone off on a tangent, but fashion was important so how could anyone blame her for doing such? “How about we get back on the topic of why we’re both so desperate to drink. You say you don’t like social gatherings. So is it the fact that we’re in a room of a bunch of stuffy nobles or just the fact that we’re in a room with a bunch of people? I’ll give you my answer. It’s the stuffy nobles. How the heck is a girl supposed to have fun with her girlfriends when her parents are in the corner watching her every move. One of the only good things about these events is the camera’s aren’t allowed past the red carpets,” which means she could usually let go a little. “but I’d rather have a bunch of camera’s here than my dad.” His scrutinizing glare was too much at times, and while she could generally talk her way out of any situation, having to listen to him tell her over and over again what is expected of her and what her actions say about the family is at the bottom of her fun list. “You know the doors to the back garden are open. If you like, need a moment or something.”











