Onesmartcookie78
Summary: "Jamais Vu": an expression often defined as being the opposite of deja vu; that is to say, the feeling of experiencing a situation for the first time, despite logically knowing you've been through it before.
Enter Camille Villeneuve, who thought she was normal and for most of her life, she was. Well, other than her childhood best friend's dad suddenly marrying her mom. That was pretty weird. And then she turned eighteen and suddenly things are a lot stranger than she ever could have dreamed.
Disclaimer: I don't own Life Is Strange. I only own my Original Characters!
A/N: Please review! It would make me so happy!
They don't end up going to Two Whales. Not immediately, at any rate.
Gloria attacks her with a fervor that belies her training. Teresa makes an attempt at controlling the giant ball of fluff currently pinning Camille to the floor, but her efforts are futile due to the sheer size of the dog. The older woman settles for snickering beside the pair. Camille giggles all the while, and thinks, fleetingly, that if Sean Prescott were here, he probably wouldn't be so amused by the situation—but he isn't here, can't spoil her fun, and so she laughs, propriety abandoned.
Nathan receives an equally warm welcome from the Great Pyrenees, but it isn't him that Gloria keeps nearly tripping as they make their way to Camille's new room. The dog stays at Camille's heels all the way there, until they finally arrive at what Camille recognizes to be Nathan's room. Teresa opens the door directly across from his with a flourish.
"We thought this room would be easier for you to remember," Teresa says, and since Camille's only visited the Prescott Estate once, almost ten years ago when she was in like kindergarten or something, Camille isn't quite sure she agrees with Teresa's logic. "We left it undecorated for now," Teresa continues, wheeling Camille's things into the middle of the room, "Since we thought you might want to have some input." As she speaks, she begins the process of unpacking Camille's things. "I thought we might take you shopping tomorrow, Camille, so you can get a more…" She gestures towards the drab, Prescott-red comforter, "Suitable color palette."
Out of the corner of her eye, Camille notices Nathan moving closer to Teresa, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of Camille's undergarments, and is reminded, consequently, that she is still starving. "Sounds like a plan, Teresa," she says, trying to rush through the conversation even as she catches the fabric of Nathan's sleeve and pulls him towards her. "I'll be up around nine and we can make a day of it."
Teresa looks up to agree and notices Nathan's straying gaze. With the toe of her shoe, she closes the suitcase. "Why don't you kids get dinner, and I'll finish up here, yes?"
Camille beams at her, because Teresa really is the best. "Thanks Teresa," she says warmly, releasing Nathan in favor of giving her another hug. It's shorter than the last few, and she stoops down to give Gloria some more affection before she gestures to Nate that she's ready to go.
He slings an arm about her shoulders as he leads her back down the stairs, and while he grabs his keys, Camille starts cooing over Gloria once more. "Who's a good girl? Who's my good girl?"
Nathan groans when he sees her, his shoulder set in exasperation. "Oh, c'mon, Cam, can we please get out the door?"
Camille shoots him a look. "You're jealous of my dog."
He snorts. "No, I'm not."
She rolls her eyes and goes back to petting Gloria.
Nathan only lasts a minute before he's huffing out an annoyed breath. "Cam, let's go."
"Aaaaadmiiiiit iiiiiit," she draws out, booping Gloria's nose for emphasis.
He grumbles something under his breath that might be a curse.
She stands and boops him on the nose next. "Come on, Nate, it's easy. Just say," she lowers her voice in a comical approximation of his, "Camille, I'm jealous of the attention you're giving Gloria." She leaves out the "because I'm touch-starved, particularly for touches that don't come in the form of an open palm," but she's pretty sure he hears it anyway, based on the way his shoulders tighten. She's teasing him for it now, but she wonders if she's fucked up and accidentally made him feel bad in the process. She tries to interject some much needed levity by standing on her toes and vigorously rubbing and tugging at his hair, but now he just looks unamused, irritated, and like someone has been pulling at his hair in the throes of passion, so she's fairly sure she's failed.
Especially since her cheeks are now stained red with her thoughts, and her hands are sticky with the residue of his hair product.
He rolls his eyes at her and turns toward the entryway. Without saying anything, he makes his way to the door.
She wonders if he's actually mad, or if he's just playing it up to make her feel bad.
He leads her over to a red pickup truck once they're outside. It isn't her style, not even in the slightest, but it suits him well enough. The exterior, much like Nathan, is rough and tumble, all beaten up from cold winters and salt, and it's the same shade of red as his jacket. Conversely, the interior is sweet as hell: it's fully tricked out, with heated leather seats and a nice stereo system that must have cost a fortune. If it weren't for the fact that one is a cold hard machine and the other is a truck, she'd swear they were the same—he just has to open the door so that other people can see him the way she does.
"Yours?" she asks, aware that it's a dumb question, but unwilling to let him fall to silence so easily.
"What do you think, genius?" he replies. She tries not to take it personally, tries not to overthink what would normally be casual banter between them.
Because what if she did upset him? He got enough of it from Sean, he didn't need it from her, maybe he deserves to be a little upset, maybe this is his way of showing it.
"We're picking someone up," he tells her as she settles into her seat.
She turns to him with lifted brows. "Oh?"
"A friend," he clarifies, as though her first assumption would be that he's bringing along a mortal enemy. She supposes, with him, that anything is possible—he has very few real friends to speak of, so anyone beyond that might very well be his enemy.
He doesn't elaborate further, and the next ten minutes are spent in silence, until they peel up to another one of Arcadia Bay's many mansions, kicking out an arc of finely polished marble chips. The lawn is equally as manicured as the driveway, and the home itself looks like it belongs in Architectural Digest. The part of her that loves white and floor-length windows and landscape photography itches for her camera, tucked away safely somewhere in her carry-on. Maybe she can borrow Nathan's?
A girl with short golden hair that shines brilliantly in the sun steps gracefully from the front door, smoothing down a houndstooth skirt and matching sweater. Even from here, Camille can see the pearls that choke her slim neck. It's the kind of outfit someone might wear for a date, and Camille wonders who is crashing whose date.
It's her and Nate's reunion dinner, after all.
And yet he invited her.
And she's so pretty.
"Victoria Chase," the girl says in lieu of hello. She somehow makes slipping into the back seat of the truck look easy.
Camille's fingers twitch. "Camille Villeneuve," she replies, barely bothering to toss the other girl a glance over her shoulder.
"Victoria," Nathan informs her, "is my date to the wedding."
Camille's heart seizes in response. "I-Is that so?" Hadn't he just agreed to be her date only a few hours ago? Though, now that she thinks about it, he hadn't, he had just made lewd comments about helping her pick her dress. Had he been leading her on since then? Had he meant for her to assume his remarks meant yes when really he had Victoria—beautiful Victoria, with her bright hair and pale skin—waiting for him in the wings?
Does he not want to go with her, or would he just rather take Victoria?
"I had already told Vic that I would take her before you even asked," Nathan says, casually smoothing down his hair and then shifting the car into gear. Camille had never even noticed that he hadn't bothered to fix it after all this time.
And, even worse, why would he mention that she'd asked him earlier in front of his actual date? She hadn't meant anything by it, hadn't meant to encroach on Victoria's territory, had just thought it made sense for them to go together as soon-to-be-siblings.
What if Victoria hates her now?
"Didn't know when I asked, or I wouldn't have bothered," Cam manages acerbically. God, why would he say it like that? She keeps her focus on the window, watches as the town closes in on them, buildings contorting and straining, a twisted metal-morphosis caused by Nathan's reckless speeding. It's not as though the police would dare pull him, Nathan Prescott, over anyway.
"Nathan thought it would be nice for me to meet his family," Victoria supplies helpfully.
Camille is nearly overcome by the urge to rip off her necklace as penance to the iron gods that watch them so closely, the products of Prescott development. "Right," Cam says through gritted teeth. Because of course this kind of event is a good chance for Nathan to introduce his family to his girlfriend. "In that case," she continues, "I'm Nate's soon-to-be sister."
Nathan all but jerks the wheel and the truck slams to a stop barely within the lines of a parking spot at Two Whales. "Step-sister," he corrects, "soon to be step-sister."
"Let's debate verbiage some other time," she says as pleasantly as possible. Even though she would love to make a spectacle of closing her door, she refrains; Nathan holds no such qualms and slams it shut.
It is his truck, after all.
"Well, it does seem like you two are…" Victoria's voice trails off and Camille fights the urge to turn around and dare her to finish her sentence. "Close," she concludes in a conspiratorial way that has Camille doubting whether or not it's what she means.
The three of them find a booth with relative ease, Nathan and Victoria on one side and Camille alone on the other. As they browse the menu, Camille wonders what exactly Victoria had been trying to imply, but she's left with nothing save the decision to order an omelet.
"Cam!" Joyce exclaims as she makes her way over to their table. Camille is just glad that she's able to break up the tension that clings thick and heavy to their party, wonders how they even got to this point to begin with.
Oh, yeah. Nathan is being an asshole.
"Hi, Joyce," she greets in return, allowing a genuine smile to tug at the corner of her lips. "Just got in today, thought I'd come and give my favorite diner some business." She looks to her tablemates to confirm that they, too, are ready to order; despite her irritation, manners will always be important. "I'll take a bacon and cheese omelet and a coffee, please."
Nathan orders a burger but substitutes onion rings for his fries, and Victoria, stereotypically, orders a salad. Camille hopes it's what Victoria wants to eat rather than a need to look elegant or be skinny. Victoria is thin, almost bird-like in bone structure, and the side of Camille's brain that's still simmering with barely concealed annoyance suggests that Victoria could stand for a few burgers herself.
"So," Nathan drawls suddenly as though nothing is wrong, and he hasn't been behaving like a child for the last hour or so. "I thought I would take you both as my date."
Victoria and Camille make quick eye contact, truce, and then direct their glares towards him instead.
"Really?" Victoria says, the scowl that crosses her features causing her to look more like an angry pixie than she did previously.
"Maybe I'll just take Victoria instead," Camille chimes in, uncrossing her legs to lean forward so she can glare at him more effectively.
Joyce brings over her coffee and waters for both Nathan and Victoria, but Nathan is so distracted by laughing that he can't say "thanks"—not that he would anyway, Camille thinks, because everything is an expectation for him. He expects people to bring him his food, to hold open doors for him, to wipe his—
Camille realizes very suddenly that this whole song and dance has been a trap. "Wow, you're so funny," she says drolly as they wait for him to recover. "Were you seriously trying to pit us against each other?"
"What can I say," he takes a swig of his water, raises his brows challengingly, "I love watching chicks fight over me. Me-ow."
The look of exasperation that she and Victoria exchange in response promises a long and prosperous friendship.