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Sunlight dappled over the cobblestones of the street, shining over the divide between road and sand as Sausage stepped over it and onto the soft white grains covering the slope to the beach.
Wind whistled cheerfully, the smell of sweets and fried empanadas reaching their nose from behind her, the natural smells of a happy Sanctuary. He was just stepping off for a moment to enjoy the sand in between his toes and the smell of sea salt in the air before heading to El Caldero de Colores to prepare for his weekly show that night, no big deal.
Except faintly, over the sounds of seagulls and waves, he could hear something . It sounded like something, someone, in pain. And she couldn’t ignore it.
They strolled calmly under the shade of palm fronds, following the whisper of raspy breathing and hopefully hiding the way her heart thudded fearfully in his chest. It could be a trap.
It could be him . And his assassins.
He couldn’t leave someone to suffer, even if it was a trap. So she kept walking, keeping a cheerful smile on his face even as he rubbed their hands against their shorts to wipe off the fear-sweat coating them thinly.
Whoever was on the brink of death, by the sound of that shallow breathing, had to be right around the corner. Taking a deep breath, Sausage steeled her nerves and darted around quickly, magic already active in her hand to summon the Staff should they need it.
Instead of assassins and blades, however, she was confronted with an unconscious girl.
She looked around Sausage’s apparent age, short blonde hair shorn messily around her ears and odd, tattered clothing, some sort of odd blue shorts, a tattered white shirt that barely covered her chest, with some scraps of red that might have once been a jacket. She had only one shoe on, and her skin was covered in nicks and scratches, dried blood coating the skin visible to Sausage.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she whispered, dropping to his knees next to the girl. Carefully brushing some hair out of her face, Sausage noticed another, skin colored piece of fabric torn below her collarbone.
It wasn’t hard to identify the piece of fabric as the ruined remains of a binder, from its stiff texture. So probably not a girl, then. Oops…
Sausage pressed a pair of fingers to the person’s neck, feeling the faint flutter of their pulse in time with the slow, uneven breaths. If they had washed up, they probably had water in their lungs.
That needed to be fixed. With a quick whisper to Santa Pearla to not let her mess this up, he twined his hands into a soft fist and began to press on their chest, mimicking a heartbeat like he was taught by Eddie.
Soon enough, they coughed violently, water spilling out of their lips and down their chest. Sausage helped them into a sitting position as they heaved, eyes fluttering before they fell back into unconsciousness.
He couldn't help them properly here, in some hidden cove on the beach. Gingerly moving her arms under them, he scooped them up easily, tucking their head into his chest. Gods, they were light . Sausage could feel the press of their bones against his stomach, sharp and biting.
El Caldero de Colores wasn’t far now, easily within sight.
Hopping up the steps and pushing the door open with his hip, she rushed past the few early morning customers, ignoring the sounds of concern from the assorted humans and haregons as he took the stairs to the tavern’s rooms three at a time and walked into the first one he saw.
One of the customers had followed him up, a nice haregon Sausage knew sold ice creams by the beach. Elia, he was pretty sure her name was.
“Puedes a cojer a Eddie, por favor?” he asked, not looking up from where he was delicately placing his person down on the bed, draping their arms by their side gently so they wouldn’t dangle off the bed.
“Claro,” she replied, gaze bouncing between her and the unconscious person (they really needed a name for them) before stepping out of the room and leaving at a brisk jog. Sausage heard her footsteps fade and the noise in the tavern below gradually go back to its loud murmur in his ears, people settling down after his sudden arrival.
His person was beginning to stir, and Sausage wrung her fingers, buzzing between excitement and anxiety. There was something special about this person, they could just tell. It fluttered in his chest like a bubble, their name on the tip of her tongue and just out of reach.
“Hello?” they rasped out, eyes blinking open and blearily staring up, swinging around the room to land on him. They tried to sit up, inhaling sharply as a hand flew to their chest, and Sausage half-lunged forward, steadying hands pressed to their back and wrapping around their arm gently, and their breath steadied and their eyes met and Sausage knew, with every inch of her soul, that they had met this person, loved this person, before.
“Hi,” she said, hand almost unconsciously reaching up to brush sand off their cheek softly. “I’m Sausage, any pronouns. You washed up on the beach. Are you okay?”
Their eyes roved over him, drinking up his face and features. “Sausage- I-” They cut themself off. “I’m, uh- Oli, he and him.”
The world was never going to be the same again.