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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
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Leia’s next comment only gets a nod. It seems neither of them get much choice in that regard. Zam doesn’t mind sharing the space that much -- in fact, she’s relieved to have company from someone more-or-less her equal, rather than just an occasional visit from a sponsor. If that was the only interaction she got for stars know how long, she’s not sure if she could stay sane. She’d ask why Leia had been sent here in the first place, but there are enough clues in the “uniform” she’s wearing.]
There was a hutt who made me wear something like that once, [she types into her MID, text flashing into the air.] I fed him a bomb and watched him cough up his own fried intestines. [A morbid story, but one Zam figures might offer some small amount of comfort (or at least amusement) now. She nods towards the blood still staining the gauzy material of Leia’s poor excuse for clothing.] I’m guessing you didn’t take too kindly to the outfit yourself.
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Regardless of the origin of her resentment, it's nearly palpable in the way she glances down at her bloodstained clothing. It hardly qualifies as clothing, and seeing Zam reference it sends a fresh wave of anger over her.]
I found a vase. [Flatly. She turns her gaze back to the figure before her, trying to bite back the revulsion that threatens to be broadcast in her expression. Having to beg a new uniform is, in itself, strangely humiliating.] Do you have any spare clothes?
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Leia’s question gets a pause and then a gesture: a single index finger raised in the air. Wait here. With that, Zam turns and disappears into another room -- a bedroom, if Leia cares to peer through the half-open door -- and returns a few moments later with a bundle of black clothing: Zam’s old uniform from the Moira. Her sponsors prefer she wear their uniform, so it’s not like she needs it herself. She holds it out towards Leia; it’s all she has to give her at the moment.]
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With the door shut, she spends several long moments just leaning against it, eyes screwed shut, the sound of her breath harsh in her ears. Eventually, she pulls off what she has on and changes into Zam's clothing. It's a little big for her, but at the moment, too much fabric is preferable to too little.
When she returns, it's with her head high and a set jaw. She and Zam are allies, but they aren't so close that she can come close to falling apart.]
They seem to be treating you well. [By some measure.]
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Zam looks up at Leia’s return. The princess looks more collected than she had before, though that’s easily attributable to the change in dress. Zam nods at her comment.]
They like pretending that I’m not a slave. They had me sign a contract and everything. [A wry smile.] I do as they say and they don’t sell me off to someone worse.
[Head tilts slightly to the side.] I’m guessing they haven’t been treating you as generously. [If only there were a more effective way to express the sarcasm on that last word over text.]
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[Leia snorts. How aboveboard.]
I'm sure they treat the docile ones better. [Lie back, pretend you're interested, tell them you want them, forget home and family and a man who says I know when you tell him you love him. She could have been well fed if she'd given them everything that belonged to her.] But docile isn't my strong suit.
[She would have hated herself. She already does, a little.] How much freedom have they been giving you?
[Zam's ability to charm their current masters might be worked to their advantage.]
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She answers Leia’s question by walking to the same door through which their owner had left and making to pull it open. It doesn’t budge.
Point made, she walks back to Leia and pulls up her MID’s text display again.] They take me out for fights. And sometimes to show me off. All other times, they keep me locked in here.
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Save your martyrdom, she tells herself, and tries to stop glancing around for some other way out of this prison.]
Do they come for you often?
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Sometimes they have people send things up. Mostly food and [Text stalls for a moment.] rewards. [Zam deigns not to add the obvious, “like you.”]
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Are you always in sight of someone else? If you could shift...
[Zam's far better at shapeshifting than Leia is at the Jedi tricks Luke favours. It's one of the better tricks in their arsenal, especially now that their owner is well aware of the fact that they're both dangerous people.]
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[That still leaves a hitch in their would-be plan. Zam traces the glass covering the left side of her face and then reaches for her MID again.] Can’t shift this though.
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If we found you a hood, or a veil... [But there's a sort of half-heartedness to the suggestion.] If we can sneak you out, you might be able to get back to the Moira.
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I don't. [She draws herself up, willing herself to look certain.] But if they aren't, they'll come for us.
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No point in running if there’s nowhere to run to. If the Moira’s on its way, we wait for it.