Camden "Chicken" Little

Camden’s eyes narrowed at the sweater, shifted to Vanellope, then back again. “I think it’s ugly,” he stated after a long moment, taking a moment to admire the unevenly stitched edges and hand selected decor. When she had texted him earlier, he had quickly jumped at the prospect of helping her, but the duo hadn’t been the most productive. In fact, they’d spent just as much time on the top as they had making ‘sippers’, mini drinks that tasted great but were sure to knock them on their asses if over-sipped. It was nighttime now, and the string lights he’d hung around the apartment gave light to their masterpiece. “Like, really ugly.” There was tinsel, buttons, sparkles, poms, elves and santas (yes, plural) and fake sprinkles. It was a child’s dream and adult’s nightmare, staring them dead in the face. “How does Pinterest have standards for DIY ugly sweaters?”

He wasn’t lonely, per say. It was just his first Christmas living alone and, while he could always go annoy his dad, Cam was determined not to rely on a parental figure for entertainment. So, when he hadn’t gotten an immediate response from anyone, he decided to walk to campus. At least there would be other people there, or so he thought until he made it, only to bear witness to a strikingly empty quad. Even right before a major holiday, the sight was surprising, but after trudging through snow for a mile, the blond wasn’t rushing to make a return trip right away. So, he did what any responsible adult alone on a college campus would do: he begun making a snowman. Or really, he had packed up the core of the bottom ball, but the stickiness of the precipitation made it incredibly hard to start rolling. Camden was practically pushing his whole body weight against it with the edge of promise, but he just needed a little more strength. It was futile on his own, and he was ready to give up when he spotted a lone girl walking parallel to the greens. “Hey!” He yelled over, falling back to rest on his knees in the snow and waving his arm. “Can I get some help?”

Camden watched Wendy sift the dry ingredients, fascinated in part by how the fine powder piled like delicate mountains. It was a step he’d never paid much attention to, making cookies with his dad. “Why do you need it, though?” He asked after a moment, the question sounding a bit guilty as it interrupted Michael Buble’s echoing holiday cheers. Having his own apartment was great for his social life, even if this was the first time he’d found himself making much use of the kitchen. Wendy had offered to teach him how to make holiday cookies, with it being his first year living alone, and now the duo stood equally flour dusted in the middle of his kitchen, destined to make more of a mess in the process. “Can’t you make them without?” Cam asked as he pulled on the rim of the Santa hat, securing it into place on his messy forehead. @wcndybird

“You’re preaching to the masses.” Cam lazily replied, lifting another cookie to his lips. The house party he’d miraculously found his way to had been busted, and now they had no choice but to wait as they were slowly ID’ed. It was likely they wouldn’t get in trouble, but not guaranteed, and he could practically already hear the fit his dad would throw. Wait, his dad. Cam’s eyes snapped back to attention, though slowed down by mild inebriation and sugar overdose. “I gotta get out of here.” He said quickly, realizing that, if his dad hadn’t changed his schedule for any reason, he’d likely be patrolling in the area. The last thing Cam wanted to do was get caught around underage drinking. Glancing over at Ron, he gave him the best pleading glance he could. “I’ll help you grab as many of these as we can, but then you gotta get us out.” What qualifications did Ron have? None, given the bare minimal he knew about him, but heroes came in all forms.

Camden’s loud laugh came stuttering to a halt, though his cold-reddened cheeks remained twisted up in a confused grin. “Isn’t that- I mean, aren’t we...?” What he was trying to get at was that, Billy had already nailed him with two solid throws, and he’d managed to get an okay one of his own in, leading him to assume they’d already started. “Oh wait,” he said, expression opening in realization. “Do you mean, like, the whole ordeal? Building a wall, stocking up? Because, we can totally do that.” He was quick to agree, brain already working at a mile an hour. It skipped ahead whenever he got too excited. “One on one, or teams? I, uh, don’t know who we could get, but it could work.” If Billy did the majority of the speaking, most likely. The snowball he’d formed earlier began to drip in his hand, a small reminder that he’d taken long enough to make a point. “Your call.” @bingbongbilly

a handmade gift

Camden huffed as he kicked off his shoes, afterwards smiling back at Agnes. “I really gotta get some boots,” he offered as some kind of apology, toeing off his soaked through socks. “These babies weren’t made for winter.” He had to leave them on the heater every night to dry. “But, anyways!” It wasn’t her first time over in his apartment, lessening any stress he’d feel about being the perfect host, and he knew she’d follow him into the living room as he started towards it. “I wasn’t really sure how big we were going, so I tried to keep it small.” It wasn’t physically small, sure, but the price tag for the matching set hadn’t cost him more than twenty five dollars at the thrift shop. He rounded the coffee table and dropped his body down onto one side of the couch, motioning his hands towards the wrapped box in front of him. Inside was the denim jacket with two sewn in patched, one an alien to represent her first time seeing Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and a unicorn for his first time watching Unico with her. It would, in theory, become a jacket that could show off everything they saw, his own laying on his bed in the other room. “Ta daaa.” @agnesgruuxx

Camden couldn’t be mad that Jazz had backed out of movie night. After all, he knew she was dedicated to her work, and extended hours around the holidays weren’t always predictable with a job like hers. It was just that she had had to run out last minute, apparently, and Cam now felt like an idiot standing in their kitchen. “Really! If you have other plans, don’t feel like you have to, like, entertain me or anything.” He rushed out, meanwhile still slowly pulling the snacks out of the bag. Danny had already told him a couple times (in the last two minutes) that he’d be happy to take her place, if Cam didn’t want to head back home, but that didn’t completely kill the guilt of determining his night. “But, uh, if you do, I have all those snacks,” that he’d already taken a chunk of time to list, “and you can pick the movie. I was gonna make Jazz watch Die Hard, but you know, it’s really like I said, whatever you want to do.” Especially if that’s Die Hard. @imgoingghcst

Dipper should probably be more upset that Cam had essentially claimed the cider as his own now despite the fact that it had very much been Dipper’s originally, but really it wasn’t a big enough deal for him to care. He could easily go get another later and it was probably for the best that he slowed himself down before he got in his head that he needed to go up and partake in christmas karaoke. “Uh-huh. Not bad,” he echoes with a chuckle, leaving his comment at that with a small smug smile. “You’re doing the contest?” It wouldn’t surprise him to find out Cam did indeed sign up for the gingerbread house competition, but it just simply wasn’t something Dipper had much interest in. And luckily Mabel hadn’t had the time to rope him into doing it this year. “Or… we could just eat them all? That sounds like a better plan, really. Though if you do decide to remake godzilla make sure you wait ‘till I’m there to record it for my vlog.”

Much like Dipper had, Camden came to realize he’d essentially taken possession of the drink. He’d feel worse about it, if the other guy wasn’t wearing his small smirk, and the blond merely took another long sip while nudging the bony edge of his shoulder into his bicep. If he could keep him distracted enough, perhaps he could just finish this one and steer them towards a stand in a few minutes to restock. “Oh, of course,” he said, swallowing again after already downing the cider, sheer heat causing his mouth to feel like it lingered. “’M with Kuki?” He asked, having intended to get some dirt on her. Not much, obviously, but enough that he wouldn’t feel like he was going into this totally blind. Whether Dipper actually knew her or not was another question. “Are you?” He asked, never sure where Dipper’s sober boundaries lied. That was the slight issue with primarily hanging out at events. The alternate idea for the gingerbread houses didn’t sound as exciting, but Cam’s stomach still rumbled quietly in response. It always betrayed him. “If we keep drinking this, we might need to eat them all,” he supplied, and it was only half a joke. The sugar would kill them, but the few sips had already slowed down his peripheral vision minutely; it was only downhill from here, for both of them.

While Dipper knew it would be hard to get Cam to part with his beloved hot chocolate, he also knew that if he just gave the spiked hot apple cider a chance he’d likely love it. Or at least somewhat enjoy it. And even with the alcohol in it, it’d still probably be better for the other boy than all the sugar each cup of hot chocolate had. Or at least he knew he almost preferred his sister to be drunk than on a sugar high - so it would seem fitting that Cam would probably be the same. “Told you,” he comments with a small smirk, just the slightest bit smug. “It’s a spiked cider. I don’t really know what they put in it - probably rum. But it’s good, right?”

Even though Cam was reluctant to admit defeat, the cider was good. Good enough that it didn’t make his teeth cringe with every sip, simultaneously warming both his stomach and his chest, and Dipper... Well, it seemed he’d won this won. “It’s... It’s not bad.” Though his face twisted with the word, as if layered with hidden meaning, he still took a sip subconsciously. In fact, he took another before licking the remnants from his lips, resting the warm cup between both of his palms. “But, uh, not as cool as the contest, right?” It was a feeble attempt to switch topics, not wanting to confess how good Dipper’s pick was, and the steam from the cider rose to pink his cheeks as he kept speaking. “They’re gonna have all those gingerbread houses after, and what do you really do with them? I’m just saying that, i you set them all up next to each other on the floor, at least three people could live out their godzilla dreams.” Everyone had them... right? He was convinced it was a good point as he took another long sip.

A gingerbread house building competition was practically made for Kuki. She had, after all, not only Abby’s knowledge of all things candy, but also Hoagie’s structural know how. Mix that all up with her own creativity and emergency stash of decorative candy, and she had to win. She had to win. Kuki’s competitiveness always seemed to take people by surprise, almost as much as her temper, mostly because they so rarely made an appearance. Unfortunately for her partner, he might have to witness both. “Kuki.” She corrected, nose scrunched up in disapproval as he’d gotten her name wrong. She tried not to hold that against him, though, some people just weren’t good with names. “Are you quality testing our building materials?” She teased, noticing the mouthful of candy.

Kuki. Kuki. Camden repeated the name in his head a few times, cheeks warming in realization of his mistake. It was one he’d have to try not to make again, if her look of disdain had been any indicator. “Kuki.” He repeated definitively with a nod after chewing enough candy out of the way. It was a fun name, like the adjective, and he banked on that to remember. When she questioned the mass of candy mushed in his mouth, his attention was reverted to it, and he focused all his energy into chewing and swallowing the rest of it down. If his face wasn’t flushed before, it surely was now. “Not just ours.” It wasn’t enough of an explanation, and he sucked the sweetness from the roof of his mouth for just a moment before continuing on. “Everyone’s building materials. I made sure to take from the public stash so, uh, it couldn’t get traced back to me.” His words, though not confident to begin with, only sagged as they continued on, and by the end, his smile was just as sheepish as it was dopey. “So, like, if you don’t turn me in? I promise to be the best partner possible. Which, uh, might be following your lead.”

“crack cookies?” danny questions, his words coming out slowly as he squints at cam. danny is the first person to imply that jazz can sometimes be a bit overbearing and far too protective, but he can’t imagine how stopping someone from eating crack cookies is a bad thing. in fact, he’s so confused that the rest of cam’s sentence falls on unhearing ears, missing the opportunity to protest being called a ghostbuster. “a mix of both? i only try to get rid of the spirits with bad intentions.” he bites the inside of his cheek, not really sure how much more he can talk about this without accidentally revealing his powers. talking about the show for press was hard enough as it is with mostly scripted answers, doing it in candid conversation was a new thing for him. “we’re in pre-production for season three now.” danny smiles proudly. as much as ghost hunting wasn’t his first career choice, he was extremely happy and proud that the show was doing pretty well. that people liked it. “don’t worry cam,” he chuckles, not at all bothered by the interest in watching the show or even the mention of platonic crushing. danny spent most of his life as a huge fan of things often ridiculed, and while he might not understand why cam would want to waste his time watching him be an idiot on screen he wasn’t bothered by it. “you’re free to watch and think i’m cool. it’d literally be a first for me.” he pauses, an idea springing to him in the moment. “actually, we’re still planning episodes for this season and i was toying with maybe bringing some friends along for some episodes…so if you wanted to be in an episode i think that’s be cool.”

“Crack cookies!” Cam agreed, as though repetition led to comprehension. It worked in his science class, at least. However, realizing that Danny didn’t have the background as to what crack cookies were (a fair realization, given the fact that it was pretty much just Jazz who did), his cheeks flushed with familiar warmth in embarrassment. “Okay, so not, like, crack, crack cookies. I mean, we weren’t sure at first, you know? You can never be certain what's in pre-made desserts, but we ultimately decided they were just crack cookies.” Did he manage to explain that properly? Not even he was sure anymore. In his defense, though, it had been a long day, and here he was, meeting just about the coolest hidden gem on the whole island. Well, maybe not as cool as Chip Skylark, but that wasn’t anything to be taken personally. Camden had gotten so caught up in the explanation that he didn’t even give too much thought to how one determines good ghosts from bad. Still, his face remained straight as he nodded slowly, envisioning the show already. “So, police them and peace them, if mandatory.” He summed up, planning his night after this. Could he sneak in an episode or two before he needed to crash? Now that he knew it existed, he at least had to try. Danny’s proud smile brought one to him also; three seasons is a feat, especially for niche tv. “Congrats,” he honestly said, and he shifted his legs beneath him on the couch to sit crosslegged. He was like a kid in class, ready to hear whatever the other guy had to say. Perhaps Jazz wouldn’t be too keen on Cam idolizing Danny, but so it went. The reassurance that watching it didn’t make him creepy brought a validated smile to his lips, content enough to become a fan of the show yet not remotely ready for the proposition. “Really?” He asked after a long moment spent with a dropped jaw. Perhaps he was too easy to appease, but an invite onto a ghost hunting show... Well, that was like a dream come true. “Yes.” He agreed quickly, toes outstretching and pressing against the cushion, lifting his body a bit in excitement. However, realizing he was probably coming across too eager, he forced his body to relax once more, crossing his arms and he nodded with a much more collected smile. “I mean, I’ll check my schedule.”

A loud laugh escapes him at Cam’s comment - only he would lean so hard into the nickname given to him by his childhood bullies. Dipper wished he had the confidence for that. But instead he went the safe route, dressing as Luke Skywalker to match his sister as Leia. Grabbing an egg and opening to find a peep inside, he lets out another laugh. Of course. “I didn’t even know they made these year round. Or did you still have some left from Easter?”

Camden watched Dipper open the egg with a wide grin, having come to enjoy the reactions to the candy. It was a mess of a costume, but at least it was fun. “Oh! Those are, like, years old.” He responded easily, using his free hand to pull out another egg. Once he took the Peep out, he dropped the plastic back into the basket, lifting it up in front of Dipper. “My dad. He always says he likes these, but I think he just forgets how much he doesn’t until he tries them.” It was why they bought package after package, year after year. “I needed to clear up some closet space before February.” It was only half a joke, and to seemingly prove his point, he lifted the candy before throwing it at the ground. The hardened sugar didn’t even give to the force, hitting the ground and loudly bouncing sadly to the side. When he looked back up at Dipper, his smile behind the mask turned sheepish. “I, uh... I wouldn’t eat that, if I were you.”

with the first day of the event halfway in, dipper was decently tipsy that much was for sure. so it was probably no surprise to anyone that he was roaming around the festival grounds, humming abba songs to himself as he records some generic footage to put in his montage vlog of the event. however he stops and turns the camera off as soon as a fuzzy chicken comes into side. “you’re a chicken,” he states dumbly, though not with any judgement. he was just unsure what else he’s supposed to say as he stands in front of his friend. “you really dressed as a chicken. is there anything in those eggs?” @camdenlittle​

Camden grinned widely at the observational statement, though the chicken mask blocked it from sight. “Chicken Little, at your service.” He declared, lifting a hand to the suit’s forehead before saluting the brunette. He’d been enjoying his share of fall drinks today, and it wasn’t just the ridiculous costume that was making him feel a bit warm. Instead of answering the question, he held up the basket in offering with a lighthearted laugh. “Crack one open.” The reference probably wouldn’t make any sense to anyone, but a chicken carrying around peeps made just about as much sense as his intended efforts. It was easier to be in the moment as an adult at these events, it turned out. “I’m a chick magnet.”