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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
26th; let me know if I need to change anything!
What he sees almost makes his heart jump right out of his chest and up through his throat. This is exactly the thing he'd promised Zam he'd help avoid: no one is getting on a ship that isn't their grudging, makeshift home. He doesn't have to know anyone all that well to feel a sharp sense of righteous indignation, but even their fleeting relationship, tentative and fragile, is enough to make it spike.
He waits in the shadows, vanished within the Force until nothing of him can be found if its not being looked for by someone who knows how to, and holds a long breath as he watches Rey's "owner" back away from the ship she's currently working on. The alien is one he's not familiar with, and ugly (not that its tendency toward personal ownership is any sort of bonus on that front), a face easily committed to memory, but were said being to ever leave, he'd never know where to start.
The exhale as the alien passes and leaves is slow, so much so that his lungs hurt from holding it all in too long. As a result, once that presence is far enough away, the Force is all but thrown off like a blanket in the middle of a Tatooine summer. Surprise?
His approach is no less abrupt; they don't have time. It's been a week already on this damnable outpost, how much longer can any of them hold out?]
Rey, you can't leave with that thing.
[Obvious, perhaps. Out here, simple statements seem to matter more.]
it's perf & so are you
But the way the Force shifts when Anakin reveals himself is like a punch to the gut, even when she isn't really paying attention to it.
She whirls towards the bay door, unable to stop the surge of hope and relief that bubbles up inside her chest. Though her feelings on Anakin are still mixed at best, he's been relatively... friendly so far. Plus, she's pretty exhausted and has thus far been unsuccessful with her escape attempts, so any help is appreciated.
Still, her response holds a little sarcasm. She can't really help it.]
Damn, we were just about to make our getaway, too.
<3
She might be a smartass at all the wrong times (pot, meet kettle), but damn it if it isn't the most endearing thing he's heard in days.]
Well, if you've got this all under control, I can leave...
[He won't. It's not even a threat he thinks to try to make good on. But one smartass remark deserves another in turn.]
no subject
Rey has the decency to roll her eyes, then shuffles forward a bit, hindered slightly by the chains around her ankles.]
Only if you take me with you. Got anything to break these with?
[They're a little pressed for time, in her mind. Who knows when the slaver or his henchmen could return?]
no subject
[This right here, he thinks, is how it should be. Finally in a place to help; if it's the suffering that's brought him here, so be it. It hardly negates the undercurrent of anger at the situation even existing, but even a master of denial wouldn't be able to hide how much better it feels when there's modicum of control in the situation.
He slips his lightsaber out of the back of his boot, still not trusting the outpost enough to carry it openly, and still manages to look pretty proud of the fact, despite the presentation lacking its normal flourish. They don't have time for that. (Or the energy, but admitting that just makes everything feel that much more exhausting). The chains are easily dealt with (and were he in a better place, he might wonder if the Force was trying to say something in it, in a backward and heavy handed metaphor).]
You missing anything? Limbs? Weapons?
[Not the important pieces. They can't take those away. In the end, that's what matters, but in the moment...well. Two lightsabers are better than one, and he can't quite quell the hope that she says as much. Especially when an entire outpost filled with slaver scum looms outside.]
no subject
She grits her teeth, fingers flexing a the questions. Her limbs are all intact, her only remaining injuries from the Ingress' malfunction a few raw patches of skin, but it still feels like one of them is missing.]
My staff. [A beat passes, and she adds:] And my lightsaber.
[She has more experience with one than the other, is all. Plus, ever since she'd been on the ship, the lightsaber had served more as a tool in the engine bay than an actual weapon. Still, it's important and she isn't about to leave it behind.]
no subject
It's a connection he'd have begged for once, some sense of belonging when all he'd had was his mother and a dust ball of a planet to look forward to. It's a legacy that makes sense, not one that still continues to baffle and frustrate, no matter how many times he asks why. The why isn't necessary here. He knows what the lightsaber entails.
But good, nothing else is missing. It's a good start.]
Do you know where he keeps them?
[He knows Watto used to keep things he needed in sight but out of reach, and while a sight "nicer" than many of the slavers here, the pleasure in that kind of control never changes. He wouldn't be too surprised if the slimeball did the same thing here.]
no subject
The workings of the Force sure are mysterious.
Her lips press into a thin line as she rubs at her raw wrists. Her muscles haven't been stretched in days, and her entire body aches. She's fairly certain a few of her ribs are cracked as well. But those are all things she can't afford to think about right now. Her focus has to be escape.]
Sort of. He's got sort of an office. There are a bunch of things in there, like trophies.
[Which reminds her of Unkar Plutt, the Blobfish. He always kept something around to show he was in charge of Jakku, whether it be a rare piece of a starship or a starship itself. To be honest, she's lucky he'd been so arrogant and prone to gloating--otherwise, she never would've landed on the Millennium Falcon.]
no subject
He doesn't ask if she's okay to do it; if by the look of anything, Rey is working on as much determination in spite of injury and exhaustion as he is. The last thing anyone needs is a question to the contrary. Instead, he simply rights himself and gestures for the door.]
Well then, Rey, let's go get your lightsaber.
[The smile--a real one, no smirk to be found in it--that follows is the most genuine he's managed in what feels like a lifetime.]
no subject
She thinks, briefly, that she should have killed her captor when she had the chance.
His words and smile break her out of her dark thoughts, and leaves her a little shocked. It's the first time anyone here has referred to it as her lightsaber--but it feels right to hear. She smiles back, luckily avoiding splitting her lip once more.]
Let's.
[The door is unlocked, thankfully. Inside the office are what can only be described as trophies--objects obviously taken from people kept as slaves. And the lightsaber is right there on the wall, along with other alien-looking weapons. It feels good to have the saber in her hand again; even if she can't use it well right now, it's better than nothing.]
Do you know the way out?
no subject
This isn't a trophy room, this is a crypt.
[The less time spent in here, the better. Even in the doorway, his heart sinks into his stomach, and there's a silent prayer offered for anyone--all of them--who've paved this bloody path they now tread. He waits long enough for Rey to find the lightsaber, its signature so familiar and yet so changed that she's right...it isn't his. It calls out a different name, to a different destiny.
But he's going to make sure that destiny involves getting the hell out of here if he has to die to ensure it.
He backs out of the room silently, swallowing bile, and nods back down the way they came.]
It's near where I found you.
no subject
Hopefully, none of them are still alive.
[A gruesome thing to say, but at least they'd be out of their suffering. An end seems better to her than a continuation of suffering. A strange sentiment to come from someone who had spent most of her life enduring a special kind of suffering without many thoughts to the contrary.
Rey follows him, steeling herself for their escape.]
Lead the way. I'm right behind you.
no subject
It gets easier out of the room, just like being stuck on that space station out of the Alter-Ingress when he'd recovered a far-too-similar "trophy." It's unsettling. It won't ever be anything else.
But they're getting out of here.
Anakin backtracks in the direction of where he'd found Rey, and from there backtracks to how he'd sneaked in originally. It's smooth sailing, corridors empty and poorly watched. Except when he gets to the main door. Here, he stops short.]
...How well can you use that?
[The lightsaber.]
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How could they have gotten this far without running into anybody?
His question snaps her out of her broody thoughts, and she eyes the weapon for a moment before shrugging.]
I beat a Knight of Ren once in a duel with it. [A beat.] After he'd taken a bowcaster shot and had already dueled someone with more experience than me. [Another beat.] I'll just stick with my staff.
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Never mind.
[He'll take comfort and familiarity over pride--and he won't deny it's there--if it means getting the vape out of here.]
But you're showing me when we get back, deal?
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Her fingers tighten on her staff and she nods, something like a smile curving her lips.]
Don't hold your breath. It's too light and I always over swing.
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I'm still taking that as a yes.
["Too light." His lightsaber is not-- He makes a point of igniting it then, the hum almost drowning out the vague headache he's been carrying for days. He doesn't bother asking if she's ready: they're not getting out of here if they're not. Now or never. He force-shoves the door open.]