Chapter Text
The breeze is somehow battering him even through his jacket; his jaw is pulled tight to keep his teeth from chattering, even. He's cold and he's sore and he's tired, but this big beach day was his idea, and he refuses to bail on his friends.
"The sun's hellish fire will undoubtedly assist you, Master," the Hangman assures, eternally excitable yet somehow sympathetic. "Perhaps refrain from entering the water straight away, though." The Hangman goes to correct himself— "I do not give you orders, Master—" but Fabian silences him with a gentle pat to the skull.
Whatever hellbeast resides within the bike is blissfully warm, but the ride is still fucking cold, wind slicing into him. He climbs down off of the Hangman with his usual nonchalance, image interrupted immediately by a hard shudder.
"Do stay out of the sand, Hangman." Fabian stares out at the water for a second and sighs, shrugging off his jacket. It sucks, even the soft breeze raising goosebumps on his arms. "I believe it's bad for your wheels."
"As you wish, Master."
There's the soft crunch crunch of boots in the sand, and a gruff voice on his left says, "Excuse me." Fabian rolls his Insight high enough to hear the obviously-false-baritone wobble in a giggle and knows it's Fig. "Do you have a permit to be here?"
"Nope," he responds, and walks away.
Another voice bursts into laughter nearby— somehow Kristen's already got sand tangled in her hair and stuck to her face. She's kicked up on a bench with a cooler that. . . appears to be perforated. "Gilear even gave us a cooler!" Fabian's disbelieving look is met with a shrug. "Adaine has Mending."
Fig trots over to her, silent for a moment. The two girls share a glimmering glance. Something's weird. Fabian doesn't know what exactly, but there's something missing. Fig and Kristen are here from the Strongtower (a habit they hadn't dropped even after Gilear had moved out, seeing as Kristen was there with Jawbone still). Something's missing.
Something, as it turns out, scampers up his back. "And I didn't forget the sunscreen!" Riz looks at him upside-down, casual despite nearly startling Fabian half to death. "I've got snacks and towels and drinks and even a fuckin' umbrella, dude. I've got this beach."
Fabian had not brought a towel— he had been training with Mama all of this morning, alright, he had forgotten! Thank Yes for The Ball, he supposes, plucking up said Ball and setting him on the ground. He scampers off to go put his briefcase with the cooler, barely leaving footprints.
Moments later, a car much too small to make that much noise pulls up, the Thistlesprings waving from the front. Adaine (notably not a Thistlespring) climbs out first, Jacket of Useful Things tied around her waist and elven sunscreen under her arm. She'd been cramped into the car, but she looks perfectly fine compared to Gorgug, who clambers out next.
"Have fun, kiddos!" Digby calls from the passenger's seat, waving excitedly. "We'll be back in Elmville at about six, bud, but we're always a crystal call away!"
Adaine waves back as they drive away. "Bye, mister and misses Thistlespring! Thank you for the ride!" She turns back to her friends with an uncommon confidence, holding up the bottle like a trophy. "I brought sunscreen."
Fig and Kristen cheer.
. . .
The "sun's hellish fire" somehow doesn't stop the shivers. It's cold. The beach is cold. He's trying to look cool, because he is cool, he's Fabian Aramais Seacaster, but he keeps casting longing glances at his letterman.
Eventually, pressured by his party (except Riz, who must be excited because he's got that Solving a Case look) he finds himself off the sand and on the wood of the dock. It's cold and it's damp and it sucks and he hurts but he laughs at Fig's jokes and pulls a whole pool noodle from the Jacket and tries his best to have a good time.
Two hours later, something in Riz's briefcase bursts into song. "Upside inside out, livin' la vida loca," Ricky Martin belts.
"Sunscreen," says The Ball, claws scrabbling into the deck as he hefts himself up.
"Mine's every four hours." Adaine doesn't even open her eyes, casually floating out of range of Fig and Kristen's whatever.
Riz nods at Adaine (her eyes are closed, The Ball) and shakes off like a dog. Fabian's effort to not get wet is wasted. Riz looks at him, very obviously aware of his splash zone, and asks, "Can you help with my back? That's always the worst."
"Don't do that again," Fabian grumbles, and pretends to be begrudged about helping. "Fine."
"Thanks!" Riz is already halfway to the bench. The half-elf sighs through his nose and stands to follow— maybe a little too fast, spots dancing in his vision— he sways and his ears ring and he tries to keep steady—
—and Adaine still doesn't open her eyes as somebody else must jump into the lake, waves lapping at her a little harder. Riz, lightheartedly betrayed, calls "Fabian!" and Fig cackles.
Gorgug is snickering, carefully sloshing past Adaine. "I'll help, Riz," he calls, warmly. Fabian doesn't respond. Something in Adaine's chest buzzes to life, the scared animal in her chest sniffing about. Her eyes flicker white.
Through the prophetic haze, she sees Gorgug pulling Fabian out of the water— and he's not breathing, and there's clamor for Revivify but they can't find a diamond— a minute ticks by and Fabian is dead, Fabian Aramais Seacaster drowns— he didn't jump in, he fell, he fainted and he fell—
The animal in her chest claws through her ribs and the haze in her eyes and she screams. The words quiver in her throat and it comes out as just sound, but the others must get the gist— Gorgug pulls Fabian up onto the beach, the pirate of their group waterlogged and retching.
They pile around him on the sand, healing magic dancing between Kristen's fingers. Gorgug holds him upright, patting him carefully on the back, expression twisted.
"Is he burning up, or am I just cold, or..?" The half-orc prods softly at the back of Fabian's neck.
Riz reaches out to check, too, coming back wincing. "Shit. Yeah, he's definitely got a fever," he mumbles. "Okay. We gotta get him home."
"You do not." The Hangman doesn't speak aloud but speaks to everyone all the same, briefly, infernally linked. Riz feels an insistent press of worry-fear-guilt-guilt-guilt from the bike; based on everyone's expressions, so do they. "It is not safe for him there."
Not safe? Riz scrunches his face up and tries not to let the implications of that affect his decision-making. "Mom's at work, the Thistlesprings are out of town, Gilear is Gilear— Adaine, can you call Jawbone?"
Mage Hand wooshes to life, and Adaine's crystal flies from the bench into her palm.