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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.
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thisavrou_log2016-07-19 01:11 am
Adrien | OTA
Captured
[ It had happened quickly, no doubt shepherded along by the fact that he stood out like a sore thumb. Before Adrien had a chance to adapt to where he was, he’d made enough of an impression on someone that a sharp, bee like sting to his neck had dropped him before he could turn and face the threat.
The drug was potent. Even when he regained consciousness he felt disassociated with his body and his surroundings. He could hear voices, talking quickly and at first he couldn’t sort out what language they spoke but slow, as he became more and more alert, he realized that a trade was happening; himself for other slaves. If he heard right, he fetched a price of two sex slaves and three for labor. Huh, not a bad price, he had to suppose.
Which just reinforced the whole sense of disassociation, because he should have been outraged, should have been fighting. But somehow it all seemed like too much effort.
When he woke up next, his head felt a bit clearer and he was able to feel a greater sense of awareness of his surroundings. Not that it did him much good. He was hung up by his arms, toes just barely touching the floor, stripped naked and splayed in a position that artfully placed strain on the muscles of his arms, back and legs.
Time had very little meaning, except that it provided him an opportunity to reflect on the irony of his current circumstances. How much had he lived through? How much had he survived to date, only the end up in a predicament like this, while stationed on a ship like the Moira. He went through a brief period of panic, as he wondered if possibly HQ had reached across the veil of time, space and dimensions, to get their hands on him but he quickly dismissed that notion.
This was just incredibly shitty luck.
After what felt like an eternity, the door to his cell rattled and Adrien looked up in time to watch a small, quick creature come scurrying through the opened doorway. Standing about five foot tall, the upper body, torso and head were vaguely humanoid, while the lower body resembled a centipede, with multiple legs that shifted and moved in hypnotic sort of dance. The creature was dressed in what looked to be fine fabric, pristine white, impossible to keep clean but Adrien didn’t suspect this creature bothered doing his…her’s … its own laundry.
It said nothing as it scooted around him, jet black eyes peering invasively at every line of muscle and sinew on lewd display. Adrien counting himself lucky that the regard held no hint of lascivious intent, it was clinical and measured; he was strictly property.
After a few minutes of study, the creature came back around to face him. The oversized black eyes were odd in the thin, humanoid face. They were unblinking and gave nothing away in terms of emotion or thought process. The creature screeched the noise like nails on a chalkboard and Adrien winced, trying to draw back, only to be drawn up short by his bindings. After a pause the creature screeched again, this time the sound was pitched a bit higher, cutting through the doctor’s head like a spike. ]
I don’t speak bug! [ He snapped, rocking back and getting himself in a world of trouble as the restraints on his arms and legs seemed to attempt to yank him in four different directions at once.
The creature looked perturbed and scuttled to the door, screeching out into the hallway. After a brief pause, during which Adrien managed to get himself sorted out, a humanoid figure appeared in the doorway. Built like a baseline human, the figure had pale orange skin and gills at the side of her throat. She was dressed in simple brown fabric and the way she bowed her head to the screeching bug person, suggested she was also a slave of some sort.
Stepping into the room, she approached Adrien. ]
Our mistress wishes to know if you are more capable with a staff or a knife.
Wh … [ Adrien began, only to realize that it must have been some time since he’d last had water, as his throat was bone dry. Even though he fought to swallow a bit of spit, his voice still came out in a dry whisper. ] The fuck are you on about?
[ The slave showed no reaction to his language and merely repeated. ]
Our mistress wishes to know if you are more capable with a staff or a knife.
[ The doctor tried to muster up a glare but despite his extensive repertoires of glares, the creatures around him appeared immune. No doubt, they had seen plenty before. ]
I’m not interested in either.
[ The slave blinked and turned to relay this to the bug lady, who in turn regarded him with those unnerving black eyes. After a brief stare down (which bug lady was going to win, only because Adrien had to blink) the creature scurried off without further comment.
As for the slave who remained, she called out in a low voice and in response to her summons a very large, very unpleasant looking individual came through the door. ]
When you are prepared to answer our mistress’s question, we will talk again.
[ She said in a quiet tone, before turning and heading out herself, leaving Adrien with Mr. Large and Unpleasant.
The doctor exhaled a slow breath as he peered at the large individual who was now moving his direction. ]
Why do I have a feeling my attitude is about to get an adjustment. [ He muttered, bracing himself for what was to come. ]
Under the arena: Open to other (murdersport slaves)
[ It took more than a couple of days, before something resembling a mutually beneficial solution had been worked out.
Adrien had taken his systematic beatings with an ever growing stubbornness that would have probably seen him killed before he relented. Mr. Large and Unpleasant had proven quite skilled in inflicting maximum pain with minimal debilitating damage. After all, the point was to beat the slave into submission, not leave him so broken that he couldn’t then perform in the arena.
As such there were plenty of contusions, no small number of cracks and aches but no actual breaks. Of course there had been the withholding of food, water, deprivation of sleep (though Adrien did that last one to himself so often he was sort of immune) and one particularly skillful flogging until a truth had come out.
After the flogging, Adrien had been taken down out of the chains and tossed into a pool of ice cold water, before being scrubbed clean. As he’d been laid out on a pallet to air dry (seriously) another area slave had been brought in for treatment; specifically for a fractured femur.
Spurred on by the screaming, Adrien had dragged himself together enough to get from point A to point B, where upon he had set his hands to the writhing slave’s limb and helped mend the bone back to factory settings. If asked, after the fact, he’d have insisted he just did it to stop the horrific noise the slave had been making, however, regardless of his motivations, once again his ‘gift’ would see the Fates’ playing silly buggers with his reality.
Dressed in a pair of roughhewn shorts, he had been hung back up to await more quality time with Mr. L&U. Only it was bug mistress who came scurrying through the door, with her orange tinged assistant at her many heels. The conversation had been to the point as she challenged him as a medical professional and he confirmed the title.
They went back and forth for over an hour before his cell was vacated and he was left to dangle and ponder what was coming next. He waited for over half a day, before a new man came in and Adrien was released, a tunic thrown at him. ]
You will keep the mistress’s top stock in fighting form or you will fight in the arena in their stead.
[ And so that was how Adrien came to be doing on this outpost, what he did back on the Moira. He was kept under one of the largest arenas, moving from case to case. His priority was for any fighters owned by his own mistress but, as she was a savvy business woman, his services were ‘sublet’ for a hefty fee to see to the injuries of other murdersport participants.
For the time being, Adrien was keeping his head down and simply moving where he was directed but it was all together possible that he’d find himself face to face with a crewmate. When this happened, he tried not to make too much of a production of knowing someone but, as soon as his ‘handler’ had fallen back a pace or two, he couldn’t keep from asking. ]
How are you holding up?
Rescue – Closed to the well-meaning trio for later in the event.
[ Unfortunately the value of his medical services did not quite offset the stubborn disobedience of his mouth.
Adrien couldn’t keep a civil tongue and it had come back to bite him in the ass. Or in this case, leave him strung back up in his cell, suspended from the ceiling by his arms, legs shackled to the floor so just his toes touched.
He got to keep his shorts, which was nice for his modesty but his tunic had been removed so he could fully experience yet another strapping at the hands of Mr. L&U.
Left to consider his ill-advised remarks, while enjoying the latest application of bruises the doctor let his head hang down between his aching arms. He was honestly starting to wonder if help was coming or if he was going to have to sort out his own resolution to this nightmare.]
Wildcard
[ I don't have any real 'no go' topics in this plot so I'm open for anything. Adrien could be 'loaned' to help slaves in other areas, as well as the mudersport group. If you want to plot something specific, feel free to PM this journal or poke me at
under the arena
Having someone coming up to tend to the worst of his wounds wasn't new. Not after he'd been through several of these events. Having Adrien appear in front of him to handle him, however, was absolutely new. A twist that Wash hadn't seen coming.
The only surprise he actually expressed, however, came in the form of him sitting up straighter and eyeing the doctor for a long moment, as though not believing what he was seeing. But no, it was definitely Adrien, the fact that the other man showed his own signs of recognition proved that. They really had to stop meeting while he was injured and looking like shit. The hand covering his newest stab wound on his left thigh shifted slightly, spreading some blood around before Wash resumed putting pressure on it in a continued effort to staunch the bleeding. To the question, he offered a quirk of his head that could only be read as sardonic. ]
Oh, you know. I'm here against my will and being forced to fight to the death on a regular basis for the entertainment of others. I'm great.
[ His sarcasm was dry and biting, even if it was admittedly kind of nice to see a familiar face around. One that he wouldn't have to fight. Not that he was about to make that obvious. ]
Seems like you lucked out.
[ Eyebrows raising slightly, Wash's eyes darted to the looming figure who seemed to be around to keep an eye on Adrien. Fixing people up was definitely a step up from being forced to kill them, not that Wash had any real qualms with killing if it meant his own survival. Didn't mean he wanted to be forced into the situation. Still, neither of their circumstances were remotely okay, and the reminder of that only made him want to find a way out of this all the more. ]
As much as anyone can here, anyway.
no subject
Stifling a wince, he hunkered down on his heels and made a shooing motion at Wash’s hand so he could get a look at the stab wound. ]
You must be doing something right. Apparently my ‘services’ don’t come cheap.
[ He wouldn’t remark on it but there had been a few times, over the past days when he’d been forced away from helping someone in dire straits because that individual’s owner refused to spend money on them. Adrien had a love/hate relationship with his profession much of the time, but walking away from someone, begging for their life, did not set well on his shoulders.
However, now was not the time to dwell on the fact. At least they hadn’t tried to force him away from a member of his crew.
As he studied the wound, Adrien shifted himself around so his shoulders were presented to his ‘handler’. He pitched his voice low, hopefully enough to carry to Wash but soft enough to be drown out by the moans and shouts from the rest of the block. ]
Have you seen or heard from anyone else?
no subject
Yeah, I conveniently have a background in killing people who don't necessarily deserve it.
[ Not to mention extensive training in combat and in surviving in general. Though the latter seemed to be more of some ridiculous talent, or something. Either way, he had a lot of benefits working in his favour when it came to being thrown into an arena to fight someone to the death. He was good. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that the asshole who'd literally bought him was shelling out to get him medical treatment.
Didn't mean he was going to appreciate the act.
He heard Adrien's next words well enough, offering a slight shake of his head. Interacting with any of the rest of the crew wasn't something he'd had any opportunity for. Even when he'd see a familiar face, it was gone before he could figure out where he knew them from. Lowering his own voice to keep them from being overheard, Wash used the hand not covered in (fresh) blood to scrub at his face. ]
No. I'll catch a glimpse of someone here or there, but I haven't had any extended contact with anyone. Not until now.
[ A beat. ]
What about you? Anything?
no subject
Pretty much the same and it appears our MIDs still function, though if you're watched closely, try to be discreet if you use it.
[ He'd nearly had his own taken away when he'd been caught talking on it. ]
From what I can tell, it doesn't appear that all of us are trapped here. [ He'd let Wash decipher what that meant on his own. But basically, so long as the entire crew wasn't being held, sold off then perhaps there was some room for escape attempts.
At least, some hope of a ship to go back too.
For now, however, he sat back and looked up with a flat lipped expression. ]
I need you to take off your trousers, so I can treat this.
no subject
Guess that means there's a shot of getting out of here. Somehow.
[ But who even knew where they were? He had no idea. They could be so far away from the ship that escape attempts would be futile and rescue attempts may not come for months. Positive as the possibility that not everyone was here was, there were too many possible factors for Wash to get any of his hopes up.
The request for him to remove his pants had his attention brought back to the present situation with a pause. Oh, right. His leg. A nod, and Wash didn't bother with any bashfulness. Wasn't like he wasn't used to doctors seeing him with varying amounts of clothing missing. He slipped from his seat with ease, landing carefully on his more steady leg and wasting no time in dropping trou. That took a bit more work, what with his bad leg, but he successfully slipped out of his pants eventually before resuming his seated position with another quick glance around. ]
Do you have an estimate of how many of us are here? Or do you only know that some of the crew is still safe because you've managed contact with the ship?
no subject
Sorry Wash, this probably wasn't a particularly pain free process. But it was thorough. ]
I don't have an exact count. Only the flash of a couple of familiar faces, encounters like this one but otherwise I'm kept in my cell the rest of the time.
[ Balanced on his heels, he glanced over his shoulder, before scooting a little closer to Wash on the pretense of working on the wound. His voice dropped to a whisper that would only carry between the pair of them. ]
I did hear from someone back aboard the Moira. Rescue efforts are being launched by crew still back there.
no subject
As Adrien went on to answer his questions, he nodded along. Their situations sounded about the same, save for Adrien being pulled out of his cell for things like this as opposed to being thrown into the arena. ]
Guess that's some good news for once.
[ Voice lowering to near the same register as Adrien's, Wash's gaze flitted to the few guards around them, and to the other man's handler. Fortunately, they seemed to remain oblivious and out of earshot. ]
Here's hoping they get here sooner rather than later. I doubt that most of the others here are coping well.
[ Also, he was pretty damn tired of being treated like shit and having to kill for the entertainment of others. Rescue would be nice. Any day now. ]
2 mages 1 thief
Which didn't mean he was going it alone. He's not stupid. But he does know two mages who are just dumb enough to join him on this venture.]
Hawke, you see any of this area when you were trapped here before?
[He speaks in a low tone, trying to look casual and like just another spectator interested in watching the arena fights. He doesn't know where Adrien is being held, but it has to be somewhere around here.]
no subject
No. We were held somewhere else. No arenas just creeps staring at us like we were a bunch of druffalo out for slaughter.
[There's an involuntary shudder that she mostly manages to suppress. As much as she tries to will it away by ignoring it, her experience with the buyer in the holding cell is still lurking in every dark corner of her mind, refusing to be boxed in and put away.]
But we were moved from cells to areas where the buyers were. So there might be holding cells under the arena.
no subject
Though yes, he is dumb for coming out here, but Hawke needed healing potions and lyrium and she was the only other mage aboard the Moira...and Nate was his artist. He had horses in this race!
Okay there was some moral motivation involved here. Save a life at the risk of his own well-being? There were worse things he supposed.
That didn't mean he was optimistic about their odds. He tried not to be, as that had a tendency to backfire on him every single time.
Instead he tried to focus his attention on things that were important, like Hawke's state of dress. There was a gentleman in him somewhere that felt irate by the very idea that someone would put their hands on her, but more to the point. Pants, Hawke.]
Well then, shall we try those cells first?
[And while he's thinking of it, Hawke, here's the potions as promised. Little green bottle of healing potion and two bottles of lyrium, because she was going to need it. They were both going to need it.]
cw: physical violence/punishment for disobedience and talk of death
He had finally dug his heels in about being forced to walk away from a murder sport arena participant who had been severely injured in a loss. The man was being left, literally in a ditch at the edges of the arena to slowly die of a compound fracture, which Adrien knew he could fix. He and his ‘handler’ had argued loudly and furiously about the situation, which had caught the attention of more than a few individuals.
In the end it had been a futile argument. Adrien had been dragged away from the dying individual, without being allowed to help. He’d been strung up in his cell, stripped to the waist and thoroughly strapped, in front of witnesses. It seemed his ‘mistress’ wouldn’t tolerate any open defiance to those she placed in charge of her slaves and she was utterly merciless about making sure everybody understood their place and her position above them.
He’d been left, still hanging from shackles that bound his arms up towards the ceiling, legs chained to the floor, so he was stretched out on tiptoes. He was still shirtless, which was a small mercy as the weight of the rough tunic would have been a discreet but inescapable torture on his sore back. Water would have been nice but he suspected he was getting a little deprivation on that front to further hammer home his ‘mistress’s’ point.
Fun times. ]
just...sit tight there, doc...they'll get to you...eventually...
[What, he can be discreet. He's choked more than one guy out in his time. Nate just doesn't want to attract attention going in—it'll make it harder to get out, and if they draw attention to the Moira, well, then everyone is fucked, including people who probably can't fight back so well, especially not while everyone's still reeling from the Caducan attack.
The safest thing would be to cut their losses and move on, let the Ingress pull in some replacement crewmates. To hell with that.]
Also, what kind of magic can you guys work with? [Aside from sparkles.] Any kind of, I don't know, illusions? Something to make us less noticeable?
Sorry bro.
And no. No illusions. I was hoping we'd stick with the "kill as many as possible with fire, ice, and lightning and enjoy the shocked look on the faces" thing that I'd started. As I just said, it's working out wonderfully. For me.
[She takes the potions from Dorian, brows furrowed as if she's not exactly quite sure... Oh, she'd asked for these. In some sort of mana depleted manic state. Right. She's tempted to take the health potion now to do something about the cut on her forehead and the scrapes on her knees but for once she manages to resist her impulses. The potion goes into the pocket of her oversized coat for later. There might be someone who needs it more than she does. Or maybe it's part of the weird self-flagellation she gets into sometimes. Who knows. She didn't ask for a therapist.]]
so sorry~ my alergies have been trying to kill me!
[Mages are tricksy bastards like that.]
If we don't have to fight, or leave behind a trail of bodies like bread crumbs, perhaps we should. I've a few confusion grenades if we need them that could make us less noticeable or cover our tracks.
[Because Dorian is all about avoiding injury if at all possible.]
no worries, I was away at a wedding myself. also got the go-ahead to skip the doc for a bit.
[LOOKING AT YOU, HAWKE.]
I can choke a guy out if I need to, but you know, one at a time.
[He's efficient. But he's only human.]
All right, let's head down there. Move like you know where you're going and don't need to ask permission.
[And they're off. If Nate has the fewest capabilities of the group, he's at least good at pretending that's not the case.] By the way, Hawke, I would have brought you some pants if you asked.
I had two weddings and then fell back into Overwatch hell so I was late to this thread I'm sorry.
Still for someone not wearing pants, she's pretty good at walking around like she's perfectly entitled to be here.]
You know, it kind of slipped my mind when I was busy running from people who wanted to capture me and sell me to a creepy brothel and/or owner. Priorities and all that.
life >.<
Plan A before plan B? Perhaps?
However this ends up playing out, Dorian is perfectly content to follow someone else's lead, his role, essentially, is the quintessential backseat driver.]
Like peers of the realm? [Well Dorian has nobility and entitled covered, he can blend, just look at his fancy I-look-like-I-could-buy-a-slave outfit.] I think I have it covered, and perhaps you can choke someone out with a respectable pair of pants, then we can all be beatific together. Not that we should hold hands and skip off into the sunset just yet.
[Well, not happy, not until they are out of here with Nate's target in toe. Which reminds him to slip a grenade in his hand. Magic has been a bit unpredictable for Dorian, if he could avoid it in a risky situation all the better.]
my turn to bring up the late train choo choo
[All right, not really. Nate doesn't want to see anyone enslaved, even total assholes he'd like to kick in the face; as he doesn't want to kick Dorian, Hawke or Adrien, having each other's backs and rescue, respectively, are the only options.]
Okay. Here we go.
[Slipping into the nearest entrance that leads to the area with the cells is surprisingly easy, maybe because no one expects anyone without business there to want to go there. After the stairs lead down, there's a small labyrinth of halls that are mostly empty—until they turn a corner and bump into two arena workers.
Well, they outnumber them. There's that, at least.]
TSK TSK
[Not that she wants to hold either of you guys' hands. Because... no. Just no. Oh. Two arena workers. Well that's an easy thing to deal with. Hawke grabs her staff and leaps forward ahead of Nathan and Dorian. With a swift motion, she encases the two worker's heads in a block of ice and they drop to the ground.
Will it kill them? Maybe. But they're slavers so who really gives a shit. If anything she wishes she had set them on fire. All of this is really a stupid move for someone running on low mana but Hawke was never known for her genius.]
Off to a good start, at least. They're really quite squishy once you get past the guns.
[Ok, Hawke.]
\o/ I'm a terrible person
[He's not entirely sure what kind of something, but there's really no time to ponder it as Hawke makes the first move. Impressive actually, violent and quiet at the same time, two things that don't normally go together in his experience.
That's actually a good way to keep on unless they've got a larger group to contend with]
Squishy? You mean like the inside of a candy bar?
[Apt description.]
it's called fashionably late and dorian is so very fashionable
[He sounds more 'kinda irritated' than angry, mainly because he is. Nate doesn't really give a fuck whether a couple of slavers have to pay the price for their crimes, even if they aren't crimes here. But he would really, really like to get everyone out alive.]
Candy bars taste better than recently-alive viscera. Can one of you do something about this or do I need to drag them by their ankles to the nearest broom closet?
[As if anyone here cleans.]
no subject
She turns at a sound down the hallway. More slavers. Guards or maybe owners, either way, who cares? She moves down the hallway like a serpent; quick, dangerous, and deadly. A barrier blocks most of the gunfire that comes her way but it's largely erratic and ineffectual anyway. She ducks low and jabs her staff into a slaver's ankle and rips it clean through. When his body collapses, she quickly rises and shoves it forward into the group causing them to stumble back. She leans back to dodge a bayonet and forces the rest back with wave of ice that causes some to be stuck in place while others yelp as shards of ice spray their bodies.
Then in a swift motion, she shoves all of them backwards with a nice spell of gravity into a solitary confinement room and then quickly locks the door and puts a sheet of ice over it.]
There. Quietly. Or at least, they'll be quiet.
[Ow. Her stomach hurts. She reaches out to poke the aching spot and her hand comes away bloody. Oh yeah, she'd been shot. Her haphazard healing must have ripped open in all the commotion. Whoops. Oh well. She wipes the blood on her coat and pokes a head around the hallway.]
Seems dark down here. Might be holding cells? Hopefully?
Dorian is more fashionable than most (and damnit dreamwidth!)
Either way, they weren't walking away from this without facing some obstacles and Dorian's fear was that there would be more than one or two scattered guards on patrol. As soon as the guns start shooting rounds, Dorian has his barrier up instantly, shielding himself and Nate from harm while Hawke cleaned up the mess. He's trying to avoid magic, but something is telling him that magic might be unavoidable, and Hawke seems less concerned about that than he does.]
Perhaps no one heard that? [What? Wishful thinking. Dorian wasn't known for his optimism so this was what approached positive. Of course one of their number had a hole in their stomach, he was being absolutely unrealistic. Concerned, mostly for her well being and partly for the fact that drops of her blood following them around would leave a trail, Dorian rifled around for another potion and physically deposited the bottle in her hand.] As much as I love dark and creepy we can't stay here, drink that and I'll give us a bit of light, shall I?
[Don't worry Nate, they'll get out alive.]
I THINK ADRIEN CAN FINALLY DO MORE THAN BLEED AND FEEL LIKE CRAP?
Hawke clearly has some issues to work out, and Nate respects that. He'd just really like it if she worked them out in a way less likely to get them all killed or imprisoned. Then again, considering what she just did, that still doesn't seem tremendously likely. They'll just worry about the whole "exposing the existence of the Moira" thing later.
The magic barrier thing is neat, at least. He wants to poke it but now's not the time.]
Doesn't matter if they heard us as long as they don't catch us. Let's find Adrien and get the hell out of here.
[And hey, once they've got the doc, maybe he can help with Hawke's brand new hole? Maybe not. Nate leads the way to the cells proper as if he knows where he's going.]
Doc? You here? This is more or less a rescue.
MULTITASKING!
i am so sorry I have had my reply sitting unposted for days...
don't be sorry, my allergies have me in a near comatose state
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