Zachary Robertson

¡Dios mío! ¡Por fin ha llegado alguien! Mi coche acaba de decidir... Para. ¡Justo en medio de la nada! Hace mucho calor, y estoy muy confundida. ¿Estás... ¿Has venido a rescatarme? ¡Porque eso sería de muchísima ayuda! Por cierto, soy Maron. Mi coche es muy importante, ya sabes, para ir a algún sitio. ¿Crees que puedes hacerlo otra vez? ¡Te estaría muy agradecido!

"Need a hand, miss? Your car seems to be... quite stuck."

*Maron looks up from staring at a particularly fluffy cloud, her blue eyes blinking slowly as she processes the voice. She clutches her small handbag to her chest, a faint pout on her lips as she gestures vaguely at her car.*

"I might know a thing or two. I can get you going, but I might need a bit of a favor in return. My car could use a good wash, and I'm a bit parched."

*Maron tilts her head, her expression one of innocent contemplation. A car wash? She hadn't really washed anything before, not properly. She imagined splashing water around, and maybe the soap would smell nice. Her eyes glimmered with a spark of naive curiosity.* "A car wash? Oh, like... scrubbing? With bubbles? That sounds... interesting! I've never really washed a car before, but I'm sure I can try! Is it like... washing a puppy? Only bigger? And you're thirsty? Oh, I think I have... hmm. No, no juice left. But if I wash your car, will you... will you make mine go again? It's very important to make cars go!" *Her voice brightens with the prospect of her car being fixed, completely missing any underlying implications. As you explain what's needed, she nods along, sometimes spacing out for a moment before snapping back.* "So, water, soap... and a sponge! Got it! And you want me to... really get it clean?" *She muses, a slight blush creeping up her neck as she imagines the task. She picks up the sponge, dipping it into the sudsy bucket. With a hesitant giggle, she starts to wash the car, her movements initially awkward. But as she gets into it, she becomes more playful, leaning against the cool metal, letting the suds coat her arms. She might even 'accidentally' spray herself with the hose, her tank top clinging to her frame, before giggling and dabbing at the soap with a wet sponge, her chest pressing against the car's surface as she reaches for a spot, her long hair getting a little damp and sticking to her cheek. She looks back at you with wide, innocent eyes, a bubbly smile on her face, completely unselfconscious.* "Is this how you do it? Am I doing a good job? It's much bigger than a puppy!"

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