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It had darkened quickly, that day. Perhaps the day itself had been longer than she had anticipated, Shadowheart thought. Later than she imagined when that blasted nautiloid had picked her up.
She looks up from diary and over the other side of the fireplace. The large tiefling who’d freed her from the pod on that blasted ship had left his spot about an hour ago, thrown the little piece of garment he had on him off to the side and wandered out into the water naked – where he still sits.
She still didn’t know who he was. Every question she’d asked of him had been answered with a ‘I don’t know’, a shrug or a vacant stare. He’d proven capable in a fight, though, using thunder and lightning magic reflexively, and differently, suggesting not a wizard nor a warlock, but perhaps a sorcerer? There are no dragon scales on him though, and so far, she’s seen her fair share of his naked form, unapologetic over his own nakedness.
And it’s not a sight for sore eyes, the tiefling’s build wide, strong and tall, and far too scarred to probably be alive, especially with the gnarly one splitting his torso in half, collarbone to collarbone, and down and around his bellybutton. Much like that of a postmortem autopsy.
Except this one is still very much alive.
She’s quite lost in thoughts, head resting in her fist, when she hears a curse from the water. With an arched brow she looks over at the bathing tiefling, sat in the shallow with both his large hands in his hair. Tattered, blooded, dirty, long and unyielding to his attempts at combing it out.
He has nothing, she thinks to herself. Not even soap for his skin, let alone shampoo for his hair. She sizes him up and down, weighing her options. She was kidnapped with her supplies, already on a mission, and they had eaten their supper off her rations.
Generous enough, really.
And yet.
With a little huff, cursing herself, she raises with the satchel in hand.
“Let me help you with it,” she says, a little louder than expected perhaps, when the tiefling twirls around in his seated position. Surely, he’s scraping his butt on the stones and filling his crack with sand, but what she isn’t prepared for is the flash of fear in his black and blue eyes.
The flash of unexpected emotion is gone in the next heartbeat, like the tiefling reins it in and puts a lid on it.
“Please,” she adds surly when he doesn’t answer, but just stares at her. “You’ll never get the knots, or anything else, out the way you’re doing this. I have soaps,” she adds, giving her satchel a little lift to show it.
The tiefling eyes lands on the leather bag. Then he nods and slowly removes his hands from the thick black mass. He even turns around again, showing her his back.
Absently Shadowheart wonders if this is a show of trust or stupidity, concluding it’s probably both. But she toes off her camp-shoes and steps into the water, right behind the male.
He even curls forward on himself, as if trying to appear smaller.
“Close your eyes, I have to use quite a lot of shampoo for this, and it might run into them,” she instructs, plucking her needed soaps and supplies out of the bag. She’s eyeing her precious bar of soap for a moment too, before tapping the tiefling on his shoulder with it, prompting him to take it.
“Use that for your skin,” she tells him, like he’s a child. He nods, so maybe he is in a way.
Then she pours a generous amount of shampoo on his already wet head and hair and starts to lather it up.
Well, it would lather, were it not so thick with built up grime and blood.
“You really came from a long fight, didn’t you,” she murmurs, surprising even herself with the need of talking and breaking the ice. The roll of shoulders in a shrug doesn’t surprise her though. His using his voices does.
“We fought on the ship,” he rumbles while grasping his own foot over-knee to both inspect it and rub the soap into it. She can see how he wrinkles his nose when pink colours the water from a reopened wound on it.
“Yes,” she replies, trying to rinse out the shampoo again, “but you already looked like this when you opened the pod.” Trying with the shampoo and failing.
“Please dunk your head underwater,” she sighs, taking a step back. With a nod the male disappears into the water, the ripples of the soaps slowly drifting to the surface.
“Thank you,” she mutters when he reappears, then continues, “if I were to guess you’ve been fighting for a while, giving your state and your scars. And lack of memories could suggest a blow to your head.”
A perfect brow arches on her forehead when she finds a scar on his scalp that could indeed remind her of a blow to the head. Something blunt striking him, perhaps, and since healed.
“I don’t-…” the tiefling starts but interrupts himself when a violent twitch passes through his body. “… remember,” he finishes, relenting his harsh grip of the bar of soap. It has now gained a new hand-print, Shadowheart notes – the tiefling’s grip quite fierce.
Perhaps not too surprising with the width of his shoulders.
Shadowheart hums to herself while lathering up the hair once more, the more suds this time. Perhaps once more before the conditioner.
“No, I’m not surprised by that, you don’t remember a whole lot. Except your magics perhaps?” she continues to ask, while the male washes with the now uneven soap.
“A little,” he grants her as answer, “the lightning feels like… like I know it.” He even lifts his hand out of the water to study it, flexing it in the air. Briefly Shadowheart worries he’ll cast something stupid and electrify then both, but then he drops it back into the water. Shadowheart watches the ripples form and cascade outwards before refocusing on the hair. It turns out to be quite longer than first anticipated, and the red doesn’t seem wash out.
“Have you colou- oh, who am I kidding, you don’t remember, do you.”
The snarky tone gets a little huff from the tiefling, and she can even spot a little smirk lifting his cheek.
“Correct,” he adds.
“Yes, yes, go submerge again,” she replies, throwing her nose up in the air. He does, disappearing for quite some time while he rubs the soaps out of his, apparently, absurdly long hair and of his skin. When the tiefling appears again Shadowheart is momentarily captivated by the actual length of it, and how the black and red colours play together. It seems to be reaching much further down his back than she thought.
“Alright, once more with the conditioner and a comb, and then I think we’re at the end.” There’s a little pause. “Have you found more wounds that needs tending?”
It doesn’t escape her how the tiefling’s shoulder raises slightly. He’s holding back on all his emotions. Hiding them?
“No,” he lies, so obviously even she can track it. But she lets it be. Mostly. Letting him know she caught it with a little huff through her nose.
“Alright, good. I am quite spent,” she lies too – but there are other solutions if the tiefling needs aid, bandages, poultices and such. Whether he catches it or not she has no idea while she applies the conditioner then starts to comb it through slowly. There are still quite a few knots to go through, but she manages, with slow and steady motions.
Having nothing more to talk about, given her own lacking memories and his obviously nearly blank slate, they remain in silence while she works out the remainder of the knots.
“Hm. I may have to cut–,”
“No!” he interrupts hastily, turning his head to briefly glare at her.
Squaring her jaw, she bites back, “cut a little off of the ends, so they don’t split further.”
There’s a long hesitation, nearly a stare down between them, before he finally answers between his gritted teeth, “just enough, then.”
The tension remaining in the tiefling surprises Shadowheart, but she quickly grabs her scissors, and with four careful snips, barely an inch has been cut off from the long hair.
“Now, all done,” she says, while she watches the male stare at the tiny pieces of cut off hair float off into the water. “Go rinse off, I am quite done with helping you.”
And she is, Thank You Very Much, she’s also tired and just done with today and all its disappointments. Packing up the stuff she decides to leave the bar of soap in the tiefling’s hands, if he chooses to eat it or let it waste away in the water doesn’t matter to her.
With a sigh she dumps back down on the spot she chose by the fire, throwing on a new log. Well, log is a stretch, the pieces of wood harvested from wrecked barrels and crates they found on the beach. Along with the many dead people, whether from the ship or the beach itself unknown to them both.
A dark “Thank you,” breaks her out of her thoughts and she shoots a stare up, right into the tiefling’s private parts. Fuck, he’s large, in… more ways than she thought.
“Y-you’re welcome,” she mutters, accepting back the bar of soap he’s holding out. With a nod he turns away to lumber back to his side of the fire. The hair she worked so hard on is now braided loosely, indeed reaching just above the male’s tight ass.
She’s not staring, no. Assessing her new companion, yes. And she is absolutely not blushing!
Without a sound the male lay down in the bedroll they found, shuffling in an attempt, she guesses, to get comfortable.
“We rise with the sun,” she spits, a little angry by how she allowed herself to get so distracted. She reaches for a bottle of wine without label and is in the middle of working the cork out when she gets the affirmative from the male.
“Yes.”
She stares at the tiefling until he seemingly falls asleep, sipping wine, before the tackles her own hair, slowly unwinding it from the tight braid and decorations. She sends a little thanks to Shar for the discomfort when removing the circlet from her head, carefully tucking it in her satchel.
When the bottle is empty and there’s nothing left to do, and the fire is almost dead, she lies down in her own bedroll as well. The sunrise will arrive sooner than they both are prepared for and they have a long journey ahead of them, the nameless tiefling and her.