changing-roads:
Elle knows it was a bad idea to come to Fortification Hill alone. But she did it anyway. She didn’t want… to put anyone else at risk here. But as resolute as that thought is, so is her desperate daydreaming that she chose otherwise. She wishes there was someone, anyone, walking beside her here. She was terrified about coming here to begin with, but now that she’s here, she’s petrified. She knows what she looks like. She knows that physically, she doesn’t amount to much, knows she’s small, knows that close quarters are her weakness — knows that if some Legionary decided to disobey Caesar and come at her, then she’d be helpless.
She knows what the Legionaries around her think of her. They’re making that pretty damn obvious. It’s all she can do to not clutch the Mark of Caesar like a lifeline where it hangs around her neck.
The sounds of some Legionaries swearing and griping at something as it trips them up makes Elle’s head turn — oh, alright, it makes her head whip around. She’s — She’s jumpy. She’s really jumpy right now. And as on edge as she is, she spots the blur of movement low to the ground as it runs at her.
And then — It stops. And it’s…
… a dog? She’s never seen a dog like this before, but it’s her best guess. It’s tiny, just like her. And…
“So cute.” Oops, she didn’t mean to say that out loud. Elle bends at the waist, pressing her hands against her knees. “Hi, there. What’re you doing here?”
The dog stares up at Elle, and stares for a long moment with no particular expression on her face. It is then, she gently bumps her head against Elle’s legs, and barks once more. The message is obvious. She demands pets.
A short distance away and in the same moment, cursing and complaints would lead to the other member of the party as a particular Legionary makes his way through the crowd, a name being spoken in disdain amidst the broken latin, Valerian. It was he who laughed, and spoke in hurried apologies as he rushed to catch up with his dog.
“Marcia.” He wasn’t mad, just disappointed. And then he saw the friend she had made, and spared a glance around him for the specifics of the circumstances. Perhaps fortunately, most aggression seemed to be directed at him and his dog at the moment, and with any luck he’d be able to hold their attention until they got bored.
“Running away is what she’s doing.” At his voice, the pug- Marcia- barked again, and ran in a small circle to greet her owner, but refused to leave Elle’s side. “I think she knows she’s in trouble.”
