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.”
Callum stood there, quiet, for a moment as she spoke. He wondered momentarily if he had offended her by using her title. But the more she spoke, the more he fought against an amused grin. Royal as he was, he didn’t understand most royals in Auradon. Where he was from, it was impolite to not use titles. The lords and their sons wouldn’t be caught dead referring to him by his first name. Even in casual circumstances, they referred to each other by clan name. Never mind that they mostly called him Lord Fraser instead of the correct DunBroch, it was still unheard of for his peers to call him ‘Callum’. In Auradon, royals were more aggressive about being called by their given names but then were very stuck on their traditions. It was a dichotomy he didn’t understand. “I’m sorry if that was offensive,” the Scot spoke in an even and soft tone, “In my kingdom we tend to be pretty formal with people we’re nae well acquainted, so we use titles or clan names. It was purely out of respect yer highness, but if ye dinnae like it then I’ll be sure to not repeat it again.” His smile grew softer as he added, “An’ it could go both ways - I dinnae mind Kent Clark, but... ye could call me Callum, if ye’d like.” He felt a little awkward making the suggestion, but his goal was to become more acquainted with her, right? Perhaps that was the first step. He didn’t really know how to go about this. His discomfort was only amplified when under her scrutinizing gaze. She seemed to appreciate his clothes, which made him more confident, yes, but he didn’t like being observed so. He enjoyed when he was ignored, he didn’t have to worry about what people were thinking of him because they weren’t thinking of him at all. But now... it was easy to feel self conscious. At her comment on other men’s fashion choices, Callum let his eyes wander to observe the other male attendees. Sipping his drink, he shrugged, “We have it a lot more simple, I think. But... if ye were to tell them to try something different, then I think most of them would comply. Ye can be convincing - ye had me regretting all my fashion choices on Halloween, so I would ken.”
He fought against his desire to look her over again. That wasn’t how his mothers raised him, and he was trying hard to be nothing but respectful. But he couldn’t help the amusement rising in his expression, letting out a breathless chuckle into his drink. “I think yer the only person who could make looking like a fabric doily chic, but yer right - definitely nae a good look.” He swirled his drink and listened as she segwayed back to the topic at hand. His gaze unconsciously darted between the ‘stuffy nobles’ in question, though only with mild interest. His eyes fell back on her, observing Bridgette’s expression as she spoke. Then his gaze found King Charming. He wasn’t a popular figure in the DunBroch household. His mothers despised him. More specifically Queen Merida despised him. Callum didn’t have a high opinion of the man himself, and it had been evident by the way the man looked at him in his Highland dress that he didn’t much care for the young man either. He hadn’t noticed them talking but he silently wondered what that man would think about his daughter talking to the son of the lesbian queen. How much would it bother him to see that? “It doesnae make a difference to me if it’s stuffy nobles or just ‘regular people’ off the street. A crowd’s a crowd,” he said after a moment. “I’m... nae very good at talking to others. People just make me nervous in general.” Why he was telling her that was beyond him. She probably didn’t care, and yet he was explaining himself. And probably making himself look pathetic. He hated how loose his lips were since she strolled by. When she mentioned the gardens, he looked towards the doors in question and smiled appreciatively. “That is definitely tempting, considering how everyone has crammed in this room. Some fresh air would be nice.” He paused, fighting against thinking over his next words. If he thought too much then he wouldn’t try. “But if I did that now... maybe I’d miss my chance to ask ye to dance with me.” He looked away shyly, self conscious about the words. He wasn’t bold, he wasn’t outgoing... but he was trying and at least then he could say he did as much. “After a little more liquid courage, anyway,” he added, swirling his drink before taking a gulp of it. God knew he needed it.
Now, one thing about Ela was that she loved being around others. Years of growing up isolated from society and finding companionship in only her parents and the gorilla’s, as well as other wild animals in the African Jungle, the girl had found herself drawn to know more about each person she met - their interests, their unique traits, what made them tick. Which made her blissfully ignorant to introverts and their desire to… just not engage. The fact that he asked her about herself only open the doors wider as she began comfortable in her seat. “Oh no, not at all. My mom could sketch a little and she would always try to show me but I think I take after my dad a little more on the artistic side of things. Swinging on vines, climbing, taking care of wildlife.”
Once he offered his name, she made mental note to try and remember. “Callum, that’s a nice name.” She offered before taking a sip of her drink and letting him continue to explain his origins. Honestly, Ela was not the more worldly person. She travelled alot, but mostly just back and fourth between Africa and Auradon - and even that was challenging at times with the cost of fares and flights. She knew of Scotland of course, but once he began specifying he might as well been talking about the moon. “I haven’t! But I’d love to hear more about it. Do you miss it?” perhaps it was kind of an invasive question to ask a stranger but, Ela knew how homesick she would get from time to time and there were comfort in numbers when it came to those kind of feelings, she figured.
“I’m from Africa. Deep within the Congo rainforest. Technically it’s my dad’s territory but he’s less of a ruler and more of a protector of the Troop.” she stated easily, as though she was stating that the sky was blue or the grass was green. He reputation as jungle girl was something that she kind of rolled with now, unphased by weather it was a term of endearment or not at this point. After a beat she realized he might not know what a Troop is. “That’s a group of Gorilla’s” she added, just for clarification. “But my mom’s from London, England. Originally. That’s kind of close to you right? We’re practically neighbors.” she joked, gesturing between the two of them as she did so.
He instantly regretted continuing the conversation. If he hadn’t entertained her in the slightest, then Callum would have been able to just enjoy himself right there, drawing and drinking his coffee in blissful silence. She was a talker - an extrovert - from the looks of it. Callum was the opposite, woefully challenged when it came to anything social or pertaining to human interaction. He was uncomfortable in the presence of others. And he’d managed to get stuck between a girl he didn’t know and the window of a coffee shop, no escape in sight. When she mentioned her mother being artistic, a gift she did not inherit, he just nodded along. That was the right thing to do, right? At least he was paying attention and looked like he was. He figured he did, anyway. “I’m nae sure that’s artistic stuff, but it’s certainly interesting,” he responded when she’d mentioned the kind of habits she’d learned from her father. It was all very odd, but in a way it wasn’t that different from the activities Ma Merida had taught him. Sure he didn’t swing from vines back home, but he did climb Crone’s Tooth all the time and he explored the untouched Highlands a lot. And he loved nature and the wildlife of his homeland, so he couldn’t blame her for that. It hadn’t occurred to him how offensive his words may have come out until a moment after he’d said them, and the young man instantly dropped his gaze to his unfinished sketches. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didnae mean to be offensive. I just mean to say it’s nae everyday ye hear about someone swinin’ from vines. At least nae in Auradon City.” That probably sounded worse but he decided to stop there before he sounded like a complete cad.
“Erm, thanks... I’ll send the compliment to my mothers, they chose it,” he responded in a dry tone to her compliment of his name. Awkward and stiff, Callum’s social anxiety was beginning to take a new effect - responding to the things she was saying without thinking it through. He didn’t have to say more than a thank you and before he knew it, he was blurting out more and looking or sounding like an idiot. Or a jerk dependent on how one read his tone. His cheeks blossomed, a rosy pink tint taking to his pale skin. He was blushing because he was awkward and uncomfortable and had no idea how to just act normal. “Ela’s nice too,” he added in a stunted tone. “Is that short for anything?” Why did it matter? He internally kicked himself for continuing. He could have just left it at the compliment, really.
The conversation took a turn when she asked him if he’d missed home. He’d been ready to elaborate on Scotland a bit - he could talk about Scotland for hours. But when she added the question of homesickness... his mood shifted entirely. He’d gone from lighting up, about to speak excitedly about his homeland, to becoming sullen and withdrawn. Looking away, his eyes smoldered, a storm brewing behind his cerulean gaze. He’d gripped his cup between his hands, feeling the warmth contained within. He needed to feel something, something other than the despair brewing in the pit of his chest. He didn’t like showing so much emotion, being so outwardly upset. Sure he had a tendency to brood, but he was also rather stoic when interacting with others. He didn’t need strangers reading into his body language and knowing all those feelings he kept at bay. So just as quickly as he’d turned so depressed, Callum squared his shoulders and sat more upright. Clearing his throat and peeling away all the emotion bubbling at the surface of his expression, he became completely indifferent physically as he finally responded in an even and monotonous tone. “Yes. I do miss it.” His jaw clenched. “Terribly.” His gaze stayed fixated on his cup, trying to stay composed.
Luckily for him, a new topic came up. As she began speaking a bit about her homeland - Africa, specifically - Callum began wiping off the residue of oil pastel on his fingers. Picking up a brown color, he’d begun loosely sketching gorillas as he hummed along to her words. He didn’t look it, but he was listening in earnest, somewhat inspired to sketch what she was talking about. It served as both a distraction and a way for him to retain the information she was giving him. Eyes darting between his sketches and her face, he nodded. Her mother being from London explained the accent, that was for sure. “So yer dad is Tarzan, then.” It was a statement, not a question. Protector of a troop of gorillas, married to an English woman. He knew the story well enough. “Explains the vine swingin’,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “How do ye like the ‘concrete jungle’ in comparison? ...I take it ye miss home, too.” If she was allowed to ask him the invasive question, surely he could spin it on her. His expression turned somewhat amused as he shrugged. “London’s somewhat close... I guess we’re kinda like neighbors but nae exactly. Have ye never been to yer mum’s homeland?” He had found himself actually somewhat genuinely curious, to the point he’d stopped drawing and stopped staring at his drink and instead fixed his gaze on her. Slowly he was learning, slowly he was getting comfortable in this social role she put him in. Slowly.
TRISS: I am under strict doctor's orders to take it easy for a while. So dont worry I am doing my best to just relax for a while.
TRISS: I'm happy that I get to be on that list. I know how exclusive it is!
TRISS: And I promise I'm okay. The media is making it so much bigger then needed. I am healthy.
TRISS: It was okay. A bit more hectic then usual given everything going on. You were definitely misses! It would have been lovely to have you around.
TRISS: Did you at least have a good holiday??
CALLUM: Good. That's good. That's very good. I'll try my best not to worry but I'm afraid I'm not very good at that.
CALLUM: The most exclusive club in all of Auradon, I think. You and your mother somehow weaseled your ways onto it, I'm still not entirely sure how. I blame the horses really.
CALLUM: They really do now to sensationalize everything. Can't expect much less from them.
CALLUM: I'm sure it was. I didn't want to intrude, especially in case you and your fiancé were planning to spend your first major holiday together. But I appreciate that nonetheless.
CALLUM: I say this in the most positive way - it was as good as it could be. I was able to speak with my mothers for a little bit and that's all I really wanted. Thank you for asking.
Standing away from the counter, Ela began replying to a text from Ava, opting to do it now while she was inside loitering rather than suffering in the cold, attempting to text and walk and not freeze all at the same time. She paid no attention to the customers that followed behind her after her little mishap, so when a tall stranger with a thick accent and a friendly but reserved nature handed her her drink, Ela slowly took it but offered no verbal reply, a bit caught off guard. ‘Oh’ she breathed, honestly taking a moment to actually register what he was saying. And as soon as he’d come, he had swiftly made his way towards the back of the building.
After a beat, Ela quickly followed suit. “hey, wait –” the blonde exclaimed, walking fast enough toc catch up but not so fact to spill the got drink that was currently warming her hands back to a comfortable temperature. Looking down at him now that he was seat, Ela offered him a smile. Probably the first time she has smiled since the whole engagement scandal, then fight with best friend, following regretful hook up and media backlash had all come forth. “Thank you, that was really nice of you.” Ela began, motioning to the cup in her hands. “I honestly have had the week from hell so it probably seems like small potatoes…. But it’s not. It’s huge potato’s. It’s elephant sized potatoes. I would know.”
After a beat, Ela looked down at the supplies on the table. “Oh you’re an artist! Cool. My ex is an artist” Maybe it was just nice to talk to someone who didn’t look at her with judgement or sympathy, or both, but the blonde found herself easily starting conversation, instead of just taking her coffee and going. “Not my most recent ex, my ex before that.” She explained, though it really didn’t need explaining to what was a total stranger. Still, she was gonna have to get used to the idea of Mitch being her ex, which dimed her her smile slightly before she dismissed that thought for a later time.
Easily sliding into the booth beside him, feeling strange looking down at him as she spoke but somewhat ignorant to the idea of asking if she could do so, Ela set her drink down. “I’m Ela, by the way.” Naturally curious about other people, she wasted no time before making assumptions. His accent was far from her mother’s London dialect, but she couldn’t quite place it. Over a year settled in Auradon had expanded her horizons in many ways but well travelled outside of the jungle and Auradon City, she was not "You’re not from here, are you? –“
Callum had all but forgotten the ‘good little deed’ he’d done by the time he got to that booth. At that point, he was busy making loose sketches in oil pastel against the toned tan sketchbook, forms and figures without much of a direction just yet as to what he was going to draw. So when the girl had appeared at his booth and began speaking, he was taken a bit by surprise. He thought she wouldn’t reach out to thank him or anything. He’d paid her drink and wandered off, wasn’t that a sure sign that the interaction was over? But this girl seemed a bit insistent on thanking him. Brow furrowing as she talked about potatoes of all things, the young man looked her in the eye and nodded. “It’s really nothin’, ye dinnae have to thank me for it,” he responded, resisting the urge to add that it was what his mothers would have wanted him to do. She didn’t need to know that and he didn’t want to belittle what was clearly a very kind gesture for her.
Woefully ignorant to exactly who he was speaking to, Callum had not registered exactly why this young woman was having such a rough week. If he had allowed himself to pay a tad more attention, he would have realized that this girl was the former girlfriend of the king. If he’d cared to pay attention to the love lives of his peers. Which he didn’t care about, so he didn’t have an inkling as to what had troubled her, and he didn’t feel the need to push. He wasn’t the type to gossip or to really get involved so he wouldn’t ask the young woman what had made her week so difficult. Instead he just smiled and nodded at her, expecting the interaction to end there. She had other plans for them.
It wasn’t the first time that someone had mentioned either having dated or being related to an artist when witnessing Cal in work. It happened a lot, actually. When she mentioned an ex being an artist, he wasn’t sure how else to react than to kind of offer an awkward half-smile. Glancing between his sketchbook and the girl, he decided to take a sip of his coffee before suddenly saying, “And ye? Are ye an artist?” He winced internally at his own words. Why did he even ask? What was he trying to do? Start a conversation? Heavens no. Callum wasn’t really sure how else to react. He was socially inept, for crying out loud! A problem which only became worse when, unprompted, the girl slid into the booth - Beside him. Now he was pretty sure the correct thing to do was slide in opposite the other person in the booth. Who actually shared one side of a booth? Smothering, grossly in love couples? Yikes. He felt a wave of anxiety crawl up i his spine, forcing the prince to stand straighter and more alert.
Half turning his head to face her, a single brow lifted up towards his widow’s peak, the young man flashed a curious set of blue eyes at the girl and she began speaking. “Callum,” he responded. “My name is Callum.” He wanted to scoff when she commented on him not being from around there. He could have said the same, judging from her London dialect. Or somewhat of a London dialect - the accent lacing her words was definitely British sounding but something made it seem oddly foreign to the boy who grew up in Scotland. Almost like she learned English from a Brit but not in Britain. “Last I checked, no,” he replied after a beat. “I’m from Scotland,” he answered the unspoken question, “The Highlands, if we’re being specific. Kingdom called DunBroch.” He loathed the idea of saying much more, but he added, "Queen Merida’s territory. Perhaps ye’ve heard of it?”
TRISS: I'm okay. I guess I was just pushing it a little too much between the holidays and planning things with Mother.
TRISS: other than being completely embarrassed and having a wounded pride moment, nothing is hurt.
TRISS: Just texting and checking up on me is enough. I really appreciate it.
CALLUM: But I am. Truly.
CALLUM: I can only imagine how busy it’s been, but I hope you’re getting some well needed rest now. I don’t want to hear from gossiping freshmen in the quad that you had another blunder.
CALLUM: Don’t be embarrassed. I think most of us are just worried about you more than anything.
CALLUM: Well you’ve managed to get on the small list of close acquaintances I have here in Auradon, so expect no less from me. As long as you’re truly okay, that’s all that really matters.
CALLUM: Aside from this, I take your holidays went overall well? Or I at least hope so. I have to admit I regret having declined the offer to spend the winter break with you and Fairy Godmother. Not that my dour presence could really perk up the season, but still.
CALLUM: I’m sorry this is so delayed, Beatrice, but I heard about what happened. Are you okay? You didn’t get seriously hurt did you? Is there anything I can do for you?
what are your thoughts on the other royals who are planning on getting crowns?
“If that’s what they want, then good for them I guess. Most of the royals were taught to expect nothing less than to lead their individual city states someday, it’s pretty much what they’ve been preparin’ their whole lives for. An’ I say that as long as that’s what they really want, then great. Have at ‘em. If yer askin’ me what my general thoughts on the crown is, well then I think the whole system should just be brought down. There really isnae much a need for monarchs in the modern world anyway, ye ken?”
I've just one wish on this Christmas eve
I wish I were with you
Tiana’s was hardly ever empty. One of the most popular dining spots in all of Auradon City, there was almost always a wait. But today was different. The restaurant had been virtually empty, with just a few stragglers and lonely diners floating in and out. Currently the number of patrons could be counted on both hands. Two old men sat across from each other, laughing over a tall plate of beignets and reminiscing of holidays come and gone. A family of four were snuggled into a tiny booth; the two children’s eyes widening as the lone waitress dropped their cups of hot cocoa before them, a mountain of whipped cream adorned with green and red sprinkles slowly melting into the warm beverage. At the other side of the bar sat a man with his scarf wrapped up to his ears, quietly humming along as Karen Carpenter crooned a sad, slow holiday jingle from the radio, pausing only to enjoy a spoonful of gumbo every few seconds.
Callum sat alone, watching the other patrons with a quiet reverence. His gaze followed them curiously, dropping down to then allow his hands to replicate the scene on a page in his sketchbook. Despite the invitation, he had opted to decline Beatrice and Fairy Godmother’s request to host him for the winter. As much as he would have loved to have been there, spending time with the horses and other creatures on their quaint farm, Callum felt uncomfortable with the idea of invading on the holidays. It felt like too intimate a time to be in another person’s home. But most of all... He hated the idea of anyone being audience to his homesickness and melancholy. This time of year brought that sadness that lurked within the deepest reaches of the boy directly to the surface, bubbling and desperate to break free. His stoic nature and powerful reserve were no match for the warm tears that seemed to lull him to sleep almost daily. He missed home, more than he’d like to admit. It had already been over a year since he left Scotland, and would be even longer before he could rightfully return. Time was weighing heavily on him, and the last thing he wanted was to appear vulnerable in front of anyone else. So he did his best to lock up the feelings, straying out into the cold only to be at this empty diner where the other patrons were too occupied in their own little worlds to pay him any attention.
“That’s really good. I’m impressed... Really. Are you studying illustration?”
The worlds pulled him from his thoughts, his hand pausing mid pen stroke as he looked up in time to meet the warm, chestnut colored eyes of the waitress. She’d been making frequent rounds to check in on her customers, perhaps the only people she had been able to interact with most of the day. It was Christmas Eve after all, very few places were open and even fewer people were going out.
Cal followed the trail of her gaze to his sketchbook where he had been doing his best to replicate the wide smile the little girl across the way made when she first got her hot cocoa. Subconsciously he glanced towards the child. The whipped cream was long gone, remnants of sprinkles now peppering her chin as she giggled along to something her father said. “Uh... Aye, yes,” he finally blurted out. “I study art over at AU. It... Kinda keeps me calm.” A grateful - albeit rather small - grin graced his lips momentarily as he moved his pen away from the book. “Thank ye, for the compliment.”
The waitress shrugged, “I’m just giving credit where it’s due, kid. You’ve certainly got a gift there.” She flashed him a warm grin, which Callum hadn’t noticed he reciprocated, before nodding at his empty mug. “Would you like some more coffee?”
Blinking, Callum spared a glance at his cup. He had almost wanted to say yes, until he’d noticed the time. Quarter after five. He needed to go. Shaking his head, he closed his sketchbook and began gathering his things. The waitress laid his check down on the counter but Cal barely registered it before fishing out all the cash in his wallet and dropping in onto the counter. The waitress gathered the bills, her eyes widening at the amount he’d laid down. “Um, sir,” she began to protest but her words were drowned out by Callum’s exclamation of, “Happy Holidays, ma’am, have a great rest of yer Christmas Eve, aye?”
And before more could be said, the young man got up and walked out of the diner, ducking his head as the icy winter air kissed his the exposed skin of his face. Callum readjusted his scarf to cover his vulnerable ears as he began the walk back towards campus. He couldn’t be even a second late. It was rare that he got opportunities to talk to his mothers, and given how desperately he missed them... He didn’t want to chance missing any second. Listening to the rhythmic crunch of the snow beneath his shoes, Callum practically ran back to the dorms. His roommate wasn’t in. Thankfully. Callum was gifted with an empty dorm throughout most of the holiday break. He had no idea where the Hart kid had run off to, and honestly he didn’t care. He wanted privacy for what he’d been anticipating all month long. Within the warmth and seclusion of his dorm, the young man tossed aside his heavy winter coat and tartan scarf, shaking out his wet hair to wipe out the snow flakes that gathered upon his head on the walk, and settled down onto his desk.
His hands smoothed over the cool lid of his laptop, closed and waiting to be used. As his fingers began to push the monitor up, he paused and looked at the alarm clock he’d had by his bed. Just five minutes until six. Showtime. With a deep breath, Cal pushed the monitor open and quickly typed in his password, waiting impatiently as the computer came to life. Skype instantly popped up, already prepared for the call, and Callum sat straighter in his seat as he waited for the chime. The second he heard it, he’d wasted no time in answering, and his eyes widened as the screen came alight. At first the image was pixelated, but it wasn’t too long until the lag cut off and everything came into focus. The first thing he saw were bright cerulean eyes, equal in shade and shape as his, framed by thick dark hair and followed by a smile that made his heart both soar and ache.
“Cally,” The nickname came out in a breathless whisper that the microphone had barely picked up, and yet Callum heard it loud and plain. A smile larger than any smile he’d managed in the past year spread over his face, dimpled and full of the kind of happiness only two people could bring out of him. Before he could speak, Caitriona was turning away from the screen to call out to another. “Mer! Mer, come quick, He’s on! Come over ‘ere, a leannan.”
“Alright, alright! I’m comin’,” Cal could hear coming from the background. It was not long before a flash of red appeared on the computer screen, a petite redheaded women coming into focus, as Merida joined Cait before the monitor. The second she sat and came into focus... Callum thought he was going to lose it. “Oh, my boy,” Merida practically melted, her gaze, full of love and joy, clearly fixated on the monitor. “Oh my sweet, sweet boy!”
“Ack, dinnae tell me yer already crying,” Cal chuckled, hiding his face as if he were embarrassed. In truth, he was checking to be sure his eyes hadn’t betrayed him just yet. There was a slight quiver to his voice as he spoke which he hoped his mothers hadn’t picked up on just yet.
“Shut yer mouth, I’m nae crying,” Merida responded, Cait laughing softly along in the background. She shook her head but her grin had not faltered one bit. “I’m just so glad to see ye - it’s been a wee bit.” Both of their eyes were scanning the screen and Callum suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable under their scruitenizing gazes. Video call or not, they knew him better than anyone and could read every subtle twitch in his expression. He held his smile, though, a grin which for once reached his eyes and conveyed his happiness at just hearing their voices. Merida’s brows furrowed in response, which had him momentarily worried until she said, “'S it just me or does he look wee skinnier than he did last time we skyped?”
Cait lightly smacked her wife’s arm in response, shaking her head at her, and turned her attention back to the screen. “He looks fine - You look fine. How are ye doin’, Callum? How have yer classes been? Tell us everythin’! We want ta ken all about it.”
“How’s archery been goin’? Ye been practicing, right?” Merida added with a bit of a stern voice which contradicted the beaming grin on her face.
Callum resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead chuckling under his breath and shaking his head lightly. “Yes, mum, I’ve been keeping up with archery. Two hundred and fifty shots a day, six days a week... Just like ye taught me.”
Merida nodded curtly, about to respond when Cait interrupted her. “Oh never mind that! The two of ye can talk about archery another time - I want to hear about everything else. Tell me about school - How have ye been doing? Have ye been making friends?”
Before Cal could respond, Merida added, “Wooing any young ladies?” The young man groaned in response, burying his face in his hands. He could hear Cait hissing something at Merida, likely chastising her for the outburst. Merida responded with a louder, “What? He’s a grown man now. And I would like some grandchildren before I’m old and gray like mammy is. Ye hear that? I want grand babies, Callum, that’s my Christmas wish this year.”
Callum’s head rose from the comfort of his hands. “Ah, yes, speaking of which - Happy Christmas. If I’m nae mistaken, it’s after midnight over there... How in the bloody hell are ye two hags up this late?” He spoke affectionately despite the insulting words. Both of the women erupted into laughter on the other end, speaking over each other. He caught some of the gaelic words being flung at him, but just smiled in response. “To answer yer many questions - I’m doing alright, mammy. Classes have been good, I’ve gotten a few clients over the past few weeks which has meant extra cash in my pocket. Ye know... Aside form the money the two o’ ye sneak into my bank account. Aye, I ken what yer up to.” He chuckled, not about to pick a fight with them about it but appreciative nonetheless. Obviously Merida and Cait weren’t fans of their only child living the “starving artist” lifestyle, he couldn’t blame them for worrying. “I even gave a piece to the King of Auradon, odd as that sounds. Still not really sure how that one happened, but it did. I’m making friends, yes, though nae always willingly. And... No. There are no ‘young ladies’ in my life for ‘wooing’. Sorry, yer gonna have to keep that Christmas wish for another year, mum.”
Merida let out a sigh and turned to Cait, her voice low but not low enough for the mic to not pick up. “He’s still stuck up on that Charming girl.”
“Wha - I... I’m nae stuck up on anyone!” His cheeks burned as he protested, though the women were not listening.
“Aye, well, she is a pretty little thing last I remember,” Cait conceded.
“And charming, probably,” Merida snorted. “Oi - why can ye nae date that Anderson girl? She’s cute. And she talks to ye, right? Probably the only girl that does.. He’s so hopeless at socializing. Honestly where did we go wrong?”
“I’m just fine at socializing, thank ye very much. I have some friends,” Cal tried to interject, but the women were quickly speaking animatedly over him.
“Ooo, Elsa’s girl! We do like Queen Elsa,” Cait responded to Merida instead.
Merida snickered. “Well you most certainly like Elsa. More like fancy her, ye do.”
“I do nae. Stop that.”
“I’ve seen the way that ye look at her. I understand, she’s a bonny lass. Nae as pretty as ye mo nighean donn, but.. Well that is a sandwich I wouldnae mind being caught in...”
“Can we please stop talking about my friend’s mum like this?” Cal groaned, hiding his face in his hands again. He was beginning to remember the one downside to family skype calls.
Cait narrowed her eyes at Merida before turning back to her son. “Anyway. I’m glad to hear yer doing well, Cally. Ye ken... We worry about ye often.” There was a sudden shift in the tone and Callum became aware of that lump that was sitting in his throat. He felt a new warmth in his face, followed by that sweeping melancholy that settled in whenever he thought too much about home and how much he missed it. How much he missed them. His eyes burned.
“Aye, I ken,” he said hoarsely.
She continued, “It hurts that we have to communicate like this... That ye cannae just come home and be here with us to celebrate the holidays. They’re just nae the same without ye. Everyone - absolutely everyone - misses ye terribly son. There’s a gaping hole here and we just... Nothing can fill that. We miss ye so much.” Cait’s voice broke and she turned away to subtly dab at her eyes. Callum didn’t see this though. His eyes had dropped to his hands which sat folded in his lap. He could see his gaze growing hazy but bit back on his tongue hard and willed the tears to stay inside.
“Things could be different, ye ken.” It was Merida who spoke now. “If ye just... Came back, and faced the lairds’ sons... Then things could be different, Callum. Ye could come home, whenever ye wanted to. Ye could be here with us.”
He blinked, jaw tightening to the point where he thought his teeth might shatter from the pressure. He could hear Cait whispering a warning to Merida, but he didn’t pay it much attention. Looking away, his gaze landed on the tartan scarf he’d been wearing earlier. DunBroch Tartan. The Tartan of the Royal Family. He felt another emotion rising up in him, the embers of his anger smoldering in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick.
“All ye have ta do is -”
“I ken what I have ta do,” he barked back, annoyance coating his words. He closed his eyes momentarily, willing his fury to calm down. It had grown quiet and Callum sat still for a while, attempting to get his breaths to even out.
“Ye dinnae have to do anything,” Cait finally said in a stern voice. He glanced up to see that his mothers were staring at one another, a silent battle brewing between them. They quickly dropped it and both looked back at him. “Dinnae worry about it. We are working on that. Every day we all work tirelessly to stop this conflict with the lairds. Yer mum and I, yer gran, even yer uncles have started joining the conversations... We’re certain we can pacify them and get them to back off from the call for a Highland Games. And once that is settled then ye will come back, Callum. Ye’ll come home and we will all be waiting here with open arms, ready to welcome our prince home.”
“Because that is what ye are... Yer the prince of DunBroch,” Merida added firmly.
Callum looked away again, just letting the words hang there. Prince of DunBroch. That’s what they were fighting over ‘tirelessly’. A title - his supposed birth right. Yet Callum felt far from it. He didn’t feel like a prince. He barely felt like a member of the clan most days. Still, he bit back the feelings threatening to spill over and just nodded and smiled half-heartedly at them. “Aye,” he breathed. Blinking, he hadn’t realized how misty eyed he’d gotten, his gaze shifting to the clock. How had they only been talking for half an hour? He sniffled and smiled again at them. This time his smile had not reached his eyes, which remained stormy and distant. “It’s getting a wee bit late over there... Ye must be tired. Perhaps I should let ye go.”
Both women appeared crestfallen, and Merida opened her mouth to protest. But there was a look of understanding on Cait’s face. She knew him better than most - after all, he was her son by blood. Her smile was small and warm, but there was a sadness teetering on the edge of her expression. “It has been a long day... The family of course sends their love, Cally. Gran Elinor, yer uncles... The dogs even.” All three let out breathless chuckles. Callum wanted to ask where they were, but the last time he had skyped and the dogs were in the room they went wild at the sound of his voice. It was better this way. More quiet. More intimate.
“We love ye, Cal. And we will see ye soon... Sadly nae in time for Hogmanay but, hey - maybe ye could try introducing it to those Auradonians. Make some actual friends that way, aye?” Merida spoke in a teasing tone, trying to lighten up the atmosphere of the call, and Cal couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, as well as the eye roll.
“Who’s hosting Hogmanay anyway this year?” The women looked at each other before responding in unison, and in a monotonous tone, with, “The Dingwalls.” The boy grimaced and shook his head at them. “Aye, well... Hopefully it’ll be a good time.”
“I’ll be very drunk, so I’m sure it will,” Merida laughed, and Cait shot her a look that seemed to contest her plans. They fell into another silence then, though this was more comfortable than the last. Callum swallowed against the hollowness in his throat, sniffling as he fought, and failed, to conceal some of those hot tears which wanted to fall. “Soon, M’annsachd,” Merida added. “We will be together soon.”
As he swiped at his cheek, the only thing he could think to say in response was, “I love ye both. Happy Christmas.” His jaw clenched and his gaze dropped from the screen, unwilling to let them see the pain in his eyes. He didn’t want the call to go this way - he didn’t want it to end on such a sour note. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just maintain his composure and have a good talk? He didn’t even get to find out what was going on at home - how the family and the staff was. He felt even more distant from them and his homeland than he’d ever felt before and it was all his own fault.
“We love ye too. Happy Christmas, Cally,” Cait spoke up for both her and Merida. They fell once again into a silence, which hung in the air a moment longer. Callum sucked in a breath, ready to look up and see them one more time. But before he could, he heard the chime signaling the end of the call. When he looked up, the screen was blank, and the warmth that had entered into the dormitory, and seeped into his bones, all but vanished in a matter of seconds. He felt cold; cold and hollow. Broken. He just sat there, staring at the screen for a few minutes longer until finally he snapped the monitor shut. Gathering his things, he slumped onto his bed, curling into a ball facing the wall.
After a few moments alone, engulfed in the silence, Callum moved to turn on the radio which sat on his desk, the speakers coming alive with the tunes from the local radio station. He paused as he found himself listening to that same Carpenters’ song which played back at Tiana’s when he’d been dining there earlier. Laying on his back, he closed his eyes and listened to the words, feeling his bruised and broken heart cracking more and more with each lyric, as warm tears welled and slid down the curve of his cheeks.
I wish you Merry Christmas
Happy New Year too
I've just one wish on this Christmas eve
I wish I were with you
I wish I were with you
“I’m nae attracted to people in general. But I guess if I have to choose… I would say I’m attracted to quiet people. There’s a lot to be heard in someone’s silence. Plus if they dinnae talk that much, ‘s more likely I’m gonna be able to tolerate their presence.”
Do you believe honesty is the best policy? Or do you think it's necessary to tell white lies occasionally?
“That’s tough, because I think there’s a lot of gray areas in this conversation. I do think it’s important to be honest, but there are situations where it can be more merciful to withhold the truth. So really, maybe it just depends on the situation at hand. Personally I try to be as honest as possible… But I’m nae very good at that. I’m nae good at opening up, which may be seen as me being dishonest in who I am. I think it’s good enough to just try an’ be honest whenever ye can, but accept that there are situations where honesty doesnae always have a place.”
“I dinnae know. Lots of things about me are ‘weird’. Nae sure I can narrow it down to one… I guess it’s the fact that I talk to m’self probably more than I talk to other people? I think most people would say that’s weird.”
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