( event )

[hownkai]

Who: The crew of the Moira
When: 9/18 to 9/30
Where: Planet and ship
What: Main event; all info inside
Warnings: Effects from Exuo, heavy and graphic themes

PENUMBRA

"Into the darkness they go..."

As the crew enters its third week aboard the Moira, the majority of supplies have been gathered, and everyone will find themselves with more free time than before. The marketplace has offered numerous diversions, as well as the opportunity to trade for items they need or want. Life on the Moira is relatively peaceful, and there have been no unusual occurrences. Excursions onto the planet have yielded an invaluable resource called Exuo, which has been determined to be a rare mineral that is used for multiple purposes. A general awareness has spread among those aboard the Moira that, while it is used as an additive to food and drink, resulting in a slightly elevated change in demeanor and leaving a person feeling generally better, it is also in the air they breathe. The effects of Exuo will vary from person to person.

Yet...

Things have started to change. The once vibrant sunlight that hasn’t given anyone a moment’s reprieve is now slowly beginning to disappear, and with it, a shadow is being cast across the horizon. The red dust is more noticeable now than ever, blanketing every surface, and the planet’s true grunge surfaces.

☄THE EMPTY MARKET

The hustle and bustle of the marketplace has slowly started to taper off, leaving behind empty stalls and hastily closed up shops. What visitors the crew have encountered are no longer so friendly; they won’t say a word as to where they are going or why. All that’s left are the few things they could not carry with them to their own ships before leaving. But is it worth the peculiar looks the natives are giving as you traverse the now quiet streets to take them? What is this abrupt feeling of unease weighing down on your shoulders?

The only living things that remain, aside from them, are the members of the Moira, but it’s not a comforting notion, especially if you step into the ever-growing shadows.

☄THE NATIVES

With light dwindling quickly, nothing is safe anymore. Those people with the plain masks and hoods worn to hide their faces? They’re not so quiet and not so friendly now. Their behavior drastically deteriorates the darker it becomes, shifting from harmless and complacent to feral and dangerous. They lash out at anyone who gets too close, and they don’t hesitate to drag away those foolish enough to get closer. And those masks and hoods? They, too, have been tossed aside with the slow setting of those distant stars.

● Aside from physical outbursts, some of them may be found trying to damage the transporters to prevent return to the Moira.
● Their mouths appear sunken in, stained red like the Exuo this planet is known for. Or is that something else soaked into their skin? Are you sure all those visitors made it back to their own ships? Their small black eyes never seem to close either.
● They are thin in stature but relatively strong. It will take more than one person to overpower them.
● If approached, they will retaliate with sharp nails and teeth. Their movements are aggressive, meant to disable but not kill.
● Killing the natives comes with no reprimand from the captains.

☄PURLOIN & OBLATION

The suns have eclipsed.

What light there is can only be found through artificial sources, and with the lack of light also comes alterations in the crew’s own mood. Where MIDs had detected a decrease in stress and increase in endorphins, that is no longer the case now. Some may find themselves irritable for no reason, while others are torn between fits of paranoia and excessive anger. The pleasant sweetness of the Exuo in the air has dissipated, leaving a staleness behind, and those that have been exposed longer to the surface of the planet suffer extensively more than those who have not left the safety of the Moira for extended periods of time.

However, most crew members will find themselves desperate to return to the empty marketplace or even the mines. Perhaps they are in search of more Exuo, or maybe they simply want to find those natives to question them or take out that aggression on something not so fragile. During this time, disappearances are more noticeable than ever, and those who go in search of friends and crew may find more than they bargained for.

●the seized: The darkness is unerringly quiet, and the natives that still linger on the planet have faded away with the sun. Maybe you find yourself in the deserted marketplace, or outside the wreckage of a transporter that’s been torn apart. The sounds you hear come from your left and grow steadily louder beside you. The sudden irritability that the crew has been experiencing multiplies and transforms into a paranoia that leaves you wanting to beg for the sun to return. Thin but strong arms wrap around you, long fingers with sharp nails dig into your skin. They don’t speak, or attack with the intent to hurt you, merely pull you away and back into the shadows. Whether you struggle or fight back doesn’t matter, try to get free.
●the subjugated: With your arms and feet bound, you wake up in an unfamiliar place. It may be hard to remember where you were last, or it may be crystal clear. You were taken by a group of the planet’s natives, tied up and thrown into a hollowed out pit in the ground. The dirt smells sickeningly sweet, metallic, and it overpowers your senses. There are others around you, both crew members from the Moira and people you might recognize from the marketplace. You know now that the disappearances weren’t random, or normal, and are the result of the natives capturing explorers and traders for their own unknown reasons. **
●the scarified: They want the the light back. This much is clear now. The natives believe their sun was stolen, and the only way to guarantee its return is through offering worthy sacrifices. With whatever dim lighting there is, you make out the shape of an altar slathered in something wet and dark. You are on your knees beside others that were chosen, waiting in line to be sacrificed. The person ahead of you is lifted and carried to the altar, and with the natives gathered together,chanting growing louder, there are quick movements before everything goes still all at once. Are you next? Or has someone come to save you?

The only reprieve from this nightmare is the familiar sound of the Moira’s transporter ships landing nearby. The crew has banded together and are on their way to free you. **

☄ASCENSION

The planet is no longer safe. Through a series of disturbing events, it has become clear that the crew cannot stay. Supplies has been gathered, hopefully enough to last until they can find another place to dock, and the captains, through the MID devices and in person, are ushering everyone back to the ship. It is imperative that everyone board swiftly so that they can make a hasty retreat. There is nothing left for anyone here.

( ooc; ** These options are for those who signed up for the event. All other characters are encouraged to rescue their crewmates from these situations as quickly as possible! For questions and/or plot, go here. )

Comments

miles vorkosigan

[forwardmomentum]

pre-kidnapping;

[forwardmomentum]

In the absence of the light, Miles starts to go a little crazy.

He's kind of the crazy sort. This happens from time to time. After a while, get him going enough, and eventually he launches himself directly into a manic episode, and most people don't want to get in the way of that. But this is a little different. it's close, though, close enough that Miles almost doesn't notice the difference. He's starting to talk a little too fast, think a little too fast. Everything's sharp -- too sharp. His mood tends to cycle at the drop of a hat as it is, but he's edgier now, much more likely to turn irritable than euphoric, his energy turned to snappish bad-temperedness.

The paranoia is new, too.

About two days in, he stops sleeping altogether. Eating's become an afterthought, although Miles still reports in to his shifts. He's tempted to skip waste disposal a few times, but his overwhelming sense of duty prevails even in the eclipse. But as time goes on, he starts to fall into fits -- thrashing around in sanitation uttering wild curses and casting looks over his shoulders at mere shadows in the water, or playing the chattering, volatile bartender, either way -- Miles strongly resembles a bomb about to go off.

[ hit me up if you want a starter!! ]

[vengeance_driven]

Niko was irritable, but far from crazy. He was just edging towards being stuck in his bad attitude, but not irreparably so. It was just enough that a grazing effect was had, but he had a good enough head on his shoulders to tell that other people were acting a little off kilter.

The last time he'd seen Miles he'd been in a charitable mood and well drunk. Watching him stare into the murky abyss of a sink. "Hey, tiny space Russian Miles. Did they talk to you of the bartending position?"

It probably wasn't the best greeting he'd ever uttered as he walked up to him, but it would have to do.

[forwardmomentum]

"Son of a bitch!"

Miles jumps, evidently not expecting company down here in sanitation. Who can really blame him, though, it's not like the place is attractive. He drops the wrench in his hand and whirls around, nearly tripping over his own boots, and half-sags with some kind of relief when he sees Niko, although he doesn't look delighted, either. Miles looks like shit -- he obviously hasn't slept much in the last few days, and he's got that sunken-eyed, sallow-faced look of a man severely deprived of sleep and sorely overdosed on coffee. Except Miles hasn't had any coffee -- this is just how he is.

"I told you, I'm not Russian," he bites out tersely, stooping down to pick up the wrench with a slightly shaking hand. He stops mid-stoop, eyes flicking up to Niko as his brows draw down. Funny time and place for a social call, this. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "What are you doing down here? You about scared the hell out of me."

[vengeance_driven]

For the moment he just took the harder words as surprise. After all, he looked plenty spooked. "Hey, don't worry. Anybody knows what it is to be mistaken for Russian, it is a Serb. I am just pulling your chain.

"Or leg? I forget how the saying goes."

He think it can go either way. But it didn't matter. He just knew the guy looked like he could spent some time off. "Maybe you could use a break, man. You look like you're about to fall down."

[forwardmomentum]

"I'm fine," Miles snaps immediately, just a tad defensive. He resents people telling him where his limits are on a deep level, and while a comment like that wouldn't ordinarily even register, he's feeling sensitive today. He wipes a hand across his forehead, realizes it's wet with sanitation water, and immediately makes a disgusted face, rubbing it hurriedly on his trouser seam. He moves to push past Niko toward a panel on the opposite wall, teetering a little.

"I've worked longer shifts and on harder stuff. And while they did give me the bartending job, it came with strings," he adds, trying only half-heartedly to keep the acid from his voice. Dimly in the back of his mind he knows he's being petulant, but it's not like he asked Niko to come down here. "You're looking at the only double-employed man on the ship. So unless you like your toilets and your taps to dispense the same water, I'm going to get back to work."

[vengeance_driven]

Niko raised his hands and backed off, wondering where this attitude suddenly came from. Well, maybe not suddenly. He knew when he was overworked (though with murder admittedly being his line of specialty) he tended to remain on the cranky side. Still, Niko had some element of pride and refused to allow himself to be talked down to. Miles wasn't quite doing that, but he was coming near close.

For now, Niko could at least say he wouldn't put up with it, but at least he also knew it could be situational.

He backed off, prepping to leave. "Fine. Sure. Okay. I'm sure you'll be the life of the party later. Go ask for someone to take part of the weight." Better to head out now than put up with what sounded like simmering bullshit.

(Really he shouldn't be judging, as Niko was always full of simmering bullshit).

[forwardmomentum]

For a man of only 4'9, Miles has a surprising capability for talking down to people. He certainly doesn't like being talked down to, and he gives Niko a withering look, deliberately splashing as he walks past the other man, because Miles is a mature adult.

"Oh, yeah? Miles barks out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Do you know any plumbers? Because I think I'd be hard pressed to find someone on this ship with a more shit job than this."

I HAVEN'T HAD A CHANCE TO UPLOAD MY ANGRY ICONS YET

[theoldmansback]

A couple days into the long eclipse, Jadzia’s own normally pleasant demeanor is starting to show cracks. Gaping, dangerous cracks. A certain level of self control and the ability to balance conflicting emotions is a necessary trait in a Trill host of any caliber...but once things start to fall apart, it’s a slippery slope, and Dax has a lot of memories and past lives to pull a bad mood from.

Her foul mood will be obvious to anyone as she enters the bar; there’s a tense line to her shoulders, stiff and aggressive in her movements. She’d snapped at more than one innocent greeting on the way here, and looks like anything more than a “hello” might elicit something far worse.

“Get me a drink.” It’s a demand, not a question, and she barely spares her bartender a glance, instead looking around the room, sizing up the few others scattered at tables. Everyone seems to be spending a lot more time by themselves lately, and there are only a few patrons, each sitting seemingly as far from the others as possible.

DON'T WORRY I HAVE A GOOD IMAGINATION FOR ANGRY JADZIA FACES

[forwardmomentum]

Being a hell of a lot shorter than Niko -- or anyone else he's met on this ship -- Miles has a couple of boxes stacked up behind the bar to give him a helpful foothold. He's not a fan of the arrangement, but it's preferable at least to standing on tip-toes just to see over the bar. He responds to Jadzia's rude demand with a sardonic glower.

"Oh, no," he starts, voice thick with sarcasm, "don't specify or anything, I'll just rub a few neurons together and read your mind. It's my most popular party trick, don't you know. Would it kill you to at least phrase it as a question? Maybe a please somewhere?"

for ivan;

[forwardmomentum]

Gregor's finally left their cabin, and Miles can catch a breather. He really just -- needs to be alone right now. If only they had more privacy in these cabins, he could guarantee himself a little me time. He's aware that something is screwing with his brain -- how, he doesn't know, but it inspires a deep-seated panic every time he connects that thought. The panic always seems to translate into paranoia or anger just as quickly, though, and that's what really bothers Miles.

He can't shake the intense moodiness that's settled over him, though, and the more he thinks about it the more it starts to make him feel like his brain short circuit entirely, so he settles instead for jamming up in the corner of his bed with some reading. He eyes the live fur blanket on the end of his bed. It seems to be slowly inching toward him. Idly, Miles wonders if it would count as animal cruelty if he stabbed the damn thing.

[whatdidisay]

If there's anything bothering Ivan, he doesn't notice it. An increase in irritability can just be written down to having to share a space with his extended family for a longer time than Ivan wanted to repeat in the near future. Also having to have the top bunk. But whatever, he's survived worse than this.

Probably.

"Oh hey," he says as soon as he enters, flopping down on Gregor's empty bed rather than climb up to his own. "I wondered if you were ever gonna get that back."

[forwardmomentum]

Ordinarily, Miles would just ignore Ivan -- and go on ignoring him, until he eventually shut up or Miles was able to tune him out. Or until a good opportunity for a cutting remark came up -- that sometimes shuts Ivan up just fine. But not today. Today, he's still coming off the heels of the utter humiliation he'd experienced at Niko's hands, only to be handed off to Gregor, and the last thing -- the last thing Miles needs right now is Ivan. Especially with his uncanny knack for planting his foot directly into sensitive territory. Maybe ImpSec should co-opt him for a human minesweeper, Miles thinks viciously, his lips drawing back in a snarl as he tries to contain himself, and fails.

"I wouldn't have at all if it weren't for you," Miles practically spits. "Thanks for telling that musclebound lunatic where to find me, by the way! You know, if you wanted to kick me in the balls you could've at least had the decency to do it yourself."

[whatdidisay]

"What," Ivan says, blinking in surprise over at his cousin. "What are you talking about?"

It has completely failed to register to Ivan that sending the angry yelling guy at Miles might have been a bad idea, if only because in Ivan's estimation, Miles handles those sorts of things just fine. Talks rings around people, and so on. It'd just been a bit of fun at Miles's expense, the kind he so rarely gets to have at all.

[forwardmomentum]

Miles' jaw practically hangs open in response to that stupendously idiotic response. Is this another facet of the stupid act Ivan's always putting on? Could he really be so stupid as to not realize what he'd done? Could he really be so cruel as to pretend he doesn't know? He's so outraged by either possibility that he's actually speechless for a moment. Ivan, you -- you ass!

"What happened?" He practically barks out the words. "What did you think was going to happen when you sent a pissed-off sociopath careening in my direction with a grudge to settle? Do you have any idea how mad he was over that -- " Miles' arm lashes out like a whip, the tip his nearly shaking index finger pointing at the gently purring furry mass at the end of his bed. "-- thing showing up in his room?" He took in a deep breath practically shivering with rage. "I almost shook him, Ivan! I could've gotten out of that without a scratch, if you hadn't diddled me completely!"

i'm sorry my annoyed icons are of him shirtless

[whatdidisay]

"Why would he be pissed about it, it's just a blanket," Ivan counters, still looking shocked that Miles is as pissed off about this as he is. Ivan didn't do anything, just get him back for the entire kitten tree -- mewling pathetically in the corner in response to the purring blanket, ugh -- there's no reason for him to get all angry about this. "What the hell are you so mad about?"

Something itches at the back of his head, makes him more irritated than normal at being yelled at by his cousin. Which, Ivan would like to point out, doesn't actually happen all that often.

"It's not like you couldn't talk yourself out of whatever it was anyway, because that's what you always do, isn't it?"

the sacrificed;

[forwardmomentum]

Miles has been through a lot in a relatively short career. There was that time his scat-cat sunk into the mud pits on Kyril Island and drug his shelter down with him, trapping him under two meters of thick, half-frozen mud. Or the time he'd discovered he'd been cloned as part of an elaborate substitution plot, having been kidnapped as part of said substition plot. Oh, and there was that prison camp he'd dropped himself into for a covert mission only to find he had no real exit strategy. He'd had to start a whole damned religion to get out of that one.

All of those had seemed like they'd end in his inevitable doom, and yet he'd wriggled out of them somehow. All the same, he's failing to see a way he could wriggle out of this one. He can't squirm out of here by force, there was no mistaken case of identity, and he has a feeling these natives wouldn't appreciate a sacrilegeous revolution just now. He's man enough to admit, at ast ot himself, that he's stone cold scared right now. The threat of near-certain doom knots in his stomach, making his mouth dry. He could piss himself right now, and it probably wouldn't even matter -- he'd be dead in about ten minutes, anyway.

No -- no. Can't afford to think like that. It's not even in Miles' nature -- well, except for when he's in his blackest moods, and to be altogether fair, the psycholoical effects of the whole thing haven't been helping his morale. At some point he'd noticed that the anger and paranoia, while his, have been induced rather than produced, but it had overtaken him. Now he struggles against it, against the senseless flutters of panic and the sudden, snarling urge to lash out at the nearest person in frustration. Is it paranoia if they're really after you?

Heart hammering, Miles looks around, desperately looking for something he could use to get out of this mess. They're getting awfully close to him now. He hates it when he can't talk his way out of things. "Sure as hell can't fight my way out of this," he mutters to himself with a cynical quirk of his mouth. Well, he is pretty small. Maybe they'll overlook him, or take pity on him. Maybe their sun god or whatever doesn't like his sacrificial offerings tapas style. Maybe something.

[commontype]

Eggsy's quiet. Quick and silent enough that the natives don't notice him.

"Here, I've got ya."

Voice low, Miles will feel hands at his wrists, working at the bindings.

"Try not to move."

He doesn't want to draw attention to them, because Eggsy's only got two weapons on him right now. A whip and a gun with four bullets, thank you Tony Stark for the latter, and he's got to use them to get as many of their people back to the ship.

"Crew's here to save everyone, alright?"

[forwardmomentum]

Miles goes tense when he hears the voice -- not a familiar one, but definitely human, at least. He doesn't relax any when he's got confirmation that he's from the Moira, at least not physically -- he keeps perfectly still untile Eggsy finshes cutting through his bonds.

"What now?" he breathes out the corner of his mouth, not daring to let even his eyes stray. His chest is pounding, almost painfully. All right. All right, he's going to get out of this after all.

[commontype]

"Stay low. I can't take everybody at once."

It wasn't exactly the best plan, but he knew they needed to stay under the radar. Not draw any attention to themselves. It was the only way they'd get out and he could come back for someone else.

"Transporter's behind me 'bout a half mile. Didn't wanna make much noise."

Eggsy tugs the bonds free, dropping them and slowly pulling Miles backwards. He's careful with his movements. "You ready?"

[forwardmomentum]

Miles barely even dares to breathe as Eggsy finally gets his hands free. His heart is racing. Oh, thank god. The transporter. Finding it in the dark will probably be a royal pain in the ass, but he trusts Eggsy knows the way. Miles doesn't move much except to flex his hands and wince -- those splinted fingers are still a little swollen, and their hosts hadn't exactly been gentle. There's a sharp pain in his lower arm that's been there since they took him -- probably a hairline fracture. He'll deal. Miles gives Eggsy an incremental nod, trying to shut out the panic and paranoia that's already edging on the horizon of his mind. Damn this eclipse. He'd like to nuke the whole damn planet from orbit, if he could. To hell with the natives. Whenever you are.

[commontype]

Eggsy'd enter the launch codes if they had a nuke, that's how much he thinks of this place. He'd get all the innocents off, and then take care of the place. He knows that this planet is dangerous, that people are getting hurt, and he couldn't give two fucks about Exuo or how much people might want it. Want it enough to leave this place open to visitors when it's clearly got fucking aliens that want to sacrifice people on it.

He nods back, ducking down behind a pile of something that Eggsy knows if he truly analyzes, he'll just be disgusted and upset.

"We'll go as soon as he turns the other way." He gestures to a particularly large and loud native.

[forwardmomentum]

Miles nods, keeping his gaze fixed unblinking on the alien until his eyes start stinging -- and then the alien in question, who seems to be in charge or something here, finally turns away, back to the altar to sacrifice another unlucky son of a bitch. His belly shivers, nauseating him.

He gives Eggsy the slightest of nods before he moves, and then they take off, moving as fast as they can without being detected, and as carefully as they can without slowing down too much. Even as the chanting starts to fade in volume behind them, Miles doesn't dare raise his voice above a breathless whisper, and he doesn't dare look back.

"So what happens when that start noticing their dwindling supply of human sacrifices?" Miles mutters under his breath. This little one-by-one operation will only get them so far. "Do you have a bigger extraction plan, or -- " Or are you just resigned to sacrificing some to the slaughter for the greater good? He doesn't know Eggsy from a hole in the ground, but Miles know he's not prepared to resign himself to that. No, there has to be another way. There's always another way.

[neveroutwrenched]

This isn’t right.

Something is wrong; Ratchet’s been in worse situations than this...or at the very least, situations no better. But he’d never had trouble fighting back the panic like this, a thin edge of fear making it impossible to think clear enough to do something about it. It was underlined by the dogged irritability that had been tailing him for days. Had been tailing just about the entire crew, although he’d been so caught up in his own dark mood that noticing everyone else’s had been far in the back of his mind.

He’s trying hard to cycle through his options when he hears muttering to his right; and turns his head sharply, as if realising for the first time that he wasn’t alone. Today wasn’t a very characteristic day for Ratchet, and he gives Miles a hard look.

“I’m guessing that means you don’t have a pocket knife hidden up your sleeve?” His tone too is harder than he’d intended and it turns what would have normally been mild sarcasm into a somewhat biting remark.

[forwardmomentum]

Miles gives Ratchet that had look right back. He resents that tone in general -- let alone one from a giant...cat? Alien, probably, Miles decides; probably the most alien-looking thing he's seen on the Moira. Tali doesn't look nearly as alien as he'd expected. Then again, with the motley crew they've assembled, Ratchet could be anything.

"No, of course I've got a pocket knife up my sleeve," Miles drawls back, his voice just as heavy with vicous sarcasm, "and a whole arsenal besides up my ass. I've just been enjoying the show. Do you really think I'd still be sitting here waiting to be gutted like a fish if I had a weapon on me?"

Come to think of it, why had he left the ship unarmed? He could go for his nerve disruptor and plasma arc right now. At this point Miles'd have no compunctions frying these aliens' brains or -- whatever they've got. Hell, would a nerve disruptor even work on them? Screw it. He'd rather have the plasma arc. He'd rather have anything.