Ofelia & Cian.
She shifted as he did, trying to lean away even as Cian crept into her own space, all elbows and hands – for a moment, they were like tilting dominoes, the woman at risk of simply toppling over and back into the bazaar proper. Ofelia tried to shift and find a more comfortable position, wincing as her old, battered knee flexed. But their shoulders were jammed hopelessly against each other, no extra space to be had. There was solitude and calm, yes, but this eye of the riot was only of a size for one.
“Reminds me of being an apprentice,” she finally said, casting around for a subject – any subject – that would keep her thoughts moving, even if said topic meant cracking open the lid on her past. Running footsteps passed them; there was the clanking of armour, the shout of an officer. “Stealing from shop tables, running like the wind, trying to evade the law. Been a while since I've had to do this.”
They probably didn't even have to do this. They'd done nothing wrong and the officers wouldn't be looking for them—
The frenzied crowd, on the other hand, obviously wouldn't mind chewing them up for breakfast. Ofelia sighed. She pocketed the statuette, and its reassuring weight settled into her jacket pocket.