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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
The Ride Home - 26th (probably)
He taps Girl on the shoulder and motions for her to follow him to the back corner of the little pod, leaving the controls on autopilot. "C'mere."
There's the hint of a limp now from his last fight. He's trying to hide it, but he doesn't quite manage to keep his gait even, even with his hand on the wall.
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She follows behind him, biting her lip and wishing she had paid more attention to Jet when he pulled out their medical kit. She knows he's going to need help, t bothers her to think it's something she can't give him.
"Yeah, Kobra?" She keeps her tone soft, waiting to follow his lead.
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"You can't ever do anything like that again." He looks away, scared of what he's going to see on her face. "You don't risk your life for me like that. You just don't."
He's so bad at this kind of thing and he knows it. Probably he's the worst out of all of them at actually being anything like a parent to her, because he doesn't know what the fuck a parent is supposed to be like, but he knows it isn't him. It's more like Party or Jet. Definitely Jet.
This would be so much easier if Jet were here. He'd be all calm and authoritative. Meanwhile, Kobra just wants to fucking break things and cry. She shouldn't be risking her life for him. They should have just left him there after what he did.
He doesn't even realize it when his hands start shaking.
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She's not expecting this kind of serious.
"What?" For a moment she's just blindly confused. Kobra never lectures her. She can count on her figures the number of times any of them had to talk down at her. It doesn't take long for her face to fall because Kobra never lectures her. He doesn't get angry at her and it hurts like being scratched by a favorite pet. It stings wrong and sharp and a little like betrayal.
And the moment after it dawns on her what he's saying and it feels like a slap to the face.
"What the hell do you mean I don't?" Her voice is loud and strangled with hurt. There's a tinge of hope there too. It's blood loss, or a blow too hard to the head. She just has to remind him and he'll take it back. He doesn't mean it. "We're Kiljoys! That's exactly what we do. Of course I was gonna come for you. You knew that."
She stares up at him, catches the fine tremors and reaches up to steady him. She curls her fingers around what she can of his, shaking her head in tight jerks. "You knew I was gonna come."
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There's a part of him that wonders if Party ever felt like this when Kobra was smaller, twisted up and worried in all the wrong ways that he was the responsible one and any deaths or injuries were on him. That's definitely how Kobra feels now.
"I knew. Couldn't doubt you for a minute, but I can't live with myself if you get hurt 'cause of me. You're too important. You're more important than I am."
With a wince, he tries to lower himself and fails about halfway there, landing on his knees with a loud thud that will only add to his already numerous bruises. All the while, he doesn't let go of her hands and he tells himself it's the pain that has him feeling tears prickling to get out.
"Don't regret for a second what I've done to keep you alive. I'd do it all again or worse if I had to." He'd die a dozen deaths for her. Hell, he'd watch Party die again if he had to.
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"I don't want you to. I don't wanna see-" She swallows and tightens her grip on him, shuffling a few steps toward him until she rests her forehead on his shoulder. Even as she argues with him, she's running to him for comfort. She shakes her head against him, taking shallow breaths. "Not again. You can't do anythin' like that again."
She shudders, and she's sure she's getting his shirt wet. But she doesn't pull back just yet. "You're all I got, Kobra."
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He hugs her a little too tight, but he can't help it. "I don't wanna. 'M not lookin' to get myself killed. I wanna stay with you more than anything, but I need you to be safe, okay? Can't live with myself if you aren't."
His voice cracks a little on the last few words. He needs the others so much and it makes him feel so weak.
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She shudders. It's so hard to talk about, to even think about losing them. Even with months between her and that night, the wound feels raw and festering. She doesn't think she'll ever get over it. Not really.
"I don't wanna ever do that again. It goes both ways Kobra. So you can just get mad all ya want for me comin' after ya." She draws back, grabbing at his face. "I ain't gonna listen. Not to that. Ya spent a lotta time lookin' out for me. You gotta let me do the same sometimes."
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Maybe there's a part of him that doesn't want her to grow up so fast. He's not even sure what a real childhood's supposed to be like, but he knows that he was already doing all sorts of dangerous shit at her age and he doesn't want that for her. He'd never known enough to be unhappy with the life he and Party had had, but he knows that he wants things for her that no one could've given him back then.
It all makes him at least half a hypocrite, though. Fuck.
"Gonna have to start teachin' you how to defend yourself better if you're gonna go around doin' dumb shit like that. Least you can do is find yourself some good backup for when I can't be there."
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She wants to argue with him. Tell him that he'll always be there or that it wasn't dumb. But she knows the first isn't true and the latter isn't worth a further fight. "Teach me how to shoot," she says instead.
She's had offers here, between Deacon and Tex, to show her how to handle a gun. But it would mean more coming from him. They were supposed to teach her someday, one of those many promises for when she was 'big' enough. She wasn't grown yet, but the world around them really didn't care whether she was a child or not. Maybe now was her time to convince him of that.
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"Know I wasn't much older than you when I was fightin' in a war." And it's funny to think of it that way. He's not sure what he'd expected a war to be like, but at the time it had just felt necessary. It had felt like life, just like every day before and after.
"I'll teach you long as you promise to be careful and listen to me."
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It was inevitable she'd have to learn eventually, when and if they returned home. She couldn't rely forever on the idea that someone else would be there to protect her.
"I will, promise." She rushes to say it, earnest and a tinge excited. "I'll do everythin' you tell me to, be the best student ya ever had. You won't regret it."