Strapped up, bound tight to the cross beams, The Pouch's head pouch drooped low to rest on his central chest pouch. All hope was lost. This was the end. He would hang here until his slow, drawn out demise. The slightest sound caught his attention, however, and not raising his head at all, but opening his awareness lightly to view the ground before him, The Pouch saw a small bobbin roll up. It raised up, like a snake, on the end of its seemingly living thread and took a look at him, if such could be said for a small metal object that had no eyes. Just as quickly, it rolled itself back along the length of the thread.
Thread? Could it be? Impossible. When he was cast into this tiny pocket dimension that Malek the Maladjusted was using as an oubliette, The Pouch heard him say that only the Key of Klamatto could access this realm. The problem was that The Pouch had been able to pick up and pouch the Key after the portal was already open, but before he was bound by the enchanted ropebeasts and cast through said portal. How could Mary Sew, the only being he knew who utilized a peeping bobbin to run reconnaissance, have gained entry here?
And as he thought of her she appeared!
"Are you okay?" she asked, not getting too close for fear of a similar ropebeast entanglement.
"I am now," said The Pouch.
"Okay, I've got some macrame mites that might be able to handle the ropebeasts. Here we go!" She flung what looked like a small handful of glitter towards The Pouch. He felt the ropebeasts that held him squeeze more tightly upon recognizing the presence of their mortal enemy. The battle raged on for an agonizing series of moments before The Pouch felt the death rattle of the ropebeasts. Unfortunately, their rigor mortis left him still trussed up upon the X of Malek's insidious woodwork.
"I'm pretty sure they're dead... " The Pouch said.
"Great, we can cut them away once we're out of here. Where's the Key of Klamatto?" Mary Sew asked.
"Uh... I... it's been one of those days. I'm hurt real bad. I'm sure I have it, but..."
"You don't know which pouch it's in?" she asked.
"No... you have to... if you could..."
"Don't worry, I'm on it." Mary Sew began with his smallest finger pouches, carefully opening each one, gently exploring it with her impossibly delicate fingers, and then resealing each snap as softly as anything has ever been done. With the ropebeast threat nullified, and the peculiar way that time worked in these pocket dimensions, she did not rush. After finishing the left arm, she progressed through the right. She digitally explored the back pouches, the dead ropebeasts granting some give, before going through the chest pouches. She would pause frequently to look up at him and smile, give his arm a gently squeeze. She began exploring the pouches around his midsection_
"George, hey Georgie Boy, it's me, Silky John! Hey buddy, rise and shine, we gots things to do!" The shouting was accompanied by all of the door poundings. George, or G Masta Man as he liked to be called, lived in the next apartment over. The Pouch had no reason to crime fight him as he was merely a white kid with poor hygiene and delusions of gangster. This silky individual clearly suffered from innumeracy, which is why he so often knocked on the wrong door.
"WRONG DOOR, FOR THE FORTY SECOND TIME, NEXT DOOR DOWN!!!" screamed The Pouch from his futon.
"Oh, my bad, thanks, bro!"
Too often, it seemed, one could not enforce both the law of the land and the law of Darwin. His blood now boiling, The Pouch settled back into repose but sleep would not come, his dream, once interrupted, could never continue on...
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