Chattels and Chains
Thanks again to @Theironfelix for continuing Saddie's adventure with me. This is our second week of presenting a story together and it will carry on until we either can't go on or the story reaches a conclusion!
Here's the link to Felix's post and I hope that you all click and visit to give my bud some appreciation and cool GIF's!
We have two music aides to enjoy through the story: Felix's selection of "Collapse" {1.} and mine of "Steampunk Revolution" {2.}.
In the first installment to this story, Underground Complex, Saddie the thief is sent to retrieve a journal that is hidden away deep in an underground crypt. Threatened with the safety of her friend, Mister, she makes her way past treacherous ghouls with the help of a silver clockwork bird. After a harrowing battle with a fierce undead inventor, the two make their way back to the surface with the journal in hand. Unfortunately for the exhausted Saddie, corrupt authorities were waiting for her return. The story left off with the subdued Saddie losing her fight for freedom. She's carried off to be sold to slavers as her newfound automaton friend follows behind to find a way to set her free.
Chattels and Chains
beginning by @theironfelix
Waking up, chained and forced into a chattel-cart, the Thief’s mouth yawned and the body soon found the limitations of this new-found space. The yawning then dove deep into the other chained victims, the mass groaned and moaned as their bodies ached with the enforced stiffening they were subjected to live with. The Thief’s eyes conducting an equipment inspection: only the undershirt, pirate pants and headscarf remained; all else was seized and probably crying out as ‘twas locked somewhere in a damp cellar in the Policja HQ. Switching over the scan to the other passengers, last night’s message began playing a tune in the Thief’s mind and the body only shivered with each replay. Yet taking a quiet deep breath in, the Thief’s eyes began to realize all the passengers were all withers; taking a moment to strike banter:
“So, what gotcha into this mess ‘ere? I: forced into stealing something and now they want to rid o’ me.”
“Hue, so thou art us’d as a tool? Shame. But I canst nae falta’ with thee, we were all tools for their insidious quests as well. And now, we shall nae taste even th’ most vulgar o’ freedoms! Shame, shame. Say yah lassie, what be thy name? I be Aderito.”
“I be Saddie, black-market name bein’ Saddie th’ Goat.”
“Hmm, I actually heard o’ thee, but in passin’ words o’ course. May I inquire?... I take it as a yes. Was thou connect’d wit’ th’ Mister by any chance?”
“Tak, tak. Been a great ally o’ th’ Mister for as long as I’ve been in this wretch’d collection o’ princedoms.”
“So thou art Saddie th’ Goat... If thou hast been captur’d, then what speaks o’ me other comrades? Oj Bóg, please grant us a miracle as thou given us one when we escap’d that ever-consuming hole o’ Death.”
“Bóg? Why did yah speak Pol-”
Wheels scream as they scrape across the gravel road, the rocks concurring by singing of their disgraceful displacement. Saddie came to realize that the main vibrations came from the withered mass and not from the Earth trembling below. Then a gentle tap came unto the chattel-cart, the chattel-cart announcing the faintest of taps that only lil’ thievish ears could dare pick up. Saddie’s hands, surprisingly free, tapped back and soon an ancient smile formed upon the two figures separated by the chattel-cart’s existence. A finger pressed vertically upon the lips but a low whisper did leave from both lips that dare break the agreement.
“Mister! So how did yah escape, I thought they would drag yah-”
“Bah, they’re dotards. But I must say, Saddie, that be some expert calculation – Garrett taught yah good, but yah improv’d the art as well lassie. Anyways, seems as if I can’t just free a hatch as this clockwork swallow hath struggl’d to do so. Else yah wouldn’t be headin’ to port now; sorry, we’re goin’ to have to use th’ treasures to buy yer chattel-cart.”
“Swallow? The clockwork birdy! Aye, aye... Anywho, we can recover th’ losses later when we deal wit’ th’ damn Policja late today or soon tomorrow. Right now, get us out any means possible; these damned souls yearn for blood on th’ Policja as well.”
“I’ll try to find coats for ye chattel-crew as well, their shakin’ be noticeable.”
And with that, the two resumed their normal positions and the traffic flow resumed only some countless minutes after, or so thought in the ever-stirring head of Saddie. The shaking stopped and the cart sighed along with the mass; however, the trepidation would come back again soon as Saddie’s mind so reminded itself. Peering outside, she saw many other chattel-carts offloading many crooks: from the lumpen-proles, to the coloured crooks like her, to the weird xeno-species that so often finds itself on this Earth and to char-skinned withers. Her eyes began pouring rivulets but her mouth and eye-form contorting thanks to the steam building in her body. The steam so sung its leave from Saddie, the withers on board had noticed her ever-developing tomato-skin as they collectively swore that they heard her Haitian blood boiling.
“Kurwa policja! Kurwa! Kurwa!-”
“Saddie! Cisza-”
“Cisza!?! Cisza!?!”
“Tak! Or we’ll be execut’d without mercy.”
“Fine...”
“So thou art Polish?”
“Tak... Polski i Haitański.”
“Ah – explains a lot. Saddie, hath we truly reached port?”
“Indeed, we’re at the port; fear not, Bóg bless’d ye damn’d souls a great luck today. Th’ Mister came-n-told me that our chattel shall be sav’d.”
“What o’ the others!”
“Be quiet Ando, they don’t ship chattels by seawaters ‘til th’ next day... By land, same procedure. So Ms Saddie, how shall the Mister help us today?”
“We shall be “bought” ‘n’ then recruit’d. Knowin’ his tongue, we shall be settin’ th’ other chattels free late night before we carry out th’ real tasker. Any more qs, Aderito?”
“Nie. Let’s see if th’ Mister possesses enough funds to save us all.”
Now came the slavish march of feet, chains dancing with each foot raise and each thud on the wood-n-stone floor, the croaks of the many ravens that await a chance to nibble on a limp body and the many gazing eyes that stalked each chattel. Saddie’s soul, for the first time since whoever cared to track so long, felt the uneasy gaze locked unto her; the eyes of many slave-owning scum that she cannot address with a stern look back. Not even if it could change a thing if her look could dispel a collective gaze like that.
Reaching unto the platform, she saw the slim stick of a human which dressed in the weirdest of articles that a stick could dress in. She swore that Fortuna had kept this stick from flying with the wind or snapping because of the absurdity of its form. Yet that stick she noticed stood as a sore thumb to the general crowd of feather-coated or black-suit crowd of buying slave-owners ready to possess more hands on any labour they so forced the slave into. But with the click of chains, her eyes could see more clearly into the crowd to which the stick, the auction-master or whatever new term that wish to use next, was presenting to. Then haunted over her were bouts of dread and hope; yet dread slowly consuming that hope and churning fear in excessive amounts upon realizing that one gaze was solely fixed on her which was not of the Mister’s own concerning look.
How could she imagine that gaze, of all the other gazes of the slave-owners, that was so fixed unto her. The eyes, so plump and lusty, that it traced her every move; a smirk so faint, that she swore it grew with her seeing the body; oh, a body so plump that it made all the other slave-owners thin in comparison; and a gaze so deafening, her soul began quaking more intensely despite her body freezing up into a statue. Then, the gaze was interrupted and centered on the auction-master; she began to wriggle and felt only intense dread colliding with her veins.
“Welcome! Welcome! We shall start the auction now! Starting with ninety florins for-”
“First row of withers, hundred florins!”
“I raise that by five for the first row!”
“I shall take the second row for hundred florins!”
“Reminder that the second row and the non-wither are two separate purchases!”
“Hmph. I take both the second row and the non-wither for two-hundred!”
“I buy the whole chattel for five-hundred florins!”
“The whole chattel is being purchased, will anyone detest the purchase!”
“Whole chattel, five-fifty florins!”
“Whole chattel, six-hundred florins!”
“Sir, why these withers cost no more than three-hundred. Do yah intend to pay so much for her? If so, eight-hundred florins!”
“Whole chattel, one-K florins!”
“We have reached the cap! Whole chattel goes to no. thirty-five; please come right up and claim the contract here. Next auction in ten minutes!”
“Sir, I haven’t a clue why yah wasted so much on all them. The only worthy one is the non-wither! Withal, I guess you have a serious estate, telling by the famished looks and impoverished style for a fellow master. Hmph, I guess I shall acquire her on another date; maybe a deal to compensate what you truly lost here after your done with her.”
“Sorry, she’s not for bargain after this point.”
“So suit yourself.”
And so the plump slave-owner waddled away, the Mister returned his concern back to the chattel; florins floated about and sang the exchange of hands while drowned out by the occasional rhythm of selling shouts. On to the inking table, the contract announcing each ink scribble and the one-thousand florins singing of the changing hands; the chattel was soon transferred into his cart and his cart was ready to scurry fast away from the port. With feet climbing into the storage part of the cart, the Mister paid and gave directions on where to send the cart to. With another song of florins beginning, the Mister soon climbed into the back with them and closed the drapery which blocked the light to bounce about the room. Turning his head to the ex-chattel-crew, he found them all snug with their new coats; only a tossing-n-turning Saddie perturbed the gracious painting.
Crouching down and sitting with her, his arms grasped her in a teddy-bear hug; her body jolted and flew, but soon her cheeks blushed and the body dug deep into the Mister in returning the hug. Moments following the last moments, he felt tears burrowing deep into his cloths to then crawl unto his chest while his ears picked up on the quiet sobs; he froze completely and decided to keep quiet, with the occasional positive reassurances and hand strokes. His memory tried recalling moments of fright within the kid, but, as far as their first contact to now, she never really had exuded such deafening emotions except from the first encounter with her Ashley and the first few nights when Ashley returned not. Feeling teary himself, he couldn’t hold back and his whimper synced with hers – a quiet solidarity to which the withers noted and kept their peace in the cart.
Rearing back, both eventually stared at each other’s faces: the wet canvases mixed with the bruises and dirt accumulated from the day alone. But soon came crawling in a clockwork swallow, tweeting and bouncing as the metal gears chinked while the wood squeaked with each press. It’s mechanical ears detected what caused it eagerly to rush into the cart, the swallow spotted its friend and bounced high unto Saddie’s legs. A loud plop announced with the landing, the distress soon converting into small chuckles that grew with the bird dancing silly as the swallow raced inside the cart.
With the mass getting their fair turn to cuddle the swallow, for which the swallow chirped so happily; Saddie turned to the Mister and asked one question:
“Why do people suffer?”
And again the Mister froze – yet this time he knew of this vagueness. But, the trickster that ‘twas had misguided him and ‘twas misdirecting his attention to the question he was confronted to ask himself. Letting go of Saddie completely, his hands dug unto his face and his eyes wept another time while the mouth permitted weak sobs. But cut short the weeping was as Saddie reached in and attempted to calm the Mister down; realizing the soft hands on his pike shoulders and face burrowed into his biceps, he soon dismounted the stress and a sigh came rushing out.
“Even if I could answer, I wouldn’t even know how to answer that. I guess we all know why we suffer. Most of it being not natural to the Worlds that Fortuna herself created; they’re mere perversions of the gift Fortuna has blessed us all within. Withal, Fortuna made not the Universe alone, but she struggles to win it so all can find a freedom that isn’t vulgar and a life that shall not produce unnecessary suffering. Even then, why do people suffer now? It’s something I bet that the class, of which we steal from, has something to benefit from with their own project, and, as long as they can reproduce it, they have nothing to fear from this organization. They, themselves, participate willingly in it even as it molds them into worse monsters as to further aid in its reproduction. They, the society and this ruling class, need each other to live, but a future without them is a possible one. That very one future where only the tender souls will thrive and us remembered as being one of the many fighters that sought to live a life worth living. But does that even address the q, I have no clue; how can one imagine the laments of this beast in such a proverbially small spot we both occupy? I guess only a person that has looked and examined each suffering with a careful eye and biased towards the working gears can truly answer that q without any a worry.”
ending by @brisby
2.
Mister's dispirited reply had raised a miasma of silence within the cart, the cheerful chirps from the swallow ceased, and, with woeful gazes, the Withers cast their eyes to the floor. Saddie's throat strained against the lump that had hunkered down within. Such a melancholy countenance did not belong on Mister's face. To her, he was a beacon of strength, one of the flames this world could not extinguish. Ashuri's voice, from that night when the rain poured around the shelter of the oak, sang in her mind.
Nothing keeps the freeze of sorrow at bay better than a warm hand to hold.
Her witch always did have a way with words. Saddie's embrace tightened to grant her friend the comfort he'd given earlier.
Minutes passed in quiet contemplation from the group. Soft ticks from the swallows' gears punctuated their passing. Thankful she was, when Aderito's voice sliced the dense air left by her Mister's emotional speech.
"Well now, how's we gonna be movin' forward from 'ere? Seems to me that those others from the auction be needin' some o' us to unlock their shackles"
Leaving his preoccupation with the grimed folds of the cart's canvas, Mister slid his eyes to meet Saddie's. Her cheeks cherried with warmth to see that glint of fight and his special smile. With his voice again the sharp steel of command, he spoke.
"Then I will see to supplies for our task this evening. Mayhaps a few gifts to deliver as well. Wouldn't do to pay our deepest 'respects' to the policja empty handed, now would it?"
The slim thief's grin mirrored those of the group. Her blood was beginning to thrum with a familiar excitement. This was more to her taste. No more sittin' back as those rat eyed merchantists stole lives to fill their purses. She'd sneak out with the silver birdy to map those taffers' positions. Mister would do a bit o' shoppin' and the Withers would remain to plan their route.
Alighting onto Saddie as she jumped from the cart, the swallow nuzzled itself beneath her hair. Before the two set off, Mister's arms engulfed her in a hug. Against her ear he whispered,
"You take care of our lil' clicker and keep to the shadows, my fierce towarzysz."
She nodded and squeezed him back in assent to his orders. Easing herself into the flow of bodies scuffling to and fro, she winked back at him.
"Bring me somethin' sharp and shiny 'iffin ya please."
Evening had granted a deep kiss farewell to the sun when the thief and her oppressed friends left the safety of the chattel cart. Mister had gone along before them with a bulging satchel of what he called ‘signals’. The inelegant snort that had erupted from Aderito told Saddie that he’d whiffed the sulfur same as her. For all the times he’d cautioned her on the intricate beauty of subtlety, Mister’s choice for a message tickled her humor. Her new towarzysz confessed to her later that the choice was a damn sight odd for his old friend. He had regarded the young girl a moment ‘fore addin’ in,
“They hit a deep nerve ‘n him today. ‘Tis a mistake they shan’t be repeatin’.”
Down the stone lanes the group progressed, hugging the ink of the shadows along the alleyways. Before gaining sight of the first policja shack above the docks the revolutionaries split off. One group followed Aderito to the north end to subdue the guards and wait for Mister’s signal. They’d use the distraction to steal aboard a ship and ready it for departure. The rest would aid Saddie in releasing the captive Lumpen Proles and Withers from the slaver cages. Two firm pairs of eyes met in understanding. They knew the risks, had asked Fortuna’s blessing and were prepared to fight their way to success if need be. Two heads nodded their respect, then Aderito’s team vanished. The urgency of their purpose lent itself to their silent haste.
Two rotten taffers could be heard loud and brash from their post.
Worst guards in village, this lot.
She thought as her team sidled along the wall of steps.
’Twas shameful she’d been caught by this lot to begin with.
Light were the footsteps that carried them across the soft sway of the wooden dock to the iron cages. From her new pouch o’ tools she removed her picks and set to work on the first lock. As she worked, she prayed that the braying of the damned policja would cover any hinge sounds from the gate. With a twist and a final push of her pick she felt the lock proclaim its surrender. A triumphant grin broadened her cheeks. With caution, the captives inside pushed open the barred barrier, rushing out to follow her fellows in freeing the rest. Her pricked ears caught their low whispers of gratitude and more ‘n a couple of sniffles.
She was workin’ on gettin’ the last cage to sing another silent song of defeat when the sharp trill of a whistle cut the air. The walkway above the docks became lousy with torches and bodies rushing towards them. With a speed Garrett himself would be proud of, the slender girl worked the final tumbler and slammed the door open. Shouts of, “Don’t let them escape!” and thundering footsteps approaching sent the newly freed captives into a panic. With haste they obeyed Saddie’s orders to run as the wind to the north end of dock. Fast as they were, she knew they’d be needin’ a blessing to make good their escape. Determined to buy more time, she drew her blade. There was a gangly lookin’ taffer closin’ in on her to her right. She spun and rushed forward, her head lowered as a ram. She slammed into his gut and he flew back, ‘arse o’er teakettle to land still on the ground.
“That be my goat slam ya peckneck!”
A light titter of laughter from behind her had her twisting around for her next opponent. To her surprise, there stood only a finely dressed woman with an umbrella. Bodies of taffers strewn around her as leaded puppets missin’ their strings. Confused, Saddie tilted her head in question to the woman.
With a voice smooth as honeyed tea the lady answered the unspoken question.
”Don’t you worry about this lot little Miss..Goat, was it” Saddie stared. “I simply had to prevent those awful officers from abusing their authority to harm a young girl.”
The thief’s eyes blinked rapidly, her eyes working to process this blessed turn of events. From the corner of her eye she caught a shifting movement. She darted forward to move the woman out of harms way only to come dead to a halt as the woman casually spun her umbrella to her side. The ebony handle connected with the skull of the policja with a sickening CRACK. His body crumpled to the ground and the woman gave Saddie a wink and a curtsety.
“I’m Lady Chestnut and I believe that you should be making haste to my ship before any of these bits of scum awaken. Your friends have already stolen aboard so it simply makes sense for you to join them and complete the thing.”
Still confused, Saddie began to make her exit but her curiosity gave her pause.
“Why would an upper like ye’ be helpin’ us?”
The woman’s mouth opened to respond when a massive explosion rocked the docks from the southern end! A rainbow of fireworks rocketed up into the sky to rain their sizzling sparks down upon the scattering and screaming policja! The woman cried out with laughter as her white gloved hands began to clap in joy!
“Now THAT’S a right fine signal if I do say so!” Her gaze met Saddie’s again. Her voice this time was firm, “Not all of us who are well to do are happy to live in comfort while others suffer inside our city. Now..GO! I will not be telling you again.”
With a final nod of gratitude, Saddie rushed away from the billowing smoke and unlikely savior, to a stolen ship of hope.
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Congrats to both of you @brisby and @theironfelix. Your narrative strength is one of a kind and the two parts blend together perfectly. Knowing you both, I enjoyed recognizing the typical elements that make your styles unique, with Felix socio-economical hints and Brisby's capability of going into depth with the characters' inner world. Keep it up!
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! We really had fun crafting this one (and yah won’t believe the coordination we did for the third and fourth ping-pong round already).
Anyways, some Frantz Fanon quotes to further @f3nix’s point (these are also within my post’s version, just at the start and end blurbs):
"Everything can be explained to the people, on the single condition that you want them to understand."
"Each generation must discover its mission, fulfill it or betray it, in relative opacity."
From The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon. These two quotes, respecitvely, encapsulate the starter and closer while part of the underlying philosophy of the entire ping-pong match. We got lots to do to build the World that Saddie’s in and, hopefully, an endless stream of ping-pong matches thereafter.
Thanks, F3nix! 😎 Felix did an amazing job with the beginning segment and it was a tough act to follow. (Now I just need to work on including more of what goes on outside of their minds.)
I think I know what you mean!
This wan an interesting story @brisby. At first, i so not used to the language you used in the story. I need to read twice to understand it. But once i get used to it, the story flow smoothly and it attracted me on how both of you work together to finish a story. The pattern of both of you on deliver a story a bit different but it still goes smoothly. Especially with the hand sketch drawing. But the youtube link in second part seems doesn't work.
The storyline were fantastic especially you did cover a bit of summary on chapter 1 to first time reader read your chapter 2 story. Now I want to read your chapter 1 after I left this comment. Both of you always write together?
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! I will write here as a stand-in for @brisby (but do expect @brisby to type up a reply for yah). The accents we used in this language is indeed not found in "pop" English works; however, the authenticity of the characters and building a believable World around that for which the reader can actually be in takes a higher priority. Mind you that "pop" English isn't the only accent of English (this is not mention even the pidgin and creole versions of English at all). Regardless, thanks once again for the compliments; especially with your remarks on our work ethic, writing styles, (our shameless) artistry and @brisby's summary. Anywho, @brisby linked above a link to the first chapter, but I shall link here with this clickable link in green rn for yah to see the first chapter.
How you all learn the ancent english in this story @theironfelix ? You need to write it in a way that readers able to understand and continue to read the story. If not, readers who do not have passion they won't continue to read it because of difficulty in understand what you try to express. Both you and @brisby have done it very well. Your story attracted my attention and I just read the whole article in one breath. Good job.
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Have yah ever... seen the World? I'm just wondering because "pop" English is not the only form of English and only is popular because it gets more promoted than other forms of English. "Pop" English isn't even "simplified" English nor even "standardized" English. The only reason really "pop" English is used more in literature is due to Publishing houses catering more to English-speaking city dwellers than anywhere else. (Which I must remind yah that this trend has been entirely wavy, where "simple/standardized" English used to be way more popular in certain respects and other times "Academic" and "Slang" English accents were more popular.)
Even so, I philosophically and economically have a problem with your entire reply. Who are the readers, first and foremost? Steemit, especially within the writing community alone, is a multi-faceted and multi-ethnic background. So already from there, a writer can never create an accent that'll appease to even a simple majority of writers; only niches where the rest can learn the accent any writer uses and then appreciate it. And to "be a Jack of All Trades" writer when it comes to the language would economically be taxing on the pockets of the writer, lead to uncreative and "tapped out" stories, make the reader not fully understand the Universe due to the style getting in the way of content and be mentally taxing on the writer who has to worry about every lil' word. My style corresponds well with the content presented here; poor people speak in slurred accents since the economic systems and society tends to not favor poor people and leave them behind.
Let's not forget that, with such varying backgrounds, readers are not people that look for easy shit in life. They want to be respected and not treated as children, the way a thing is written is what carries the story. What yah suggest there is not what yah really state here, yah really mean to say "dumb it down" - however, as aforementioned, that leads to everyone sounding the same and hampers the ability to tell the difference in literally anything (from dialogue, narration and setting). Actually, take a gander at the entire canon of English Works alone and try filtering those works to yer advice; most would immediately fail, that including of Shakespeare. And I don't make myself look like a Shakespeare, but your reply would equally and immediately declare him a failure as well. (When economic reality suggests very much otherwise, very much.) And mind yah that Shakespeare indirectly lead to the creation of a couple hundred words in the English Language alone. And his crowds and his actors definitely had fucking trouble understanding some of the words he used - yet with so many unfamiliar words, he still got popular as he did.
So I don't know what yah are trying to express here, truly. I got history, economy and philosophy on my side here really. And they say: write the damn work and don't be indecisive. For that's what drives readers away: incompetancy and not using your biases to the best of your abilities to drive home a work. To have no language, no accent, no way of differentiation between characters, those things will kill reader attention. To make things easy or spoon-feed at all, that'll kill a story since they can guess things way ahead of time.
But what do I know, as a child of non-English immigrants that had to, without any help but the instruction of English-speaking teachers, learn English as a first language? What do I know of accents, where everyone around me speaks a million different accents and came from a different million backgrounds? What do I know where I've seen people from various backgrounds who struggle to read or have fun with "the popular works" that do have "pop"/"understandable" English as its only accent, yet have no troubles with other accents? What do I know as a person that sees and hears people that literally use the slanged accent from the story like its their own language; I must admit that they may use it in a more crazier magnitude than I really wish to detail here? What do I know of people that struggle everyday with their jobs yet get satisfaction from their suffering/labouring? Well maybe those people know and can help me type their own answers in, but I think I can stand-in for them and simply say they like the challenge and not all of them find "pop" English suitable.
Indeed, the crowd yah want me to cater to... is literally a NICHE; just like my crowd and every other crowd! There are people that want to read "simple"/"pop" literature even when they're academics and scientists. And there are people that are farmers and poor folk that love "complex" literature. The point is, however: you're not the anchor point of every reader and I am neither. We serve just one out of many different niches and will have our own fine tastes which might extend, to varying degrees, good or bad to other fine tastes.
And if this at all seems anywhere complex to yah what I wrote, this is literally the simplest a non-English English-speaking descendant tends to write. I made the effort to study, speak, write and think in the English language, your English-speaking ærs who had the benefit of not only having to speak English, but to be able to read English works and live your life under an English-speaking state can pick up the damn hassle.
Yah have a problem with that? Go live in the rural side or travel outside of the suburbs to live in the city; yer entire perspective of language will change in a mere second. Or maybe that's economically straining. Fine. Go read literature that doesn't appeal to yer lingual sensibilities and actually read them without being snobbish. But maybe that's still too much; how about using the internet and finding forums of people, especially writers, who come from non-English-speaking lineages/areas yet communicate in English. Or maybe open your eyes and realize that your "universal" aide is a niche comment that should only belong to your niche community that'll appreciate it more than any other niche communities that love to bend the language to varying degrees to get a story across. Truly, fo' sho' they'll love it as it'll help foster their community; every where else, keep in mind not everyone will appreciate your niche remarks. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.
Hi @theironfelux, i apologize if i have said something which made you misunderstand. I just want to express my salute to the writers to write such a good story. No other means than that. Thank you for your explaination. I love to read but not good in writing. So i always admire who know how to write.
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Ah, well I am sincerely sorry if I shook yah. It really is hard to tell accents on the internet when it's walls of text. I must admit I am tipsy and probably should've wrote when I was sober. I salute to yah for reading through my near-kneejerk reply. Regardless, if yah take a second to inspect the accents, we both speak in the same accident and that wasn't on accident. Happy Holidays (what remains of that for yah)! Sorry once more for the harsh reply!
😊 Happy Holidays to you too! No worries, i totally agreed that internet only a wall of text and expressionless. I love your gif by the way. You created all these?
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This gif, not made by me. Any other gif, more than likely. Yeah, gifs are a great (contingent) thing on the internet when walls of text can't do the job properly.
(This gif and the last gif where made by Gears for Breakfast which made the game called "A Hat in Time")
Felix is always dropping the best gif's! Happy Holidays to you as well Oliviackl!
I know your point and I quite agree with it 😉
Thank you @f3nix 😊 Happy New Year!!
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Happy new year to you Oli! ☺
Thanks so much for reading our story and your compliments and comment! 🤗 I checked the link and it seems to be working fine now but I'm glad that you let me know that it wasn't so that I could give it a fix. Thanks as well for the heads up on that!
When first posting, I hadn't included the summary and your mention makes me happy that I edited it to be included. With a longer continued storyline, I figured that a quick review would be helpful.
Felix's writing style is wonderfully unique and immersive, isn't it? The accents and turns of descriptive phrasing pull a reader into the expansive universe that Felix has created. It is far from common and does take some getting used to but that you took the time to appreciate it and try to understand is a great respect you've given us, thank you so very much for that! This is one of the reasons that I enjoy Steemit so much. We can find writings, poems, videos, etc. that give us a glimpse into the minds and creations of people so different from ourselves and come out with something new to enjoy! To know that you wanted to read the first chapter after our second one is a high compliment! 😁
Felix and I met through the Finish the Story Contest hosted by @bananafish - I included the recent link to the winners post and the contest will begin again on January 3rd following a hiatus for the holidays. I hope that you will come and play with us! This storyline is the first project that we've worked on together.
Thank you again for your great comments and I hope that you have yourself a wonderful day/evening and a fantastic New Year!
Great collab you two! Both parts are nicely written and show different strength and character of each author. And I really like that you finished the story with a nice happy and high note, brisby :D.
Congrats for your curie vote ^_^.
@brisby did definitely leave a high note in comparison to her low note from last time. Anyways, I gott do my obligatory screaming of “yah got a curie!” for @brisby. Anyways:
Merry Christmas to both of you XD.
Thank you and Merry Christmas to you as well, Scrawly! I hope that you and yours have a wonderful day!
Aww! A celebratory grunt! Thank you, Felix! (Had to end this one a bit brighter than last time. I'm not one for torturing adorable goats. 😉)
Thank you so much, Scrawly! I'm happy that you liked it, my fellow Stein fan! 🤗 Felix's powerful beginning was fantastic, emotional, and a tough act to follow. Saddie has been through a lot in our last two stories and I couldn't resist the chance to give her a happier closing this time around.
Thank you as well for the congrats for the curie vote! (After logging on and seeing my response list, I laughed and did an awkward celebratory dance - with jazz hands! 😁)
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Yah got a @curie @brisby!
Thanks, Felix!! 🤗🤗🤗 I did my dorky dance!
Thanks to you, @Curie and community, for liking our story and for the vote! 😁 I hope that you all have a wonderful day and, if you celebrate it, a very Merry Christmas! ✨
I like to thank again @brisby for cowriting this post with me. I liked the closer picture and reflects symbolically for the horrid tragedies found within Saddie’s World; probably would be found in the circulation of abolitionist (and labour union) propaganda and causes that would fight for them to be free. Czerwony salut (Red salute)! (Otherwise, read me start and end blurbs to know my biases of course! :^D )
This story wouldn't have been written without you, Felix! It's an honor that you do me to invite me to write something to be included within the universe(s) you have created. These characters are important to you and to share something like that means a lot, thank you!
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