His booted legs tangled behind themselves, and his back was bent fully backwards, with his half-empty plate in one hand, on a sure track to spilling itself.
"Careful," Oliver said quietly, catching him with a single arm at his back, whilst reminding him of his tipping plate with a nod of his head.
Now that he'd found himself steadying the youth, Oliver was once again reminded just how big he was. And not just big, the boy had thickness to him as well, with broad shoulders, and enough weight to make use of his frame. There was even the beginnings of stubble on his chin. A heavy boy.
The boy's first instinct was not anger, but alarm, for he knew that it was the table of nobility behind his. If he was going to be clashing with anyone, it would be them. Then he righted himself enough that he could see Oliver's blue jacket, marking him as a noble, and then his eyes darted to Blackwell's pin at his chest, marking him as one to be treated with a Lordling's level of respect.
