E
V
E
N
T
|
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.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hownkai) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-07-19 01:11 am
no subject
It still hits, hard. He'd like to console, to let her know this isn't her fault, but they don't have the time, and this isn't the place. Not when they're still here. Here, that doesn't mean anything.
This seems as good a time as any to quit putting up with it for the sake of everyone around him.
Instead of platitudes, he simply nods firmly, and holds his bound wrists out by way of explanation. Then, awkwardly reaching for the back of his boot, he pulls out what looks like a worn metal rod with a large button protruding out the side. This he hands to her more gingerly than he looks like he should be able.]
Okay, Clara, look at me. You can do this.
[Not quite a platitude. An affirmation of being. Her name is the first thing he goes for when he remembers--will always remember--it's the first thing he used to offer to comfort his own doubts, all those years ago. You're bigger than this. You're still you.]
I need you to hold that away from yourself, and press the button there on the side.
[Under normal circumstances, he'd never trust anyone with this. Especially not a girl he's just been introduced to. But this isn't normal. None of this ever has been.]
no subject
I could kill them with this. My friend's got a red one of these, I've seen what it can do.
[She whispers it as if she's considering it, holding the hilt tighter in her hand as she stares down at the colored saber. Her feet don't move though, her words likely only brought on because of her physical and mental condition. Dark eyes stay focused on the weapon, before looking up and over at Anakin. She's not making a move without him.]
Do you want me to try and free your hands, then? Or just use this to force our way out?
no subject
He shakes his head, both at that and her insistence. He feels the anger too, a constant current where vision swims in a sea of red. He bites down on it, clenches his teeth together for a moment until it dims.] Never mind that. I just need you to hold it steady.
[He can ask all he wants later about how willing she is to kill when being forced to is part of her desperation, but that won't help anyone now. He understands the urge too well. This isn't a time to ask anyone to be rational, and she isn't a Jedi; his standards are impossible to hold to anyone else.
In a different time, maybe. Certainly a different place.
He uses the upheld blade to cut through the shackles, and there's a small sigh of relief at suddenly being able to roll his shoulders again.
It's only then that he holds his hand out, metal and looking worse for wear, giving her a choice. He won't stop her if she decides to take the matter into her own hands--Force knows he doesn't care anything for their captors--but he does know:]
Killing them won't make bearing this any easier.
no subject
It's only his words that stop her. Not because they make sense (which they do, on her more rational level) but because they remind her of something the Doctor would say.
In that moment, her heart painfully twists and her stomach lurches, as she allows herself to think of him in depth for the first time since her arrival on the Moira. She misses him so much that she realizes she thinks of him and feels homesick, no matter how connected she was to her life on Earth. Her hold on the lightsaber tightens even more, only lessening when she feels her tears dripping down onto her hand.
Shaking, she retracts the weapon's blade and hands it over to him.]
I don't want to make bearing this easier. I just want to go home.
[She means the Moira, of course. But the part of her that desperately misses her best friend and companion is crying out for the Doctor to show up in his stupid blue box to find her and make things better.]
no subject
And he still regrets giving in.
He takes the lightsaber with a firm nod of his head, a note of thanks, for whatever little it's worth. He says nothing about the tears: he knows what they mean, he's felt them before. He doesn't have to know her for it to rip a hole in his heart, but sorrow is something. It hurts, it's untenable, and misery only seems to multiply. But the satisfaction of rage only lasts until the fire of it dies, and the misery in its wake is even worse.
This doesn't ever get easier. None of it does. But this isn't the time to bring it up.]
You will.
[If he has to die make sure of it. But they don't have to kill anyone on the way out. Hopefully.
That lesson might just be a short, moot point.This time, when he holds his hand out, it's only to take hers as he heads for the door.]
no subject
Her fingers curl between his, keeping a tight hold as she allows him to lead the way. She generally prefers taking the lead but this is one time where she has no problem following.]
There will be men waiting for us. They were there the other night when I tried escaping, and caught me within seconds.
[As horrible as being punished again would be, it somehow would be even worse knowing that Anakin is pulled into the same treatment because of her. So she knows they'll have to move quickly.]
no subject
He keeps the lightsaber in-hand with Clara's in his other, and heads first for the door. He pauses for only a moment to listen at it. The coast seems clear for now, but the last thing he needs now is to...well, be himself. Neither of them can afford to get caught again. (Injuries aside, he has a missing friend to find.) He turns to Clara:]
How many?
[Tentatively waiting for an answer, the door is pushed open with a too-loud squeak that seems to sound out like an alarm with the lack of sound to muffle it. Anakin cringes back, waits, and then pushes through.
This might be nothing better than an elaborate ruse, a trap. Good thing he's never managed to stay in one long.]