thisavrou_log | ( july event log )

Entry tags:

( 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! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Capture; 18-22; open to slaves

Peter would like to think he could out run anything, but he's learned quickly on his trip through space that only applies to things he can see coming. His arrival had him disoriented and the slaver had come from behind. He should have been able to run, but the hit had come straight at the same knee he'd injured in his last go with Rinzler. Peter wasn't proud to admit it, but he hadn't been much of a fight.

Now he's stuck in the holding area with others wearing the same shackles, some he recognizes and more that he doesn't. He's limping around the edge of the stall, looking for anyway to get out even though he's realized there's little point to it if he can't think of a way to contact the ship. Still, he can't give up after the fantastic failure of getting caught in the first place.

A buyer stops by the edge of his stall. Peter doesn't look at them, just bodily throws himself against the wall separating him from another slave until the material starts to creak and strain. He mutters to himself until they pass. Thus far he's managed to keep from getting sold with his erratic behavior but he knows sooner or later he'll end up pissing off the slavers for it. Peter leans against the wall he'd hit, sighing and waiting to see if the bulky men who'd taken him earlier will show up in protest.

"Sorry about that," he says loudly, hoping the person on the other side could hear.

Rescued; 24-on; OTA

He should have returned the ship after his sisters freed him. Logic said too many people here knew his face, that he was still recovering and wasn't useful until he was back to full speed. Peter didn't care.

He'd been useless while in captivity, letting himself get caught and needing someone else to save him. It didn't matter that he was hardly the only one, it was just another thing in a long list that felt like failure to the teenager. Coming back to the outpost, hat pulled low over his face and knees marginally better, gave him a chance to make up for it. A chance to help someone else.

He went straight for where he knew some slaves were being held, a knife held tight in his pocket and intent all over his face. Some guards marched a line of slaves by, Peter caught one of the captured's eyes and smiled. He slipped out the knife, nodded toward the guard and silently counted off on his fingers. One. Two. He tightened his grip on the handle, tensed and made ready to leap on the guard.

Three.

He manages to hold off any attempts to buy him for a few days; he's oddly proud of that. There had been the close call with a sickly looking pair of men who had the slavers bring him out for a look, talking about lunch over his head like he wasn't even there. They'd prodded at him like an animal, making him uncomfortable and pissy in turns. The final straw had been one lifting up his shirt to poke at the scar left from his ill attack on Rinzler. He'd stopped breathing for a moment in blind panic, blood running cold. When the same man had asked to see his teeth, Peter bit him without thinking.

He'd earned a number of bruises for that stunt. They'd doubled the restraints the next time, promising worse if he tried it again.

Peter didn't get the chance to try. The next man to make an offer didn't bother touching him, just gave over the money in a way that spoke more about his wealth than his body guards. Peter wasn't the only one to be lead back towards the man's ship, all of them hearing the same short speech from one of the guards about the mines to where they were being sent before they were set to work loading the good their 'master' bought.

He was working on autopilot, stacking boxes into the ships cargo hold numbly. If the ship took off, he was certain he wouldn't see the Moira again. Not without dying first. He could try to escape, but he's not sure he could get off the shackles at his ankles with his injuries. Or where he would go once he had them off. Peter leans over one of the boxes, trying to fight the dread in his stomach. He caught the flicker of something red out of the corner of his eye and even as the guard screamed at him to get back to work, he started to feel a shred of hope.

He knew that magic anywhere.

Edited 2016-07-21 03:32 (UTC)

Wisps of red cling to her fingertips and Wanda's anger burns so hot that even her eyes have shifted to scarlet. How close were they to losing him? An hour? Half an hour? Less?

But she's found him now and finally can firmly close her mind against the pain and the fear of the slaves and the sludge of the thoughts of their owners. It makes her really wish brain bleach was an actual thing.

First things first: they're going to have to do something about that guard, get to Peter and get those damn shackles off him. Wanda glances over to River - they've only got one shot at this, and if she gets hit by anything electric, she's done.

She doesn't speak - she doesn't need to, not for their purposes. River will hear her anyway. We need to get rid of that one.

River doesn't smolder in anger over what's been done to Peter, not the way Wanda does. For her, it's a shard of ice burrowing its way into her chest. Family always comes back in time. But the knowledge of how close they came to missing him makes her feel cold inside. She uses it like she'd use any tool. She spent hours in the markets, numbing herself to the pain in order to pick up what she needs for this part. A voice.

She looks over at Wanda, gesturing for her to get out of sight.

River takes a deep breath and calls out, her voice picking up the accent of some of the rich buyers, except the pitch is higher and makes her sound even younger than she is. "Papa? Papa, where are you?"

Stepping out into the guard's line of sight, she knows how she looks. Peter's jacket over a whimsical black dress. Little rich girl. The little girl part is most important. The warning that she shouldn't be there is a ignored as she steps closer, giggling.

"Papa said he had a present for me. I was supposed to meet him here." River doesn't look at Peter, not even a glance. She just pouts for the guard and waits until he's close enough to grab at her arm. Before he touches her, River is already twisting away, one knee coming up between the guard's legs to bring him down. She finishes him with a punch to the face.

Her hand only starts to ache once the guard is down and unconscious. In the end River decides the satisfaction of seeing the guard crumple is worth the pain.

"It's clear, for now," She calls to Wanda.

He doesn't want to take his eyes away from where he saw the flash of color, but he does, just long enough to comply with what the guard's trying to scream at him. Peter ignores the sound of the kid and picks up another box, looking back for the red again. When he doesn't see it, his heart sinks. Maybe he'd just imagined it, maybe his mind was just playing cruel tricks to make him think of Wanda. And then River steps out.

He drops the box back on the ground, gaping as he watches River stand there. It takes a moment for his head to catch up with what he's seeing and his heart nearly stops. Peter forgets the video, everything she's capable of and just sees the potential for her to get taken too. Peter forgets the shackles and trips over himself trying to get to her first, to get her as far from danger as possible. He forgets that she's dangerous but by the time he's back on is feet, he's getting a front row reminder.

"River," he starts, voice strangled. He half reaches for her, half tries to twist away on look out for other threats. The others like him, shackled and wide eyed, are whispering around them. There won't be much time before the other guards and the buyer show up. "Shit. Who were you, you just- We got to go."

Wanda ducks behind another pile of boxes and waits until she hears the guard fall and River call to her. Though she dashes out as fast as she can, it feels like she's moving at half-speed. She can't get there quickly enough because this never should have happened.

Brothers really do take so much looking after.

"Not without you." And maybe with a side helping of Avengering - the slaves could take this ship somewhere else if the buyer and his guards were indisposed, right? But family is, as always, Wanda's first priority and she fires one hex bolt to strike and corrode the chains, then gestures sharply twice to take care of the shackles.

She reaches for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. This isn't the place for a group hug although it's sorely wanted. "Is that all? Can you run if you have to?"

Edited 2016-07-22 23:19 (UTC)

While Wanda is busy freeing Peter, River quickly goes through the guard's pockets and takes everything worth taking. Money, a shock stick she tucks into her belt and, most importantly, keys. The communicator on the guard's belt she takes care of with a stomp of her boot. With that taken care of she tosses the keys to the nearest slave so they can begin to free themselves. It's not as dramatic as a hex bolt but it still gets the job done.

The feeling of misery is pervasive in the place but having Peter back makes it easier to bear. She pulls off his coat, coming up behind her brother to set it on his shoulders carefully. "You forgot this,"

To Wanda she says, "We should go soon." She glances at the slaves who are helping each other out of their shackles. "This place is going to be very loud soon."

It's an instantaneous relief to have the chains fall away, like taking a breath after too long under water. His first instinct is to run, to get out all the energy he's kept bottled up since he got caught. He tamps down on that, focuses on Wanda's touch instead. Some part of him wants to crawl into her arms and stay there, the way he used to do to his mother when he'd had a bad dream. It's only been a matter of days, weeks, but he's missed her like sunlight. Like air or water and he suddenly feels so stupid for wanting to avoid her since Pietro arrived.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when River settles familiar cloth over him. The jacket smells familiar, but also a little like her and when he pulls away from Wanda to stick his arms through, he shoots a relieved smile to it's keeper. "It was in good hands," he says quietly.

He looks back between River and Wanda, takes a deep breath. "I can run." He'll make himself. He can rest when this is over. "I can get you both out of here. How'd you get here? Is the Moira docked?"

What happened with the Caducans still made Ava wary of fighting. So many people died and Ava nearly did too, enough that she Frenzied when she had lost too much blood. The idea that it could happen again kept her from initially joining any undertaking into the fray. But as the days passed and no one was returning, she finally jumped in.

She wasn't looking for anyone in particular. She just needed to make sure as many Moirans and slaves were freed on their way out. No one was going to be left here in this pit. Ava slipped into the outpost quietly, sword at her side, and made every effort to keep low. There were some slaves being brought through the area and she started to count the guards, keep them in her sight.

There was movement and someone had gotten the idea before her, leaping on a guard. The slaves moved, started to fight back. Ava rushed in and sliced through a guard before he had a chance to hurt anyone, blade sticking from his chest. She turned and attacked another, striking through the stomach, soundless, wordless. The commotion would bring more if they weren't quick about it.

He didn't go for a kill strike, didn't dig the knife straight into the slaver's neck even though he wanted to. The easy, quick death seemed wrong, both in that he felt these men deserved worse and that the idea of murder was still taking time to settle on his skin. Peter went for the side instead, feeling a little vindictive at the thought of giving someone else a scar that matched his own.

Maybe he had a few issues he still needed to deal with from his near death months ago. Maybe this wasn't the best time to work that out. He didn't get time to think about it, not before he noticed someone familiar jumping into the fray. He turned and watched Ava move for a moment, how she twisted and twirled and left bodies falling in her wake. It was a little like watching Rive, mesmerizing and just a little terrifying.

He gave himself just a second to watch before he darted in to take down the other man with the slave, shoving a fist into his stomach until he heard something snap. Peter then whirled around, reaching out to brush a hand on Ava's shoulder briefly. He addressed the closest slave instead. "The rich pigs keep a bunch of ships off that way. There's enough of you to take one by force and get the hell out of this place."

The blur of activity she saw confirmed that the other fighter was Peter, and there was palpable relief welling up within her. In these circumstances, Ava didn't much care who saw her use her abilities or how she fought. With the Caducan's attacking, no one seemed to care much about who was doing what or what someone could do. It came down to survival.

Being here wasn't that different.

When the few slavers there finally hit the dirt, Peter was at her side and he was pushing for the slaves to go. Ava nodded alongside him, voice quiet. "Don't hold back. They're not going to stop until you guys are in chains again. Give them all you've got and don't let them take you again." If it sounded like she was encouraging them to kill, she certainly was. There wasn't any mercy left in her after what they'd all been through. She turned to look at Peter. "We should get these guys tied up so they can't do anything." The ones still alive, anyway. "We don't want them calling for help."

He watches her from the corner of his eye, nodding slightly to her orders for the slaves. He couldn't fault them if they did kill the slavers. He didn't think there was anyone free here worth sparing, not after what he'd seen.

He moves at her next suggestion, one moment at her side and the next standing over a groaning guard. He's pulling back at one's jacket, ripping the fabric and using it as makeshift rope for the man's wrists. "Good idea," he says after a moment, glancing toward her. He winds the cloth around the guards arms quickly, not caring what kind of friction burns he's causing."We need to stash them somewhere they won't get found for a while. Give everyone a little more time."

"Are you-" Peter starts, stops. "Rescue mission or did you just get away?"

Peter moves and so does she, going to one of the other fallen guards. She grabs him and tears off his belt, using it to tie his arms back uncomfortably. There are two others she's killed, bodies they'll need to dispose of. A shame they can't just set them on fire. Ava grabs one of them by the leg and drags them over to one of the corners, propping them up in the shadows like they're sleeping. It's not very convincing, she realizes. "Yeah, we'll need to find something more obscure. A tent, maybe, keep them all in one place."

She looks back at him from over her shoulder, frowning sharply. "Rescue. Sort of." She didn't come on the first wave. She should have, though. "What about you? Did you...?" Ava doesn't remember seeing him on the Moira when the groups went out.

He follows, the guard held up in a fireman's carry. Peter drops him without preamble, giving a dangerous grin that looks more like a grimace. He looks around, biting his lip and trying to think if he'd seen anywhere while he was here that they could stick the bodies. "The tents where they keep the-" He makes an obscene gesture, not sure how to say sex slaves when he knows some of their own had been stuck there.

He hunches his shoulders, doesn't meet her gaze. He goes back for another body instead, dragging one of the living guards over. "I'm here to help now. Before." He stops. "I've gotten to know this place pretty well. Let's say that. That's why I think we could use the tents. Or maybe put them behind where they're keeping the people to be sold. Some of the holding buildings are close together, the alleys could work."

Ava's attention follows his, looking at the tents nearby. Her brow furrows and something like bile rises in her throat...but she nods. "Out of sight, yeah. Good plan." And if they can find and free other slaves, all the better. She grabs the body she's been trying to move and shifts it again, stronger than her thin frame seems to suggest. For all that she's a Tremere and a purveyor of blood magic, she's had to learn to be stronger, faster, than her kindred might initially seem.

But Peter doesn't want to meet her gaze, and that's the concerning part. She swallows again, uncomfortable, and reaches out with a hand to touch his shoulder. A part of her wants to say something - because Peter doesn't know this place without reason - and some other part of her wants to peek in and confirm her suspicions...but she respects him too much to do that. "Let's...look into the tents. If there's others, we can free them and keep moving." These people need to pay and to pay dearly, but not at the cost of their own freedom. Neither of them can afford to be caught.

He notes what she's doing, something to be asked about later. He's used to people on the ship being a little more than they first appear. He's a mutant is nearly expected. But Peter's been here a long time, Ava's been here a long time. He's not seen anything out of her in all the months he's known her to make him think she's something other than just another human. When this is over he'll need to talk to her, maybe. Remind her he's not human either.

He tenses a little under her touch. He doesn't want to talk about it. Not to her, not to anyone. Not even to Wanda. He's relieved she doesn't go further than the touch. Peter hasn't figured out the right way to say 'I can't' yet. He turns toward the tents, taking a deep breath and trying to let out the tension as the air escapes into a sigh. "Okay. But let me go in first, I'm faster."

Ava releases him without a word, not wanting to make a scene out of this or to make Peter continue to feel uncomfortable about this situation. She doesn't know what's happened to him and doesn't want to imagine it if it's worse than she assumes.

Instead, she steps away as he speaks and she gives a brief nod, pulling out the blade she has. Can't be too careful. "Go ahead. If there's anything, let me know. I can be right there." Peter will be infinitely faster and can barely be seen when he wants to be. It'll be better, but she can't help but be afraid for him and a little wary of the situation.

(no subject)

takeitslow - 2016-08-25 19:51 (UTC) - Expand

Rinzler's come and gone from the station more than once already. Transport is his function on the ship, combat the purpose he was written for. Ownership is hardly a new concept. Rinzler's not sure at all how he feels about the trade that goes on at this station, the idea of users laying claim to one another the way they so casually do to his own kind. Users aren't written to obey and serve (not like he is), but he can't hold them quite so far above programs as he used to. He's killed far too many here for that.

But if can't condemn the practice as readily as most of the Moira's crew (not when he's so very occupied not thinking about the parallels), Rinzler's loyalties are to his own system. He has targets to extract. Data to gather. Allies to support. And considering how much the users who've come here have done for him, helping them delete some malware is a small favor.

The program's current goal is tagged "distraction". Nihlus is angling to infiltrate and sabotage, Elle to support his incursion. Rinzler needs to draw off as many of the corporation's guards as possible, and attacking their transport groups seems like an easy method—especially when they property they're moving is already prone to running off. If they aren't busy fighting him, they'll be chasing after their lost tools, and either way, it means less threats for the others to evade.

This group has six: two at the front of the line, two behind, and two patrolling along the middle. One is already chatting on some kind of comm device; Rinzler flags it for last so it can call in backup. Better to wipe the mobile functions first. He slips into position, lights dark and noise muted as he perches on a nearby wall, one baton filling each hand. They'll pass below in three. Two. One—

Rinzler drops, and his weapons hum to life, one lightsword carving a neat path through the guard's throat and down into its core. The strike is clean and quick, and he hits the ground in a roll, pulling his blade free as cries of surprise break through the crowd. He's up just as quickly, weapons turning on the next threat... only to find it occupied already.

By a very familiar blur.

He tackles on of the guards, not the largest one as logic would demand be taken out first. No, he goes for the one that looks the most like the man who'd taken him in the first place. It's not the same person, but Peter sees a resemblance in the shape of the jaw and in the hard glint of the eyes.

Today, like every other, he's working off emotion. Not tactics.

He doesn't stick the knife into the man's throat or heart, not even if there's a dark little voice in him that wants to. But he has learned something from his knee injury. After a quick, angry stab to the guard's shoulder, Peter digs the knife deep into the back of the man's leg. Ruin the muscles there and the chance of escape is gone.

The actions have only taken a few second, quick enough that there's barely any blood on Peter yet. He stands before the screaming can start, looking for his next target.

He sees Rinzler instead.

It makes him hesitate instead of go after the next guard. It makes him stay in place long enough that the injuries party has enough time to realize they're hurt and start to shout. Peter blinks at Rinzler, trying to figure out how he can both free the remaining slaves and right off an attack from the program. He doesn't think he can, not with his leg still damaged. He's still fast enough to dispatch these normal assholes, but Rinzler can take any disadvantage and bring Peter to the brink.

But then he notices the guard on the ground, one Peter didn't take out.

"Okay." Peter turns swiftly, seeing the other guards start to move out of the corner of his eye. He meant to have this done before anyone could take another breath, in and out within seconds. He keeps talking to Rinzler over his shoulder, taking the downed guard as an indication this won't be as messy as he thought. He hopes so. "I'm not here to fight you," he says, because he has to be sure this won't turn into a rematch. Not yet. "I'm here for them."

The enforcer doesn't stiffen. He doesn't lock. Unnecessary tension in a fight will only slow him, and if the threat decides to seize the moment for payback, he can't afford the slightest disadvantage to his speed. He'd come prepared to take on the malware's guards and keepers, planning to draw out an easy fight, but if the glitch in front of him chooses to oppose him, this could get very difficult indeed.

But as much dislike as Rinzler might still hold for the user, as carefully as he tracks its every move... he doesn't miss the other data either. The writhing figure dropping to the ground. The other guards, turning toward two targets. And the careful, deliberate motions as the potential threat turns its back.

Here for them. Not a fight. Rinzler eyes that exposed back for a long second, feeling the empty space between his own shoulders far too sharply—the disks that are missing because he'd had to turn them over for another to hide. The reminder is enough to spark a storm of resentment, visuals overlaying with flags of enemy and prey. But he hadn't given up his disks because of this user. And today, at least, it isn't on a different side.

System threats hold the priority. Rinzler's noise surges and falls, irritation and acknowledgement in one, and he turns toward the next enemy. Its weapon is already free of a holster; the enforcer slips sideways, flattening against a wall to duck out of line with the gun's barrel. One shot rings out, and he steps off the surface. A second, and he leaps.

He spares another few tenths of a second to watch Rinzler, attention torn between threats. He still hates the program, still tastes iron just to think about what happens every time they meet. But right now the image of what the slavers did to him is fresher in his mind. These aren't the same men but they stand for the same things. And the revenge he wants in the moment is standing in flesh and blood. Not wires and code.

He fight the program if he has to. But Peter's not lying when he says that for the first time in a long while, his mind isn't on Rinzler.

When Rinzler turns away, back to fighting off the guards, Peter lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Hope and expectations are different beasts, and he didn't think he'd be granted the impasse that he wanted. And yet here they are.

Where Rinzler goes one way, Peter darts to the other. He heads toward the back to round off the slavers at the rear; not for a second could he think that Rinzler couldn't handle the man in front of him. The knife makes short work of the guard, a few efficient puncture wounds brings the man down to his knees. This creatures are too close to human, armed weapons that fire like molasses and movements that were slower still. This wouldn't be a long fight even if it was just Peter, with Rinzler here too it would be over in minutes.

He looks back to Rinzler away, moving stray bullets away from panicking slaves and watching the program's progress in his own fight.

Rinzler might not be fast enough to outpace bullets, but if the swift, efficient movements are much sign, he isn't having too much trouble tracking them. The gunman falls back, scrambling to spray more shots towards his attacker, and Rinzler twists midair, eeling neatly between the shaky trajectories emerging from the gun.

He hits the ground just in front of the target, lightswords out to either side as impact turns into a rapid forward roll. Both feet hit his prey, sending it slamming back against a nearby wall, and Rinzler's back up by the time its weapon hits the ground. His own blades cross once, neatly removing the user's throat. Showoff? Always.

Scan-sense is enough to track the other parties in the fight, and Rinzler doesn't need to turn to feel when his ~~(enemy)~~ ~~(ally?)~~ shipmate sends its prey to the ground. Faster of course. Irritating. There's a fierce struggle of priority, the original function (draw out the fight; get them to call backup) competing with a desire to keep up. When Rinzler spots the target on the communicator shouting for help, the scales tip. He turns toward the nearer of the remaining pair, weapons humming with lethal intent. Backup is coming, one way or another.

And he's not planning to fall behind.

He has to look away at the kill. It may look like a squeamishness for death, which it was in some ways. He hadn't learned to stomach murder any better than he'd been able to the night he hesitated. But in the moment, the sick feeling in his stomach was less about the loss of life and more about the angry voice in his head that thought the slavers deserved it. That thought that said he kind of liked what he saw.

Peter puts his focus instead on the remaining slavers. He thinks that Rinzler could handle them, but he still makes a motion the program's way. He'll take the one on the left. He came here to handle this quickly, free as many as he could without getting caught and go back to the ship with his anger sated. Peter wanted to help because he saw an opportunity to end it now and cut the prisoners free.

He ran toward the man on the left, knife raised and didn't look back to see whether Rinzler would agree to splitting them up.

Agree? No. Accept as inevitable? Much closer to that. Rinzler might prefer this user stay on the other side of this entire glitching station, but without some way to enforce that, he was resigned to sharing targets. It was more efficient than trying to fight it and the slavers. If not more satisfying.

Still, he'd be crashed before he lets it steal all his prey, and as the glimpse in periphery starts to blur again, his own efforts redouble. The combatant on the right steps back, gun raising unsteadily to track as the enforcer zig-zags toward it. One shot fires, then a second, and Rinzler steps off a wall for added momentum as he launches forward.

One perfect, satisfying curve of motion through the air, a quick flick of a red-lit blade, and his target crumples, choking on its final breath. Rinzler hits and rolls, coming up on his feet without pause as his mask turns automatically toward the [user] [threat].

He heads low, under flailing arms and the raised weapons. Two swift hits to the back of the guard's knees, knife in and out and twisted through the ligament. Peter moves to the left, swerves and brings the back of the knife crashing against the nape of the neck. The guard crumples.

Peter pivots again, looking back to where Rinzler was standing. For a moment he just stares the program down, bloody knife still raised and knees tensed. Then he slowly hooks the knife through a belt loop in her jeans and raises his hands. He takes a few steps back until his heels hit the body.

"I told you I wasn't here to fight you," he says, voice low. "I'm still not. There's bigger things going on here."

He'll fight if he has to, but Peter's tired. Not physically; he plans to take on more guards today. Free more slaves until he has to go back to the ship. It's a deeper kind of tired, one that makes him think he doesn't really have it in him for another round against Rinzler.

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notglitching - 2016-10-01 21:21 (UTC) - Expand

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takeitslow - 2016-10-05 03:00 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( july event log )

Peter Maximoff | CW: Slavery, Violence/Abuse of a Minor, Panic Attacks

Sold; 23; closed to River/Wanda

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25th!

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26th

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