[paris] pink lemonade. [tag; prosper]

"You should have had breakfast before you left," Zara snapped, rudely shoving a paper bag into the centre of Prosper's chest as she widened her strides. Inside the bag was a croissant and no sympathy. It was sweltering outside - summer had hit Paris hard. It was a cloudless blue sky and the streets were alive with tourists and rumbling with traffic, even at this early hour.

While finding a wedding dress was supposed to be one of the most magical and enjoyable days of a woman's life, Zara found it rather stressful. She'd already tried on dresses with her mother and as much as she loved her, their styles were...different? Her mother liked ball gowns, Zara liked form fitting. Her body was toned and slender from her dancing so she didn't really want to cover it up with layers upon layers of tulle. But she also liked lace and jewels and pearls and feathers. Her father, the smart man, seemed to agree with whatever Zara wanted, which was partly why she was neurotic to begin with.

The ballerina's long blonde hair swung side to side, tied back into a ponytail using one of Prosper's vintage neckerchiefs. For the first time in almost forever, she was wearing trainers and she was also annoyed about that. With a grunt of annoyance, she adjusted her bag and took a swig of her green tea before tossing the empty cup into a nearby bin with unnecessary force. It felt good to be home. She missed the cracked pavement and the graffiti and being beeped by car horns.

Zara crossed the wide road, adjusting her sunglasses as she did so. She also missed Prosper, though she'd rather die than admit it. "Sorry," she said gently as she carefully brushed a pastry crumb off his lapel before she wrapped her slim fingers around his wrist and pulled because he just wasn't moving fast enough.

There was a fat dusky pink file that bulged out of her bag and it contained everything she thought she wanted. Looking back now, a lot of it was garish. Most of it had been assembled when she'd been twelve years old. Zara didn't think she wanted to release doves after her vows any more. She'd been to her cousin's wedding the year previously and one had pooed on the wedding dress.

Zara was efficient to a fault and her checklist was being completed methodically. Diederik had his tux, bridesmaids dresses were chosen, colour scheme pretty much decided on, venue booked but the honeymoon was still up for debate. And Prosper needed his outfit, too.

"I'm sweating," the petite blonde complained, fanning herself with her hand as she loosened another button on her shirt, taking a left. She was excited but she was stumbling over what type of dress to buy. She liked elements of different silhouettes, fabrics and embellishments. Secretly, Zara wanted to look like a princess-shaped disco ball but she needed to be reigned in.

They pulled up to an establishment ten minutes early and the doors were still locked, causing her to let out a grunt of frustration. "Rude," she complained as she peered through the windows. "Okay," she said as she turned to Prosper, both hands on his shoulders as though giving him a pep talk before battle. "I need you to be honest," she warned him, her eyebrows arched. "If I look ridiculous, you need to tell me. But you also need to tell me I look gorgeous in everything. Oh hello," she said brightly with a smile as the door opened behind her and she hopped up the step and into the magical world of wedding couture.



@Prosper Lachapelle

“I know, I’m sorry,” Prosper responded with grace that was rather uncharacteristic when it came to his relationship with Zara. He took the bag without complaint, glancing inside before tearing a bit off with a thumb and forefinger and popping it in his mouth. Truthfully, he’d skipped breakfast because he’d been caught up with Ariane, and it was skip-breakfast-or-be-late, so he’d gone with the former.

Prosper glanced to either side as they crossed the road; it was clear that his friend had no time for such precautions, and he couldn’t have her run down by a muggle vehicle on dress-shopping day. What kind of maid of honour would he be if he let that happen? Prosper shook his head. He’d mostly gotten used to the fact that his two best friends were getting married, especially as the date drew closer slowly, but once in a while it still caught him off guard.

“Me too,” Prosper agreed. He reached up absentmindedly to undo another button but his shirt was already unreasonably open, even for Paris, so he let his hand drop back to his side. Why had she asked him to dress nice? While they were walking, he shrugged his thin blazer from his shoulders and folded it neatly over one arm.

“Diederik has his tux then?” Prosper asked, pushing his sunglasses up so he could peer into the shop too, but then Zara was suddenly in front of him, hands on his shoulders. He listened to what she said, a half-smile appearing on his handsome face. Then he took her hands in his, clasping them together in between them. “Zara,” he said, his voice very serious, “I was born for this.”

The door opened just then, and Prosper let go of Zara’s hands. He slid his sunglasses off his face and folded them up. Here we go, he thought.

Unable to help herself, she blinked as Prosper opened another button on his shirt. She arched her eyebrow and tilted her head. "Shouldn't that be reserved for your girlfriend?" Zara asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. As to prove a point, she heaved a shudder. Prosper was like a brother to her and she'd never viewed him in a romantic sense, much to the disappointment of their respective mothers. There was a blip in Beauxbatons but then she'd thrown up in a bin. Memories.

"He does but I think it needs tailoring," she mused, mentally adding that to her list. With Diederik in training, his weight and muscles were all over the place, depending on pre-season or games or training. It was so hard to taper trousers to his legs tight enough so she could see his bum - that was all she ever really wanted. "I'm going to need to see Ariane again soon, too, for her fitting," she told Prosper with a nod. She liked his girlfriend. She was petite and dark haired and could obviously deal with Prosper like a professional.

That being said, she wouldn't want any other person by her side at this very moment. With Prosper's hands in hers, she squeezed them back and held them. He was born for this, he'd said, and she believed him. Battle stations.

Inside the shop was vast and sparkling. Zara was hit with a wall of white and instinctively, she took a step back and bumped into Prosper who propelled her forward. The woman smiled broadly, assuming they were together and her eyes widened. "Oh no," she laughed, finding it funny. "We're not engaged," she was quick to tell her but she simply smiled. Bringing a fiancee to the dress choosing was a very modern thing. Apparently. "Ew," she mumbled under her breath.

Zara loved Prosper, deeply, but she couldn't imagine legally having to spend most of her time with him. She stepped over to the rack, her pale fingers extending to run them across the rack of dresses as she felt the material. "I definitely don't like satin," she remarked. "Or anything that makes a noise when I walk. Taffeta, is it?" She asked Prosper. They were both familiar with the stuff.

Up and down she prowled, like a lioness, discounting gowns as she went. "What about this?" The blonde asked as she picked one up and held it against her slender body. It was a high, modern halterneck, floor length, tight fitting, sexy in a slinky way and it would show off her elegant shoulders. She frowned as she swayed, the material not quite swooshing the way she wanted it to. It was very pretty but it was very plain. "Ruching is for fat girls, right?" She asked Prosper as she tugged at the pleated fabric, causing the store's owner to scowl at her.

"Right," he answered, not caring so much about Diederik's wedding outfit. Zara was the main character here; everyone knew it. Prosper rolled his eyes as she hesitated in the doorway and gave her a gentle push inside.

It was cooler in the store, which he appreciated. Contrasted to the outside heat, it even made him shiver a little; for a brief moment, he considered buttoning his shirt up (but didn’t). Visually, it was nice, in here too; the dresses were clearly not very cheap, something that the theatrical side of him appreciated. His greyish eyes scanned dress after dress as he tucked his glasses into their soft case and then slid that into his shirt pocket.

Nothing that made a sound? No taffeta, then. No tule, unless it was on the thin side. From what Prosper remembered of Zara’s ridiculous wedding scrapbook – the one he’d been made to study when he was what, six? – She didn’t want anything bulky, anyway. “Silk, right?” he asked, eyeing one of the mannequins on the other side of the store in a slinkier sort of dress.

He glanced over as she held one up against her body. He gave it a skeptical once-over, then shook his head. “What about something more…” he waved his hand at his chest. “Collarboney?” he suggested. Zara didn’t exactly have the tits to fill out a strapless dress, but she basically had the body of a catwalk model – her neck, shoulders, collarbone were all beautiful in that classic sort of way, and why wouldn’t she want to show it off? Maybe he was just used to seeing her in a leotard.

“Sure,” he said. “Or girls with skinny asses,” he added with a quirked eyebrow. Anyone with something to cover up, he supposed. He remembered why they were here though, and shook his head quickly, holding a hand up to stop her speaking. “Sorry, I’ll cut the sass, I know, I know.” It was fine to have no ass as a ballerina. Preferable, actually. “No ruching,” he agreed with a nod.

"I like the bottom of this one," he said, nodding to the one he'd been eyeing earlier. It was a very soft silk, off-white and clearly hugged the mannequin's legs... but still had a bit of flow and movement to it. The sort of dress you might look very sexy in when sitting, but something you could still move in. "Don't do the mermaid thing," he added, giving her a side-ways glance. He knew she liked those dresses that came in at the knee, but he personally hated them.