thisavrou_log | ( july event log )

Who: Everyone
When: July 18th and on
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff.
What: The Ingress malfunctions, sending the Moira into a different universe. Some of the crew end up on one of the Runoff’s many slave trading outposts.
Warnings: Sex, murder, kidnapping.

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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.

( ooc; Please mark all sensitive topics in subject line! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He didn't go for a kill strike, didn't dig the knife straight into the slaver's neck even though he wanted to. The easy, quick death seemed wrong, both in that he felt these men deserved worse and that the idea of murder was still taking time to settle on his skin. Peter went for the side instead, feeling a little vindictive at the thought of giving someone else a scar that matched his own.

Maybe he had a few issues he still needed to deal with from his near death months ago. Maybe this wasn't the best time to work that out. He didn't get time to think about it, not before he noticed someone familiar jumping into the fray. He turned and watched Ava move for a moment, how she twisted and twirled and left bodies falling in her wake. It was a little like watching Rive, mesmerizing and just a little terrifying.

He gave himself just a second to watch before he darted in to take down the other man with the slave, shoving a fist into his stomach until he heard something snap. Peter then whirled around, reaching out to brush a hand on Ava's shoulder briefly. He addressed the closest slave instead. "The rich pigs keep a bunch of ships off that way. There's enough of you to take one by force and get the hell out of this place."

The blur of activity she saw confirmed that the other fighter was Peter, and there was palpable relief welling up within her. In these circumstances, Ava didn't much care who saw her use her abilities or how she fought. With the Caducan's attacking, no one seemed to care much about who was doing what or what someone could do. It came down to survival.

Being here wasn't that different.

When the few slavers there finally hit the dirt, Peter was at her side and he was pushing for the slaves to go. Ava nodded alongside him, voice quiet. "Don't hold back. They're not going to stop until you guys are in chains again. Give them all you've got and don't let them take you again." If it sounded like she was encouraging them to kill, she certainly was. There wasn't any mercy left in her after what they'd all been through. She turned to look at Peter. "We should get these guys tied up so they can't do anything." The ones still alive, anyway. "We don't want them calling for help."

He watches her from the corner of his eye, nodding slightly to her orders for the slaves. He couldn't fault them if they did kill the slavers. He didn't think there was anyone free here worth sparing, not after what he'd seen.

He moves at her next suggestion, one moment at her side and the next standing over a groaning guard. He's pulling back at one's jacket, ripping the fabric and using it as makeshift rope for the man's wrists. "Good idea," he says after a moment, glancing toward her. He winds the cloth around the guards arms quickly, not caring what kind of friction burns he's causing."We need to stash them somewhere they won't get found for a while. Give everyone a little more time."

"Are you-" Peter starts, stops. "Rescue mission or did you just get away?"

Peter moves and so does she, going to one of the other fallen guards. She grabs him and tears off his belt, using it to tie his arms back uncomfortably. There are two others she's killed, bodies they'll need to dispose of. A shame they can't just set them on fire. Ava grabs one of them by the leg and drags them over to one of the corners, propping them up in the shadows like they're sleeping. It's not very convincing, she realizes. "Yeah, we'll need to find something more obscure. A tent, maybe, keep them all in one place."

She looks back at him from over her shoulder, frowning sharply. "Rescue. Sort of." She didn't come on the first wave. She should have, though. "What about you? Did you...?" Ava doesn't remember seeing him on the Moira when the groups went out.

He follows, the guard held up in a fireman's carry. Peter drops him without preamble, giving a dangerous grin that looks more like a grimace. He looks around, biting his lip and trying to think if he'd seen anywhere while he was here that they could stick the bodies. "The tents where they keep the-" He makes an obscene gesture, not sure how to say sex slaves when he knows some of their own had been stuck there.

He hunches his shoulders, doesn't meet her gaze. He goes back for another body instead, dragging one of the living guards over. "I'm here to help now. Before." He stops. "I've gotten to know this place pretty well. Let's say that. That's why I think we could use the tents. Or maybe put them behind where they're keeping the people to be sold. Some of the holding buildings are close together, the alleys could work."

Ava's attention follows his, looking at the tents nearby. Her brow furrows and something like bile rises in her throat...but she nods. "Out of sight, yeah. Good plan." And if they can find and free other slaves, all the better. She grabs the body she's been trying to move and shifts it again, stronger than her thin frame seems to suggest. For all that she's a Tremere and a purveyor of blood magic, she's had to learn to be stronger, faster, than her kindred might initially seem.

But Peter doesn't want to meet her gaze, and that's the concerning part. She swallows again, uncomfortable, and reaches out with a hand to touch his shoulder. A part of her wants to say something - because Peter doesn't know this place without reason - and some other part of her wants to peek in and confirm her suspicions...but she respects him too much to do that. "Let's...look into the tents. If there's others, we can free them and keep moving." These people need to pay and to pay dearly, but not at the cost of their own freedom. Neither of them can afford to be caught.

He notes what she's doing, something to be asked about later. He's used to people on the ship being a little more than they first appear. He's a mutant is nearly expected. But Peter's been here a long time, Ava's been here a long time. He's not seen anything out of her in all the months he's known her to make him think she's something other than just another human. When this is over he'll need to talk to her, maybe. Remind her he's not human either.

He tenses a little under her touch. He doesn't want to talk about it. Not to her, not to anyone. Not even to Wanda. He's relieved she doesn't go further than the touch. Peter hasn't figured out the right way to say 'I can't' yet. He turns toward the tents, taking a deep breath and trying to let out the tension as the air escapes into a sigh. "Okay. But let me go in first, I'm faster."

Ava releases him without a word, not wanting to make a scene out of this or to make Peter continue to feel uncomfortable about this situation. She doesn't know what's happened to him and doesn't want to imagine it if it's worse than she assumes.

Instead, she steps away as he speaks and she gives a brief nod, pulling out the blade she has. Can't be too careful. "Go ahead. If there's anything, let me know. I can be right there." Peter will be infinitely faster and can barely be seen when he wants to be. It'll be better, but she can't help but be afraid for him and a little wary of the situation.

He shoots her a short look, a thank you in his eyes. He nods slowly, chewing at his lip and wiping off his knife mechanically against the shirt of one of the guards. "Give me three minutes. If I'm not back out, assume the worst."

It shouldn't even take him that long, not unless there was an ambush waiting for him. He gives her one last look before he's gone, darting into the nearest tent. He's out in under two minutes, knife bloody again and held loosely at his side.

"It was just the one," he says moving for one of the guards. "We can stash these assholes in there. Doubt anyone will come looking for a while."

( july event log )

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