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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
no subject
The grip doesn't let up. ]
I am tired of asking, so this will be the last time. What did you do to him?
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She scrambles for a way to back away, but she's held fast and has little choice but to answer if she wants to remain alive. ]
Kou-ta. [ He eyes go wide. ] I feed. He lives, I feed.
[ An undertone of supplication is all she can offer along side her explanation. ]
no subject
Snarling, he drops the the grip abruptly, but the lightsaber follows as she falls.]
If he dies, so do you. His fate will be the same as yours.
[It's an echo so twisted in its reverse, but no less desperate. But however angry he is, however rankled, or upset, there's a small voice in the back of his mind that sounds alarmingly like Obi-Wan (a fact he's not going to ponder now), telling him to stay his hand.
He'll try. He has to try. But he can't make it a vow.]
You are lucky he's more forgiving than I am.
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Crawling away to the corner, she holds her throat, warily watching, worried over being ended if she tries to leave.
Out of the way, Obi-Wan lays unaware of the situation playing out around him. It's a shame, really as he'd very likely feel a great amount of pride at Anakin's restraint. Instead, he remains walled off, severed from the Force, adrift and sapped of life. Endangered. It's certainly not the first time. More like number eleven. Or is it twelve? As with all things, it hardly matters - Anakin always find a way to bring him back. ]
no subject
Convinced she won't leave in case things take a turn for the worse--a consideration he can only make in the pragmatic part of his mind that takes hold when the anger is allowed to fade to a simmer--he turns toward Obi-Wan, still prone on the floor. It's a trial, making his way over with the surface still tacky, and another to pull the man upward, but he refuses to leave it like this.
Half dragging him to the bed, he sits cross-legged at Obi-Wan's head, and gives whatever he has left of himself to the Force. This is dangerous, especially so when he's never had the same knack for untrained healing as his friend can muster in an emergency, but there is nothing else to be done for it. He can hardly trust this alien to do it, having so terrifyingly severed him from the Force in the first place.
He reaches in and the room falls way. Everything falls away but the weight of that unconsciousness leaned against his crossed legs. There's still a life-force here, a dull light where the beating of his heart should be. It's not strong, not left so alone like this, but it will be enough.
Ignoring it for the time being, he searches in that seeming-nothing to find the light he's really after. The part that shines warm and comfortable, and nothing like the intensity of his own internal twin suns, but constant and steady and reassuring. The longer he's distant from his own body like this, the harder it's going to be to find his way back.
But that's a distant concern when he has no idea how long Obi-Wan's own connection has been stifled and spirited away. His mind rails against that dark like a desperate scream, one he'll never know if his own body accompanied the urge.
Where are you? I'm here.]
no subject
It begins with a touch of warmth, a careful application that's familiar and unspeakably gentle.
Anakin...
The draw is undeniable, although that's really not saying much when the universe feels parsecs away, when rescue feels so distant Obi-Wan may never rise to meet it. Returning isn't a war to be fought, and that's probably good because Kenobi really doesn't have it in him. Instead, it's a river to be traversed, upstream and against the flow, tiring on top of tiring in a way that suggests things aren't quite as simple as they could be. Then again, when are they ever?
Where had he gone? Had he been dead? The complete perspective is gone, and even when he looks into the Force for answers, the connection is so threadbare even now, it spikes fear that Kenobi can't possibly find enough strength to hide.
At some point, as that warmth continues to grow around him, Kenobi makes to reach for it, for Anakin, and finds that he can at least come back. He has to come back. There are too many things left to do.
Finally, finally, his eyes flutter, open, close again. He's here, but only just, drawn back into a harsh reality where days of nothing leave him in so much pain. The light is too bright. His body is leaden, limbs like dangling weights, stiff and sore. The ache in his long-empty stomach is like a beast trying to claw its way out, and that's saying nothing of the thirst.
And still, none of it holds a candle to what it's like to suddenly feel again. The Force returns everything, and even stemmed by Tak-Fren's influence, even at half-strength, the despair and fear and anger and hopelessness of this outpost cuts like a knife.
Kenobi winces, tries to move, finds he can't just yet bring himself to do so without the urge to gag, without the urge to weep.
And yet... ]
My hero.
[ Even half-dead, Obi-Wan's not beyond the joke (even if it can also be called the truth). ]
no subject
All he needs is that reach, a distant dim light growing as it moves closer, searching now as he does. He has no idea what he's doing. Meditation lessons have never traversed this far, and back home, this would be like diving into the Dark Side with no plan, no anchor, and only a futile hope to cling to in that pervasive, ever-clouded night.
He does the only thing he can do when that fleeting, too-small presence reaches up. He pulls.
A long moment passes where he isn't sure where he is, what he's done, and it isn't until he recognizes the sound of his own heavy breathing that he realizes this is consciousness. Reality, in the face of this, is still bleak and disappointing, but it's something stable. He tries to bite back the distaste of opening his eyes and finding them both still in this sequestered part of the outpost.
The sigh he gives is more relieved than he wants it to be in this sithpit.
He can feel Obi-Wan stir, attempt to move and fail, and his fingers lace into his hair, not quite petting. A gentle, unspoken urge to lay still.]
Oh, shut up.
[This is number twelve, but as far as Anakin is concerned, after all Obi-Wan has done these past few months, they may as well be on equal footing. Still, he can't help the flip his heart does at the affirmation, regardless. Praise is such a strange thing to swallow.
He turns back, barely regarding Tak-Fren over his shoulder, his expression back to a deep scowl. He doesn't want to offer this. He wants her to pay for this. All of it. But he's made a promise, and now more than ever, the idea of Obi-Wan's forgiveness comes into play.]
Get out.
no subject
Dashing by, she offers an unbecoming gesture, but as Anakin won't be familiar with the customs of her race, it's vulgarity is likely lost on him.
Obi-Wan, of course, is still trying to register his sudden return to reality. His hand lifts, shaking and weak, to his forehead as he probes for head wounds that might be responsible for his splitting headache and poor connection to the Force. ]
What's happened?
[ The fuzziness doesn't appear to be going anywhere, but at least he's cognizant of the current dangers still plaguing them. ]
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[He may sound more bitter about it than he is; his relief is shaking and angry and difficult to temper. The adrenaline is still pumping uselessly when there's nothing more to be done than wait the worst of this out. He keeps his hand at Obi-Wan's hair to keep him steady.]
But I was hoping you could tell me.
[He has a few ideas, but he doesn't like the taste of any word surrounding them. It's pointless to speculate, and yet, the question leaves his anxiety roiling.]
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It doesn't appear that I can. I think she must have drugged me.
[ Simple statements. Short thoughts. He doesn't have much energy for speculation, nor does he feel it appropriate to point out how much further the Force feels from his grasp. Swallowing down his growing upset, he shifts what he does have at his disposal and focuses all of his energy on the here and now. ]
Help me up — I think I'd rather leave before she returns to finish whatever it is she started...
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[Anakin's fairly certain of that. And he'll be the one worrying about it if it comes down to it.]
I'm not a healer, Obi-Wan, you almost died. You sure you don't want to give it a minute?
[He's not really loving the idea of staying here, but it's the first place he's slipped into in several days without prying eyes. It's hardly safe, none of this is. But where else are they going to go, from here? Without a plan?]
no subject
[ Even if he doesn't recall what happened to him, there's a lingering upset that he can't quite assuage, particularly because what he does remember — everything before he blacked out — doesn't seem alarming at all compared to what was initially expected of him.
He pushes up to sit and then stares blankly at the decking, eyes taking their time focusing. His hand rests against his stomach, his raging emptiness grumbling. ]
I just glued myself to the floor, didn't I?
[ Figures. It's an absurd thing to fixate on, but it's otherwise a simple thing to fixate on as well, because anything more— No. He doesn't want to think about it. There will be time enough for that later.
Sharply, he looks to Anakin, assessing as he can while he tiredly, stiffly tries to work his boots off the tacky floor plates. ]
Are you all right? Where are the others?
no subject
He untangles from their complicated arrangement on the bed, and slings Obi-Wan's arm over his shoulder as he pushes them both to their feet. The floor is still a mess. Of course nothing about this can be easy.]
Would you prefer to be carried?
[The smirk that follows is too easy, so out of step from the somber mood that pervades everywhere else, like an echo that never dampens. The levity is forced, but how else is he supposed to keep from drowning in this outpost's pain, otherwise?
He ignores the pain in his back from the whips, the eerie tingle in his fingers from residual electricity, and what he assumes is a cracked rib from the way it still hurts to breathe. The bruising everywhere else is newly blackened, blue around the edges that speaks to a week or two of watching them all shift through varying colors while they heal. He shakes his head.]
I'm not the one who almost died. I'll live. [He pauses, blaming it on a particularly tacky portion of the floor as they make, slowly, for the door.] I've seen a few rescue attempts, trying to find you. I don't think all of us ended up out here.
[It's a nice way of saying he doesn't know.]
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How long have I been out?
[ It doesn't feel like an interminable amount of time, but there's a great sense that Kenobi's missing a lot more time than he was initially thinking.
Of course, that's saying nothing of how badly he has to pee, Force save him. Perhaps that should have been his first clue...]No, never mind. Let's not...
[ Talk about it, he means, which he suspects becomes apparent when he squeezes Anakin's shoulder, leaning heavily on the younger man despite knowing that Skywalker isn't in the best of shape either.
It doesn't matter, he tells himself over and over again. It doesn't matter right now, it doesn't, just keep moving.
But there's fear brewing in his heart, edging into the places where adrenaline and shock had previously lived, sapping away what little energy he's gained through the racing of his heart and mind upon waking to the aftermath of chaos. Without full access to the Force, exhaustion sets in much quicker, as does despair. Already it's a wild ride, and one he hopes Anakin can't feel (although he knows quite differently without saying as much). ]
Somewhere safe. Not here.
[ His only demand, even if it sounds quite like an impossible one. ]
no subject
Moving out of that room is a slow,arduous process, and would have been one were Obi-Wan in any better shape to weather it, but once out in the open, Anakin can't help but feel too exposed.]
There isn't anywhere safe.
[It's not quite a snap, he doesn't have it in him when, if he'd been stuck in that damnable room in Obi-Wan's place, he wouldn't want to look at it anymore either. The anger roils elsewhere, just under the exasperation, in the places where he's already second-guessing his letting of Obi-Wan's alien captor go. There will be nothing stopping her from doing this all over again. Whatever "feeding" means.
He can only guess, and all it does is stoke the flames already settled like a wildfire in his heart.
If anything else happens, it's my fault. But it's an acceptance he'll have to swallow and pretend doesn't hurt or that it's one they can live with, if they ever want off this twisted contraption.]
And you're in no condition to wander around, I don't care what you say.
no subject
Miserably, Kenobi puts all that he has into straightening up, into standing on his own two feet so that he's less of a burden on his already well-burdened companion. ]
We've seen worse. [ Which may or may not be the truth when Obi-Wan has no idea what Skywalker's been through. ] But I won't argue. We need to gather our energy and ourselves.
[ And soon, as he's fairly certain his legs are already threatening to give out. Three days without food or water seems to hit a little harder than it might have with proper aid from the Force. Peeking down a hallway, relieved to find it empty, he nods Anakin in that direction. ]
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll catch up...
[ After he's taken care of business, that is. ]