Elodie didn’t look down on common people. Any Nevermerean that conducted themselves with dignity deserved to be treated with respect. But that didn’t mean she was one to wander the streets of Skia regularly. She was more likely to be found in a carriage, transported safely from one place to another, and spared the dirt, grime, and trouble that came with moving about common folk.

But how Elodie’s circumstances had changed.

When before the crowds might have parted for a lady and her guard, they were now a crowded maze to navigate. Soldiers of Nevermere, by virtue of their position, were treated with deference, but that could only carry you so far. Elodie might be able to command a ballroom, but without all the trappings of wealth, she felt adrift.

But that wouldn’t stop her.

Chin up, Elodie marched through the streets, uniform neat as a pin and a smile on her face. Her eyes scanned the streets for trouble. She daydreamed about seizing a criminal, making some great arrest that would catapult her to the front of the pack. When she saw the boy slipping the bread from the stall, unnoticed, she had to blink to make sure it wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

“You there—” The boy didn’t even look at Eldoie before he started to run. He weaved through the crowd as she struggled to catch up. She was approaching an intersection when her toe caught the cobblestones and she fell flat on her face.

She lay there face down for a moment, stunned before she tilted her head up, and saw the boy was gone.

Octavius was already at the intersection by the time Elodie reached it. He was chatting up another guard, making jokes that were only half funny--the other soldiers' face attested to that--when the commotion coming from the chase caught their ears. It wasn't a ton of commotion, mind you, because most of the milling Nevermereans were ignoring the boy running with bread. Not jewels. Not a stolen child. Bread. Not even an entire load, but a half. For all they knew, he was rushing his meal home to share with his siblings. Nobody cared. What they cared a little more about was the running guard. When a guard was running there was usually an emergency. They parted, confused stares following the pretty woman.

Octavius, on the other hand, stopped mid sentence to observe the brown-skinned mocha diva racing right for him. He'd seen her in the tavern that night but hadn't had a chance to go in. Just his luck that here she was now, and in uniform, no less. His lips were parted in a stupid expression that turned to horror, mirrored by those nearby, when she collapsed. The sound of her armor hitting cobblestone was loud. He immediately felt embarrassed for her, but had been instilled with enough gallantry growing up to rush forward, large hands ready and eager to help her regain her feet.

"Take care, soldier!" Octavius bid as he reached down to help. "Are you okay?"

Embarrassment wasn’t something that Elodie Atwood wore well. She was used to being the belle of every ball, the start pupil in every class. So to have passersby looking at her with imaged mockery, or worse, indifference, stung as if she’d been slapped. Elodie swallowed hard to clear the lump in her throat. To regain the composure she’d so conspicuously lost.

She accepted Octavius’s help. Even with her armor, the little witch would easily be hoisted to her feet. She could feel a lump on her head, but her worst injury was a thoroughly bruised ego. When she looked up at Octavius—which was quite a long way—Elodie was smiling, but blinking rapidly to keep the hot, frustrated tears from escaping her eyes.

“I’m fine,” Elodie swallowed again, only to find the lump still there, “Those cobblestones have minds of their own, you know. So do watch your step,” Her voice cracked and her smile started to tremble. She'd give a little ballroom-dip of her head before starting to walk away.

It was only when the soldier accepted his help and looked up that Octavius realized who she was. The girl. The one he had been looking for. Seeing her now, holding her in his hand, he forgot what he was looking for. He was shocked by her all over again, his thoughts jumbled and incoherent.

“I’ll kick those cobblestones ass.” He declared as he released her, certain she was on her own feet, immediately flushed by the stupidity of his statement though it didn’t show on his face. She made to leave but he wasn’t finished,

“Wait, I’ve not had the pleasure of getting your name.” It would be easier to find her next time with that intel.

Elodie considered hastening on, leaving Octavius’s question unacknowledged, but her impeccable manners wouldn’t allow her to. So, she turned, smiling even as the tears that had gathered in her eyes threatened to spill over.

“Anything for such a noble conqueror of cobblestones,” She said with a tiny curtsy—a funny thing to do in a military uniform, “Elodie Atwood.” Elodie smiled prettily at him, blinking furiously to banish her tears.

Her mother would be mortified to see her in such a state.

Octavius, darn him, didn’t even notice the tears. He noticed her eyebrows and eyelashes and her nose and those lips and the softness of her skin. He noticed her curtsy—was she a noble?—and her smile and…well, her beauty had him falling over himself.

“Atwood.” He repeated with a nod, followed by a far too wide, far too toothy smile. “Good. That is, a pleasure.” She had curtsied so now he tipped his torso forward in a bow that was inappropriate for the circumstance but part of the game they were playing, right?

“Octavius Wulfbrand, Self Proclaimed Cobblestone Conqueror.” It was forced. Even he heard it. Really, what a goob. “Or, you said it first…” shut up, shut up, shut up, “…but…a pleasure to meet you, Atwood.” His cheeks were blossoming. Not smooth.

Elodie giggled, a little unladylike snort leaving her as a few tears dropped down her now dimpled cheeks. She was smiling, the man in front of her enough to banish her panic to have curiosity take its place. He was handsome, which helped; a little boyish for her taste, perhaps, but handsome all the same.

"Call me Elodie, please," She said with a graceful, ballroom wave of her hand, "You are now my protector against the roadway, are you not? Given that, Lady Atwood seems a little formal." Elodie didn't wink, but her still teary eyes sparkled with playful delight. Banter was a familiar place that she could sink into like a comfortable pair of shoes.

While Octavius was sure he was botching it, the pretty soldier's response proved otherwise. That, or she was simply enjoying herself. Either way, he was pleased. He didn't have any intentions, necessarily, and he wasn't thinking about tomorrow. He simply wanted right now. She was giving that to him.

"Elodieplease." Still lame, but she didn't seem entirely perturbed by lameness so he would charge forward, still with hot cheeks. "And you are too right. I request that you call me Wulfbrand, however, as the dramatics of the surname better bolster my presentation as protector." He grinned.

How peculiar he was. Elodie tilted her head to the side a little, perplexed, but still all smiles and dimples and ladylike composure. The incident with the cobblestones had been forgotten entirely. Like a warm cup of tea, this—whatever this was—was proving to be a comfort. His ruddy cheeks hadn’t gone unnoticed. There was something satisfying about seeing Octavius squirm.

“Wulfbrand it is,” Elodie responded, the matter decided, “I shall share your name and tales of bravery far and wide. Surely the finest ladies of the realm will call for you when they travel the streets of Skia—lest they be bested by a few unruly stones.”

While this kind of banter perplexed Elodie, it straight tickled Octavius. He’d surely smile and maybe even chuckle later while reflecting on the exchange. For the moment, however, he kept in character.

The soldier bowed deeply.

“You honor me.” Was he mocking the noble class? Maybe. “But perhaps not too far not too wide. I wouldn’t want the damsels I’ve already saved to be neglected by my fame.” He felt he should make some kind of suave dismissal for himself and leave his relative wittiness as the last thing on her mind, but whatever charm Octavius had was mostly natural, and intentionally trying to moonwalk out of a situation would put him flat on his face. He resolved to grin quietly at her.

“You do not seem the kind to neglect your damsels, Lord Wulfbrand,” Elodie shifted her weight to one hip, her smile drifting into a good-natured smirk, “But I’ll happily keep your tale of glory to myself.” She looked around the square, business having returned to its usual buzzing pace.

“Well,” Elodie said, straightening, “I suppose we should carry on, shouldn’t we? The streets of Skia, I’m sure, would be grateful for your protection and I for your company.”

Octavius couldn’t stop his eyes from bouncing down to her hip as it cocked, a subtle glance unless she was scrutinizing him. He nodded his head.

“You’re right about that, we should carry on.” Only carrying on meant going separate ways, because Octavius’ current route wasn’t parallel with hers, dammit.

“Perhaps I’ll see you again?” There was a request there, buried within an assumption.

Elodie smiled, teeth dazzling in the sunlight as she resisted the urge to giggle. She didn’t miss his glance; after all, she was a lady designed to attract suitors. She knew when a male gaze was trained on her. And in this case, she didn’t at all mind.

“Perhaps,” Elodie teased, as if the matter were uncertain, “After all, there are plenty of cobblestones in Skia.” Elodie dipped her head.

"Farewell, Lord Wulfbrand." With a flick of her hair, Elodie turned to continue on her way, still smiling once her back was turned.