Talent Is Subjective || Camp Camp Fanfiction ||

Chapter 2: Fun Times (Filler Chapter)

"Uh, geez," Gwen grimaced, seeing the Quartermaster trade a bucket of powdered crystals for a box of calamari. She wasn't even sure if the powdered crystal bucket was fake, or even if that thing was calamari. Knowing QM, he was... well, he was a special case. A special case for a special psychiatrist, which should be a qualified professional and not her. "QM, you done?"

He grunted, inspecting the box of calamari, then shaking his head. "Nope. Not until I find a deal good enough for my coke."

"...right. I'll just—" She shifted around anxiously moving away from the scene and shuddering at the smell of the garbage, not even bothering to finish her sentence. God, what was she even doing here? She was supposed to be back at camp, in her bed, reading and/or writing fanfiction while David was outside... doing whatever he does. She wasn't sure about David's sleeping schedule— actually, no, she was pretty sure it was non-existent. Didn't David once mention something about being an insomniac? Oh, never mind that, she still needed to remember why exactly she thought that going with QM was a good idea.

Curse her amount of comfort in the man! He just reminded her so much of her uncle, and— and he offered to get Gwen some Tylenol on the way...

She smacked her lips, creating a popping noise as she shook her head to herself. Right. She agreed to come to a sketchy alley, with a sketchy man, dealing some sketchy whatever-the-fuck-that-is, all for some Tylenol. How much lower could she get?

"Christ on a stick," She mumbled to herself, shaking her head. Honestly, she should've just stayed at camp. David volunteered to give her hot cocoa so that it would ease her... cramps... and, god, what she would do to get some of that good shit.

Why did she always impulsively go into decisions like this? She blamed that on her mushy brain— come on, cut a person on her period some slack, she'd usually better than this.

Fuck, at least she got Tylenol by the end of this.

"Dude, come on, I've got somewhere to go—" One of the traders pulled at someone else's elbow, tired and dark-eyed. He looked like some kind of teenage Powerpuff or something boy— the green one. The other only pulled away, frowning. He looked like the red one.

"Look, your boyfriend can wait." He snapped, offering the Quartermaster a couple of bags of pixie sticks. With ketchup packets. (Gwen internally groaned. She could have been writing fanfiction instead of this, but nooo, she just had to be a jackass and not do that.) "Contribute to the club, man."

"I'm supposed to be with Kevin at the knitting club!" He argued, moving away from the group. Quartermaster grunted, returning the pixie sticks, and the other guy groaned.

"Bruh, just skip."

"I—" He dragged a hand across his face, leaning against the wall. She did feel pretty bad for him. Not that she knows how it feels to ditch a boyfriend, being single and all. "Jesus fucking Christ, can't get a damn break around here."

She sauntered over to him, bored out of her mind. Usually, approaching a person in an alleyway would make her mind ring with bells— her mind was ringing —and she would usually walk away.

(She wasn't walking away.)

But today was a little boring, and she could probably make do with this situation. Such is the life of a person with constant mood changes.

"I get you, bro," She slumped on the space next to him, casually staring straight ahead dead-eyed. In her peripheral vision, he flinched. "I'm supposed to be back in my cabin, doing the job I get paid for. Instead, I came out with... him."