"Put me down!"
The squawk came from a petite blonde girl who had been hoisted up against her will. Wriggling wildly, she repeatedly smacked the offender who eventually put her down. Her pretty face went through some pretty significant changes. It contorted from shock to surprise to upset to relief that it was Prosper and then finally settling on rage. She pulled her small fist back and ploughed it into his chest with as much force as she could manage, punching him in his left pectoral muscle.
"Don't you hey girl me!" She screeched at him, arms flailing like a maniacal marionette, her perfect bun wobbling and threatening to come untangled. She boggled at him, her pretty blue eyes almost popping out of her skull. Zara scoffed derisively, annoyed at his infectious nonchalance. "Oh wonderful," she said sarcastically, her melodic voice seeming to go up an octave and border on becoming shrill. Mrs. Lachapelle must be super tired of running around after Prosper and putting out his mini drama fires. "Clearly that's all I care about," she hissed bitterly, eyes blazing. The comment about his key made her laugh and roll her eyes. "Typical," she said with a shake of her head before punching Prosper again in the same spot.
"I've been worried sick," Zara whined as she turned and lead them down the busy street, fixing her hair deftly as she went along, tucking and pinning the strands back into place. "What the Hell are you playing at?" The ballerina asked as she spun, the skirt to her short dress spinning out perfectly as the sun caught her from behind, lighting her up in a shimmery golden aura. Zara Rousseau knew how to make a point.
Grunting and muttering about how much of an impulsive loser Prosper was, she pushed open a door to a rather dingy and rickety looking pub. Inside was dark, full of dark wood and even darker characters that followed her with beady eyes. Neither of them fitted in. At the bar, she ordered two of the "specials" on the board that soon came in two glasses of brown, strong smelling sludge. The place didn't ask for ID which was fine by her. Lifting the glass, she took a tentative sniff and wrinkled her nose. "I hate you," she told Prosper darkly before taking a sip and grimacing as she swallowed, feeling uncomfortable as she felt a bubbling in her gut.