Ofelia & Cian.
She was on the verge of making some philosophical chicken-and-egg comment – which came first, Zhou or Wilde? – but was soon distracted from all thoughts of elegant wordplay. Fists were flying, and with his help, Ofelia jerked out of the way just as Cian walked right into it. His hand was hard on her forearm, and the woman bristled at the contact: I don't need your help, I can take care of myself, let me go, I'm much faster without you and this ridiculous bag of fruit slowing me down—
Every last temperamental line died on her lips, however, as they found themselves fighting their way against the wave of people and the crush of arms and limbs.
“Have people gone mad? Did a mage cast a spell on everyone?” It was worrying. The pulse of the city had gone tepid and rotten; Ofelia had picked up on the noises of dissent within Emillion's walls, her informants whispering about trade delays and grounded ships, but this was far more than she expected.
They hurried along, ducking as another frazzled, bruised customer threw himself on an EKP officer beside them. The two gamblers neatly stepped out of the way, and Fee now took the opportunity to drag Cian, her own grip yanking his arm off to the side, feet tripping towards an abandoned accessories stall. Ofelia dropped to the ground, rolling underneath the table and out of view – and she was still pulling Cian with her, out of view of the aforementioned officer.