It was only as the distinctive ring of her captor's hooves upon the concrete flooring faded away to be replaced by the glutinous gurgles of stagnant sludge, that Agent Skyfall could let the damsel in distress act drop. Not that our heroine happened to be lacking in distress, buried to her gleaming bust in the muck as she was, but, compared to the show of breathy feminine wiles amid futile struggles, our pastel pony wasn't quite as doomed as her nefarious foes had assumed.
Why, the very ooze imperiling a mare made for the lubricant with which a determined bout of writhing allowed Skyfall to work her arms free from the crude rope binds holding them by her side, if at the cost of feeling herself sink deeper into the dense muck. Beneath that undulating ooze, she braced herself against the walls of the pit,reaching up not with her arms, but rather the arcane tendrils of telekinesis, probing for the distinct shape she had seen, as the grate covering the sludge pit was lowered into place.
As simple as many an arcane being may make it seem, blind telekinesis is harder than it may appear, let alone for a mare as distracted as our dear Agent. For many, the shifting morass about their form, filling out her submerged skirt, squishing and squelching into every nook and cranny of a ponies' body would be a sufficient distraction. No, spoke the whims of chaos, as a viscous churning above signalled a fresh sluice of gunk through the grate, and she clenched an eye shut as the sludge slopped over the side of her head.
*It was vital that, despite the clammy sensation of liquid muck creeping down the back of her neck, regardless of the ooze sliding into an engulfed ear, Skyfall held her concentration, allowing magic to take purchase around the lock last seen in her gloating captor's fingers, and to shape her telekinesis into the form of lockpicks so familiar from her training. *
Once the pins began to slip into place, why, regardless of the slime filling her boots and working it's way through every seam of her latex attire, our unicorn could firmly take hold of one simple fact.
She was going to get the fiend who had thrown her in there.
That heart-warming sentiment, lasted about as long as the timespan before next blanket of semi-solid sludge slopped down over her form, and she was reminded just what she had to escape beforehand.