Help him

“Gods, get a grip man.”

I walk to Loinsteak and kneel by him, rolling him on his side so he doesn't lie face-first in his own puke.

“You really okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m…” A deep belch interrupts him, I fear he'll throw up again but thankfully he keeps it in.

“I’m okay. You can go, I’ll clean up here.”

“Wait half an hour before drinking anything," I sigh. "Then drink some water every few minutes. You need to stay hydrated.”

“Okay. I will," he is out of it, but I can tell he means it. "Thanks, miss Ingrid.”

“Call me Whores." I say and get up.

In the meantime, Finch has somehow managed to calm himself down.

“You were asking for me?”

“Yeah, we gotta check your wound out and change the gauze. Did they hold underwater?”

“Yeah, they held pretty well.”

“Of course they did, I made them!” He smiles.

We grab our swords from the rack, he fastens his on his waist while I throw it over my back. I follow him outside, jumping from one foot to the other as the cold startles me once more. We don’t have to walk far, two cabins down ours is a quiet white building that I assume to be the infirmary. Finch pushes the door open and, with a bow, gestures at me to go first.

“Wow, what a gentleman.”

There is a nurse behind a low desk, he frowns at my lack of shoes and Finch’s dirty boots but he says nothing. He gets up, somehow he’s shorter standing than sitting and grabs a broom from behind the desk.

“That way.” His accent is thick, probably Imperial and his voice is unexpectedly low and gruff for his stature.

He points at an empty room with a few operating tables and trays of, hopefully, sanitized equipment. Finch helps me lay down and takes a large pair of round glasses out of a pocket. He lifts my shirt up and his cheeks light up red as he notices my bare breasts.

“No bra today?”