Nora - Food Poisoning
tw: vomit, tw: fantasy racism (referenced)
Nora lay on her side, trying not to breathe too deeply, and wished she could relight the fire without risking her stomach turning inside out again. The elves had made such a fuss last night about needing light for the humans and the halfling, but then when they’d all left her here this morning, they hadn’t bothered to do anything to keep the light going, not even as the human lit himself a torch for traveling with.
She clenched her fist, her short nails digging into her palms. That was the last time she went adventuring with a bunch of assholes from a tavern, no matter how much the contract on the notice board was for.
Even being still and angry was apparently too much for her stomach, and she felt another retch coming in time to pull herself up onto her hands and knees, again, and crawl over to the puddle of vomit on the other side of the tunnel, again, and when all that came up was bile, burning her throat and making her eyes water, she tried to convince herself that at least she got to lie back down pretty quickly between pukes now. Lying down was good. Lying down kept the world from spinning so much.
Her face was flushed and hot and felt almost like it was swelling, but as she laid back down against the back wall, she found herself shivering. Fuck.
Everything hurt, and the only thing dragging her mind from her aching, wrenching stomach did for her was make her notice how sore she was everywhere else, her skin feeling too tight over her shoulders and back and everything, everywhere aching.
She heard a noise just down the tunnel, close enough that she should have been able to hear whoever it was coming before now, if they weren’t trying to be sneaky. Reaching her bow and quiver and managing the whole thing was too much, but as she reached, too fast, for her dagger, she found herself retching again, her stomach jostled and frightened and turning itself inside out.
This time she didn’t crawl, pulling herself up just far enough to breathe through the retching. She focused on her breathing, focused, focused, focused, fought through the dizziness, and threw up nothing.
By the time she’d gotten control of the gagging, there was a figure looming in the tunnel a few feet away, tall and muscular and covered in hair. “Sorry,” it said in a deep voice, “The noise was so I wouldn’t scare you.”
She knew, vaguely, that she ought to go for her dagger again, but the bugbear was at least twice her size, and he hadn’t gone straight for an attack, and she let herself collapse back down onto the floor instead, where things spun a little bit less.
He came closer, his hands held placatingly in front of him. “What’s, uh - How did you get here?”
She looked up at him, tired to her bones, and every lie she’d ever thought up abandoned her at once. “We were looking for a staff,” she admitted, “It’s magic or something. I dunno. The pay was good.”
For a moment, he looked angry, but there was nothing to be done about it. Then his face softened again. “Alright. And how’d you end up here?” he asked, glancing sideways at the puddle of vomit in the corner.
“Food poisoning,” she said, “That idiot bard.”
“Hm. And your group just left you here?”
“Yeah.”
He sighed, kneeling down in front of her. “You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said, the pain in her throat keeping it from sounding as cutting as she’d meant it.
“No, I mean your eyes are glassy.” He reached a hand out toward her and she held stock still, but then he just laid his palm on her forehead and held it there a moment. “I don’t know a lot of halflings, but that feels too warm.”
“Yeah,” she croaked, “I’m sick.”
The bugbear sighed. “Yeah, alright. I probably ought to be finding your friends, but-”
She snorted, but then it made her gag and she had to struggle back up onto her hands and knees before she puked on herself.
Just like she had for the last hour, she threw up nothing but bile, burning and acidic, but this time a large, gentle hand rubbed her back, between her shoulderblades until she stopped coughing, and she didn’t want to admit to herself how much it helped.
“Yeah, alright,” he said softly, “Not friends. Either way, I’d better get you looked at before I go after them.”
She grunted. Those assholes could die down here, for all she cared. Maybe.
She’d never quite forgotten that she was meant to be afraid of bugbears. She’d heard plenty about how dangerous they were when she was a child hanging around her grandmother’s burrow. But she’d heard lots of things among her grandmother’s friends that her parents had said they shouldn’t say, and she’d never much thought about bugbears one way or another.
As the bugbear lifted her easily and casually up into his arms in one smooth motion, she was suddenly intensely aware of his strength. She couldn’t have escaped those arms even at her full strength, but even as the thought scared her, she found herself instinctively sinking into his fur, which was softer than she’d have expected if you’d asked her.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her as she leaned against his chest.
“I think so.”
“Good. Didn’t wanna jostle you too much.”
He started walking down the tunnel the way he’d come, moving smoothly and silently in the dark.
“Am I a prisoner?” she asked, the thought occurring to her as vaguely absurd, cradled carefully against him like this.
Through the fur, she’d never have known he was blushing if she weren’t this close to his face. “I, uh - I actually don’t know? I don’t really do prisoners. I’m technically, uh -” he paused, “I’m an assassin.”
She breathed carefully, fighting back the impulse to retch again.
“But not for you!” he added quickly. “I’m not uh - look, we really only care about protecting our warren! It’s all good and well for me and all, but it doesn’t take much to put the goblins in danger, and it’s their home too! I’m just - you know, not in the business of killing sick people who haven’t killed any of us first.”
He paused again. “You haven’t murdered anybody down here, have you?”
“I’m not even sure I knew there were people down here?”
“Yeah, see, you’re fine. And I’m fine. We’re fine.”
He didn’t sound certain, but his grip was still gentle and she was so tired, and his chest was warm against her cheek. She made a soft noise of agreement, leaning into him and letting her exhaustion take her away.
The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was, “Yeah. We’re alright.”
[Continued here]