[THD] world away | • r e a g a n

Prosper was back in London, for a limited time only.

So Dean's couch might have been uncomfortable (more like sleeping on rocks, Prosper thought privately), but he was lucky enough to have caught London on a few very sunny days. Right now, for example, he was leaning elegantly against the brick wall beside the coffee shop, every inch of him bathed in warm yellow light. Prosper had bought a new pair of sunglasses yesterday just for this trip. Waiting patiently for his coffee, Prosper watched the people walking by. Some of them were racing and others were casually strolling. He realised that it was technically the school holidays; no doubt there were many young witches and wizards getting the things they required for the following term. Prosper was nostalgic about high school, but being an adult was far too fun to wish being back there.

A young witch caught his eye as she approached the outward-facing counter beside him. She was tiny - almost a foot smaller than him, barely five foot tall, surely - but it was more her features that he appreciated. She had amazing hair and a pretty face. He wondered what she looked like when she smiled. Prosper was thankful for the sunglasses that hid his little looks as she ordered a drink next to him. Prosper almost didn't see the newspaper in her hands. He could have easily been to distracted by her face to look down, but by chance he caught a glimpse of... Himself?

Prosper moved his sunglasses up onto his head in one swift movement. "Excuse me, hello," he said, his english heavily accented. He was so painfully, obviously French. "Sorry, excuse me, can I just..." Prosper moved in a little closer to have a look at the newspaper she was carrying, tilting the page towards him with one slender finger as he tried not to let his curiosity get the better of him and make him crowd her space. Yep, that was definitely him all right. In the newspaper. In England. In the slow-motion photo, Prosper was mid firebird leap, the muscles in his legs showing as he drifted through the air in slow motion, his face a perfect picture of serenity. The picture must be advertising his theatre, he thought distantly. Prosper wondered if they'd sent the photo in before he'd dropped out of the performance without telling anyone. "That's me," he explained with a crooked smile.

She knew that she should stop drinking coffee. At least it was better with almond milk. Dairy upset her stomach, for whatever reason, and while she fully, one-hundred per cent believed in the power of potions to heal, Reagan preferred all-natural routes. So! She'd stick with this. For now. Perhaps that was part of the reason she was genuinely more interested in psychology than in medicinal remedy, but of course, it was all good experience. It would certainly give her a job no matter where she ended up, and of course, she could help people. That had been the main end-goal of pursuing a career in Healing, and she'd be damned if she didn't finish strong. Years of hellish scheduling and strenuous study were enough to drive a girl crazy, but she figured after fighting a wizarding war, it was even a little bit relaxing in terms of the stress. Sarah needed the calm atmosphere, anyway. She was intensity personified as it was.

Her lemon-colored trainee robes swished around her small body when she apparated downtown, comfortably -- she didn't like them very tight, obviously, as she wouldn't be able to move in them if they were -- and she approached the counter, smiling brightly at the barista. "Just a triple-shot of espresso with some almond milk and a dab of white chocolate, please, thank you." She slid a few knuts into the Quibbler's and the Daily Prophet's newspaper cases for good measure and started with the Prophet. Her icy-blue eyes scanned the articles quickly, and it was trash, mostly. Reagan knew it was trash, but she liked to be kept updated. Even with completely false information, she liked to be in the know -- of course, that's why she also bought the Quibbler. Was necessary to maintain her reputation as not a shitty person by only reading the Prophet as a guilty pleasure.

A second later, though, she jumped, a very pronounced gasp sucking in through her carefully-moisturized lips. Someone had just very intensely intruded in her space. Reagan wasn't touch-repulsed by any means, but she was a small witch and it was more than a little startling to have someone right there with no previous warning. "Um, hello," The brunette said, a hint of indignance coloring her normally-breezy tone. "That's you, isn't it?" She smiled. "And you're also right there and I don't even know what your name is."

"Yeah that's me," Prosper said, watching himself repeat the leap in slow motion in the picture. After a moment he flicked his grey eyes back up to meet hers as he removed the sunglasses from his curls. "Prosper Lachapelle," he said, holding a hand out to shake hers with. "I'm a dancer," he said, glancing back down at the paper again before looking back at her with a well-natured smile. It was really something to see himself in the newspaper, he thought. A foreign newspaper too. Sure, he should probably feel a little guilty about the fact that he'd ditched his dance company to travel around Europe partying and whatnot, but he didn't feel too bad. It was hard to feel bad when there was a picture of him in international news. It was a great picture too. He looked fierce. "Sorry," he said after a moment, looking down at the paper again. "It's just so strange to see... Strange and cool."

Prosper spun as his name was called and his coffee was pushed out to him. "Thanks!" he said taking it quickly. The young man slipped a few coins in the stand and grabbed two copies of the paper. "One for mum and dad," he explained to the girl he'd been chatting with. He'd have to show Zara too, he thought. She'd be impressed. Once she got past the fact that he'd run away wordlessly for a couple of months, of course. "Are you a healer?" he asked, gesturing at her robes. Prosper knew that traditions were different across countries but the colour stood out and they were near the hospital, so he took a wild guess.

His accent was pretty thick. Perhaps the French had no conception of personal space? She'd been there a time or two; she'd never spent extensive time there. Maybe a trip to Paris was in order. Reagan politely followed suit and shook the boy's hand -- Prosper. What an interesting name. Very unusual. Hers wasn't exactly one that one heard every time they walked 'round the block, either, but she had to assume it was a little more common than his was. "I'm Reagan. Baisley," She tacked her surname on at the end when she remembered he'd introduced himself with his full name.

He seemed... nice enough. Her eyes followed his and she watched him perform the leap again and again. He looked quite graceful. Maybe he was gay? Men involved in theatre and dance and music tended to be of that persuasion. Of course she wasn't going to ask. Reagan Baisley had a slight semblance of tact, unlike some people she held very close to her heart. Sarah would never be convinced to hold her tongue. It was useful at times and frankly disastrous at others, but that was okay. She'd die without her, truly. "It's quite alright," The brunette told the boy, smiling warmly at him. He was pretty excited. That was sort of darling in its own way.

"If you're a dancer, though, don't you have a pretty rigorous schedule...? Or is it off-season or something?" She asked him curiously, wondering what he was doing in London. Maybe he had a gig here? She hadn't actually read through the article because he'd interrupted her and then she'd become enthralled with the picture and his miniature life story. "That's nice of you. And yes, I'm almost a healer," Reagan answered. "I've just started my first year of on-the-job training, so I'm well on my way. These robes are the ones they make the trainees wear," The girl explained graciously, nodding along.

The barista called her name and she approached the coffee cart to grab her beverage, and then there was suddenly confetti. All over the place. It was startling -- she wasn't sure where it had come from, but it was just there and there was megaphone shouting and all sorts of stimuli she hadn't been prepared for. Her brow furrowed into a delicate frown and she stepped back a few paces, trying to make sense of the situation. Her hearing zoned in on the shouting. Free drinks for a year? What on earth? It felt like she was trapped inside a live infomercial. And yes, she knew what those were. Thank you, Muggle Studies.

"Oh, i'm taking a short break," Prosper answered, without missing a beat. He'd always been good at performing and slipping in that little half-truth came easily to him. Technically, he was taking a break. The young man had needed a break from his life, not dancing specifically, but a break from dancing was going to do him well too. Or at least, that was what he was hoping. A month off would kill him if he was a real professional dancer, he thought. If his real goals were to become a dancer for life, then he wouldn't be slacking like this. Then again, if he'd wanted to be a ballet boy for the rest of his life he wouldn't have taken up gymnastics and his tricking classes. Leaping was fun, he thought, but so were flips.

"Nice," Prosper commented, happy to make meaningless chit-chat with the pretty girl he found himself talking to. St Mungo's, huh? Prosper wondered what it would be like to study at a prestigious hospital. When her name was called, he looked over his shoulder. Suddenly, they were covered in tiny bits of coloured paper - confetti, he registered blankly - and there were all kinds of wacky noises happening around them. People who were walking by had slowed to a stop, some with their lips slightly ajar in shock or confusion. "Good job!" Prosper said over the noise, a laugh in his voice. "What's going on? What did you win?" He was genuinely curious, bouncing over to the counter to have a look himself.

"Breaks are good." Reagan agreed with him. They were. She wasn't really known to take breaks herself or to chill out about anything unless it was an arbitrary interaction that wouldn't affect anything later on. Everything else was go, go, go. Reagan prided herself in being a just, active, persistent, driven person. If the war had taught her anything, and if being in the most elite light organization in the world had taught her anything, and if her healer training had taught her anything -- it had been that. And god, she was thankful. She was more than happy to tow the line while Sarah was working on figuring what she wanted to do out. The young woman wanted her best friend to find peace after Kayla's death and to find something she really, truly enjoyed more than anything. More than she wanted anything for herself. Reagan was a selfless person. She couldn't help it.

Reagan laughed a little bit in response to his congratulations. She wasn't quite sure what there was to be congratulated about -- all she'd bought was a coffee for a sickle or two and it had gotten her free drinks for a year. She didn't particularly leech for handouts often, but she'd take them when they were kindly offered to her. This would only serve to fuel her addiction even more (perhaps she'd start coming by after twelve-hour shifts to be able to get things done at home, too) but it was too good to pass up. "Wow," Her feminine voice struggled to cut through the noise of the random noisemakers and popping of the confetti machine, but she grinned brightly at the barista, who was smiling awkwardly at her, too. "Thank you."

She pivoted back to Prosper then and shrugged, showing him the little plaque they'd slid over the counter to her. "Got free drinks for a year. Not bad, right? Pretty close to work, too." Reagan didn't care for yelling, but what else was there to do, really? "It was nice meeting you, Prosper. I've got to be going to work now, but come see me if you ever break your ankle in those pointe shoes and I'll do my best to fix ya right up." She winked at him, slow smirk creeping over her mouth.