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It was a cold morning. The sky was grey and the wind was bitter. Sloan was soaked to the core as they pulled themself out of the water. Their dark olive skin coated in sand, red hair dark and tangled. They hated the ocean. Why did they let Cambrie talk them into this trip? Now they were stranded Sanktas’ know where with the most dismissive and arrogant man on the face of the planet. And speaking of that unpleasant man, where the fuck was Jamison? Sloan began frantically looking down each direction of the pebbled beach. There— not far from where they were now was a large dark lump.
They scrambled to their feet and almost immediately collapsed as a burning pain shot up their left leg. Something, it seemed, was wrong with their ankle. Well shit— there goes walking.*Sloan began to crawl toward the lump they hoped was Jamison. It took several painful minutes to reach him. Jamison was tall and broad, his dark hair making his pale skin seem paler. They rolled him over carefully, and with numb fingers began to feel for a pulse. For a moment Sloan couldn’t breathe. They'd rather deal with Jamison’s incessant gloom than be alone. “No, no, no, no, no, you can’t leave me here by myself, you bastard.”
Their voice came out as an undignified whimper. Sloan moved their hand from his neck to his face. He was so cold. But soft breaths became more and more noticeable. They let out a soft sigh of relief and began to look him over. As far as they could tell he had no major visible injuries, though the cut on his forehead was a little worrying. Sloan did not want to deal with a concussed Jamison right now.
Jamison’s eyes began to flutter open and Sloan took a breath to prepare themself for the incoming shit show. Grey eyes blinked and winced at the sudden light. He raised a hand in a poor attempt to shade his face. “Where are we? What…? Where’s the ship?”
His accent was thicker than normal.
“Ship sunk. I have no idea where we are.”
Now that Jamison had noticed Sloan sitting next to him, he gave them a dark look. One that was probably full of hate for the grubby little human next to him but Sloan could never tell with the man. “Can you walk? ‘Cause I sure can’t.”
He slowly moved to standing. As far as Sloan could tell he seemed fine. So they followed suit, though they were much more careful this time.
About half a mile in front of them was a sheer back cliff face that rose several hundred feet into the air. It ran parallel to the shoreline in both directions as far as Sloan could tell. “Well? Left or right?”
“Let’s try left first.”
Well, so far so civil. The pair began in that direction, Sloan leaving heavily of Jamison for support. They moved incredibly slowly on account of Sloan’s presumed broken ankle and the fact that Jamison was too damned tall to properly use as a crutch. For fucks sake, they barely reached his bicep! “Well this isn’t going to work.”
Without a word Jamison scooped them up and began carrying Sloan as if they were a princess. The last time someone had carried them like that was as a child by their father.
They travelled like that for quite some time, the grey scenery stretching on for what seemed like forever. But then Sloan noticed something small on the horizon. It was a jumbled shape, and quite possibly moving. They raised a hand to point it out. Jamison nods and adds, “I see, I see.”
They made their way towards the thing, more cautiously as they got closer. It was a dock. There were several boats moored there, swaying concerningly in the wind. A man stood on the dock, watching them as they approached. He was a large man, with a thick grey beard, a red knit cap, and a thick wool sweater. He called out in a language Sloan did not recognise. Jamison did apparently, as he called out in kind. He said something to the man, paused to look down at Sloan, and said another thing. The man nodded and waved for them to follow him. Jamison again looked to Sloan. “Montgomery said that we are in a town called Helmswith. He is taking us to the doctor’s now.”
They nodded. The wind felt even worse as their clothes dried stiff and cold on their body. Sloan hoped the trip would be fast.
The man now called Montgomery brought them out behind what Sloan assumed was his office to a beat up old Willie. He gestured for them to get in. Jamison carefully set them down in the backseat before joining Montgomery at the front. He gave a nod and began driving towards the cliff. As they got closer Sloan saw something on the cliff face. It was a strange contraption of levers and pulleys, with a large platform that was slowly descending. They prodded Jamison’s shoulder, “What’s that?”
He turned and asked Montgomery. Jamison then turned and translated his answer. “That’s the lift, it’s how we’ll get up the cliff and into town.”
“Oh, neat.”
They were silent after that. The lift drew them up slowly, giving Sloan a good view of the ocean. It was the same grey as the sky. The waves were choppy and rough. Looking at it made them nervous. They wondered if anyone else survived the crash, not that Sloan knew any of them other than Jamison. But still, they didn’t want to think that they were the only ones to escape it’s frigid clutches.
The ride through town was thankfully short and soon enough Jamison was thanking Montgomery and carrying Sloan through the door. The clinic was small and warm, with cream coloured walls and homey decor. Sloan wasn’t nearly as frightened as they were going to the doctor back home. A woman welcomed them at the front desk and immediately ushered them toward a side room where a man in a white coat was cleaning up some paper.
Jamison and the two medical staff began conversing, presumably about Sloan’s ankle and after a moment he turned to them. “The doctor says he’ll have to splint it and that it’ll take five weeks to heal.”
“Alright then, let’s get this over with.”
He nods to the doctor and he busies himself with preparing the splint. When he set the bone Sloan grabbed at Jamison’s coat sleeve. He was not amused. But overall the whole thing was fast and they felt much better than before. It was in this relief that a horrible thought occurred to Sloan. “Wait, Jamison, we don’t have any money.”
“No Sloan, you don’t have any money.” With that he reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet. They were a little surprised and very relieved that the two of them weren’t totally helpless in this new place. So Jamison went off to talk with the doctor and the very friendly nurse helped Sloan get set up on the crutches. She noticed something about Sloan’s hand and asked, but they had no idea what she said. Once the nurse remembered they didn’t speak the same language she made a “don’t worry about it” gesture.
Jamison and the doctor came back in and the nurse asked Jamison a question. To which he responded with an odd, almost panicked look. He patted his chest pocket and responded. The nurse seemed satisfied with that. They talked some more, they assumed it was about directions to some place and Sloan was getting rather annoyed not being able to talk to anyone directly. They would have to get Jamison to teach them.
Then farewells were given, Sloan waved goodbye, and they were out the door. And it was raining. Sloan cursed in Arvinian. That was no good for their cast. Jamison looked at them oddly, great he probably hates Arvinians. But instead of anything cruel, he simply said, “The doctor said there was an inn not far from here.”
And then he draped his heavy wool coat over Sloan and led them down the street. The building he brought them to was a warm garnet colour. In fact it was only a couple shades darker than Sloan’s hair. “Neat.”
The building had five floors, judging by the windows and was warmly lit from the interior. Jamison went up first and held the door for them. Out of character, but explainable.
The man at the welcome desk cried out in a booming voice, for the first time since they got here, in standard, “Welcome strangers! You are in luck, I have one room left!”
Sloan let out a happy sigh and looked at Jamison, who shrugged. “Great!”
And since Jamison had the money, he discussed the deal. Sloan took that time to get a better look around. The inside was the same red as before but with wood accents and nautical decorations.
This place was for tourists for sure. It was also larger than Sloan had originally thought. It was a narrow building but it stretched on for almost four times its width. Behind the desk seemed to be a bar of some sort. It was also relatively full. Its patrons conversed cheerfully despite the weather. Sloan already liked the place. They tuned back into the discussion in front of them when the man, dark skinned shaved head and lovely white button up, asked “Are you here for the Sunlight Festival?”
“The what?” Sloan poked out from behind Jamison. The man, his desk plaque declared him David, cheerfully responded with, “It's the highlight of the season! It celebrates the wonders of Helmswith’s sunny spring!”
Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the rafters.
“Well, it’s generally quite sunny towards the end of the season,” he said with a smile too bright. Sloan smiled back. It already seemed like being stuck here wouldn’t be so bad. David seemed to pause after looking at Sloan. “I’m afraid your room is on the fifth floor.”
Sloan looked up at Jamison. “It’s fine, I can carry them up the stairs.”
Sloan beamed. They quite liked being carried like a princess. Now that everything was settled Jamison once again scooped them up and they made their way up stairs.
The room they were staying in was a light yellow and had a window on one wall. It had nice lace curtains. Underneath the windowsill was a table with two chairs. To Sloan’s right was a small kitchen set up, a sink, cabinet, and oven. Beyond that was a screen and what they assumed was a bath behind it. Then, their eyes circling back to the table area, they noticed the bed. The singular bed. Well this’ll be interesting, Sloan thought. Jamison set them down on the bed and went to light the lamp on the table. They hadn’t noticed it before.
Now that they were settled in Sloan had some questions.
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