Dungeon Item Shop

Gathered: [GOBLIN CANINE TEETH (small)] ! x4

Fresh cries while she pulls her hands back out of the goblin’s mouth and drops the teeth into her open bag, sitting next to her.

“This is what I’ll be doing every day,” says Jubilee.

Fresh looks up towards them, wiping her face on her own shoulder as she sniffles, because her hands are black with goblin blood.

“This is what you’re asking me to do, every day, because you can’t fight,” explains Jubilee. “So if you want to craft or open some mercantile venture and I have to collect the materials, are you able to work hard enough for this to be justified?” Jubilee looks down to her. “Do you have the resolve to get it done, no matter what we have to do?”

Fresh gulps as she looks back down at the mutilated goblin. Its black eyes stare back at her vacantly. Her fingers dig down in the dirt beneath herself, scraping it up beneath her wet nails as she clenches her fists.

“If you don’t, then tell me now,” says Jubilee. “Because this isn’t the last time you’ll be getting your hands dirty.” They point a finger at her forehead. “We can work together. But you still need to be strong enough to survive on your own, you get it? No free rides.”

“Did you have to -“ Fresh starts to say.

Jubilee stops her, leaning in forward with their hands held at their hips. “- If I wasn’t here forcing your hand, would you have been able to kill that goblin?!”

Fresh’s eyes shoot open as the thought hits her. Would she have been able to? She looks at her shaking hands, lifting them up from the dirt. A sticky strand of blood connects her to the corpse. Assuming that even if she was strong enough physically… could she have done it? Her shaking fingers and sore throat give her an immediate answer. The girl lets out her breath, releasing the air which she had held in her lungs for far too long.

“Why do you want to help me so badly?” asks Fresh, looking back up at Jubilee. “I’m not really strong or smart or super useful…”

Jubilee leans forward and flicks her forehead, Fresh winces, expecting her health to drop. But apparently that isn’t enough. “Because, dumb-ass.” Jubilee looks away to the side and mumbles quietly. “- I’m trying to do it right this time too.”

“Huh?” asks Fresh, looking up to the figure with an averted gaze.

A small hand reaches down towards her. Fresh looks at it. It's covered in blood as well. She realizes that the black smears cover Jubilee just the same as they cover her own body. Fresh gulps, pushing her fears aside and grabs the wet hand being held out to her, wrapping her fingers tightly around it as she stands up. The blood on their palms intermingles, coming together again as it was before.

“If you’re in. You’re all in,” explains Jubilee. “This is the shitty world we live in. This is what it is. Are you still up for it?”

Fresh swallows one last time, clearing her sore throat. “I am.”

Jubilee nods, satisfied. Their hands release. Fresh looks at the strange, distorted window. Jubilee doesn’t seem to notice it. They are digging into their pockets, fishing out the iron key that the barkeeper had given them back in the adventurer’s guild. They hold it out towards her. “Here.”

“Huh? Why ar-“

“Shut up and take it!” snaps Jubilee at her and Fresh flinches, quickly taking the key from the wet hand. Jubilee sighs and turns towards the next staircase down. “Don’t throw it at me this time.”

+( FRESH )+

( JUBILEE )

[PARTY: 1] {Taking the lead}

Fresh looks at the new windows curiously. Did… did Jubilee not see this weird looking one? Should she mention it? And did Jubilee just make her the party leader? Why? She looks down at the key clutched in her bloody hands, as the windows all dissipate. Her fingers wrap around the rough metal and she closes her eyes after staring one last time at the mangled goblin down next to her.

“It is what it is, huh?” says Fresh to herself, exhaling out again, before steeling her resolve. Maybe she was being naive. But if Jubilee made her the party leader, that means that they’re trusting her, right? Fresh doesn’t know what she did, if anything to deserve that trust. Even if she thinks Jubilee is scary and cruel. They were still helping her, still trusting her, even after all of her stupidity. Nobody has ever trusted her, not to this degree at least. Why? She’s still basically a stranger to the masked figure, just as much as they are to her. She bends down to grab the heavy bag from the bloodied floors and with great difficulty, hoists it back over her aching shoulders. Her boots, planted flat on the ground, barely manage to push her body back upright, as the great weight pushes down against her.

“Whatever it takes,” she strains out through gritted teeth and takes a step forward, heading towards the staircase. She’s going to do whatever it takes. Her eyes narrow. She can feel the straps of her bag digging into her shoulders, rubbing the skin open raw. Is Jubilee cruel? Yes. Is she herself perhaps too naive and bright-eyed for this world? Perhaps. Maybe it’s both. She isn’t sure in the end though and shakes her head. But that doesn’t matter.

What matters is this. Her boot plants itself another step forward, the heavy bag threatening to topple her over as she takes another step and then another. Her boots crunch the wet rocks and glass shards beneath her. She’s going to do it right this time, whatever it takes.

Her hand presses itself against the wall and she begins to head down the next staircase. She only has two levels left and then she can get a class. She still needs to learn more about this world, what kind of crafting classes are there even? She doesn’t think she wants to get into alchemy, not really too deeply at least. But maybe there’s something… something more direct. Something more useful. Maybe there are some magical-crafting classes. But -

She strains herself and takes another heavy step carefully down the next step.

- But does she even have magic? How can she find out? Jubilee is some kind of caster, so they must know. Right?

Fresh grits her teeth and takes another step, halfway down the stairs now. The tight straps of the heavy bag digs into her uncovered shoulders and she can feel the area beneath the fabric slowly becoming damp. The girl, exhausted, lets out a deep breath. Sweat drips down her forehead. She slaps her cheeks to pull herself together, spreading old drying blood onto her face, as she takes another step further, another step forward.

As she does whatever it takes.

Razmatazz

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