( july event log )

[hownkai]

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.

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.

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

Comments

[takeitslow]

He spares another few tenths of a second to watch Rinzler, attention torn between threats. He still hates the program, still tastes iron just to think about what happens every time they meet. But right now the image of what the slavers did to him is fresher in his mind. These aren't the same men but they stand for the same things. And the revenge he wants in the moment is standing in flesh and blood. Not wires and code.

He fight the program if he has to. But Peter's not lying when he says that for the first time in a long while, his mind isn't on Rinzler.

When Rinzler turns away, back to fighting off the guards, Peter lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Hope and expectations are different beasts, and he didn't think he'd be granted the impasse that he wanted. And yet here they are.

Where Rinzler goes one way, Peter darts to the other. He heads toward the back to round off the slavers at the rear; not for a second could he think that Rinzler couldn't handle the man in front of him. The knife makes short work of the guard, a few efficient puncture wounds brings the man down to his knees. This creatures are too close to human, armed weapons that fire like molasses and movements that were slower still. This wouldn't be a long fight even if it was just Peter, with Rinzler here too it would be over in minutes.

He looks back to Rinzler away, moving stray bullets away from panicking slaves and watching the program's progress in his own fight.

[notglitching]

Rinzler might not be fast enough to outpace bullets, but if the swift, efficient movements are much sign, he isn't having too much trouble tracking them. The gunman falls back, scrambling to spray more shots towards his attacker, and Rinzler twists midair, eeling neatly between the shaky trajectories emerging from the gun.

He hits the ground just in front of the target, lightswords out to either side as impact turns into a rapid forward roll. Both feet hit his prey, sending it slamming back against a nearby wall, and Rinzler's back up by the time its weapon hits the ground. His own blades cross once, neatly removing the user's throat. Showoff? Always.

Scan-sense is enough to track the other parties in the fight, and Rinzler doesn't need to turn to feel when his (enemy) (ally?) shipmate sends its prey to the ground. Faster of course. Irritating. There's a fierce struggle of priority, the original function (draw out the fight; get them to call backup) competing with a desire to keep up. When Rinzler spots the target on the communicator shouting for help, the scales tip. He turns toward the nearer of the remaining pair, weapons humming with lethal intent. Backup is coming, one way or another.

And he's not planning to fall behind.

[takeitslow]

He has to look away at the kill. It may look like a squeamishness for death, which it was in some ways. He hadn't learned to stomach murder any better than he'd been able to the night he hesitated. But in the moment, the sick feeling in his stomach was less about the loss of life and more about the angry voice in his head that thought the slavers deserved it. That thought that said he kind of liked what he saw.

Peter puts his focus instead on the remaining slavers. He thinks that Rinzler could handle them, but he still makes a motion the program's way. He'll take the one on the left. He came here to handle this quickly, free as many as he could without getting caught and go back to the ship with his anger sated. Peter wanted to help because he saw an opportunity to end it now and cut the prisoners free.

He ran toward the man on the left, knife raised and didn't look back to see whether Rinzler would agree to splitting them up.

[notglitching]

Agree? No. Accept as inevitable? Much closer to that. Rinzler might prefer this user stay on the other side of this entire glitching station, but without some way to enforce that, he was resigned to sharing targets. It was more efficient than trying to fight it and the slavers. If not more satisfying.

Still, he'd be crashed before he lets it steal all his prey, and as the glimpse in periphery starts to blur again, his own efforts redouble. The combatant on the right steps back, gun raising unsteadily to track as the enforcer zig-zags toward it. One shot fires, then a second, and Rinzler steps off a wall for added momentum as he launches forward.

One perfect, satisfying curve of motion through the air, a quick flick of a red-lit blade, and his target crumples, choking on its final breath. Rinzler hits and rolls, coming up on his feet without pause as his mask turns automatically toward the [user] [threat].

[takeitslow]

He heads low, under flailing arms and the raised weapons. Two swift hits to the back of the guard's knees, knife in and out and twisted through the ligament. Peter moves to the left, swerves and brings the back of the knife crashing against the nape of the neck. The guard crumples.

Peter pivots again, looking back to where Rinzler was standing. For a moment he just stares the program down, bloody knife still raised and knees tensed. Then he slowly hooks the knife through a belt loop in her jeans and raises his hands. He takes a few steps back until his heels hit the body.

"I told you I wasn't here to fight you," he says, voice low. "I'm still not. There's bigger things going on here."

He'll fight if he has to, but Peter's tired. Not physically; he plans to take on more guards today. Free more slaves until he has to go back to the ship. It's a deeper kind of tired, one that makes him think he doesn't really have it in him for another round against Rinzler.

[notglitching]

Rinzler doesn't replace his batons. He doesn't even derezz the blades. The black mask meets Peter's stare with perfect stillness, noise rolling out in a harsh rattle. The enforcer's spine is curved, grip locked around his bloodstained weapons, every line broadcasting fluid, ready violence.

But the user steps back, and he doesn't pursue.

Slowly, the program straightens, crouch rising to his usual bent hunch. Slowly, the tips of his lightswords lower towards the floor. He hates this user. He doesn't trust it. He'd gladly kill it, break it—cut it to pieces with the slightest excuse.

But it's not the threat. Not the enemy. Not today, not here. And not when both of them have other targets.

The black mask jerks to the side. Fine. Leave.

Rinzler's not planning to follow.

[takeitslow]

There's a long moment, made endless by the stretch of his ability and the exhaustion in his chest, that Peter's tensed for a rematch. As Rinzler rises, he waits for the program to rush him. As Rinzler moves the weapon, he waits for the attempted stab.

But what he gets instead is the obvious dismissal. A chance, a truce extended. Peter hesitates and then nods slowly in acknowledgment. He thinks about saying something, to remark on the fact they had worked together or the fact Rinzler was allowing Peter to leave. A thanks, maybe.

But the words don't make it past the half second thought. Instead Peter leaves it at the nod and runs.