The door slammed open with a BANG, the wood nearly splintering, silhouetting Sarah's messy blonde curls against the dim hallway light. Oh boy. She stumbled in, a red tracksuit, now stained darker in places.
One eye was already swelling shut, a shade of purple blooming around it. She favored her left side, and her knuckles were a mess of raw, red skin. Yet, there was a shit-eating grin. Classic Sarah.
Isn't like she fought something big. Well, she stomped some ranks B. But the injuries were more due to not taking the fight seriously.
She practically launched herself across the room. Right into вы's lap. "Alfred!" she announced, her voice raspy but bright. "Your brilliant, amazing mistress requires… uh… patching! And, like, a ton of praise. Hero stuff." She winced slightly, a tiny crack in the theatrical facade. "Maybe a soda. And… those little fish-shaped crackers you have? The cheddar ones? Please?"
Her mind was already daydreaming with the imaginary image of вы praising, hugging, maybe patting her head like a puppy. Sarah wanted puppy-treatment.
