{Thief, a thief. Slick and sleek. Come, come; the treasure awaits thee. Will thou be silent as shadow and fast as spilled wine? Canst thou hear the steps across the hallways which makes thy art perfect? But, trade well this secret and shall we even be able to capture thee? Who knows, not me... This is going to be a ping-pong / story tag style match ‘til either wrap it up or can’t think anymore. I open, @brisby closes; next match maybe @brisby will start and I close, we’ll have to seeing this ping-pong match come to a final closer. Check here to see her version of the story, send love-n-thanks to her!... Today’s music-aides: "Steam in the Pipes" [1.] and "Apprehension and Evasion” [2.] (Half-Life 2OST).}

- Underground complex -

{My sketchy sketch, @brisby’s below.}

- Start by @theironfelix -

[1.]

Torches sing of their crackles, with each crackle re-birthing a new flame part that keeps the hallway lit. A rope, shimmying itself down, floated gently ‘til hugging the stone floor below. A picture grunts with each unfold, but displays a picture of Garrett the Thief; the picture rears back but couldn’t avoid the smooch for which it sighed upon receiving. Grunting again as its put away, bandages hum a quiet folding about the entire body entire body, or those not covered by the assortment of pirate pants, undershirt, pirate coat and a head scarf. A blackjack being pulled out, hands and feet work together to grasp the rope.

"Atta rope, nice-n-easy. Sing, sing, the lil’ song. Hum, hum, but don’t sing a worry or pain. Only a few more tugs, so keep on singin’ th' lil’ song. Hey ho, thanks fo' helpin’ me descend deepa’ to th' complex. Now, lemme feast on these golden treats~"

Tipping and tapping, all goes the same for these stony tunes when engaged by thievish feet. A croak scratches at the thief's ears, quickly the body flat-presses on the wall and the walls eek with every move pressed unto itself. The thief's eyes capture's the form of the figure and now, in a quiet joint-effort with the ears, the mind began piecing together the utter crassness of this place. The figure kept trotting, though lazily; an arm mangled liken to its broken jaw-line; limbs exposed showcasing the bones but the rotting smell long gone away in certain respects, not that it would've made thief's nose irritated; and seemingly only noise and sight guided it, as fallen debris agitated and changed the course of the figure. With the black-jack going back to the pouch, metal squeaked and out appeared a sword in the thief's hands.

"Tip-tap, oh sang the stone. Clink-clank will the sword be when it plunges to the hearts of the long-buried. Bling-bling are the coins, but quiet are the true treasures here. No noise can escape the whim of me, Saddie will know who had done it... But without mój towarzysz who's oh my delicate comrade of mine, yah shall suffer a longer punishment... But without mój towarzysz who's a purty comrade of mine, I at least know she'll be safe from this - yet her magicry would be greatly appreciated... Wherever yah truly be, O Ashuri~ mój towarzysz, since we last chuckled together those months ago, let it be not here... But I hope to meet again soon, yet I must complete this tasker or say goodbye to a good ole Mister that kept us both safe for a long while... Kurwa policja."

Saddie's eyes smiled with glee, the path had been found; now was to simply follow it as the mind relayed to Saddie. So picking up a lil' pebble, she chucked it to the other side but each tap emitted from the stone floor had revealed no pressure plate nor a hidden figure. Tactful with the long-buried's final resting place, she edged across in the darkness provided in the hallway so as to hid from the occasionally strolling figure. Moans, groans and croaks only multiplied and scrapped the air as she grew closer; peering through the doorway after hearing the last figure pass through, her mouth prevented the racing bile from escaping her body.

"W-what in the name o' th' Trickster, betraya' o' Jevil, do mój eyes detect? A whole underground complex! Mój mój, they certainly were lazy to not fill in the hole 'n' bury me alive whence I enter'd in. He-he, they were even lazy to ensure I didn't have mój entire arsenal. More-so, to ensure the ole Mister couldn't escape; guilty as admitted, I help'd plan an escape route for him if I were to fail. Revenge shall be deliver'd sweetly back at these knuckleheads even if I were to not die; yet let the conspiracy be displaced as I navigate in the sea of these resurrected figures. For now I can even see my target, 'n' her many, oh many, entrances beckoning me to enter through: from the tunnels, to the doors, and the wall cracks there are 'n' oh so much more! But a hush voice and quiet temper shall secure the most loot even after grabbing the main one... only if time wasn't th' great judge on mój performance - then only could I freely nab all I could fill mój pockets with them all."

---------------------------

- Closer by @brisby -

[2.]

Silent as shadow caressing stone, the slender thief slid herself around the doorjamb. Cautious feet inched her to the closest tunnel as her sharp eyes remained locked on the throng of bodies. Should those walking rots notice a breather among them, she'd be in quite the pickle. Deft with her sword she might be but the numbers in these quarters were against her.

Fortuna must ha'e been watching o'er her. Saddie's intimacy with the wall went undetected. She eased inside the vacant tunnel's entrance and paused. Her ears strained for the uneven shuffle of the approaching dead. The delicate rounds discerned naught but stillness. Nerves bolstered, she permissed her legs to quicken their pace and her search.

As she progressed along in the dim light of the tunnel, the slip of a thief hummed her instructions to herself.

"Guard’d treasure that journal be. ‘Tis knowledge yah must bring to me."

Her hand pushed the first rough wooden door open. A stack of dusty crates greeted her eyes and invited her curiosity. Had time not been an issue… With a shrug of her shoulders Saddie replaced the door's position and continued her hunt.

"Find th’ one that cannot sing then watch out for th’ scholar's sting."

The worn planks of the fifth door had an engraving embedded into it. Deft hands dove into her pouch to extract a match and summon a tiny flame. Saddie's soft singing tapered off into a whistle as her eyes took in the carved image of a birdcage.

"By th’ bells, it taketh long enough."

Extinguished sulfur wafted into the room from the momentum of the door's opening. Dozens of tables scattered with dusty tools, gears and filaments filled the room. Thiefly feet strode among the rows while her gaze scanned the levels for the journal. A few scattered parchment drawings were strewn here ‘n there but no lil’ book o’ leather turned up. Were it not for the metallic gleam spied on a shelf, Saddie would have left the room and that would have been that.

Perched lone on the ledge, the clockwork swallow’s had a body crafted of silver with golden gears. For all the precious metal in its construction, the automaton felt light in the thief's hands. Housed in the bird's back was a golden key that wound with ease when twisted. At the final crank, the bits n' bobs began their rotation. In rhythm with those soft clicks and ticks, the silver head jerked to life. Golden foil lids blinked across blue gem eyes that shimmered with an inner light.

Saddie imagined the voice of her sweet witch.

Aww! Eyes like my Goat's...

"Mój towarzysz would love to meet you, little one."

As she spoke, the swallow flapped it’s sterling wings, hopped to her wrist and then up her arm to rest on her shoulder.

"Have to say yer a nice righto sort."

The silver head tilted, allowing both jeweled eyes to meet Saddie's.

Picturing the look on her Ashuri's face when meeting the metallic bird made the thief grin. She cooed to the swallow:

"Want to come wit' me, little one?"

Vigorous bobs of the head were her response.

"Once th’ journal be secur’d-n-deliver’d, me-n-Mister will see to it that these goons be flowin’ in red rum. Then I’ll be takin’ yah to meet moj towarzysz.”

At the mention of the journal, the automaton’s intricate wings began to flutter and flap in a frenzy. Taking wing from her shoulder, it flew through the door and into the tunnel, with Saddie in close pursuit.

Within moments, the two neared the gaping maw of the tunnel and the rot walkers that where milling about. The low whirrs and clicks from the swallow's body drew their undesired attention. Snarling, several ghouls rushed to the entrance to grasp the intruder. who dove low, rolling to her feet to spin and meet her foes. One rotter greeted the business end of her blade with its chest. A deflection of a decayed arm and a jab sent the second to join its defeated companion on the floor. Her steel made quick work of the third. Head divorced from its torso, the ghoul fell to the floor in a final repose.

A triumphant grin broke across Saddie's face. They'd yet to make an undead that was a challenge for her. It took the metallic glint from her songless guide across the cavern to remind her of the urgency of her task. With renewed haste, she crossed the expanse to follow it into the ink of the next tunnel.

She'd not made three steps into the passageway when something dry and hard slammed into her face. Thrown backwards from the force of the blow, her body jolted with pain from the catch made by the dirt floor. Blurred grays and browns swam in Saddie’s vision and the sound of something was growing louder. There was something large nearing, she had to move. Her head and backside piped up to say that they would be obeying once they knew which one belonged where.

The two parts hadn’t reached a consensus yet when thief felt her body lifted. No angels were embracing her yet, rather an overgrown rotter with no sense of boundaries. The dizziness from her landing cleared in time for her to inspect the giant’s spotted teeth opening wide. His nails dug deep into her shoulder. Her right hand reached for her blackjack savior when the silver swallow intervened. It flew between Saddie and the angry rotter in defense of its new friend. The moment stretched as her feet dangled and the bird clicked and ticked a message to the decayed giant. Something special about the little automaton must sparked a memory. With care, the massive undead lowered Saddie to her feet. It held out to her a leather journal that it had been holding in its left hand. She accepted the book with caution, responding with a soft,“Dziękuję- thank you.”

The ghoul giant turned to the silver swallow. There was a distinct crack and then he handed the bird his broken finger. She watched the exchange, curious to the significance of a finger. The bird landed to the floor as the rot walker shambled away. With the end of the digit in its beak, the swallow threaded the finger through the key’s hole to rewind itself. Realization dawned and Saddie smiled thinking ‘twas an odd but wonderful gift.

Thinking to the time, she called to her lil’ clockwork friend and the two made haste back to her rope. The wounds on her shoulder burned from the strain of her muscles. Less than a third of the distance from the top, there was a jiggle and a yank. This was her third unwelcome surprise of the night and she hoped there wouldn’t be another. The speed of the upward momentum of the rope didn’t lend enough time for her to reclaim a hold on her trusty blackjack before her body rudely assaulted opening’s edge. Something heavy, smelling rank as a sack for fish, was wrapped around her head as the length of rope hissed and slithered back into the hole. Howling in anger, Saddie thrashed! She kicked and scrabbled with her limbs to inflict some damage, but, alas, Fortuna’s gaze must have been elsewhere at that moment. Her body was subdued, then lifted -

AGAIN! WHY HATH THEY- HMMPH!

- and deposited roughly across a broad shoulder. The fire from her shoulder, her rage and the jab against her stomach made her gag.

The voice of the slimy policja who’d told her of Mister’s capture came through the bag.

“Why am I not surprised that this poppet was the one to bring us the journal? no matter, take her to the pier and set her shackles tightly. She’ll be a real good trade to the slavers. Ha, ha! maybe even worth a good jewel or two! Say, you two keep guard here until we can clear this hole up. Aye?”

Terror and bile rose up within the trapped thief as she felt the uneven gait of a policja carrying her away.

Two guards staring at each other, both pulled out fine whisky and guzzled it for the night shift. With the minds singing a lofty carol, the ears aloof to hear the random crickets and the olfactory systems shutting down, their mouths mumbled nonsensical poetry and the what not. But from the hole, a body tarnished with age and rot reached and rose out of the caverns it had been trapped within for centuries. Another soon followed as several of the undead greeted moonlight again. The long-buried, seeing not their thief, had thought it right this nightly hour, and so the scurrying bats and birds had a tale to tell of consumption another day. The clockwork swallow, disregarded through the scuffle fluttered a moment in contemplation before it set off after its kidnapped friend.

------------------ Hello, this is just the @theironfelix from here on out. Anyways, two things: this co-written post match will continue on with @brisby and I might just start another ping-pong match but with @calluna!~

So instead of the usual end-blurbs, I might just want to indulge on the concept of ping-pong matches when applied to literary/video means. A “ping-pong” / story tag is where 2+ users (usually stuck to two teams and rarely three users/groups) co-create or make posts which the other one-ups on. So in this post’s instance: I pinged @brisby with a starter and she ponged back with a closer. Fun!

Where did I get/derive the concept? I derived it mainly from the YT side with animators who ping-ponged videos to each other to reach an ultimate ending to end off the match. My main influence coming from TheInvertedShadow - primarily why I wanted to do this. But a secondary, and more contemporary influence, was a co-written book called Methods Devour Themselves where both J. Moufawad-Paul, doing the Non-fiction interpretation, and Benjanun Sriduangkaew, the fictional response to interpretation, managed to create a compelling experimental book to read. (I actually look to this style being replicated; was just fun to read the back-n-forth dialogue through the mediums of non-fiction and fiction.)

Anyways, let’s just end this by giving thanks to @brisby. Thx @brisby :^D We love yah @brisby! Once again, the link to her story!

If ye people don’t say thank yah to @brisby, then I will be sad and will make the fluffy goats that shine within us all sad.