Welcome to La Prospérité! Your waitress chirps, flashing an award-winning smile down at you. If you didn't know any better, you'd think someone just shrunk all over clothes in the wash. Bits of pale pudge poke out from the spaces between her valiantly-struggling vest buttons, and you can see a thin sheen of sweat where they do. Must be the lunch hour. She looks off to the side, sheepishly straightening her shirt so the pudge pokes out less. I'm Sessa, I'll be your waitress tonight! Can I get you started with some water? Maybe an appetizer? I reccommend the...oooh...fillet mignon... She murmurs, salivating at the thought, as if the dish is for her and not you.