thisavrou_log | ( july event log )

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( july event log )

Who: Everyone
When: July 18th and on
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff.
What: The Ingress malfunctions, sending the Moira into a different universe. Some of the crew end up on one of the Runoff’s many slave trading outposts.
Warnings: Sex, murder, kidnapping.

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deep in the murk
"It comes first and follows after. Ends life, kills laughter."

With the outcome of the battle against the Caducans and the Moira having twisted together with their ship to form a strange combination of glass, metal, and organic parts (both across the ship and among the crewmembers), there is still the matter of the Ingress not functioning “properly”. It hasn’t worked correctly since the very first person arrived on the Moira through it, and there is little the Captains themselves know about its functions. However, now, more than before, it’s even worse than that. The Ingress malfunctions yet again. This time, though, it doesn’t simply combine time and space and objects around it—it encompasses the entirety of the ship and sends it far off into a completely different universe. Welcome to:

( click text for a rough map/layout )

This puts the Moira closer to its final destination, and most of the glass has disappeared as the Caducan ship has been left behind aside from small things here and there (i.e., some of the walls in the corridors, random furniture in the rooming decks, the rooms themselves). Even the mess hall has permanently changed. Yet, there is some bad news that comes with this transition. The universe the ship is in is so terrible that it has been given its own name so that travelers avoid it altogether. Even the Captains themselves are aware of just how Bad News this universe is and had originally planned to take “the long way around” to avoid it. Anything shady or unsavory can be found in the Runoff, and while it might not appeal to the majority, it is simply second-nature to those who inhabit it. From arms trafficking to drugs, whatever one might think is illegal somewhere else is suddenly very legal and very dangerous.

Through the transition, some of the crew will accidentally end up on a nearby outpost specifically used for slave trade. It is a covered, temporary establishment used only for this purpose, meaning there are no open markets, hotels, or businesses of any sort. Stalls and tents line dirty streets, and ships litter the space around the outpost. This is a slave trade zone. People come and go but do not stay. Various lifeforms can be found here, and there are many different forms of slave trade happening. The motto “honor among thieves” does not exist in this place either. Crew who end up here will be “free”; however, this means that there is the potential to be taken and sold or kept by those of the Runoff. The Moira will not be close to this outpost, but the signals given from their MIDs will alert the crew to their location. Rescue, obviously, is imminent, but those who choose to help their fellow crewmembers must keep to small stealth missions using transporters or other crafts with one important detail in mind: they cannot bring attention or notice to the Moira itself.

Almost one-third of the crew has found themselves on the slave trade outpost, leaving the rest to plan for rescue. The Captains will immediately divulge all information that they have about the outpost, which is unfortunately very little outside of the stigma associated with the Runoff. The Captains will ask any MID techs or those with skills to create a program that allows person to person location; this function will allow crewmembers to search for those on the outpost via their MIDs. Rescue efforts are encouraged, and all the ships and transporters in the cargo bay will be available for public use. Crew will be told to be careful and quiet, bringing no attention to the Moira’s location, and most importantly, do not stand out. If crew look and act like they don’t belong there, others will notice. Stealth is the name of the game, and blending in is a necessity.

☄ time goes by slowly

The unfortunate crewmembers who ended up on the outpost have now found themselves pursued by those looking to make a profit through slave trade. The standards of hard labor vary from owner to owner, but it is what it sounds like. Rough, hard work that will last as long as the body performing it can endure. If purchased, owners might examine their new property to determine what type of work they’d be best suited for and then split them up into holding areas until they are done with their purchases. Others might have their slaves begin work by cleaning their ship or holding stalls or packing up their tents and gear. The owners, and their needs, are as varied as the universe. Did you manage to escape? Or were you forced to work before you were rescued?

☄ and it seems to last forever

Like the crewmembers taken by general labor owners, the murdersport slavers buy and take whomever they believe can last the longest in the pit. Some take those who appear to be strong or have great stamina, and some take those who are light on their feet or are quick-witted. Some crew are chosen simply based on appearance and how good they’ll look in their gear. If pursued, the slavers will do everything they can to capture the Moirans, and if captured, crew might be taken to a holding stall or a testing pit so that their skills can be witnessed by the public and tested. Some slavers want to show off their new property by throwing them into small roped off areas with other slaves, various creatures, or machines. Some make them stand up in front of groups and simply show them off, boasting that, at the next big event in the Runoff, they’ll surely win the grand prize. What kind of slaver has taken you? Will you be forced to fight before you rescue? Or will you not make it to the Moira before the Ingress pulls you back?

☄ but then it starts to fly ( cw: sex )

As is typical of this universe, slave trade comes in various forms. The most notorious being its illustrious sex trade. Slaves are bought and sold quickly and often, with no notable preference for appearance or species. Buyers come from all over to find slaves to work in their brothels, for personal use, as in-house entertainment, and much more. While the other two most popular type of slave trade don’t care as much about the physical well being of their property, these specific owners usually do. They might try to incapacitate first, so that the slaves aren’t bruised or cut, and if necessary, use binds until they can get them back to their ships or holding stalls. Some owners have their slaves cleaned and dressed in the finest attire, while others shove them into uniforms and tossed into stalls. Were you captured? Did you escape? Or were you rescued before something untoward occurred?

What's more, events of the past always have a way of coming back to haunt you.

Months past, a monster terrorized the crew and left a very literal mark upon those that it touched. Those scarred by encounters with the Ploiatos will find their minds drifting as they work and go about their day. They may also find themselves in a different part of the ship than intended when they come back to themselves. It happens slowly, these small moments of lost time. But both before and after these events occur, one might notice that the scars seem to shift slightly. Where the patterns have been stable for months, suddenly the branching arms of the scars appear to be in a slightly different position than before. More often than not, those who lose time will regain awareness and find themselves in Navigation. When this happens, oftentimes Captain Manasseh will herd them out with a quiet, but undeniably firm, suggestion to visit the infirmary. More unsettling are the moments when they awaken in the I.L.R. standing outside the one door that should never be opened. As for those who were lucky enough to avoid encounters with the creature locked within, they must figure out how to deal with their friends and fellow crew who seem to walk around in a fog with no control of their actions.

( ooc; Please mark all sensitive topics in subject line! )

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slavers outpost: 18th - 23rd [ota] —

After the initial shock wears off, Obi-Wan finds that he has no choice but to focus on gathering information while avoiding the market. He finds slavery detestable, downright cruel, and its thriving culture on this output leaves a strong, bitter taste in his mouth. Particularly when he thinks to his friends that are now forced to suffer the same fate that's currently threatening him.

It makes sense to organize. Whenever there's an opportunity, Kenobi is colluding. He finds those he can trust — Moirans — and that's where his focus remains. He's a problem solver, after all, and this is one problem he feels is in everyone's best interest to be solved once and for all. It won't be easy, no, but enough willing people to provide assistance, even the longest odds don't seem so unfavorable.

He will be moving freely through the outpost for the first week, from one shadow to the next, operating under the assumption that he's untouchable, breaking free those who seek his help, planning with the brightest minds in an effort to secure an escape for them all.

It's hard work, but familiar work, and for once, Kenobi welcomes it.

slavers outpost: 23rd - 25th [ota] —

But as with all things, nothing lasts forever. Some time near the end of the first week, Obi-Wan Kenobi, for whatever reason — reasons likely unknown to anyone but him — finds himself a slave once again. His few short days on Zygerria, while difficult, are a lasting reminder of toils once wrought, and with that in mind, he takes to being a owned with as little grace as possible, while still remaining active in his previous pursuits.

When he meets with anyone — clients specifically — he does so in private, as is the way of things. But he doesn't play along, not as he's been told to. A mindtrick or two does wonders, and fine words can solve more problems than any one person might imagine.

Behind enemy lines, gilded by his owner, the Jedi Master looms undercover, lurking in the depths of darkness in order to save as many people as he possibly can from this very barbaric trade.

This, too, is hard work, but familiar work just the same. Good work, that needs to be done, for good people who need to be saved.

slavers outpost: 26th on [closed] —

Tak-Fren knows of many ways to break a slave. By her skilled hands she sits proudly on a proverbial throne, her legacy, the highest rate of success among her peers. She has never failed in this task, partly owed to her inability to survive any other way. She'll be damned if she gives in to starvation now simply due to an iron will and some unseen protector.

Dealing in sex is easy. On a good day she can turn a profit without issue — one or two fresh faces around these parts, particularly pliant slaves, yields capital enough to keep her in business — but Tak-Fren needs more than a roof and supplies. Like all of her species, she occasionally needs to feed, and like all of her species, feeding is complicated.

"Nuu-nuu," she coos, settling in next to her prey. Her sharp claws drag lightly along a bristly jawline, one scaly hand on each side of ginger whiskers. A second pair of hands wave a bouquet of burning herbs into the atmosphere, ceremoniously spinning the smoke around her prone victim. A crackling rumble shudders from a gland in her neck, the sound reminiscent of a human's laugh. "Breathe deep, rasha. You will work, you will work for me..."

A haze rolls in, thick like fog, obscuring, all encompassing. It curls, smoke in the nose, out the mouth, silent, stealthy, invasive. It takes hold, into the lungs, the blood, the heart, the mind, snaking around hostile territory with a built-in numbing agent, leaving no trail in its path, no indication of its presence in the now...
Stubbing out the smouldering bunch, Tak-Fren clicks sharply as she looms over Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. In the short time he's spent as her slave, the human has reacted uniquely compared to others of his species. He has performed — seven successful appointments in a row — but what Tak-Fren knows that her clientele does not, is that his success is born of trickery, much like her own.

"Fair money," she crows, raising her arms in victory. She would punish him for the insolence if she didn't admire the resourcefulness of it. It's made her a lot of money in a very short time.

Her sensitive eyes — two pair to match the arms — read the levels within her prey, sensing as the last of his active consciousness dips below the surface. Whatever advantage he'd had over this situation — whatever planned level of protection he'd thus far maintained — gives way, and Kenobi's connection to the Force goes with it. Set adrift, separate and sedated, his mind becomes open. Suggestible.

As she leans in to drone softly in his ear, tendrils from her chin curl around Obi-Wan's face, grasping as Tak-Fren's alien words seed his mind with thoughts of suggestive situations. An unfettered thrill shudders through her as her hunger flares. Just there, she sees it: a pool of intensity that's been long reserved, emotions unspent over years and years, a veritable feast living shallowly on her floor.

"Rasha, oh rasha... How do you live like this?" Clever and so full of potential. Pitifully unspent. She'll eat for a week, gorge on every constructed production, on every raked up desire.

[[ OOC: Need or want your own custom starter? Feel free to PM me or hit me up on plurk @ blakeroo and we'll work it out! Otherwise, will match style, beware of sensitive subjects, and so on... ]]

Edited 2016-07-19 06:23 (UTC)

Leia was an imperial senator five years, and in that time, she picked up the nickname Little Miss Inalienable Rights for a reason. She's more familiar than the average person with the ugliness of slavery still rearing its head in the galaxy--though she's never before been this close to it. Without any way to legislate it out of existence, she wants nothing more than to get as far away as possible.

Unfortunately, she's not going far from tent she's sitting beneath. Her wrists and ankles are bound by cuffs, and chains keep her from getting far away from the men speaking in low voices at the other end of the tent. She's kept her head down most of the day, plotting furiously and trying covertly to hit the MID and see if it still works--but her hands are too close together to manage it.

When she glances up and notices a familiar figure, she's torn by the desire to call out and the desire to shrink back out into the shadow of the tent. As far as she can tell, Obi-Wan is still free, and she can't endanger him, but she also can't quell the mix of shame and elation at the sight of him.

Free, unfortunately, does not mean unwatched. Obi-Wan understands the potential folly in making his way in Organa's direction, and understands more pointedly there are unseen risks that neither of them have likely considered at this point. But he feels that shame, that fear, that longing, and it draws him toward her because it echoes his own feelings at the moment.

Grabbing a crate, he plops the box nearby Leia, then places himself atop it. Making at shining his boots — not an entirely odd spectacle when grade is often determined by cleanliness — he speaks quietly so as not to be overheard.

"Have they chipped you?" It's his leading concern, as he's heard plenty of rumors that's a common practice even here.

"No," Leia says in a low voice, her eyes firmly on the ground. The instinct is that of a child--if I can't see him, he can't see what they've done to me--but the reason is more deliberate, mature. She can't show any interest in him, or treat him any differently than she has other prospective buyers. (The word turns her stomach.) Nothing can suggest he's anything other than more scum looking for a slave.

All that time spent mumbling answers to questions through glass lips has served her well. She hardly needs to move to answer him.

"You should go." Hasty, not actually what she wants. But if Obi-Wan is free, there's still hope for everyone else. "They won't think twice about cuffing you."

Edited (lmao reason reasoned) 2016-07-19 19:11 (UTC)

"I have a moment, at least," he assures her, not quite willing to address the fact that this is extremely dangerous for the both of them. Sometimes it feels more satisfying to ignore the risk, particularly when his on-edge nerves have him feeling already very much caged, if not proverbially cuffed.

"But on the off chance that something does happen to me, I'm not the only one free." There are more than a few willing to organize. His voice is even, if not a bit muffled. But he's well-hidden by the Force as long as he doesn't make a spectacle of himself, shrouded from most prying eyes. It doesn't leave much for Leia to perceive herself, but the undercurrent of fear Kenobi feels couldn't be scoured away with wire bristles at this point, so she can have that.

She doesn't want it. She'd take nearly anything but fear--calm confidence particularly, but even anger would be preferable to the sick pallor of worry that seems to cling to Obi-Wan.

But fear is what she has, and if she could set a hand on his shoulder (both hands, really, with how closely they're cuffed) without drawing attention, she would. He's in a dangerous position right now, and he's risking it for her sake.

"I haven't seen many of us." A sharp little blade of fear slides between her ribs. She has to remind herself not to look up. "Is Han--? And Ben?"

"No." If either of them are on the outpost, they're well-hidden or... Kenobi doesn't chase his darker thoughts — there's no use in that. Especially when he already knows how poorly he's shielded. At the best of times, the Force is nearly infinite in its generosity, but when darkness is afoot, things get arguably more difficult.

He rolls a few Jedi food capsules — reserves he's not needed since arriving on the ship — into a groove along the edge of Leia's assigned area. For food or bartering, for her or the other slaves, it's of more use in hands that are a little less free.

"Upward of twenty, if I have to guess." And not nearly enough free, he thinks gravely. They're outnumbered and cut off for the Moira, scattered and shackled and afraid, and the odds seem very long. Thankfully, there's no denying how effective light is at chasing away the darkness.

"I didn't think so." She breathes out, relief heavy on her shoulders. Everything pointed in that direction to her, but she and the Force haven't worked well together for a while. Trusting her own instincts has been...difficult. "Luke isn't here, either."

Still on the ship--that's what she thinks, and later, what she'll want to believe. She knows his presence the way she knows no other, and his absence is both a relief and a burden.

For a moment, she arches her back, rolling her neck around in a stretch, and surreptitiously pockets the capsules. (Thank the Force she wore trousers today.) "Twenty will have to be enough. Any blasters?"

"Only if they were on their person at the time of transport, I suspect" But only because he and Anakin had managed to retain their lightsabers despite everything. Too bad even two lightsabers don't feel quite like enough to take down a whole slew of slavers. Certainly not without a great number of casualties from their own side.

Kenobi finds he can no longer fake his task, so he turns some on that seat and rests his arms on his knees, his clasped hands obscuring his mouth at her pretends to take interest in one of the other slaves. He doesn't think they should push it too much longer, but there's no sense of critical danger looming over them in this very moment.

He glances in Leia's direction. "I have considered gambling," he offers, as if that thought makes any real sense. "Have they set a price for you?" It feels worth the risk, he thinks, knowing what he knows of the basics of sex trading in their own galaxy. And to have Leia at his side is to have another powerful ally against these wretched monsters.

Her expression darkens--a serious feat, considering the circumstances--and one of her hands tightens into a fist. They're under-armed, half-enslaved, and who knows how far from the Moira. "Has anyone been in contact with the ship?"

I'm not in a position to use the MID is on her tongue, but the thought of admitting to her helplessness here leaves her with an empty, aching space in her chest. It's too close to accepting the situation--but between the cuffs and her current owner's (ugh) suspicions of the device, she hasn't been able to do anything with it.

(He should have caught on to the way she and Obi-Wan are talking right now, she thinks. But they're quiet enough, and Obi-Wan is dressed well enough, that perhaps he thinks she's under consideration for purchase. It's revolting as a thought, but if it gives them time...)

At Obi-Wan's question, Leia names a price--and while she doesn't have the conversion to credits, it sounds like a lot to her. "Just where are you planning to gamble?"

Where doesn't he plan to gamble? Every day is a gamble, it seems, and while he doesn't find this type of betting to be all that noble, he doesn't particularly care at he moment about the ethics of cheating, only about the rapid relief of those around them — particularly those who need the most help.

"Short range seems to be all anyone can manage," he replies, opting to leave his plans for swindling slavers as unspoken as possible. He doesn't think she'll mind considering her far more serious concerns. "I managed to access a terminal, but I didn't have enough time to unravel their encryption." He doesn't particularly like admitting that failure, especially having such a small window of opportunity that could have ultimately made a massive difference to a lot of people. "I'll try again if I can."

He reaches out and grabs her arm, a gesture that's meant to look as if he's judging her strength. Obi-Wan feels eyes on him, feels the sharp ping of danger as they finally draw the attention they'd been expecting from the start. In reaction, he leers and appraises, although his eyes are focused over Leia's shoulder as he's unwilling to leer at her.

Leia tenses under his touch. Even knowing that Obi-Wan, of all people, has no untoward thoughts--they need to make this look believable if their conversation is going to escape notice--the fact that it needs to be done is difficult enough to contend with. How much difference does it make if it only looks like she's a painted doll to be traded and violated? All the difference in the world to her mind; none at all to her body.

"You should go." Her voice is low, her gaze someplace beyond Obi-Wan's eyes. It's more valuable, at the moment, to be seen treating him like any slave presented with a potential buyer, than to see his face. "We'll speak again."

We'll see each other again. After everything, she's not going to end a slave somewhere in the unknown.

A knot in his chest tightens and he feels the creaking and snapping of the rope within him, tough and deep and occasionally sharp. Every part of him wishes to take Leia and run, to free her of her binds and spirit her away to safety. But there's no safety to be found, no where to hide, and beyond that, neither of them are any good to anyone if they're dead.

He nods and tells himself this is every bit the same as the war he left behind. Hard decisions are never easily made, after all, and even if they don't have an army behind them, they still have their own to consider.

"May the Force be with you," Obi-Wan says, mustering every ounce of hope he has into the statement. That's where I'll be if you need me. Let the Force be your guide. Practical advice, unspoken as it is.

And with that, he slips away, hiding himself once more from prying eyes, deeply troubled but far from willing to give in to his worry.

[Saitama had found himself with a lot of money and not a lot of direction. He knew he should spend it on freeing other crew members, but he really didn't know all that many people. Ahsoka had found him not long after his foray with the murdersport arena. She knew someone who was wiser and more keen about these sorts of things than Saitama. Someone Saitama could look for by name and who he suspected would help him.

Obi-wan, though, he doesn't have any way of knowing this. What he knows is there is a man in a cloak looking to buy an hour with him. A man who is calm and whose aura is impossible to latch onto with force. He won't be susceptible to a mind trick, either. When the time alone is arranged, Saitama will wave at him, chummy despite having not met before.]

Hey, you're Obi-wan, right? I got the right guy?

Yes...

[ Obi-Wan is dubious at the use of his name, but as with all things, the Force speaks in ways others cannot. Just a cursory touch allows him to understand this person is from the Moira, and that's all he needs when considering his next response. ]

Someone sent you to me?

[ A fool's hope, but hope nonetheless. Something tells him that Saitama has no interest in Obi-Wan's lavishly adorned clothes or the body beneath them. Furthermore, this offers him an opportunity for later recourse, so the odds are in his favor that this won't turn sour. ]

[the force gentle whispers "Not into dudes", about this one.

Saitama will flop down in one of the chairs in the room, across from Obi-wan. He bothers to look somewhat attentive, since he's here on a mission.]

Yeah, Ahsoka, I'm her roommate. Er, one of them. [a point to himself with his thumb!]

She said you're wise, so I figured I'd look for you. I need some advice.

[ Ahsoka... Well, that's more than enough to get Obi-Wan listening. He takes a seat of his own and eyes the other man, trying as he might to guess the kind of advice that might be needed that would require his wisdom. ]

Go on. I'll do what I can... as long as say you're leaving a satisfied customer. I wouldn't want my captor to think I'm under-performing.

[ He can't afford to have more eyes on him. Not when he can actively use this situation in his favor without being bought or sold a dozen times over. ]

Oh, ha, sure. [Gross. This planet is so gross. He didn't give a damn what reputation he got, which was good because the current rumors going around about him were hilariously disturbing. He really shouldn't have broken that bed while rescuing Boone... it was a little too convincing, for the whole rouse.]

I got involved in this arena battle thing and I walked away with a lot of money. I've been trying to buy people with it, Moira people, you know. I dunno if you need the same kind of help or if you're doing your own thing. No judgement, dude, you seem like you got this handled. [he's not gonna criticize if you're just into this whole thing, whoops]

[ The only opinion Obi-Wan cares to maintain is that of Tak-Fren, who has not yet realized he's been playing every client since the start. Undercover, in this case, does not entail playing the part as far as Obi-Wan's concerned.

As for Saitama, he's going to assume no judgement really means just that. ]

I suspect the money would be better spent elsewhere.

[ He could fight his own way out at any time. ]

Have you noticed they gamble here? In the right hands, you could easily see triple your current capital.

You seem like you got it handled. Ahsoka said you have some kind of space magic. [and Beam Katana's! Those are super radical. 10/10 Saitama would watch an 80's movie based on your lives, oh wait.]

Isn't gambling usually rigged? I don't want to shake anybody down. [though he kinda already did, for the original sum on money. It wasn't a very violent shakedown at least, he was simply very insistent.]

You don't want to shake anyone down?

[ Obi-Wan's trapped with a grim amusement as he gapes at Saitama, head shaking slowly back and forth. ]

You're concerned with shaking down people who make a living kidnapping and selling individuals as a trade?

Hey, man, I don't think we got time to reform a whole planet. You want another revenge invasion in four months? That turned out real well.

[ He looks as if he might argue, his mouth open, his stance poised for debate. But then he remembers where they are and what he's already being forced to do, and it really doesn't make sense to argue, does it?

Kenobi nods and rubs at his beard, pacing the small space. ]

No, you're right, of course. I let myself get carried away.

Do you know who you're planning to free?

Anybody from the Moira who needs it. Don't think I got money to buy more than a few, even if I barter well. [he barters pretty damn well, always having been mindful of getting the most for his money back home. Never thought it would come in handy in this situation, but hey, what works works.]

Saved one buddy already, but I'm not sure who ended up here.

If you can find Leia Organa, she is actively being held. I doubt you'll have her asked price, but if you can get close, she can give you some names — those of us being asked to work against their will in the sex trade.

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( july event log )

Obi-Wan Kenobi | cw: sex slavery

july 19

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23rd-25th - """Client""" so many air quotes, so many

HAHAHAHA beautiful

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