Camille is patently unsentimental. However, pragmatic or not, there are still some things in life that it pays to take care of.
Pens are one of them, which is why Camille is retracing her steps in search of her favourite one, and which is why she approaches the booth and then looks a tad less than pleased that someone is there.
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Pens are one of them, which is why Camille is retracing her steps in search of her favourite one, and which is why she approaches the booth and then looks a tad less than pleased that someone is there.
"Uh, pardon, senora..."
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Oh, fuck.
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She knows that accent.
She knows that inflection of her name.
She knows those features, albeit in male form.
"Dominic?"
(Or, should that be Dominique?)
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Study it carefully.
The way she's covering her face ought to be good enough of an answer.
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"Thanks doll," he grinned.
He nods a greeting at the lady who seems to be showing off or something. "Nice boots."
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"Heavier than my usual pair, but very -" stomp stomp "- grounding."
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