They wove throughout the crowd, by bonfires and crisp night air, and Carys scoured it all with curious eyes. If this was to be her new home, her new world, she wanted to know it inside and out and learn its secrets. She’d never been content to leave questions unanswered, stories uncovered, people unmet. She polished off her beer, slipping it into a thoughtfully provided can as they approached a small group—the aforementioned friends.

The greeting and exchanging of bet money had her ducking a grin into a hand. It was good knowing that, no matter where she went, she’d be entertained by the stupid antics of men. People were people, no matter their world, and it made the shock of moving a little more bearable. There was something familiar, even without concrete and endless sirens.

“Heya,” she greeted simply, waving a hand as she was introduced. And look at that, Chase hadn’t utterly butchered her name. How thoughtful. She arched a brow as Chase requested they attempt to adult, and glanced over at his friends. She’d bet her house that that was practically impossible. It was certainly fine with her; she’d never fit in with those who took themselves too seriously. Mason and Ryan, right. She could remember that.

S’mores were offered and Carys’ grin widened. She decided that she rather liked this group—if they ended up axe murdering her, she wouldn’t even be upset. Well, maybe a little. Axe murdering seemed like a bad way to go. 

“You are now my third favorite person in the world,” she informed Mason lightly, accepting the marshmallow delight with nimble fingers. Chocolate and marshmallow practically melted amid graham cracker goodness, and her toes curled in the simple delight. “I haven’t had a s’more in—oh, god, eleven years now. It’s even better than I remember. Correction, you’re my second favorite person.”