thisavrou_log | ( july event log )

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( 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! )

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[She's ready to slip a hand into his, if not yet to curl into his side the way she normally might. The familiar terrain of his callused fingers and palm is all she wants right then, held close but entirely in her control.]

And you found us. [It doesn't matter that he didn't find her personally. He saved people.

For a moment, she's quiet.] We should have saved the rest of them.

[That's something, better than nothing. His hand is warm, familiar; he doesn't close his fingers around hers for the moment. There's no real way to disagree with her-- they should have, she's right.

But it's not for lack of trying. He's as keenly aware of that as anyone, having gone over, back, again and again-- smuggling people off the outpost in the Falcon, playing games with chance cubes and unfamiliar decks of cards, placing unholy bets of flesh. Every roll he lost is going to haunt him til he's dead.]

We saved as many as we could.

[It's trite and it sounds like an excuse. Slowly, gently, he does fold his hand around hers, tries to keep from pointing out that they could have burned the place to its struts and it wouldn't change a thing, really-- scum like that just moves on, sets up shop somewhere else.

But she must know that already.]

[That has to be enough--as many as we could--and she knows it. Even if it isn't actually enough to live with (and Leia's not sure she's ever going to believe it is), Han must feel awful about every slave left on that little piece of nowhere floating back in space. As awful as she feels about it, easily. She can't make that worse for him.

(It's a good thing Chewie isn't here, she thinks, and at least they have that going for them. This would be even more painful for him.)]

I killed one of them. [Quiet, flat. She squeezes Han's hand lightly, looking down at it before meeting his eyes again.] I would have killed all of them if I could.

[It's an ugly truth, but one she has to share with someone. Han's the only one she can--the only one besides Kobra Kid, who knows only by virtue of the fact that he was there.]

[Focusing on getting people out as unobtrusively as possible-- not out of respect for the slavers, but because it seemed the best way to keep their lost crew safe for longer-- means he kept out of the worst of the fighting. But he's well aware she's not the only one who took a life-- and he can't find it in him to mourn much.

In her position he doesn't doubt he'd have felt the same. Hell, if he could, if it'd make a difference--]

You don't have to talk about it.

[Unless she wants to, he hopes is the unspoken other half of that.]

I don't want to. [A small sigh.] And I do. I don't--

[She shakes her head, hoping to clear it. There's no easy way to discuss this, especially when all she really wants is for Han to know nothing at all. It's too late for that, though--he already knows she was enslaved.

And with Luke gone, who else can she possibly tell about this? As much as she'd like Han to remain ignorant of just what happened to her, she needs someone she can confide in.

A little, she thinks, and forces down the vague sense of dread that starts to rise in her gut.]

He bought me. [She doubts she has to explain why. Her grip on his hand tightens.] He was going to--

[The idea that anyone could claim to own Leia Organa is sickening. It's not even a matter of jealousy, just principle. (By now that can't even come as a surprise, that he's a man of principles now and then.)

What is there, really, to say to that? He can imagine what a man might want with a woman like her-- someone with no scruples, no inhibitions, no morals. Hell, he's glad the man is dead.]

It's all right, [he says softly, though it decided isn't all right.]

[Leia shakes her head again, drawing her feet up beneath her. They both know it isn't all right, though she's grateful for the quiet way he tries to make it so.]

It's over. [It doesn't matter. He's dead. But most of that feels untrue, too. She can still feel the memory of his bulk keeping her in place beneath him, and the weight of his hand moving in from her hip--and it's revolting, all of it, especially when it threatens to creep into what she has with Han. This, sitting here with him, slipping into bed with him, should be separate from those weeks on the outpost. She wants to wall off their quarters from everything that happened outside of them and stay hidden here with him.

But there's no doing that.

She looks up at him for several long moments, at the depths of his pale eyes and the faint scar on his chin especially. These are some of the things that make him Han Solo, the things that set him apart from other, crueler men. Everything inside him, too, but right now, her thoughts are on the hand holding hers and the worry creasing his brow.]

It's over, and it's not going to happen again. [She'll be damned if she ends up in that position another time--and whoever tries to put her there isn't going to live to regret it.]

You're damn right about that.

[Soft but there's no mistaking the conviction there. Over his dead body, and all that other cliche stuff he's not going to say because hearing it won't do much good. Han has no idea how to deal with this-- all he can really do is try to let her speak or not speak at his own pace.

He reaches out to brush her temple with the knuckle of his free hand, not sure if that's too much too soon when she's not quite ready to be touched, but trying.

There are so many people who weren't as lucky as her, as any of them. The thought will weigh on him, balanced only by the people whose passage off the outpost they did manage to arrange.

It's never enough, but it's something.]

[Leia leans in toward his hand--this gesture belongs to nobody but Han, thankfully--and lets her eyes close for a moment. Whatever happens next, they're a united front. The two of them, even without Luke, are a dangerous team, and they've got every reason to keep their blasters up at this point.

Maybe next time he can be the one in need of rescuing, though.]

Stay with me tonight. [Not a demand or an order--more of a plea. And then, the closest she can manage to a lighter comment:] It's too quiet without your snoring.

[She hardly needs to plea, or demand for that matter, to get that. The weak joke she punctuates it with, though, keeps him from getting too twisted up about it. He manages a little smile in return.]

Snoring. [Like he's going to argue, but he can't argue. He rolls his eyes.] I'm just shivering from your feet.

[It's the farthest thing from a protest. He gives her hand a little tug, tentative, inviting her to lean against him without quite presuming to pull her close.]

[Part of her wants to keep explaining: Stay with me, but don't expect anything. I want you near me, but I don't know how close I can stand.

But Han knows. He braved three years of knowing what she couldn't admit to herself, and he's let her sit here gripping his hand without complaint. He saw what went on down there, and he's seen plenty like it in the past. He'll give her space until she doesn't need it anymore.

Which means she can at least try for levity, mock-annoyance replacing the darker, harder emotions that have settled into the pit of her stomach.]

They're not that cold. [And tentatively, still a little stiff, she scoots a little closer, her temple resting lightly against his shoulder.] You're just looking for things to complain about.

[Working for the Hutts means he knows far more than he wants to, at home-- and here, this place doesn't seem so different. Patience isn't Han's strong suit but she's always managed to bring it out in him to a surprising degree, maybe out of spite. Who knows. He knows enough of what she must have seen-- what nearly happened and what thankfully didn't, from what she's said-- not to press the issue.]

If you're complaining about me snoring I have to keep up somehow.

[She draws his arm around her, arranging them both as carefully as she can. After a moment, she's able to relax a little, curling a bit more thoroughly into his side.]

Just for you, I'll find some socks. [And then, a little more genuinely, soft:] Besides, I missed it.

[Letting her take the lead seems to be working out, so he obligingly moves when she pulls, and tries not to move much more than that. Having her pressed up against him is always pleasant, but he doesn't realize until she settles exactly how relieved he is. There wasn't a single moment where Han let himself believe he'd lost her, but--

but, it was a very close call, closer than he's been willing to admit.]

I missed you.

[She'll have to pardon him getting sappy. He won't make a habit of it. (Yeah, he will.)]

[Leia slips her arm around his waist, and for the first time in far too long, she feels something like safe. This isn't enough--she's certain it's going to take time before she can sleep easily--but it's a start.

She'd feared she wouldn't be able to be comfortable around Han again. She's grateful that isn't the case.]

I missed you, too. [Her instinct is to kiss him, but comfortable with Han isn't yet that comfortable. Instead, she squeezes his hand gently.]

[Tracing light circles on her wrist with his thumb, he tries to come up with something-- anything-- worthwhile to say. He can't come up with much, so he just stays where he is, arm curled around her, eyes half shut. He can't come up with a better way to show her the simple truth of the matter: he'll stay as long as she needs him, as long as she lets him.]

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( july event log )

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