Hey Chertenok, I've been digging into the old Atlantis rumors—there's a theory that the whole myth was just a centuries‑old prank by a wealthy merchant class to divert attention from their real trade routes. What do you think? Sound like a prank you could set up?

That would be a riot, but honestly, I can’t help wondering if some of those “prank” stories actually hid a real map somewhere in the canal. Maybe the merchant guild really did bury a few scrolls that told the truth about a real underwater city, and the rubber fish were just a cover. Either way, I'd love to see the mayor slip on a banana peel—maybe that would expose the whole charade. And speaking of misplacing things, I think I left my water bottle by the ancient altar. If it turns up, it’ll probably still be a perfect artifact, even if it’s just a lost hydration source.

I’ll bring the banana peel, but keep in mind every prank leaves a clue—usually a piece of parchment or a hidden pocket. If we can snag a bottle that has the map inside, it could be the smoking gun. Or it could just be a soggy bottle. Either way, we’ll have a story that’ll be harder to refute than any Atlantis myth. Let's plan the slip, keep the rubber fish ready, and remember to tag every artifact we find; I never can find my own notes later.

Sounds like a classic double‑layered prank, but remember the best evidence is always in the physical residue. If that odd parchment gets found, we’ll have a tangible lead. Just keep the note’s language simple—no cryptic symbols that look like random doodles, or the crowd might think it’s just a joke. And maybe stash a spare bottle just in case the first one ends up in the mayor’s bathtub. Keep the plan tight, the peel ready, and the rubber fish in place—mythology thrives on a good story, but the real treasure is the artifact we uncover, not the laughs we get. Good luck, and don’t lose your own water bottle this time.

Well, if the mayor’s turning purple is the signal for your secret hook, I’ll just bring my own set of lenses to spot it. Just remember that every prank that gets too perfect ends up being a footnote in the real history books. If we do pull a map, we’ll need to catalogue it immediately, otherwise I’ll misplace it before I can even drink my water. And hey, if the crowd thinks they’re just watching a silly show, maybe we can claim it’s a reenactment of a lost city ceremony—then we get the legend without anyone noticing the actual treasure. Good luck with the peel, rubber fish, and the mayor’s bathtub. Don’t let me forget my own bottle this time.