CALLISTO POV:
they're sitting by themself. a short, skinny kid with bags under their eyes in a big sweater. they look up when I walk in, but not at me. at the doorframe by my feet. I'm suddenly self-conscious of my shoes-- for all they're not intimidating, (especially to me,) they have an odd perceptiveness to them. and their eyes are damn near impossible to ignore. I decide I need to scope them out before I let myself relax here. as if I'll be relaxing much anyway. I try not to glower as I walk, but I let my shoulders hang forward and my elbows bow out where I have my hands stuffed half into my pockets. stupid women's jeans.
"hey," I introduce myself. the kid looks up. maybe it's presumptuous to call them that but at nearly 18 I'm certain I'm the oldest here. I have a good half a foot on them. and half a mind to kneel so we're eye to eye, they're still staring at my damned shoes. "something interesting down there?"
"huh?" they snap up to meet my gaze, practically craning their neck to do so. I stifle a smile. "oh-- no, sorry. where did you get those? they look pricey."
"you have a fetish or something?" this completely throws them and I try not to enjoy the look they make too much.
"no, I-- no. I don't."
"I'm Callisto. a new camper but you-"
"knew that, since you just walked in. yeah. I'm Pluto. I'm new here too. and your pronouns?"
"she/her," I respond, like I'm reading off a phone number. they're speaking so softly, like every word is to be kept a secret. and their eyes are even more distracting up close. and though I'm sure they're not trying to intimidate me, I won't let it happen. "yours?" I finish, but their eyes flick down to the floor again, like they're nervous. they rub their thumbnail back and forth and swallow before speaking.
"they/them. y'know, if you're not an asshole about it."
"no worries. and you're right about the shoes, I have expensive taste." they just nod and look down at their hands. christ, I feel like a dick. they look off-balance, almost afraid.
"I'll, uh, catch you at dinner," I say, turning to leave. they wave with the top half of their hand, a sharp salute, without looking up at me. I make my way to the center of the room where I won't scare the kid anymore. the kid who has a name. Pluto. I need to start being polite to people in my head. even if it doesn't outwardly show, it would certainly make me feel like a better person. which would be a start. but I probably won't.