( 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

[whatdidisay]

Ivan's not so far gone into the irritation that's pulling at him to not wince at the smack -- he knows the rules, he can hear every adult he's ever known telling him to be careful with his cousin. Who then promptly was never careful back. At least it was never Ivan's fault when he broke god knows how many bones. So really, this is all Miles's doing. He can live with that.

"Oh that's rich, coming from you," Ivan starts, before Miles wraps his arms around his legs and he's falling backwards, arms out in an attempt to catch him before he hits his own head on the floor. It only works somewhat -- Ivan's too tall for this room, and hits his head on the bottom of Gregor's bed with his own thunk, pulling a curse from him as he's effectively stunned. But the weight of Miles on his legs brings him around quick, and he growls at his cousin again. "Get off me you fucking, shit, Miles, there aren't any good words for you," he says while trying to get his legs out from his grip. "Fucking manic, hyper dwarf of a cousin... get off or I'll make you and won't care how many bones I have to break to do it."

[forwardmomentum]

Miles has heard it all before -- every single cruel name and vicious comment that mutant-hating Barrayar could dredge up, sometimes scraping the bottom of an admittedly deep barrel to do so. He's spent most of his life developing an armor against it -- no, a plasma mirror, something that could take all that spite and cruelty and turn it into something far, far more dangerous in output: someone who'd come out on top every time, if nothing else out of sheer spite. Miles has never been able to afford notto have a thick skin.

But Ivan's comments cut right through all that, setting off a deep, primal resentment in Miles that turns to fury in his throat, only increasing his resolve to pummel Ivan senseless. It's about time someone punched in that stupidly handsome face of his.

"Go on, then," Miles snarls through his teeth, his face strained and his eyes alight with a level of manic energy that's usually a glaring red flag. His expression is devoid of any signs of hesitation or apprehension. This is no-holds-barred, damn-the-consequences, full-tilt Miles. He refuses to let go of Ivan's legs until he's clambered on top of them, trying to pin Ivan with his admittedly paltry weight. "I'd like to see you try."

With a grunt of effort, writhing and thrashing to get away from Ivan's grappling attempts, Miles lurches forward. He gives the floor a kick and scrambles up Ivan to wedge a thigh between Ivan's legs, and rams his knee right into Ivan's crotch.

[whatdidisay]

Ivan's concerned. Or he would be concerned on a normal day, and still is -- you don't grow up with Miles Vorkosigan and not learn the signs of when he could do, well, exactly what he's doing. He doesn't know where it comes from most of the time, and he sure as fuck doesn't know why getting his furry blanket back is enough to do this to him.

Whatever he's about to say fades into the distance as Miles knees him. Ivan doubles over with a shout, ignoring the fact that Miles is pinning him down -- for whatever it's worth. Once he's recovered enough from the shock, he grabs Miles's shoulder in an attempt to pull him off. Gone is the normal carefulness that characterizes most of his physical interactions with his cousin.

"What the hell" he manages to get out, trying to get away from his tiny, angry cousin. "You fucking shit--" which is really a repeat of the first exclamation, but no one ever accused Ivan of being creative.

[forwardmomentum]

The curses, at this point, mean nothing. They're just words, just noises, all inconsequential in the grand scheme of Miles' urgent desire to kick Ivan right in the teeth. But when Ivan spasms at that kick to the balls, one of his knees comes up against Miles' side, knocking the breath from him with a sharp pain -- just before Ivan hauls him by the shoulder, a hell of a lot more roughly than Miles can remember Ivan handling him in a long time. That actually catches him by surprise, and Miles' legs kick out uselessly, eyes snapping wide as Ivan hauls him off. He lets out a choked snarl as his back hits the floor next to Ivan.

"You son of a bitch," Miles bites out, kicking savagely at Ivan's side before he scrambles to his knees, lurching at his cousin. "I trusted you -- "

[whatdidisay]

"Shut up, Miles," he says with far more venom than he's normally capable of. "You don't trust me, you just drag me into whatever fucking mess you got yourself into. Good god, it used to make everyone lecture me, you know. 'Ivan why didn't you look after your cousin better, you know how Miles is' even when they knew it'd been your fault in the first place."

MIles's feet get in a few good hits into his side, and Ivan curves away from it on reflex before reaching out to push him away again before he can launch himself back at him. Is this some horrible side effect of Miles not being able to give up? Probably, knowing Ivan's luck. Ugh.

[forwardmomentum]

"My fau-- " Miles actually chokes off the word in sheer indignation, looking stricken for a moment, then furious -- he winces when Ivan shoves him back, and he tries to push forward again, but then Ivan's launching himself at him. Miles is getting sloppy, he knows, but his mouth is so hot with anger he can't seem to get a grip. "Whatever I've dragged you into, it was because I knew you had my back! Well, I'm sure as shit not going to make that mistake again!"

[whatdidisay]

He doesn't mean to try to slam Miles back as hard as he ends up doing, one hand on his ribs to try and keep him down if Ivan's capable of getting him down at all. "Good," Ivan spits, mouth contorting into something ugly. "Maybe I'll end up living past thirty-five without you. It's fine if you don't give a shit about making it to your next birthday, but some of us like the idea of dying of old age."

[forwardmomentum]

Whatever scathing retort Miles was prepared to deliver is snatched out of his mouth along with his breath, his eyes snapping wide as Ivan's hand connects with his ribcage. There's a sharp pain just below his chest, although the cracking noise he hears is probably just in his imagination, and breathing is suddenly very painful. Miles gasps for breath, spitting it back out in a stream of vicious curses directed at the room, his life, and the universe in general, and instinctively he tries to curl into a ball, hands over his head, but even that small defensive motion hurts like hell. Oh, shit.

What the hell is he doing? What the hell are they doing? Panic makes Miles' breath as short as his injured ribs do, seizing in his chest not only at the pain but the nauseating taste this whole conversation is leaving in his mouth, if you could even call it that. God, to hell with this. To hell with Ivan. Gritting his teeth against a groan, Miles doesn't retaliate, just squeezes his eyes shut and tries to draw in a painfully deep breath.

[whatdidisay]

Ivan's chest heaves with the surprising amount of effort it takes to get his cousin to stop, and then the image of Miles curled up because of him hits Ivan through the fog of annoyance and irritation and everything else that makes him want to shake. He snatches his hand back and nearly throws himself scrambling back, cursing under his breath oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

God he's still pissed, but what comes out of his mouth next is just "oh, shit."

[forwardmomentum]

Ivan just echoes what Miles is thinking, and for some reason it only aggravates his nerves more. But he's in too much pain at the moment to spend any more energy on trying to fight Ivan -- trying being the operative word there. What possessed Miles to think he could beat his cousin in a fight is beyond him.

The anger hasn't exactly dissipated, though, only exacerbated by the pain, and Miles tries to uncurl his body enough to drag himself back toward his bed, every breath bringing a fresh wave of pain. A couple of broken fingers he could live with, but cracked ribs? Fantastic. "Get fucked, Ivan," Miles croaks viciously, breathing hard through his nose with the effort it takes to crawl back to his bed. He doesn't look back at his cousin.