Into the Pit

[Perdita]

This is a little different for me in tone, and it's short.      I did this as an exploration of character.  Let me know what you think.

Into the Pit

     Crispin closed the door behind him, ears still blistering from Jaheira’s liberal advice.  It rankled that Jaheira behaved as if she were in charge and his purpose was to carry out her instructions.  He skulked down the hall, practicing his newly learned skill of stealth.  It wasn’t so long ago that he would have strode boldly in his confident fighter’s gait.  He knocked on Marek’s door, then waited until Marek’s bass ordered, “Come.”

     Marek was practicing arcane exercises he’d learned in the East.  The illusory drow facade that they all wore did nothing to camouflage Marek’s physique.  Crispin couldn’t figure out how a man that large and muscular could contort himself into such impossible positions.  Crispin leaned back against the closed door, arms crossed, until Marek untwisted himself to stand before him.

     Marek acknowledged Crispin with a nod.  “What’s up, chief?”

     “It’s about that business with the slavers.  You almost blew our cover today.”

     Marek picked up a towel and wiped the sweat from his face and shaved scalp.  “Almost.  I didn’t forget myself.”

     “You could have, and it would have been a disaster.  The whole city brought down on us.  I don’t want to have to worry about it happening again.”

     “You don’t.”

     “Good.”  Crispin sighed as he ran a hand through his thick hair.  “Marek, you can’t wipe out slavery single-handed.  You have to pick your battles.  We’ll help you pick them, and fight them.  We’re a team.”

     Marek wiped down his arms and back with the towel.

     “I’m having trouble enough with Aerie.  She can’t seem to get it in her head that we’re supposed to act like drow as well as look like drow.”  Crispin didn’t miss the flicker of emotion that passed over Marek’s face at his mention of Aerie.  His guess was on the mark.  “Though, she’s a piece of ass.”

     “Yeah.  Sweet.”  Marek avoided Crispin’s eyes as he swabbed his bare torso.

     “Jaheira’s right.  I’d rather eat broken glass than say it, but she’s right.  We have to accept the pit challenge.”

     Marek grunted.  “Good luck.”

     Crispin pushed himself away from the door.  “I can’t do it.  You know that.  Since I’ve been concentrating on thieving skills, I’m not the fighter I was.”

     “No offense, chief, but you better keep practicing.  I knew it was you in the hall when you were still ten feet from my door.”

     “How—”  Crispin stopped when he realized that Marek was undoubtedly speaking the truth.  The monk’s training in the Eastern arts had given him a host of unusual abilities.  “I’d do it, or send Anomen, if it meant just getting in the pit and making a decent showing, but that’s not enough.  We have to win, and you’re our best chance.  Losing is not an option.”

     Marek turned from him to retrieve his tunic where it lay neatly folded over a chair.  “I’m not going into the pit.”

     Crispin hated himself even as he said it, but the stakes were too high.  “You know, Aerie—”

     Marek’s head snapped up.  In an even voice he said, “Are you offering her as a reward?  Get out of here before I knock your teeth down your throat.”

     Crispin shook his head.  “I was out of line.  But if we don't fight, these bloodthirsty bastards will question why any drow would back down from a challenge.  We have to do it to maintain our cover, if we're to get out of this city alive.”

     Even through the dusky cast of the drow disguise, Marek’s knuckles strained white as he kneaded his tunic in his big hands.  Crispin could barely hear him as Marek said, “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

     Crispin stepped toward Marek and laid a hand on his shoulder.  Though Marek was taller than Crispin’s six-two by several inches, Marek’s bent head forced Crispin to stoop to look into his face.  “Tell me.”

     Marek shrugged off Crispin's hand and pulled his tunic over his head before answering.  He seemed smaller clothed.  Marek was silent so long that Crispin was afraid he’d pushed Marek into his dark place that took him days to climb out of.  Crispin always feared that one time he wouldn’t come back.  Crispin debated whether to leave him alone when Marek spoke.  "Every week, week after week, month after month, years..."  His jaw worked but no sound came.  "Fighting bare-handed against claws, teeth, horns, beaks, talons, barbed tails.  Lions, manticores, constricting snakes.  Beasts you've never heard of, nightmares that-"  Something went out of Marek's eyes.  "And men.  Watching my friends die.  Killing my friends so I would be alive for the next fight.”

     Crispin let silence fill the small chamber as he watched Marek’s face.  At last he said, “So you’ll do it?”

     Marek’s gaze met Crispin’s, northern ice blue eyes shining his anger for the first time.  “You’re a bloody son of a bitch, you know?”

     “The boss always is.”

     Marek blew out a breath.  “Promise me one thing.”

     “What?

     “After, take me out and pour ale in me until I forget everything but my name.”

     Crispin paused with his hand on the door latch and bowed his head.  “You got it.”

End