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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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hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-07-19 01:11 am
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He rolls a few Jedi food capsules — reserves he's not needed since arriving on the ship — into a groove along the edge of Leia's assigned area. For food or bartering, for her or the other slaves, it's of more use in hands that are a little less free.
"Upward of twenty, if I have to guess." And not nearly enough free, he thinks gravely. They're outnumbered and cut off for the Moira, scattered and shackled and afraid, and the odds seem very long. Thankfully, there's no denying how effective light is at chasing away the darkness.
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Still on the ship--that's what she thinks, and later, what she'll want to believe. She knows his presence the way she knows no other, and his absence is both a relief and a burden.
For a moment, she arches her back, rolling her neck around in a stretch, and surreptitiously pockets the capsules. (Thank the Force she wore trousers today.) "Twenty will have to be enough. Any blasters?"
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Kenobi finds he can no longer fake his task, so he turns some on that seat and rests his arms on his knees, his clasped hands obscuring his mouth at her pretends to take interest in one of the other slaves. He doesn't think they should push it too much longer, but there's no sense of critical danger looming over them in this very moment.
He glances in Leia's direction. "I have considered gambling," he offers, as if that thought makes any real sense. "Have they set a price for you?" It feels worth the risk, he thinks, knowing what he knows of the basics of sex trading in their own galaxy. And to have Leia at his side is to have another powerful ally against these wretched monsters.
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I'm not in a position to use the MID is on her tongue, but the thought of admitting to her helplessness here leaves her with an empty, aching space in her chest. It's too close to accepting the situation--but between the cuffs and her current owner's (ugh) suspicions of the device, she hasn't been able to do anything with it.
(He should have caught on to the way she and Obi-Wan are talking right now, she thinks. But they're quiet enough, and Obi-Wan is dressed well enough, that perhaps he thinks she's under consideration for purchase. It's revolting as a thought, but if it gives them time...)
At Obi-Wan's question, Leia names a price--and while she doesn't have the conversion to credits, it sounds like a lot to her. "Just where are you planning to gamble?"
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"Short range seems to be all anyone can manage," he replies, opting to leave his plans for swindling slavers as unspoken as possible. He doesn't think she'll mind considering her far more serious concerns. "I managed to access a terminal, but I didn't have enough time to unravel their encryption." He doesn't particularly like admitting that failure, especially having such a small window of opportunity that could have ultimately made a massive difference to a lot of people. "I'll try again if I can."
He reaches out and grabs her arm, a gesture that's meant to look as if he's judging her strength. Obi-Wan feels eyes on him, feels the sharp ping of danger as they finally draw the attention they'd been expecting from the start. In reaction, he leers and appraises, although his eyes are focused over Leia's shoulder as he's unwilling to leer at her.
no subject
"You should go." Her voice is low, her gaze someplace beyond Obi-Wan's eyes. It's more valuable, at the moment, to be seen treating him like any slave presented with a potential buyer, than to see his face. "We'll speak again."
We'll see each other again. After everything, she's not going to end a slave somewhere in the unknown.
no subject
He nods and tells himself this is every bit the same as the war he left behind. Hard decisions are never easily made, after all, and even if they don't have an army behind them, they still have their own to consider.
"May the Force be with you," Obi-Wan says, mustering every ounce of hope he has into the statement. That's where I'll be if you need me. Let the Force be your guide. Practical advice, unspoken as it is.
And with that, he slips away, hiding himself once more from prying eyes, deeply troubled but far from willing to give in to his worry.