now.
“hi!” is the first thing that leaves her lips, breathless, barely having to raise her voice despite the enthusiastic tone and the flushed cheeks. camille had never gone on a really long trip before -- not on her own, and certainly not with just alistair. her mother would have a heart attack if she knew; is this teenage rebellion?
her suitcase is heavy, all ivory and ornate gold, though that’s only half of the weight. it's a good thing that she has a bit of muscle in her arms to carry it, and the backpack slung over her shoulder, full of snacks and drinks; camille isn’t used to carrying her own bags, and this is new, too.
“hi,” she repeats, smiling at alistair. this is crazy. and weird. and they shouldn’t, but he called, and of course she’d come running. “i’m not late, am i?”
@fbxalistair