epidemiology | EVENT ★ ROLLING 'ROUND THE BEND

EVENT ★ ROLLING 'ROUND THE BEND

ASTERION PRISON

The white light is blinding. The weightlessness continues. The air thins into nothingness, though those who breathe won't feel the pain of suffocation -- in fact, they won't feel the need to breathe at all. The sensation continues for what may seem like a second or an eternity; it's impossible to tell.

And then the floor hits you. Or rather, you hit the floor. It's cold and metal and as your vision returns, you'll find you're not alone in this small room, though you're definitely not with anyone you know: standing in front of you is a brawny alien in a black uniform, its many purple eyes staring at you. The alien is flanked by a pair of robots, who take advantage of your dazed state and grasp you in their metal arms to drag you from the room into what appears to be a gigantic prison.

As the robots drag you past cells -- some containing other aliens, some containing humanoids, and some containing your teammates -- you'll catch a glimpse of the outside through a window.

You're in outer space.

If questioned, the guard will only tell you that you've been accused of conspiracy to commit grand theft, and your trial will begin soon. But in the meantime, you'd better get cozy.

YOUR NEW HOME

Asterion Prison is a dreadnought class spaceship with several different cell blocks making up a majority of its innards, with the rest of the space designated for day-to-day running of the ship and living quarters for the guards. Audentes is housed in Block 26, which has six tiers of cells situated in a circle around the main recreational area, out of which juts the Block 26 guard tower.

Each inmate, including Audentes recruits, has a glowing blue symbol emblazoned on their forehead. Though it's not immediately clear what the symbols mean, inmates who have been around longer will explain: it's a record of how many lives you've taken, a way for the guards to know who's the most dangerous. The symbol glows through any kind of attempt at covering it -- whether by makeup, clothing, hair, or something else -- so it's best to learn to deal with it quickly.

Speaking of clothing, whatever recruits were wearing upon their abduction has been replaced by a uniform orange jumpsuit. Similarly, any weapons are no longer present, though those with a special connection to their weapons will feel that they are being held elsewhere on the ship.

Luckily, the guards appear to have overlooked jewelcomms, so Audentes will be able to communicate with each other via magitek (text only is suggested, of course, unless you want to get caught!), though contact with Oska or any other outside ALASTAIR recruit seems to be blocked.

LOCKDOWN

As long as inmates keep to themselves and don't bother the guards, things run pretty smoothly. Two meals a day, five hours of sleep, and all the weights you need to get yourself swole. But on the sixth day in Asterion Prison, all hell breaks loose.

No one knows who started it, but there's suddenly a loud roar from the milling crowd in the recreational area. Most inmates scatter, but some rush in -- to see what's going on or to get a piece of the action themselves, who knows -- and then everything becomes an all-out brawl.

Super strong aliens with various powers fight each other loudly and violently while others cower and run for cover. The old alien ducks behind his chess board just in time to avoid a barbell sailing overhead; a six-armed being shoots lava out of its mouth, which does nothing to the metallic floor but severely burns a group of humanoid toads wielding shivs.

The fight goes on for a few long minutes before correctional officers and their robot guards pour in to try and get things under control. Those who are still around once the officers come in are in threat of being dragged off to solitary, even if they had nothing to do with the brawl, so make yourself scarce unless the idea of sitting in the dark for another six days seems appealing.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to space prison! We hope you'll enjoy your stay. There is a plotting write-up here with extra information about the prison ship, and please note that participation in the symbol directory is mandatory.

If you have any questions about the prison that aren't answered here, please direct them to the Leramzen dossier.

Questions about the game in general should be directed to the FAQ and you may submit mission ideas or player plots at any time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The end of the riot didn't mean the end to the pent up frustrations constantly about to boil over in Asterion Prison. It merely broke it into smaller gangs and groups, returned them to the usual style of jumpings and beatings in the shadows, out of sight of guards, or quick enough not to get caught.

Hayame has largely been ignoring these things since they've arrived. Hasn't really left her cell, except for the times she was dragged to the mess for breakfast and roll call... and her quest for a makeshift blade.

She still had it. Even though she failed to use it. (She still thought of it as "failed to", even with the circumstances. Even with what she had been asked to do.)

This time, though... Hayame raises her head at the sound of threats from outside the cell, accompanied by the sound what sounds like a fight in the making.]

[It's not the first time that Eight's been met with incredulity at the sight of his brand. Nobody believes someone his size and apparent age could be responsible for so many deaths, and so he can easily conclude that this won't be the last time. He's about the least intimidated by alien inmates crowding around him as he could be, and that only seems to offend them more.

He meets the attempts to goad him with stony silence, his expression speaking nothing of concern as he looks up at them. One lifts a limb and shoves his chest, knocking him against the wall behind him, and still, Eight's expression doesn't waver]

You really don't have anything better to do?

[His tone doesn't change, but the looks he's given certainly do. He's struck again, and he only straightens his posture, for all that his limited height allows him]

I've had worse.

[One among them says he'll show him worse. Eight looks no more intimidated than he did before, even when he's struck again. And again. It's something he tolerates, even though his magic could certainly handle this much. Even though, had he the room, so could his fists and feet.

But he's letting them occupy themselves for a reason]

[She recognizes that voice. It's the voice of a man who has been a thorn in her side since their imprisonment began. Who had said to her words that she hated- words that reminded her all too clearly of the ones Yugiri had said to her that night, before they'd set out on the mission that had spelled the downfall of the only life she'd ever known in favor of a glimmer of hope that died soon after.

She hasn't, though, despite her attempts to summon the courage for it. Despite the efforts she'd gone to procure a makeshift blade. Despite everything. She wasn't strong enough to die, nor did she fear she had the strength to bear the shame of living in failure- yet was asked to live anyway, by the person she had sworn to serve in hopes that it would give her something she had always wanted.

It isn't as if she feels Eight is in need of defending. Or that the sounds of him passively taking hits she expects he ought to be able to dodge irritate her. She doesn't think about any of those things, because that would mean acknowledging them.

Instead, there's no warning at all before the inmate about to punch Eight in the gut catches a back hoof to the chest, Hayame's kick coming through the half open cell door.]

[Of all the outcomes Eight might've expected from this altercation — and he has a very realistic outlook regarding this — one of his assailants crashing into a nearby cell wasn't one of them. At least certainly not this early on. If his life wasn't truly in danger he needn't concern himself with retaliating with such force. But there the guy goes with a bodily slam against the bars and a weak groan, the others turning toward the source of that blow with alarm.

Eight's prison uniform is a rumpled, torn mess by this point, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth as he straightens once again. Already it's clear he's got the makings of bruises along his jaw and one cheek, stained angry red from solid impact. It's something he staunchly ignores as he looks up, surprised as any of the others to spot Hayame there.

Unlike his attackers, he's quicker to respond, if only to cast a Protect spell on her]

Guess you all were too noisy.

[There's a wry weariness about his tone, for all that Eight didn't yield much reaction to being beaten. He truly has seen far worse than this, remembers dying in the battlefield only to awaken to Mother chiding him about being too reckless, or giving him cryptic remarks he wasn't entirely sure he understood]

[If looks alone could kill, there wouldn't be a "0" glowing blue and obvious on Hayame's forehead when she emerges from the shadow of the cell, cold fury on her features. That number might even have changed to a "1", if her kick had connected at the skull and not the chest.

But potentially broken ribs don't count.]

Be gone from here at once.

[She doesn't actually look Eight over properly yet, nor offer him assistance or a kind word... a warning to his new "friends" would be enough, she thought. Except it wasn't, because who was going to listen to a "0" who had been a shadow for a week and a boy who didn't fight back?

The group explodes into action, get 'em both, then!.

She doesn't even have time to truly express her distaste for Eight's freedom with his... abilities and the feel of the spells working their way through her body, something that made her want to shuck her very skin to get away from something that to her was so unnatural, let alone imaginable.

Instead, she takes out that frustration by grabbing the first one to get close enough by the neck, holding him out from her body far enough that punches and kicks were useless... and slamming him into the cell bars.]

[Support spells aren't natural for Eight as much as offense is, and it's foreign to him still yet to employ them. But he finds those around him seldom employ defensive magic, as Aqua is the only exception he's observed. It's becoming an awkward reflex to cover others where he senses that lack, despite being far inferior to others in terms of magical potency where defense is concerned. A strange thing, that.

Now that Hayame has engaged the prisoners, there's nothing for it but to neutralize them. Almost automatically, Eight reels back his fist and slams it into an oncoming attacker's gut with explosive force, the burst of energy sending the alien tumbling to the floor. It always hurts him, that attack, and Eight rolls his shoulder as he advances toward his next opponent.

He's certainly being looked at more seriously now. Perhaps it's the mechanical way he slips into battle, or the unnatural speed with which he moves. Whichever it is, he closes in on another alien too quickly, pivoting to land a sharp kick to its gut]

[Hayame far preferred the bow and blade to hand-to-hand, but that wasn't quite because she was more skilled with arms than the purely physical. Humans, the civilized, used weapons... and the savage or desperate kicked, bit, punched, and threw.

It was far more difficult to see a jinba as human in the midst of that sort of brawl.

Rearing up to her full height, she appears more beast than human, lips pulled back to bear teeth too sharp to be human, snarling as she slams her weight back down with a loud clap of hooves on floor, striking one of the gang on the way down and sending him to the ground clutching his likely shattered collarbone. Throwing her human half forward to keep her balance, she lashes out with her back legs at one trying to circle around, twisting from the waist to seize him by the orange jumpsuit and throw him over her shoulder like a rag doll.

For an "X" who hadn't been fighting back and a "0"... it seemed like there wouldn't be much trouble- if it weren't for the sound of approaching guards.]

[Trusting that Hayame has her share of attackers well in-hand, particularly when she can drop them with a single blow from the looks of it, Eight focuses on those who come his way. He supposes they're opportunists, sizing up the difference between him and her and deeming him the easier target. It's not a conclusion he can fault them for, though it does mean they're in for a rude awakening.

The number on his forehead might not be a point of pride for him, but he can't deny that it was earned.

So when another attacker comes his way, Eight greets him with a flurry of punches. The movement is far too swift for a normal human, enough to blur to any onlooker, and the alien drops in the next instant. Judging by the marks on their foreheads, none of them were really fit to contend with real fighters.

Eight can't feel too sorry for their injuries, considering the situation]

[A jinba's hearing, while not as good as a true beast's, was a touch above a normal human's. Over the scream of the man she's just thrown she can hear the sound of the prison guards- the sound of their movements is one she's grown familiar with, having been accustomed this last week to them dragging her to mess hall breakfasts.

Normally, (now that she has regained the will and the fire for it), she would just as gladly pit herself against them. They're a better target for her pent up rage and frustrations than these random curs- but she had promised. She had promised she would ensure that man's escape from this place...

And she cannot do that in the infirmary after a beating from those impenetrably armored guards, nor can she do that from solitary.

Which leaves only the option she would never wish to choose. Before the guards can round the corner, Hayame turns and kicks the last inmate near her- in the head, she doesn't want him conscious enough to report on their activity, before she rounds on Eight.]

Come with me.

[He's fast- the glimpses she's caught from the corner of her eye have told her that. Faster than a normal human ought to be. But she still can't quite recognize it as faster than a jinba was.

Which is why when she takes off, she grabs Eight by the waist along the way with every intent to tuck him under her arm, along for the ride full gallop.]

[It doesn't seem that Eight has much of a choice in the matter when Hayame scoops him up like a parcel and carries him off. He could just as easily run, and he wants to protest as much, but raising his voice enough to be clear over the sound of her hooves striking the floor would risk attracting unwanted attention. The less noise they produce, the better off they are, and so Eight tolerates his newfound role as carry-on baggage.

At least until the sounds of guards are some distance away, at which point he lightly claps a hand on her arm to indicate that he'd like to be put down. He's not terribly useful this way, if those guards choose to pursue them, and there's a reasonable chance they'll look for the ones who knocked out all of those other prisoners.

If they're lucky, cleaning up that mess will be enough of a distraction, but how lucky have they been lately?]

I could've kept up, you know.

[At the very least, he could outrun a few guards if he had to. Chances are with the difference of forces, staying behind to fight would've been useless, but carrying him like this was surely slowing her down. Eight doesn't much fancy the idea of being dead weight]

[To her credit, Hayame only picked him up because she knew she could carry him, and though she does so one-armed, tucking him against her side like a parcel, there doesn't seem to be any strain in her for it- he was lighter than some foals she'd tossed around, and once she's begun there's no stopping- until she spots her cell, at the end of block.

She sets him down when he indicates, but the sound of guards is still audible to her, and she can't settle, withers twitching, tail swishing, hooves scuffing the cold floor as she pushes him towards the cell.]

Get in.

[Whether he could keep up or not she'll more than happily (well,) debate with him later, but first they had to account for the possibility that the guards would do a search.]

[Eight would certainly debate with her right now, but he can hear the approach of the guards just as well as she can, resonant as it is in these halls. He huffs out a tense sigh all the same before he steps into the cell, quickly sidestepping so he isn't blocking the way for Hayame. He'd dart right back out if she didn't enter the cell herself, but he doubts she's interested in picking fights with the guards.

Were it the case, she wouldn't have bothered picking him up and running. It comes as no surprise to him that she could do that, given the ease with which she'd casually hauled him off his feet and thrown her once upon a time, at least]

They might wonder what I'm doing in here, you know.

[Not that they weren't free to roam for some time longer, but the last time he'd paid her a visit, the guards hadn't happened by during his stay. It was a brief thing of course, as he's sure this will be]

[He has a point. The guards surely would wonder about that- but she has no intentions of letting them see the two of them together, nor see them parting with haste, either.]

They shall not wonder for the sight they are used to seeing.

[The sight she has been up until a day or so past, a large lump of morose flesh turning to morose skeleton in the corner of her cell. With haste, Hayame lumbers to her knees and lays herself down on the floor in the corner, legs tucking up under her body-

Leaving a small space open just between her belly and the corner wall- just large enough for a human of shorter stature to fit in, if not a bit snugly. With as large as her lower half was, he wouldn't even be visible unless someone came in at least halfway into the cell.

Leaning her shoulder and cheek against the wall, preparing a slouch and the defeated curve of spine, she jerks her head to... invite.

Technically the closest she's ever invited any man to be to her, but. He doesn't need to know that.]

[Eight doesn't follow at first, watching the way she folds herself against the wall. That surely is what the guards would expect to see when it comes to her, much as he dislikes thinking about it. He isn't sure what to do about his own presence here however — that is, until her indication that he join her.

One eyebrow hikes up as he watches her, hesitant to interpret it that way. Hayame has an appreciation for personal space, and he'd be quite close to her if he's between her body and the wall. Still, he imagines she'll correct the matter quickly if he is mistaken. Her horned lord would surely give him a speech about besmirching honor of something of the like.

Actually he's surprised he hasn't gotten one already, considering the circumstances of his first meeting with her.

In the end it's the approaching footfalls of the guards that spur him forward, not wanting to be the cause of further injury to her, though there's a cautious rigidity about his approach. He's slow to step into this gap between her and the wall, and slower still about folding down into it, attention divided between the cell door and brief glances to gauge her expression. He has no doubt that Hayame wouldn't mask her irritation if she were affronted.

But it seems that he settles against her without incident, pressed as close to the wall as he can be in some effort to minimize contact. It's something of a moot point like this, but while he hasn't much need of personal space in the physical sense, he understands hers]

[As Eight gets into the position she has prepared for him, Hayame keeps stock still, barely even breathing, her face a stony mask that, to begin with, shows no emotion. At least, for a short while, while she has a tremulous hold on things with the approaching footfalls in her ears.

She gives him no word, they're too close, instead slightly rolling her equine half inward to further obscure where he is bulkiest, the shoulders, swishing tail to drape over legs and her long mane likewise, pressing her cheek to the cell wall and then slouching, trying to affect the posture of a woman defeated, the woman in the cell from yesterday. But her attempts had led to nothing, and the sharpened scale knife she had planned to slit her belly open with is now instead tucked unbloodied into her orange uniform. Still close.

There was no honor in giving in to a fear of death and failing even at suicide. There was no honor in hiding from one's foes.

But she's afraid there was little honor in her any longer.

The guards come eventually, but not before Hayame has time to notice things. Like the warmth of Eight's body heat, or the feel of his narrow hip against her belly, head so close to her second chest- and it's a good thing she has her head away and down, just as hidden from them as the Class-0 student was, because rather than looking scared or morose...

Hayame is blushing.

Even through the guards' comments, "this thing still hasn't moved?", and even through the eventual sound of them moving on in their search.]

[For his part, Eight is quite good at remaining still. He had, in his career, had need to hunker down in one place without notice on many occasions. This is the first time he's been curled up against someone rather than some unyielding surface or inside of some container, taking advantage of his small stature. Much as he hated being reminded of his size, he's known how to use it.

Just not pressed up against someone else in this manner. He's got enough siblings that close quarters may be nothing new either, and when they were younger, the others would sometimes crowd him on cold nights. Naturally a bit warmer than the rest as he is, Eight made a good heat source. With age and moving into dorms, those habits changed, but that's a factor that never would've affected Hayame.

He'd only met her here, the circumstances of which he elects not to review as he bends his focus toward retreating voices and boots clomping against the cold metal floor. Once they've receded into distant echoes, Eight's just as purposefully slow about picking himself up as he had been with lying down.

That he's crowded her hasn't left his awareness, and he doesn't want to make matters worse]

Some guards...

[He mutters, though it obviously worked in their favor]

[Hayame is sadly all too aware of the heat in her cheeks at a time like this, inexperienced enough around men that even this sort of closeness is enough to embarrass her. In seeking to avoid the possibility of being sold as a broodmare she has spent most of her life spurning them, quite violently at times-

(Though as often and as violently as she had rebuffed Matsukaze, he had still-)

But there's no time for such things here, and she simply sits as still as she can as the guards leave, as Eight begins to unfold and extract himself. It is almost tempting to stay where she is, where she'd grown comfortable in the days past, the smooth cell walls whispering to her-

But she can't. She promised, so she has to get her legs back under her, bracing in the corner with a palm to lever up.]

As their "machines" grow smarter their senses grow duller.

[At least, she hopes that is what it is- hopes that she would be given at least that small advantage in a place like this.]

[Despite himself, fully aware that he's so much smaller than her and unable to be of any practical assistance, Eight still offers her a hand. Call it a reflex, borne of being one among a dozen siblings. No one else was there to pick them up but one another, often surrounded by enemies or at least those who either resented them or expected they needed no help to start with.

As he waits for her to get up, he notes the color on her face, and feigns interest in the doorway. There's no evidence that the guards are doubling back, of course. It seems right that he should give her a few moments to collect herself, however.

They're both fighters, and he knows he'd rather not be stared down during a lapse in composure, if ever he had one]

Relying on tek doesn't promote strength, in my experience.

[To some degree, it was useful, but an enemy that needed machinery in order to fight was also an enemy who couldn't effectively retaliate without it. These guards seem no better in that respect, leaning too heavily on something that might one day fail them. In the same regard, Eight never needs to worry about his own weapons letting him down, for his body is that weapon.

It may be something that they could take advantage of. Their abilities aren't hampered, if his own capacity to cast spells is any indication. Noctis is practically a firing squad all on his own, so if they combined efforts, they might be able to break out of here...

But there's a lot of variables involved in that. Gauging the response time of the guards just now lessened that number, but only by one]

True.

[The hand she ignores, but she does not give it a look of disdain or disgust for the offer. She can simply do it by herself, and she has interacted with him enough that she realizes he simply does such things, and it likely isn't a slight against her abilities or gender. She gets up on her own, human and equine halves working together seamlessly to get her back to her feet.

She looks down and notes a fleck of blood on her back hoof, which she scrapes off on the floor with an idle motion, working on wiping the blush from her cheeks.]

... Next time do not allow a desire to conceal your strength be something that leads to injuries.

[She manages a somewhat chastising tone, despite the condition she herself had been in days past, and the injuries she herself had accumulated, clearing her throat to clear the last of the pink away. (In her defense... she hadn't been motivated by a desire to hide her strength.)]

[Desire to conceal his strength... Eight knows he's spoken of the value of being able to lay low when necessary, to blend in where doing otherwise would cause trouble, but he hadn't thought she'd expect him to always do so. Under these circumstances, there isn't much value in pretending that he's just some civilian.

After all, the glowing marks on his forehead can't be hidden, from what he's seen of others' attempts to do so]

I was testing the guards' response time.

[In the end, his decision was wholeheartedly pragmatic. They need to break out of this place eventually, and that requires more information than they currently have. It seems that way to him, at any rate. What others are doing about the situation isn't something he's concerned himself with for the time being]

Got to get out of here eventually, right?

[Hayame doesn't know what she believes when it comes to these numbers. What counted? Were they to believe that every single kill was one caused directly? She couldn't know, and so she refused to take some magical glowing number at face value.

Or maybe that was just because she didn't want to acknowledge the "0" on her own forehead.

Still, he gives a good enough excuse for her to accept it, however grudgingly.]

...

[Getting out. It had been hard enough to convince herself to get off the floor, to eat, to try and live- getting out seems an even more unobtainable thing, even though she knows it is the next step.]

I cannot go unnoticed in this place, but you may call upon me if you require.

[She could hardly sneak anywhere, stealthily watch or record people, or infiltrate with a body like hers and the way she stood out even amongst various alien inmates, but.

Something. She had to do something.]

[Eight takes the lack of further objection as understanding. As overwhelming as what they're pitted against is for him, that's nothing new in his life. He'd squared off against a demigod who could crush the lot of them like flies — this is just another absurdity to add to a growing collection. So far as he's concerned, the universe (multiverse, whatever) can keep right on throwing these things at him.

He's got somewhere he should be, and he's not giving up until he returns to that place. More to the point, he's not giving up until he returns to those people.

Class Zero is where he belongs, be it in life or death.

He lets his hand drop as Hayame picks herself up, unsurprised that his assistance is foregone. In contrast, her offer is cause for a long moment of silence. And if she might well hear the wheels in his head turning, for all that this measure of acceptance, in its way, is quite baffling to him.

While he believes they acknowledge each other on some level, he's never assumed cooperation would come with it]

Stealth isn't the only thing that matters.

[There's a certain strength that others lack, and they're going to need]

[On some level. Far be it for her to voice anything that reeked of trust or cooperation, certainly not not when she couldn't even wrap her head around what they were supposed to do. Not when every version of escape ended up with having to think about what happened after... and that meant thinking about the Black.

So she can't think about that. She can only think about the very next step that needs addressing, and that seems to primarily require stealth. Still.]

I know.

[It's all she can say. Just pledging any degree of assistance was a large step for her, and there seems little else that could follow. So instead, she just points to her hair- more importantly the magatama bead on a leather thong she uses as a hair tie. Her magitech.]

You know how to reach me.

[Eight nods once, lifting a hand to point at the chevron-shaped cuff on his left ear. It's typical for him to cup his hand over his ear like he would back home while using COMMs, so it's almost a familiar gesture for him. The technology is fairly similar, he supposes, though he doesn't know how it works.

He might trust it marginally more if he had that information, but there's little chance of that]

Yeah, I'll keep you posted.

[With that, he lets his hand drop, turning to leave. It's good to see Hayame up on her feet again and willing to act, but he doesn't need to linger here. Eventually those guards will return, and there's no reason to call attention to themselves by crowding her cell.

He does pause for just one thing, as he takes his leave]

Stay strong.

[And then with his strangely quick gait, he's off]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVENT ★ ROLLING 'ROUND THE BEND

ばか騒ぎ ↣ HORSIN' AROUND ↣ FOR EIGHT

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