This Is Where My Stuff Lives

The personal and professional (citation needed) page of Quinn (me)

Oct. 27th - Crossover

You wake up in sweltering heat. Salt and sand sting your face, the sun beating down on you relentlessly. It takes more effort than it should for you to roll over onto your side, and from there onto your stomach. Working your knees under you, you manage to push your weight onto your elbows. Your head is spinning, your temples throbbing. Oddly enough, the rest of your body isn't in nearly the amount of pain you would associate with an airship crash.

Because that is what's happened. That's the smell assaulting your nostrils - burning organic machinery. The nautiloid. It came down right on the beach. And you survived. You think.

You finally manage to open your eyes and fuck but that was a mistake. Even with your head bowed the sun is bright, drilling straight into your retinas and making your push your face physically into the sand to escape it.

Definitely survived. No way being a ghost hurts that bad. You allow yourself to settle into ostrich mode for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to will the pain away enough for you to at least get out of the sun. You don't know how long you've been here, and you don't know where the nearest shelter is. You need to get moving. You need to find the others.

Others? Shit, the others. Fjord and Jester. You'd barely been traveling together a day when the three of you got snatched up. Or was it just you? Everything turned to chaos so quickly, you don't know if they got away or if they were on the ship too. If they survived.

Okay. That's a plan. Get up. Find clean water somewhere. Find Fjord and Jester, either to team up and find help or to give them a decent burial. At least a marker. Fuck, you don't want to be thinking about this.

You take a deep breath and hold it as you sit up, eyes still screwed shut. Clear mind, calm mind. Loathe as you ever are to use anything the monks preached, you need a cool head right now. You reach into yourself, tapping into the center of your mind. Still waters. Peaceful fields. All that bullshit.

The thing in your head screams and you do too, unable to stand the pain as it thrashes against your attempts to control your own mind. You bowl back over into the sand, clutching your head, fingernails digging into your skin like you'll rip right through and pull the damn thing out yourself, it'd hurt less at this point -

"Beau!" Your name is a distant shout, echoing down a narrow tunnel. Something washes over and through you and the pain abates, just a little. "Beau, shh, shh, you're okay, it's us, you're gonna be fine."

You know that voice.

With no small effort of willpower, you force one eye open. It's Jester. Jester has one hand on your back and the other is flapping at Fjord. "Give me the water, she's burning up."

Fjord kneels down and holds the water skin to your lips; it's damn near boiling but it's fresh, and you gulp down two big mouthfuls before he pulls it away.

"Sorry," he mutters. "We're rationing."

Another ripple of relief goes through you and Jester blows out a long sigh. "Okay, I don't think I can do any more of that today." You realize sluggishly that she's been healing you. And now she's tapped.

"We gotta find somewhere to hole up for tonight." Fjord's already squinting at the horizon. "I think there's an old building over there, maybe it's still got a roof. Or we can rig one up."

"Can you stand?" Jester's voice is gentle and your knee-jerk reaction is to snap that you're fine, but you're not. You're really, really not. So you brace on Jester's shoulder and force one foot under yourself, then the other, until you're staggering upright mostly under Jester's strength.

"Alright." Fjord gets under your other arm, and the height disparity between the two of them is awkward but it's better than trying to walk under your own power right now. "It's a start. Let's get out of here."

The three of you stumble towards the cliffs, and you're just so fucking glad you don't have to do this alone.


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