July 4th, 1893 — A side street off Hogsmeade Highstreet

As the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dimly lit side street, Isis made her way back to her Hogsmeade lodgings after a hard-fought prize fight. The taste of victory lingered on her lips, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Her lip was split, and her face bore the bruises of a well-fought battle. The adrenaline rush from the fight still pulsed through her veins, heightening her senses and keeping her on edge.

Walking alone at this hour, with only a few flickering street lamps to guide her, heightened her sense of vulnerability. The darkness seemed to creep closer, casting ominous shadows that danced around her. She tightened her grip on the handle of the concealed blade nestled within her pocket, prepared for any potential threat that might emerge from the night. With no wand, it was her only recourse.

As she continued along the desolate street, a figure emerged in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat, and her muscles tensed, ready to spring into action if necessary. Her instincts screamed at her to be cautious - there were few people out for innocent reasons at this time of the morning. From her perspective, it seemed like the man held up his hand, signaling for her to stop. Her breath caught in her throat as she prepared to unleash a threatening torrent of words, fueled by the fire of her recent victory, hoping to scare him off from messing with her

However, as Isis drew closer, she realized with a sudden jolt that the figure before her was not a threat, but a law enforcement officer. The badge glinted faintly in the pale moonlight, momentarily dispelling the tension that had coiled within her.

Isis paused, caught off guard by this unexpected encounter. Her hand instinctively relaxed its grip on the concealed blade, the urgency dissipating. She quickly assessed her appearance, the bruises and the busted lip, aware that they would draw attention. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing away the remnants of blood, her face tightening into a defiant expression.

Wearing

Rhys Gallagher

  

Rounds were a necessary evil Rhys wasn't sure he would ever be rid of, nor that he actually wanted to. It had been much more relevant before he'd become chief, but he still liked to have a presence of sorts on the streets, especially after dark. He almost missed the physicality of being up and moving, hating to be stuck behind the desk all the time, but he wondered just what it did say when his large frame was lurking in the side streets.

Perhaps it was good, it meant that everyone knew the constables were out and paying attention, but he also didn't want anyone to think anything was up. It was a strange balance really. Still, at this time of night, it was rare to run into anyone.

That was of course until he rounded the corner onto a side street and noticed a figure approaching. Odd, but not unreasonable, until he realized it was a woman and she appeared to be in rough shape. "Ma'am, are you well?" He asked gently, slowing down as he neared her. Hopefully his constable's uniform was enough to ease any doubts about him.

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The world had taught her to be wary, to expect the worst, especially when alone at night. But then she heard his voice, gentle and concerned. "Ma'am, are you well?" he asked, slowing down as he neared her. The sight of his constable's uniform brought a flicker of recognition, and she realized he was likely a law enforcement officer. Yet, her apprehension remained, mingled with a glimmer of relief.

She glanced up at him, trying to maintain a façade of strength despite her ghastly appearance. Her lip was busted, her eyebrow split, and a painful bruise was developing on her cheek and another around her eye socket. A witch would have easily fixed their face, but she wasn't able to rely on magic. Her father had taught her the value of resilience, and she had learned to embrace her scars.

"I'm fine," she replied with a hint of defiance, her voice betraying the pain she was trying to suppress. "Just a little late-night exercise, nothing to worry about." Her eyes briefly flickered over his constable's uniform, trying to gauge his intentions. He might be a lawman, but she couldn't afford to drop her guard entirely, even if she looked like a nightmare vision in the dim light.

The man's genuine concern was evident, and a part of her wanted to trust him, to believe that he truly meant no harm. Yet, she couldn't shake the years of ingrained caution. She adjusted her stance slightly, ready to defend herself if needed.

"I appreciate the concern, officer, but I can handle myself," she added firmly, trying to dissuade any further inquiries. The ache in her body contradicted her words, but she was stubborn and determined to remain in control of the situation.

Unconsciously, her hand moved to touch her battered face, her fingers tracing the swollen bruises. With a mixture of vulnerability and defiance in her eyes, she met his gaze. "I'll be fine. you needn't worry for me" she insisted, her words and expression conveying both gratitude for his concern and a fierce desire for independence. Her distinctly foreign flowing garments, soft and floating, different to the structure of English gowns, was yet another feature that set her apart on this dark street at almost midnight.

  

Furrowing his brows both at the tone and the explanation, Rhys looked at the woman skeptically. Late night exercise gave way to black eyes and split lips? Sure his expression conveyed his disbelief, Rhys waivered on what to do. If she said she was fine, with such conviction, what exactly was he to do? He would hate to let her walk home alone at this time of night, especially in that condition, but something told him she really didn't want his help.

"Are you certain? Would you like an escort to your lodging?" He offered anyway. She wasn't familiar to him, exotic in appearance and dress, Rhys figured he probably would remember her if she was someone he'd met before.

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As Rhys furrowed his brows and looked at her skeptically, Isis couldn't help but find his doubt amusing, given her rather unconventional response to her injuries. She had always been one to embrace the unexpected, and the way he questioned her only piqued her interest further.

With a mischievous glimmer in her eye, she tilted her head slightly, allowing her wavy hair to cascade over her bruised cheek. "Well, Ill admit, I've had better days," she replied coyly, her lips curling into a sly smile. "But do I really look as bad as your face implies?" she gently touched her cheek and winced at the pain already emanating.

The playful remark slipped from her lips before she could fully consider the consequences. A part of her wanted to tease him, to see how the strait-laced copper would react to her banter. Even if he seemed like a desperately earnest creature.

She hesitated for a moment, considering his offer. As much as she prided herself on her independence, walking alone to the docklands at this hour might not be the wisest choice, especially given her current condition. Discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and a temporary escort couldn't hurt.

"Well, I suppose I could use some company on the way to the docklands," she conceded, her tone light and teasing. "After all, I wouldn't want you to miss the chance to admire my impeccable walking skills." her gait only slightly affected by her injuries. She motioned for him to join her, falling into step beside her, and together they strolled through the dimly lit streets.

'Do all Bobby's go around at night looking for damsels to assist?'

  

Skeptical of an acceptance and unwilling to insist if she said no, Rhys could only shrug a little when she asked if his expression really meant she looked that bad. "Just unaccustomed to any lady looking so roughed up." He answered honestly. Once or twice when he handled a domestic dispute, but not quite like this, in the middle of the night.

He'd been about to let her go on her way, but she agreed and he had offered. He had to admit though, he wasn't sure what part of town she was describing by the "docklands". Only one small part of Pennyworth abutted the lake directly, but there weren't any docks that he knew of. "Just making the rounds. Unusual to run into anyone this time of night." Rhys had half a mind to ask what it was she was doing out here, but rather thought he didn't want to know. If it was illegal, he was going to have to do paperwork.

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The term "docklands" had slipped from her lips more out of habit than anything else. It was a term her father often used for the area by the lake where her family's ship was usually docked. In truth, it was a place where she could catch a transport back to the Black Kite. She contemplated mentioning this, but the playful tone of their conversation made her hesitate. She was enjoying their banter, and there was a certain thrill in dancing around the truth.

Isis couldn't help but find Rhys' honesty both refreshing and endearing. The idea of a lady appearing "roughed up" was certainly not the usual scene for a constable to encounter, at least not without the woman also being a prostitute, but he seemed too polite to add that particular detail. She listened to his explanation with a teasing smile, allowing her fingers to gingerly graze over the swelling on her cheek contemplating the extent of her injuries. "Ah, well, I do have a talent for turning heads," she quipped, her tone flirtatiously light, but accompanied by a rueful, sardonic chuckle

The night did seem less daunting with company, not that she would ever admit it outright. His mention of the unusual timing drew a chuckle from her lips. "I must confess, Officer Rhys, I'm not exactly known for usual behavior," she replied with a sly grin. "I suppose I like to keep things interesting."

The image of her battered face, a nightmare vision in the dim light, juxtaposed with her playful demeanor. She glanced up at him. "How has your no doubt honourable duty of keeping the village safe from all the nefarious characters lurking in the shadows gone this evening?"

  

Turning heads was certainly something she might have a penchant for because Rhys' whipped around when she addressed him as Officer Rhys. Not only had he not introduced himself, though he probably should have and he supposed his surname was on his badge, it was Chief Gallagher or at least in some other proper form of address. He certainly wouldn't have given his first name so informally.

"Have we met before?" Rhys truly didn't recognize her and he was pretty sure he would remember such an unusual person, but now he was just a little skeptical, all things considered. The time of night, her physical appearance, the "docklands", was he being set up for something, a decoy of sorts for something else? He hated to jump to conclusions, but this whole encounter was starting to feel a little off to him.

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Isis laughed at his expression, 'No we've not met, but no one but Peelers are out this time or night' she laughed, 'or people intending bad business' and she made a teasing show of looking him up and down 'and no offense but you don't look like the type to be up to anything other than an alter boy she joked.

'And believe me if we had met you would remember me Isis gave a wink, which looked a little odd winking upwards from her fairly diminutive height to his.

  

Rhys made a noncommittal noise of derision. "Strange, since you called me by my first name." Not even the rest of his officers called him that. It was either some combination of Chief or Gallagher, nothing less formal.

Checking his pocket watch, Rhys slowed his pace. "I'm due back at the station soon, I trust you can find the rest of the way?" There was something he couldn't place about this that felt off, but he wasn't walking too much farther without figuring it out, or abandoning the walk altogether. "I urge you to see a healer if that gets worse." He was no medic, very little training on that front. That was fortunately what the mediwitches and wizards were for.

At the next corner Rhys stopped. He passed the woman one more look, as he would now most certainly remember her. "Stay safe." He managed before turning off the other direction back toward town. Strange, strange encounter.

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