connor.
@camilleroth
very quickly into 2019, connor realized it would probably take some time for it to become the year he was hyping it up to be. of course, he was crossfaded a good quarter of the time he was awake pretty much the entire year so far, which definitely wasn’t a great thing. thankfully, camille’s job at has beans was surprisingly good at keeping him in check. connor had never been the biggest coffee fan, but there were lots of reasons to kick it there: one, discount. two, he was very hungover and in desperate need of caffeine. three, camille invited him there. that was probably the most important one.
shuffling into the shop several minutes later than expected, clout glasses blocking out his eyebags, he sat down in their usual booth with a shivery sigh. it was cold. “hey. my bad. i forgot what day it is.”
for camille, the first month of 2019 had been sick----- or at least, as sick as life gets in dingle (more lovingly referred to as oregon’s asshole.) she’d rung in the new year kissing some hot surfer chick who’s van had broken down on the way to somewhere... cooler. she took a quiz to find out which adam sandler character was her soulmate (and she totally got robbie hart from the wedding singer). then, to top it all off, she found an old anti-marijuana poster from the 50s to stick to her bathroom door.
though, as she watched her brother drag himself into the booth opposite her, she caught a vibe that his january might not have been quite so sick. it had been longer than usual since they’d last caught up, and she’d had a suspicion that maybe a fully-woke, sober activity might do him some good. once again? seems she was right on the money. now that he’d finally arrived, she nodded toward earl, who has been a trainee for four years and who camille theorised had a single cheeto for a brain, so he could start on their usual orders.
“wed-nes-day,” she drawled, resting her elbows on the vaguely sticky tabletop. “what’s up, zombie boy?”
