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Despite your expertise in, well, almost everything, the Pit is still a bit of an enigma. When you traveled back to 2010, back to where, as hackneyed as it sounds, everything started, you didn’t really expect things to take so long?
Perhaps time has eroded your memories, but you don’t remember the gap between Shedletsky’s sword-retrieving quests to go on for months on end. What that means is that you’re left with a hell of a downtime, now that you’ve acquired the Firebrand, and you’re not entirely sure on how you should be spending it. You’ve been training, of course, but there’s only so much you can improve on without the next S.F.O.T.H. sword in your possession.
All of that leads you to the sewers. Frankly, you were rash and impatient and had a tendency to devote yourself entirely to one goal, that being the swords, and to discard everything else the first time around. You’re far more experienced now; wise and observant and battle-hardened and a touch more caring, to put it simply. You know what you’re doing, and you know what to expect. It’s a low bar, but you’re also more empathetic. You notice more, now, whether that be social cues that would’ve flown over your head before, or the comically oversized sewer lid cover shifted aside, allowing entry.
The Pit is beyond your wildest expectations.
When Shedletsky asked you to go to the docks as your first steps towards obtaining the Firebrand a couple weeks ago, the absence of the sewer lid had caught your eye. You don’t recall that happening in the original series of events, but honestly, it didn’t seem very important. You brushed it off; Previously, you wouldn’t have even spotted it. And whatever stinky sewer garbage that lay in the sewers could wait until you attained the Firebrand.
You have the Firebrand now, alright. You descended down the manhole, avoided the rats in cardboard boxes squeaking at you, raised an eyebrow at the conveniently placed bed in the sewers, and jumped down the suspicious hole. You read the wooden sign on the wall too, right before you jumped.
“The Pit”, it read. It was awfully ominous, and it brought you a chuckle on the brief fall down. What idiot had bothered to hang up signs in a sewer? The same one who brought the bed, probably. (How did they manage to fit the bed through the manhole? Did they have to disassemble and reassemble it? Why?)
Well, you were the one who slept in the bed, read the signs, and jumped down the hole, so. Maybe you aren’t one to judge.
The farther down you descended, the more enemies you refought, the more distorted and twisted the floors got. When you reached the fourth resting point, you nearly sobbed in relief. Nearly. You don’t cry, anymore.
The Pit is still an enigma. But now, after having fought the enemies that were present on floor forty-eight and every floor above, you can feel it coming to an– albeit temporary –close. From the ways and the patterns that the floors have followed above, however.
You’re not looking forward to floor forty-nine. It’s been… difficult, to say the least, to feel intensely about virtually anything, after your journey for the Ghostwalker. The fact that you’re feeling this much dread just thinking about the floor ahead is something you didn’t think was possible, and yet it makes all the sense in the world.
You know you can’t do this alone. You know you can’t face Captain Trotter alone, much less three of him. He trusted you, and Calypso, and like everything else you touched, it ended in ruin.
But no, that’s not true, is it? Not everything. Subconsciously, one of your hands has flown to your belt, to the calling card that Griefer had presented to you after you had saved him, and your mind recalls his invitations to hang out and his offers to help you out. It helps. It helps a lot.
His brash, confident presence would help even more. Before you can talk yourself out of it, convince yourself you’re better off confronting the consequences of your actions alone, you use his summoning card.
You’re still not sure how summoning cards work, mind. You know all the important details and secrets and things you have to do from your first adventure, but this wasn’t included, because this is new. It was sort of funny to call Red & Blue while you were busy purging your emotions and watching them jump down from somewhere up above to provide their assistance, although you assume it was your mind conjuring them. If even their imagined support helped you that much in those trying times, then Griefer’s presence now… it would be invaluable.
Underneath the pads of your fingers, his call card grows warm. Then, it pulses; a telltale sign that he’s heard your call, that everything will be okay, soon.
Griefer jumps down a moment later, crowbar and stance poised, ready for a fight. When he sees you, slingshot stashed away and the Temple Guardian’s inanimate corpse scattered on the floor, his posture loosens. He moves closer, cocking his head.
“S0? WH4T’S UP, PL4Y3R?” He asks, eyes darting around as if inspecting the area for any remaining threats. He finds none, and the smirk on his face softens. It’s sort of admirable how he brushes past the Temple Guardian’s remains, along with Fear’s purple bundle of sticks, as if they’re nothing more than decorations on the sewer floor. “1NT3R3STING PL4C3 Y0U C4LL3D M3 T0. 4R3 Y0U F1N4LLY T4K1NG M3 UP 0N MY 0FF3R T0 H4NG 0UT?”
You give him a wobbly smile in return. How are you supposed to explain that you needed a friend to help you sort some shit out, and he’s the best one you’ve got? The two of you definitely didn’t meet in the best circumstances, and yet he’s still here for you now. That counts for something. It counts for a lot.
“Something…something like that.” You reply, quietly. Griefer falters, slightly. He takes in your distressed demeanor, the way you want to curl up into a ball to try and dull the pain of the guilt clawing at your stomach, and he drops his crowbar to free up his hands. The metal clatters on the stone bricks beneath your feet, and he pulls you into a hug.
You can tell he wants to say something. Wants to ask about what’s bothering you, wants to ask what he can do about it. He doesn’t end up asking either of those things, and that’s so thoughtful you can feel your eyes starting to tear up.
“...W4NN4 T4LK 4B0UT 1T 4FT3R W3 G3T T0 FL00R 50?” He offers gruffly, almost awkwardly if it weren’t for the arm around your shoulders. It’s like being kind is something he isn’t used to, but you don’t know how to thank him for trying.
Instead, you nod, and you hope that he can see through your emotionless facade like he has before. He stands up first, allowing you to take his hand to pull yourself up. You do, and then you pause.
You squint at him, bemused. He answers your question before you can even push the words out.
“1D10T. TH3R3’S 4 S1GN 0N TH3 W4LL TH4T R34DS ‘FL00R 48’. 1’M N0T 1LL1T3R4T3 L1K3 Y0U M1GHT B3.” Then he spins you around, grabs your backpack, and takes out one of your own slingshot pellets just to chuck at you. “1D10T.” He repeats, for good measure. You groan, but dissolve into faint laughter a second later.
Both of your smiles fade when the two of you turn to the hole that drops down to floor 49. Griefer doesn’t know what sort of significance it holds for you, but he’s got enough context clues to figure out that it’s not exactly pleasant. You have half a mind to just– not go down.
Griefer sees your hesitation and puts a reassuring hand on your back. Then, he pushes you into the hole. You fall with none of your usual grace or twirling in the air, being completely unprepared for the drop, and then Griefer falls on top of you. Your rib cage feels like it’s broken. Griefer’s fall is softened by you and your sizable backpack, and you hope that none of your items become less effective just because a certain schizophrenic plant completely decimated them with his weight. He’s heavy, despite looking like half of him is plant material, and you’re honestly appalled at his audacity. Griefer shoots you a smug smile when you raise your head to glare at him.
You're thankful for the distraction, but it doesn't last.
The dragging of wood on the stone floor of the pit sobers the two of you immediately. The distinct sound of metal scraping against metal…it’s impressive how quickly your heart drops. Griefer is looking towards where it’s coming from, his face twisting in pain and recognition.
Captain Trotter wields the Firebrand in an awfully familiar manner, doesn’t he? Your first instinct is to deny it; it’s such a horrible, outlandish thought, and yet it keeps resurfacing. Where Cruel King is vicious and where Griefer is determined, Captain Trotter is manic. His experience with a sword shines with the easy way he deflects your melee attacks, and where Cruel King and Griefer have used the S.F.O.T.H. swords like any other sword, Captain Trotter knows it’s potential and uses it.
(Although, if you’re analyzing the situation correctly… Captain Trotter’s potential for harnessing sword energy is still lower than Griefer’s. Or, at least, this Pit version of Captain Trotter.)
The battle starts almost immediately. You duck right before a barrel would’ve exploded in front of your face, taking care to drag Griefer down away from the fire as well.
“What’s the matter?” Captain Trotter snarls, unhinged. It’s barely visible, given the distance between you, but his eyes seem clouded. “Got nothin' to say, ey, sharkbait?”
Your face pales when you see all three Captain Trotter’s in front of you. Your stomach churns, screaming at you. Your backpack doesn’t feel nearly heavy enough to ground you. The last thing you see before you succumb to the familiar feeling of bloodlust is Griefer guarding you as you spiral, and him coughing as he shrugs off the bullets fired his way for your sake.
After that, you let the more vicious side of yourself loose.
—+—
“FUCK! PL4Y3R, 4 L1TTL3 H3LP H3R3?” Griefer says. He’s struggling to spin his crowbar like he usually does due to the fire from the barrel burning him harshly, and his leaves are looking quite singed. The red haze that’s been clouding your vision cedes, and you hastily activate the Icedagger's restorative properties in an attempt to alleviate his pain. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt so frantic over someone else’s safety, but you’re so relieved you’re even able to feel something for someone like a friend in the first place.
“...Is that better?” You ask. Your voice cracks a little, because it’s been a while since you’ve last said something. Griefer laughs at that. At least your suffering brings him joy, you suppose. You manage to tear your eyes off of him, and you let out a shaky sigh when you don’t see anyone else on the floor. “Ah, the battle’s over.”
Griefer glances over at you, a striking eyebrow raised. Eep, was that the wrong thing to say? Doesn’t everyone get a little lost in their head in the heat of battle, and let instinct guide them? That’s natural! Stupid Griefer, always making you reconsider your words.
“Y34H, 1T’S 0V3R 4LR1GHT. W3 B34T Th31R 4SS3S. 4R3 Y0U F33L1NG 0K4Y?” Griefer says. “H3Y– ST0P L4UGH1NG! S33 1F 1 C4R3, N3XT T1M3!”
“No! Griefer,” Without warning, you grab his hand. As if a switch was flipped deep inside you, you feel so much lighter now. You feel giddy. You can't pinpoint, why, or how, but none of that matters when he's with you here. The joy on your face probably looks a little manic, but you know Griefer won’t mind that. “Thank you. Thank you for caring.”
His eyes widen.
“...4NYT1M3, PUNK.”