driftfleet | SLAVERS PLOT LOG |closed-ish. this is why we don't get nice things, bud.

Entry tags:

SLAVERS PLOT LOG |closed-ish. this is why we don't get nice things, bud.

Who: Max, Tempest, and a buttload of others who want to be involved (and slavers).
Broadcast: N/A
Action: that shitty junkstation what up
When: IDK TODAY SURE.

SUMMARY:

Max helped Beverly out with some shady people a while back. Well. They didn't appreciate that. Cue them deciding to wail on Max and Tempest and drag the guy off to sale on the slave trade market. That just won't do, who else is gonna grunt and complain and accidentally punch or threaten small children on the fleet? Rescue squad, assemble.

(AKA there will be a Part A thread and then future open threads for rescuing or just... y'know, an excuse to beat the tar out of some terrible people. Also maybe a thread for Max after the fact?? Who knows.)

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[And that's the worst thing about this place, right there.

He'd rather get his ass kicked sad, alone, and without a prayer in the world. Company just isn't fair. To anyone. His hackles rise near instantly when she's struck, because even if he doesn't know her well enough to care for conversation of his own accord, he really is useless in how human he can be. Someone trying to help him? It's ridiculous, it shouldn't happen, but here they are.

He launches himself at the person attacking her, jamming his gun into their gut and —

His foot is pulled out from under him, from behind. He hits the ground hard, and is—

Dragged.

A bag is dragged over his head, breathing suddenly difficult, and memories pulse in his mind of warboys and wet rags and chains. It feels scratchy, rough like burlap, and he kicks and claws and makes nearly inhuman growls of panic and rage. Something prods into his side hard, and he feels his body grow taut, white-hot pain lancing. Electric prod. His fingernails are splintering against the floor as they try to pick him up and carry him like a coffin at a funeral. Only he's quite alive and is thrashing like a stuck but raging boar.

They can punch and strike all they want; it only fuels his desire to flee against all pummeling.]

[she's knocked to her knees and out of the corner of her vision she can see him getting dragged away. All it does is fuel her anger further. One of the slavers leans down and grabs her by her hair and she shoves her palm up, hitting him as hard as she can in the throat. Another has his legs swept out from underneath him, and the momentum is enough to scramble to her feet and pursue the rest of them and Max.

She leans over to scoop up one of the discarded weapons just in time to take a swing at one of the slaver's heads, the dull sound of metal hitting bone loud despite all the commotion. But it seems like the closer she gets, the quicker they are dragging him away, as she gets caught up fending off the ones still standing]

[One of the tragically bruised men waves a hand at the men, moving them along. Telling them to get the cargo back to the ship — that they're going to deal with the all too literal fiery bitch. Max can hear bits and pieces, all of it whirling together in a mess of sound and a taste of blood from his bitten cheek. It's hard to fight when exhaustion begins to slow his arms and legs against a legion of tightly gripping arms, but he damn well continues.

Until something hits him especially hard, and the breath flies out of him before he sags heavily and they begin to move him away down the nearest alleyway. Leaving Tempest to her fate against half of the men who are more than ready to take on a tiring fighter who is struggling to beat their faces in.

"Kill'r."

Slavers. Dickbags.

Max is a heavy but motionless weight being dragged without care, further and further away, like a man fated to a strong ocean current.]

[how many times has she heard that? Is the taunt she wants to shout back, but instead she takes her aggressions out once again on a poor, unfortunate slaver who stepped wrong.

It isn't that she can't hold her own; she's a decent fighter and now armed with a weapon, she can at least beat the hell out of some and set fire to the others - her preferred method of combat, with people like this.

But she's slow and her side feels as though it's on fire, and even though she puts up a good fight, she's overwhelmed soon enough. One good hit sends her staggering back to hit a somehow still standing wall, her borrowed weapon skittering out of reach. Still, almost immediately she's gasping through the pain, working up to a spell to keep the men at bay as they descend on her]

[Makie appears like a ghost on the sidelines of the whole mess. She tends to guard herself when it comes to staying out of other people's business, but the sounds of a fight are always going to draw her attention when people she knows and cares about might possibly be in the vicinity, and she's... dealt with these guys before. So.

She respects Max. And doesn't know Tempest from a bar of soap, but it's a woman fighting a losing battle to a bunch of assholes, and that's enough for her to step in. Sorry, Max, she's gonna let you get kidnapped, because you're clearly not about to die. Priorities. She makes her presence felt a moment later, the bladed edge of her chain staff scything through the air to bite into the side of the closest slaver to Tempest, yanking him backward with a gurgling cry. It gets their attention. Have some breathing space.]

[Makie's timing is perfect; Tempest stops, mid-spell, as the slaver about to hit her is suddenly yanked away, and the rest are momentarily distracted. Her head jerks up in surprise and there's obvious relief in her expression when she spots Makie. Fortunate and lucky she was, even if she'd managed to get the spell cast in time]

[Makie registers the relief and marks it as the other woman being immediately out of danger, but they're still outnumbered. She yanks the pike back and lets the first slaver slump to the ground trying vainly to stem the blood flow-- he won't get up again. In fact, she steps on him as she rushes forward, blades never stopping. She's fast, a dancer with an eight foot reach of spinning steel, and most of them just aren't expecting it.

But she's not superhuman, and after a few moments-- after another handful die, after the surprise is gone-- the slavers take her as a genuine threat. Fight's on. She'll keep within reach of Tempest to offer any further defence, but she doesn't say anything. It's been a long time since Makie could really cut loose, and so she does.]

[she staggers to her feet after a few moments, when the slavers start turning their attention completely away from her and towards Makie. She isn't the type to just sit back and let someone else clean up her mess - or in this case make more of one - but she isn't about to get in the way, either. Let the woman have her fun.

Still, she picks off the ones who don't know how to stay down, who get knocked close enough that she can take the discarded weapon to a head, or a knee. She has half a mind on keeping at least one alive, but as for the rest? Well, if Makie doesn't kill them, Tempest is happy to play clean-up]

[Fire magic. Handy stuff. She does keep an eye on Tempest, especially when she gets up-- not just to make sure she can hold her own, but always making sure Makie keeps the long range of her strikes away from the woman she's trying to help. It divides her attention just slightly more than she wants, but that isn't really a problem. She's still much faster on her feet than this rabble, and compared to the swordsmen she's fought at home, they're nothing but peasants. Their strength is in numbers, and Makie's strength has always been against numbers.

But the slavers aren't stupid, either-- or at least, some of them aren't, practically falling over themselves to get away from both the pike blades and Tempest's magic. One outright breaks and runs, and a handful of others produce guns, though they don't fire yet-- there's still too many people on the floor. A clear shot is all they need. And while they'd rather not draw attention from others in the station with gunfire, it's better than dying to a couple women, isn't it?]

[Tempest has to admit that the woman is doing a far better job than she or Max had managed. She'd been thrown off by gunfire and it had cost her, and without a sword she only had the stolen pipe to use in place, aside from her magic. At least, this was less fighting against trained soldiers, though they were still trained enough that they gave her trouble. Maybe that had been the real problem - underestimating.

The closest slaver to her draws a gun and she grips the pipe in her hand, swinging downwards to disarm him, then twisting the weapon to jam it upwards into his chest. Another is gifted a fireball to the face, as she continues to work the perimeter, outside of Makie's range. Surely they wouldn't be stupid enough to fire those blasted things in here of all places, right?]

Edited 2016-10-27 05:40 (UTC)

[Makie's exotic weapon probably hadn't helped matters either, though the slavers are finally growing accustomed to it, learning to avoid its reach where they can. But that just puts them in reach of Tempest instead, and it's easy to adjust so the rest have no choice but to fight one or the other. Death by fire or the blade, guys, take your pick.

She catches the heavy metal rod that swings toward her on the iron midsection of her staff, eyes widening as it flares to life with electricity a few inches away. It's an unfamiliar weapon for a samurai, and she gives way under the attack, letting him stumble forward. Then she spins on her heel and slam him in the face with a kick hard enough to crunch bone.

One breaks and runs. There's swearing-- fuck it-- and another finally raises his gun, white-faced, and opening fire. He'd like to leave here alive, thanks very much.]

[for the ones she can't handle on her own, it's simple enough to knock them back, letting Makie do the rest with her blade. Their strengths work in tandem with each other and without a word.

Tempest ends up with one particular slaver too big to knock down easily, and he's caught on to her strategy - he grabs her wrist and disarms her, while the other grabs her free hand - at least, thinking that would stop her from using her magic. Instead he's greeted with fire engulfing his hand and a knee to the groin, and she's quick to grab him by the face and slam his head into the floor with all her strength.

That leaves the last one firing his weapon, too far from her to hit easily with a spell]

[Makie's aware of him on her peripheral vision but she's still fighting on other fronts and he's out of her reach. She makes an effort even so-- her knife pulls free from its sheath and she flings it in his direction. It's too little too late; spoils his aim enough that the shot punches through high in the shoulder instead of a more lethal place, and Makie staggers.

Well, fuck that guy. Her mouth tightens in a line of pain, but Makie follows through with her opponents without more than a small hitch to her movement, blade swinging back to catch in her hands as she finishes the fight. Kind of leaves the dead, the dying, a couple runaways, and one gunman fumbling to keep his grip on the gun with Makie's knife buried in his forearm.]

[well, that just won't fly. Tempest curses as she sees Makie get it, but she has to be impressed as well - the woman keeps going, taking out the last few standing save for the gunman, and the body count alone is worth being impressed over. She glances from Makie over to the gunman - and Tempest takes off at him.

He turns and lifts the gun, but she's is a moment quicker and grabs it, jerking it downwards as she rips the knife out of his hand. He has little time to cry out from the pain; she kicks at his knee, putting him off balance and sending him to his knees, releasing his hold on the gun. Tempest is quick to shift her grip on it to point the barrel at his head.

When she finally speaks she's calm, though a little out of breath, and she turns her head just enough to glance at Makie]

Are you all right?

[Damn, woman, you're brutal. Makie approves. And now that all in the vicinity are accounted for, she sags just a little, her free hand going to her shoulder with a wince. It hurts... a lot more than she'd anticipated. But she's never been shot before.

Nevertheless--]

It's not critical. I'll be all right. [She needs treatment and it's going to slow her down, which is unfortunate given they're still down one man. But it's not going to kill her.

She gives Tempest a reassuring nod, and then shifts her gaze to the sweating gunman. Dude, you're so screwed.]

[she gives a faint nod, watching Makie for a moment before she turns her attention back to the gunman. He's so incredibly screwed.

She still has Makie's knife, and she twirls it between her fingers, purposely in view of their prisoner]

I'm glad. Shall we question this one, then? [he opens his mouth to respond but she cuts him off] Every time you refuse, I will cut something off. So I would mind your tongue, sir.

[Makie straightens. Interrogation is not her forte, but she gets the distinct impression Tempest might be good at it with the way she's twirling that knife.

But that doesn't mean Makie can't make an impression to unnerve, and she steps across the blood smeared on the ground almost delicately to loom by Tempest, face schooled back into the same blank mask she just slaughtered his allies with, the pike blades held in loose fingers by her side.

The guy darts a nervous look from one to the other, mouth opening and shutting a few times. "Look, I don't-- I can't-- you're just gonna kill me anyway, right?"]

[for a moment Tempest glances over, and were this any other situation she might "break character" to grin. She had the feeling Makie could get the man to talk with a look alone. Her threats weren't necessary.

She tilts her head back to the gunman, eyebrows raised. The knife moves a little faster, almost at an impatient pace; she wouldn't say she's good at this, but she has the experience. Much more than she'd have liked]

If you want to walk away alive, I suggest that you tell us where your lot took the man I was with. Quickly.

[The gunman stares back and tries not to look at the knife, but his gaze keeps twitching toward it. He has some loyalty to his crew, but all the same his own survival is more important. His lip curls back.

"Ship's a junker called the Ripperjack, but you won't catch 'em anyway. They'll know you survived, they're gonna clear out, you watch." Not that there's anything that really qualifies as law enforcement here, but the guy they took obviously has allies. "Even if they don't, you're way outnumbered, okay? Just cut your losses. He's not worth it."

It's a wheedling kind of bargain. Maybe if he plays up how nasty the slaver ship is, they'll just bail out and abandon Max and leave him alone.]

[she gives the man a long, long searching look before she directs her attention to Makie. She finally stops with the knife, tossing it up and catching carefully by the blade so she can offer it over]

I believe this is yours. [she still has the gun she took earlier, and she keeps that trained on him, just in case] Is there anything you would like to ask him?

[Makie takes the knife with a hand gone slightly shaky now that adrenalin has started to wear off, curling bloodstained fingers around it; her face is as impassive as ever, still staring down at the gunman.]

Numbers. How many are on this ship of yours? What can we expect when we arrive in terms of defense?

[her own hand is shaking now that it isn't busy with the gun, but she presses it to her side instead, keeping the other arm steady. Another world away taught her a bit about guns, at least in the movies she watched, and when the man hesitates to answer she pulls the hammer back with her thumb. She presses it harder against his head.

The man, perhaps banking on them sparring him, does speak up again. "Couple dozen, more than what you saw here. You really shouldn't be worrying 'bout defense, you aren't gonna make it past the entrance."]

Do you say that because you assume your crew is strong enough or do they have an ability to lock us out?

[She glances at Tempest when his eyes shift away from her at that last, muttering so quietly it's almost missed. "Both." Her own ship had passcodes to let people in for a while-- they can easily take this idiot with them. And as for the former, they'll deal.]

[Tempest glances at Makie as well, her frown deepening for just a moment. She's thinking along the same lines, though she knows nothing of passcodes or even how to lock people out. But bringing this one along? That was the only reason he was still alive, aside from questioning him]

I would not be opposed to asking for further help from the fleet, if you aren't.

I am not opposed. We'll need it. [Her mouth twists a little in dissatisfaction, but Makie's no fool. This lot are armed with weapons she probably won't be so lucky with a second time, and she can't fight as well as she'd like with a perforated shoulder .]

We can use him to bypass any locks on his ship. I'm sure we won't be the only ones who would like to put an end to these slavers.

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noprophecies - 2016-10-31 06:57 (UTC) - Expand

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therewerefifty - 2016-10-31 11:13 (UTC) - Expand

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