{"I'm no longer accepting the things I cannot change... I'm changing the things I cannot accept." - Angela Yvonne Davis. The start of all revolutionaries whence they see the need to change this. The start of revolutionary fervor and revolutionary thinking. A quote from a person so interconnected to the BPP that is worth sharing... Today's post is a ping-pong round with @brisby. Just a perverbial break before we jump into the second week of back-to-back posting, see yah then. Click here to visit @brisby's version of the ping-pong round... Today's music-aides: "Waltz of the Underworld - a Deltarune/Undertale Medley" [1.] and "Thiên Đường Eden - Tăng Thuấn Hi" [2.] (and Deltarune OST).}

- Begriff -

My Sketchy sketch

- Starter by @theironfelix and @brisby -

[1.]

A giant, quiet buzzing pervades the unseeable air, to then intensify as the leaves mellow with collective pressure and the flowers moan with the temporal rituals. The bee's wings buzzing elsewhere, the greenscape begins to announce the nightly race of scurrying feet of vermin and the scream with every feline pounce. Two hisses groan, but drowned out soon with a single purr before the habitual squeaks of muscle tear and gurgling of red-rum. As the last of that pervades and bounces the green-hallways, the steady march of tiny explorers repetitiously taps which challenges the recent contributor of noise pollution. However, the greenscape, feeling the trepid sets of feet scrape, screams with every smarting tear; soon covered over with hurried sounds of sucking as ants fly into their last areas of exploration.

A throat hurls, but the force of both lips and hands seals away the acid concoction from escaping. The Thief, silently tapping on the greenscape, dances around the anteaters; gasps soon rang about the hallways as the Thief's body bends over as to let the hands hold tightly to the wall. Painted purple and red all over the face, no amounts of clown make-up can colour over that; if the breathing wasn't going to make the Thief criminal to those that possessed still ears. With gradual control, the gasps soon simmer down; that was until an eek forced its way out. Body twisting about, the Thief's eyes and soon body finally perceived and understood why the eek escaped as it did. In response to the mind's recent success, the body shivered; the anteater, feeling each shake stroke its fur, began to curl up and stroke back the shaking body.

Confusion soon plaguing the mind over the body's incessant shaking and new found softness on the legs forced it into autopilot. Slowly the shaking became less pronounceable and the Thief crouched down to let the arms inquire on the exact softness of the fur. The anteater, sensing the Thief's head-pats and strokes, wiggled and forced the head into the Thief's hands even more as to help in the inquiry. Redness soon plagued the Thief's cheeks again, but now not of loss of air but of a folly dancing about the mind. Soon, though with some squirming, the anteater rested in the Thief's hand-cradling and, soon after, enjoyed the Thief's head rubbing against it. The Thief's mind retaking control acquiesced to the given conditions and continued the stroll, each part of the greenscape giving a different tune for every press of the Thief.

Chairs squeak as the greenscape crumples with the chairs' forced relocation, to then only find itself back again but with added weight that it has to muster. A third chair, anticipating with the giggles bouncing about the area, quietly squeaks but the greenscape no quieter on its part. Three glasses chink as the wooden table announces their safe landing, soon the glasses singing the steady intake of rum gushing out of the bottle and later giving one final chink as all three collide together in the air. For any passerby staring far from the safety of sea or checking in on the recent commotion on the ship itself, one could only see a posse of a Thief, a charred-skin leader and tricorne-wearing, officer-styled soldier all sitting together. The soldier couldn't help but let the passions stir, for which laughter raced, ever-so-lightly, out of her mouth; her mind, however, not perturbed by the present image but of the other passengers' faces when their eyes see what this ship has been populated with other than the insect and plant life. But she gasps no air for that and leans in to the table, the chair only squeaking as it didn't expect to bear the shift of weight so suddenly.

"So this is the infamous Saddie I have heard about, or really Saddie the Goat. You surely are a bubbly person despite the murderous and thievish tales I've heard about you and your oddly gone friend-"

"Yah keep mój towarzysz outta this one... Heh, I still haven't a clue on where she be - only Fortuna knowen! Even so, how yah came to know me so well?"

"Sorry, if I may chime in. I find not strange that an officer knows yah, lassie. But, my manners, I be Aderito. Who may yah be, Ms Officer?"

"I? I am Lieu General Kosciuszko, Emma. Last name then first name of course, in standard military conduct. So I've heard all the commotion by the peer, even saw the finishing act of it. 'Twas a splendid sight if I say so myself."

Indeed, the thrill to release all th' oppress'd-n-fight was great... Well I 'til I lost me vision, but I was weirdly saved by a strange Madame. Methinks I saw her kill a policja with the brush o' her parapluie-

A gasp leaves from Emma's lips, but soon she saw the two pairs of eyes becoming cock-eyed.

"Something wrong, Ms Kosciuszko... Awfully sounds Polish for my tongue I must add."

"Polish?- Nie, I shall answer that later, but Saddie my dear you've been saved by Lady Chestnut, now it makes sense why I saw we landed at port. Still, the ruckus didn't seem to originate from port but the Policja HQ. Indeed, I saw many a fireworks flaring about from there; never liked any one bit of these princely policja personal but I imagine you aren't going to be Scott-free from that."

"Well I guess oure timin' just managed to perfectly sync with the minders."

"Minders, how cutesy yet devilish. Anyways, Aderito was it?"

"Indeed. I be askin' why yer name sounds like a Polak like me? We be not o' th' same World at least. That or I have been ripped for a period longer than six months in that annihilatory hellscape."

"I'm sorry for the similar sounding name, maybe this World is indeed an evolved World or maybe wherever you Withers seem to collectively originate from had transported you across the Universe..."

"Eh, don't finish it. That Void of a place is not a memory worth remembering - I got other issues to take care of."

"Indeed- hey, do I hear something?"

Heavy, tired feet slides all over the steel-floor, for which the floor enunciates in disgust each drag. A wall announces its sudden propping out, out emerges from the steel-corridor, a rugged and bearded person. Saddie's chair screams and tips back as she pounces towards the person; as she latches unto the person, hands return back the gesture. Aderito's and Emma's bodies shift around for their eyes to see better before both stared at each other and smirked. Saddie then aides him to a chair, Emma pulls out a glass and slides it to Aderito and Aderito finishes off with the guzzling noise of rum pouring in a fresh glass. The table groaned the last time with this last glass pass-over, the person's hands shake but grasps firmly the glass; soon raised to mouth-level and all the rum gone in one giant gulp and a following belch.

"How did yah ever escape th' scene so fast 'n' get here so fast, Mister? 'N' can I have me gear back?"

"I know not if you deserve it-"

"Oh yah big ole bully! Might as well make now walk th' plank."

"Ha, ha, ha. Still got th' fightin' spirit. Here yah go- hmph!"

"Well off yah go big-un anteater, have fun vacuuming the ants! Anywho, yah sure yah only took me gear back?"

"Sort through it, I took that journal yah nabb'd!"

The Mister soon felt a burn radiating from the side of his face despite how numbness laxed the body from all pain.

"So the inventor's journal is real? My, my, I bet Saddie stole it but the Policja conned her so well."

"Indeed, Ms Officer."

"Sorry, where are my manners. I am Lieu General Kosciuszko, Emma. Anywho, I've heard that journal had supposed diagrams of war but also answers that could send these miserably disconnected princedoms to a renaissance of sorts."

"Indeed, I've heard that as well. Me-n-Saddie discuss'd on how to dispose o' it, might yah be interest'd?"

"Did I just stumble upon Fortuna's good side today? Why yes I would love to, but I shall properly repair for any damages accrued in the acquisition of that journal."

"Not only are yah interest'd in the war diagrams but also antiquity? Reminds me a lot of exiled Polish revolutionaries back home - heh, yah probably fit right in."

"Heh, I probably would. I probably would-"

"Tak! This photo's still safe 'n' me blackjack still in mint condition. Tak! Tak! Tak!"

"Haven't seen yah more chirpier than this. Ha, ha, ha."

"What photo in particular is it?"

"Why the great thief-master! Garrett!"

"Indeed, a great thief-master. I've grown up to hear many tales of him and his daring exploits around the entire continent. From infiltrating slave-owner plantations, to looting entire mechanist mansions, to finding himself in the forests of pagans to even, supposedly, killing the Trickster himself. Though that last one is most possibly a tale spun by the religious order of the Master Builder, the hammerites, covering up for his holy theft of a pagan reliquary."

"Ha! He told me he found himself in a distort'd mansion, only getting crazier th' deeper he dug into it; to then only escape with all the loot and the tasker giver revealing themself to be the mansion owner at the same time. Heck, he even show'd me th' heirlooms he got to keep from that mission alone."

"Indeed, I remember old Garrett telling me that when he escap'd the mansion as well. He show'd me his bruises but also the heirloom that prov'd his perils be true. I never had pray'd for a person's luck to continue bein' strong since then. With exceptions for yah of course, my dear lassie."

"Yah better nae be wishin' me ill-will!"

"Look, I be all for a good nostalgia. I yearn to be back home. But sever'd I am from me roots that I have no desires to go back! None! Lieu General, dost thou hast a heart to help us Withers nae suffer in our current conditions?"

"Well, I am merely the arm of this joke of an Empire. Regardless, I cannot fathom why people who talk, walk, act and feel like me should suffer. They wouldn't like it if they be enslaved, yet they do it anyways. A cruel misery you're placed into. Indeed! I've been meaning to unify these desperate princedoms to a single entity."

"Good that yah want the Empire unit'd. But us!"

"That I shall do, as I will require the help of your people as well. It's no secret, regardless, that there's a recent influx of militants in labour unions; who's been training them other than the Withers?"

"Oj Bóg."

"Tak, mój towarzysy~ Anywho, I've been accruing the support of other disgruntled soldierly and officer cadres like me; along with the quiet recruitment and feeding supplies into the labour movement as well. It's time to unite these princedoms and abolish this horrendous system of human suffering. I've suffered poverty as being a farmer's girl, blessed and stupid was the Empire to raise me up in social mobility but never subject me to imperial propaganda; like that ever infect my distraught mind. But keep this quiet around Lady Chestnut, I do intend to give her a spot in the oncoming months of turmoil; however, I need to disclose with her... She'll see my point as she has with her view of wildlife and hatred of abuse towards the defenseless. Plus, we'll need people like her more than her botany; though a useful trade if I say so myself."

"Her piles of money-n-Capital; it makes sense now why yah cozi'd up with her. Regardless, we ought to talk about th' emancipation o' slaves 'n' how we ought to carry that out."

"Indeed, so we'll first have to take over land and start-"

As the group clamored on about the socio-economical politics of warfare, the greenscape made a royal procession for the oncoming marching feet and the air carried along the steaming greatness that carried the gang of four from their chairs. With the mechanical tweeting, pompous steps and plate-shifting noises sounding ever loud, the gang of four simmered down and agreed to discuss on a later date. However, the posse of three, in their collective memory, began restructuring the entire set of events that occurred since the ship had left harbor.

Sketch by @brisby

- Closer by @brisby and @theironfelix -

[2.]

From beneath the lush arch of hanging tomatoes stomped Lady Popolina Chestnut. The tight line of her rose hued lips and the stiff broom handle of her spine announced her vexation to the room. She made her way to the head of the table where a wide eyed Mister held out a chair. She nodded her thanks for the proffered seat as settled down with a huff. Through the vise clenching her teeth she clipped her command to a tray laden cook.

"Cease your swatting at that swallow and serve the bloody meal, Cookie!" The Lady's voice lowered an octave with simmering promise. "We'll discuss your choice of menu later."

Weaving to dodge the beak pecks and wing flaps of the clockwork bird, the sullen apron-clad man did as bidden. His broad hands placed the domed delicacies onto the sideboard with a harsh clatter. A swish of his long dishwater braid gave a final strike against the silver swallow's attacks. Rearing back, the furious ticks from the bird intensified. Saddie's soft whistle halted the fierce automaton when it readied its next foray to flay the man. With a final snap of its gleaming beak in warning, it swooped away to nuzzle into the cheek of its beloved Thief.

Cookie's gruff response, reminiscent of a pregnant bullfrog, attempted a defense. "Ya told me there be a slip o' a thing to feed! Madame, look at the lass! She be mere bones!" He thumped a plate of roasted pigeon in front of a near to drooling Saddie.

The crack of pepper and hint of fresh thyme slid from the dish to tantalize the young girl's nose. Her stomach chose to offer up a thundering growl in appreciation. Embarrassment from the rude proclamation tipped her ears crimson. Slouching low within her seat, her eyes cast to see the reactions from the others seated with her. To her surprise, the crass interruption had gone unnoticed.

Aderito, nose scrunched with displeasure, was covering his plate with his hands. With a low, "Nie, thank ye," as he nodded for Cookie to pass by him with the plate of meat. Lady Chestnut cleared her throat when the man made to insist that the tall Wither accept his food. The look of affront that had been forming on Cookie's face slid away to one of sheepish understanding. He carried on, bypassing his Madame to offer a steaming plate to Lieu Emma. The officer gave him a pointed stare to remind him of her dietary preferences.

Mister passed a basket of puffed rolls to Aderito, who accepted the bread while keeping his face averted from the pigeon carcass on his towarzysz’s plate. His observant friend’s eyes caught the near imperceptible twitch of Aderito’s discomfort. Giving a nudge to the young Thief’s side with his elbow, Mister’s picked up his meal and gestured to her to do the same. Saddie’s hands, though they itched to deliver the roasted pigeon to her watering mouth, followed suit. Before the two could rise, Lady Chestnut’s voice bade them to reclaim their seats.

The girl’s confusion had to have been clearly painted on her face for the woman addressed her unspoken question.

“Ms Kosciuszko, Mr. Aderito and myself are what are known as vegans, child. For our own reasons, we do not consume anything that comes from a living creature.”

Popolina’s eyes shifted to her errant cook who was standing at the ready in front of a row of trellised peas. “Cookie knows of my reasons yet still chose to serve these birds this evening.” The man nodded slowly before lowering his head in apology to his mistress.

“For me, it was the death of my husband that altered my choice in diet. Watching your beloved mauled and consumed by a wild warthog would do that to anyone, I suppose.” Lady Chestnut slid her fingers beneath her eyes to wipe away a tear. “I’ll not speak of Emma’s reasons and as to Mr. Aderito, many of the Withers that I’ve met have removed charred meats from their diets. I’m sure that you can commiserate with their decisions.”

This time the shame that spread through the Thief wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed her lungs. Here she’d been, so eager to dive into her meal when to her new towarzysz ‘twas a reminder of horrid semblances etched on his charred body! Her legs slammed her chair back and legs ready to exit when, again, the Lady’s firm voice bade her otherwise.

”The birds are already roasted, child. It would be a greater shame if their deaths were wasted. I’ll agree with Cookie that a growing girl like you needs more than the plants of my floating Eden can provide.”

Mister’s hand patted Saddie’s back with understanding. He adjusted his seat to face away from the table and began to quietly eat his meal. After a nod from Aderito as he munched a heap of alfalfa sprouts, Saddie did the same. With haste, she ate the roasted bird, no longer eager for anything but to have the meal finished. Her mouth moved in mechanical motions to process the once desired meat when she noticed something off. When had her clockwork birdy left the garden?

Later, when the dishes had been cleared to be replaced with spiced cups of rooibos tea, the silver swallow made a return to the room. The group settled around the table were avidly listening to another of Lady Chestnut’s tales of botanical adventure.

”…So then I told the upstart portsman that if he didn’t remove his ban from my specimens to leave the harbor, I’d break off his limp stamen before sending it back to what I was sure was his bored fishwife!”

Grinning, Mister leaned down to explain to the confused Saddie that Popolina used plant terms when describing a person’s bits and bobs. Howls of laughter then erupted from the group as she gleaned the meaning of the ladyship’s vulgar threat. Thankful she was, when a light tick sounded to distract from her tomato hued cheeks. The girl reach delicate fingers to cuddle the little clicker to her heart. “Givin’ that ol’ Cookie a break are ya?” the girl cooed. Her birdy’s gleaming head bobbed in assent.

The quiet gave Lieu Emma the opportunity she had been waiting for to excuse herself from the gathering. It was nearing time for her to leave on the skiff that had carried Lady Chestnut and the Mister to this magic-tech voyager. She gave her farewells before she made her way through the verdant path of vegetables and herbs.

Before the remaining four left to retire for the evening, Cookie bade them to wait and sample a sweet biscuit for dessert. Proudly, he croaked, “Lady, I’ve brought your favorites!” With a nod to his Mistress, he set down the filled platter with a dramatic flourish and announced, “Pitcher Plant Biscuits!” The reveal of the cinnamon scented cookies, richly colored with green and pink sugars, was met with silence. Annoyed, Mister began to censure Cookie for bringing such an inappropriate dessert to the table. All eyes took in the delicate delights before sliding to behold the reaction they’d bring out of the young Thief.

All colour drained from Saddie’s face as her mind caught up to what her eyes were telling her. The biscuits had the shape of little phalluses, or ‘stamens’ to use Lady Chestnut’s terms. Unable to bear the thought of nibbling one of the cookies, the young Thief gave a high pitched squeak of, “Hell, NO!”, before she fled from the room. The squeak ever drowning the room, a silence that choked even Cookie in breathe. The bird’s ticks gone unheard even as the only noise in the room, the room was soon emptied.

[No music]

Hard pressed feet turned to soft taps as the Lady neared the door, giggling a bit with the sight of the clockwork struggling to open the door. But shushing her mouth, she picked up the clockwork and the door slowly creaked open as her hand guided the opening. Peering in, a certain chaos was strewn with the knapsack contents meshing in with the arabesque plant floor. Raising her head up, bundles of blankets stacked upon the Thief was all the Lady’s eyes could see. Her hands placing the clockwork near where she hoped Saddie’s head was, she softly plopped herself unto the bed and rested her arms on where she thought her shoulders lay.

The Lady, feeling retraction and more curling up, sighed and spoke:

“I guess that was a rude introduction today, I admit... aye, I probably should’ve catched unto that sooner with his mention of my favorite.”

“I just nae want to be remind’d.”

“Hmm, I shall try, but you don’t need to bury yourse-”

As the Lady disassembled the mountain of blankets, the clockwork flew across the room and a blackjack whistled near her head. Only stopping within breathing space, Saddie shook and the blackjack was dropped. She slowly placed a hand over Saddie’s shoulders, Saddie’s shoulders piking before bellowing down while her hands gripping tighter on her clothes. With the clockwork returning back and nuzzling the Thief’s cheeks, the Lady placed the palm of her hands on those cheeks and rested her head on the Thief’s forehead.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t deserve to be subjected to whatever you were... But promise me you’ll come to me if you feel mellow. Look at me, please... We all suffered something; I won’t lombast you for how you acted then at the table and how you almost bludgeoned my head. Heh, strong girl you are. But promise me this one: to overcome this bad memory and let it not control you. Heh, mines wasn’t easy to surmount and I still feel his phantom presence. So I know it’s hard, but know there are good people out there like your Mister or the Lieu on board. Hell, even your Wither companion, Aderito, seems fair...”

Saddie, since the rude leave, finally cracked a faint smile; to which the Lady hugged her. As she lowered her back down and covered her up with the mountain of blankets, a slight giggled danced about the room for which the Lady sighed having to do maid work. But as she began to leave, her eyes glanced back one more time and she saw the clockwork with Saddie sound asleep; a smirk formed on her lips and the door creaked quietly as it was being shut. Under her breathe, Popolina murmured:

“Well, time to see what Lieu and Aderito wanted to discuss after we disbanded. If it is what I fear it can be, then may I see to it that their thoughts weren’t made hastily. But ever-supportive I shall be, this dreaded nightmare of princedoms is taxing on us all. Especially for my ventures.”

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

So two things: we near the end of the ping-pong match and Begriff indeed is Notion if you didn't look at the starter sketch. That is all on that front.

"Our scribblings are usually not lyrics but whirrings, without colour or resonance, like the tone of an engine-wheel. I believe that the cause lies in the fact that when people write, they forget for the most part to dig deeply into themselves and to feel the whole import and truth of what they are writing" - Rosa Luxemburg.

Of course, with the last round, these quotes do highlight and encapsulate the our parts while being an integral part of what was written here. In particular, the starter quote is self-evident: it takes a will to change things and courage to fight for a life that's worth living. The closer quote is little less on the nose, but lemme humour ye readers: the artistry @brisby has to play into the character's psychologies and everyday pathologies (psychologically deemed abnormalities) with her mannerisms and typing hands is beautiful to read into. And I know fo' sho' @brisby will say that of me as well, but to move unto the point: it takes more than being a master grammarian, to possess good wordsmanship, to be a person that has fun with the reader as their own jesters or even knowing how to reveal things over time. Indeed, it requires the harnessing of one's self and biases to push the envelop of making a reader say a work was good to then say that they saw these scribbles as indeed lyrical. To hear music in their ears when they read word after word to then enjoy the entire music piece that was merely only scribbles. This much, I say @brisby has done well; look forward to crafting that final ping-pong round to top of this match!