//------------------------------// // Chapter Five (TheDriderPony) // Story: The Quills and Sofas Exquisite Corpse // by The Red Parade //------------------------------// The Lucky Stallion had seen better days. Though Daring Do didn’t consider herself anything of an aficionado when it came to casinos, she certainly knew what ruins looked like. The cloud walls were old and fraying, splitting off into countless tiny threads of cloudstuff at the edges. What paint still remained was faded and flaking, and several of the lighted letters in its sign had died, reducing the establishment to “The Luc y Sta l on”. Still, business was apparently good. Young ponies lined up around the block to try their luck and fake IDs against the pair of sentinel-like bouncers who guarded the door, and the noise from inside sounded like a full house already. She wondered just how many of them knew what kind of shady businesses operated out of the backrooms and secret caverns. How close they partied to Equestria’s hub for gang meet-ups, black marketeers, and two-bit wannabe-villains.  Was Sky Stinger there, even now? Silenced, restrained, terrified? Could he hear the sound of dozens of ponies laughing and drinking only a room or two away, ignorant of the plight of a purloined Wonderbolt? No. No way they’d keep him on grounds. Even if this was their true hideout and not just a semi-truced dropoff location, holding a captive so close to so many other criminal elements was amateurishly risky. Names ran through her head as another clearly underaged mare was turned away from the door. Abacus Cinch. The Smiling Mask. A white-collar kingpin and an enigmatic cult leader. Which one of them was behind it? Neither was above kidnapping, if Moondancer’s information was to be believed, but Sky’s fate and the fate of his rescue hung delicately on the hoof of whoever held him. Cinch was a businessmare, and often a middlemare at that. She’d take the ransom (either for herself or for her employer) and that’d be the end of it. But The Smiling Mask, he was a wildcard. Taking care of him and keeping Sky in one piece was a challenge she wondered if her rag-tag group of operatives could manage. Daring Do shook herself out of her depressive thoughts before they could start to spiral. The mission. She just needed to focus on that and deal with things as they came. She tapped the communicator in her ear, careful to disguise the motion as a mere brush of her mane. “This is Decoy One, doing a final check. Is everypony in position?” “Infiltrator One, ready,” came Angel Wing’s reply, her subvocalization almost drowned out by the chattering of the mares in line with her. “I’m ready with the package,” Vapor Trail confirmed. Her normally quavering voice was firm and focused. “So long as nopony tries to check its weight, we should be set.” “Overwatch, I’m- hold on.” Daring Do didn’t know exactly where Midnight Strike was, but that was also part of the plan. Better to let the batpony adjust to the situation as needed with her unique skillset. A noise like skittering claws came down the line for a moment, followed by a slight grunt. “Small issue, but I took care of it. I’m ready.” “Everypony memorized the passphrases?” her question returned a small chorus of affirmatives. “Good.” Daring swallowed a lump of nerves. This wasn’t like one of her normal adventures. She wasn’t risking meeting a villain out in some desolate jungle, she was headed right into their den. Today, the consequences of failure would be quick and irrecoverable. A weighty thought, and that on top of the fact that her role was so far outside her comfort zone. But it was what the mission required. It was her only chance to save Sky Stinger. “Alright.” She straightened her skirt and adjusted her wig. “Let’s start the operation.” ****** Deep in his cell, Sky awoke from a restless sleep to a bucket of cold water being hashed across his coat. He jumped up with a start, but his heavy bindings were quick to remind him of their presence. From outside the bars, a toothy maw grinned. “Up and attem’, flyboy!” Grubber’s cheerful tone was like cheap artificial sugar; sickly sweet and cloying and unabashedly disingenuous. “We’re moving and Boss says he wants you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tonight.” “T-Tonight?” Sky rasped. His tongue probed at the brackish water dripping down his mane. It was like sweet nectar. “That’s right, tonight!” Somehow, his tone managed to sink to a new level of saturated saccharinity, the kind of voice reserved for particularly slow children. “Tonight’s when it all comes together. When we’re gonna find out if your girlfriend is dumb enough to put her money where her mouth is, or stupid enough to try and pull a fast one. Either way,” he paused to loose a harsh and barking laugh, “It don’t look good for you!”