The sounds of waves crashing against the rocks, the sounds of seagulls, are distant, but welcoming all the same, especially after a particularly harsh school year.

Casper hops out of his father's rusty old truck, the same truck that's taken them on many camping trips, and once upon a time along with his mother as well. Her death had hit them hard. After all, the camping trips were a tradition started by her, and so Casper and his father continued to uphold it, returning to the same campsite every year for the entire summer. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

After easily setting up the tents, the actions basically second nature to him, he neatens up the interior, setting up sleeping bags and pillows while his dad busied himself with unpacking the grill for a barbecue later tonight, the thought of grilled meat something to look forward to.

As he emerges from the tent, tying his mess of black hair up into a half-up half-down bun, his mind wandering to later when he might visit the beach with his rod and spend all afternoon fishing, his thoughts are suddenly cut short by the sound of a car pulling up in the plot beside theirs, a car he's never seen around here before.

Casper doesn't have to wonder about who it might be much longer, as out jumps a new face, looking as though they've never camped a day in their life.

Grinning to himself, Casper takes this as an opportunity to make himself a friend, to show this brand new camper the proper way of roughing it out.

He picks up his tennis ball, and pretends to throw it miss so it lands near their feet. Running up to them, Casper shoots them a small smile. “Sorry about that. My aim is usually better than this, trust me.” He takes in their appearance, his eyes running over them. “Are you a fellow camper as well? I'm Cas.” He sticks out his hand.