Awaiting Kankri laid a usually pristine helmsblock in shambles.
Gone were the healthy fuchsia tendrils that emerged from pipes in the ceiling to find the battery, torn apart where they came into view and splattered over the broken rim of the helmstank, writhing slowly in pain and sparking borrowed energy. The other ends seemed to still be connected to their battery, the body still in the tank only a dark shadow to the outside world through the yellow-contaminated slime that held it in stasis. From the outside, the helmsman’s injuries could not be ascertained.
Across the shattered-glass strewn block were the three cream-tinged translucent beings responsible, trying to find a way to seep into the ship’s system to commandeer it as the alarms blared loudly and full lockdown remained enforced.
Your name is Serice Picase, and you are in big trouble.
You got tricked, and by the worst possible troll. Curse your emotions taking your logic and throwing it out the window!! You thought you could have saved your friend, getting them out of the danger they had claimed to be in and give them a home with you. Somewhere you knew was safe.
Being met by the sight of your time’s Imperious Condescension and your friend’s severed head took your hopes and turned them to ash.
You wake with a start as two trolls throw open the door to the holding cell you’d been thrown in the night before. They are painfully silent as they haul you to your feet and drag you down the corridor. You kick and scream and cry and beg. They don’t stop walking.
Before long you’re thrown into a doctor’s chair. The room is painfully bright and the light hurts as you’re strapped down. One snaps a collar around your neck that steals your psii from you. You cry as the sound of an electric razor buzzes in your ears, along with the non-ending beating of your pusher.
Time walks on painfully slow as clumps of your dark hair hit the floor. Tears and shaky breaths fall with them. In an veiled attempt to comfort you one of the trolls runs their hand over your shaved head.
“Don’t you worry now, this’ll all be over soon. You’ll be able to get to work!”
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The collar leaves you weak and powerless and as many hands move your little body and strap you to a gurney and start to wheel you down the next corridor. Their silence hurts. You look at them as they move you.
some meet your gaze with looks of pity. All the others look at you passively, their gazes cold. A needle gets jabbed into your neck and you yelp. You struggle and try to move as your muscles turn to lead but you remain wide awake.
You’re helpless and terrified.
You get flipped onto your belly and their work begins. The pain leaves you screaming and begging until your voice is hoarse and broken. You black out several times, and it feels like an eternity.
You wake up finally to Her face looming close to yours. She plucks the glasses off your nose and you hear them snap in her fingers. She smiles with razor bladed teeth. There’s no warmth. It’s just cold.
You feel all the wires connect. The world around you begins to hum as the collar is taken off. Your psii is pulled from your control as you see her leave your things in the same room, right where you could reach them if you weren’t immobilized.
There was no verbal response, only a nod, taking in a breath as heavy as can be before her eye began to glow and spark once more. Before long, her jaw was held open wide in a scream as she fueled the ships boosters. As much as she wished to, her protocol prevented her from place too much of the pain on the highblood
GHB was the auxiliary: it was meant to be his duty to take the brunt of the pain, being more resilient than the human. Coding with blood preferences was complicated and stupid for more than one reason. He said nothing, screamed nothing. He simply pushed as much energy as he could into the link between himself and Steph, and into the ship’s movement. They were off, blazing through the stars.
The tiniest part of him gained some satisfaction in flying under his own power. The joy was smothered as soon as the biomass found it.
"We... The engInes... Okay." Pink tendrils pulled at her arms, stretching and popping her shoulder socket at her minor defiance. A hiss through broken teeth, "Charging next boost. ThIs is gonna hurt."
“as much as your own self can, pain my way direct.” You’re ready. You grit your teeth and get ready for it. the tentacles around you writhe, and your pain level increases: what’s a little more pain to you?
"Another boost forward Is near Impossible. The cooldown has not completed and further exertion wIll cause damage to both engInes. Us."
“Did my own self yours ‘near’ impossible say?”
When you were this exhausted, you slipped into a bizarre and familiar mode of speech. You keep meaning to report the bug, but so far, you haven’t remembered to log it. See: exhaustion.
“If possible is must our best to fulfil goal captainly do. Damage damned be.”
Rhino: Is your muse wanted for something? What item do they value most? What is the bounty on your muse's head? (If they have one.)Nope! Moira is a Good Ship™ and an Empire Loyalist™ to the bones. At least for now.
He also doesn’t really have many things in his possession. The closest thing would be Sollux, who’s the first person ever (currently the only person still) that he would willingly go against his Empress’ orders/wishes for. He values Sollux’s life above his own.Popsicle: What does your muse do to cool down in the heat? Does your muse overheat often?Moira has actually not been a hot environment since Ascension. Ships in the fleet are kept fairly cold, specifically because biotech cannot survive in hot environments! That’s the reason that Moira’s blood temperature runs only just a teensy warmer than tyrian, because the biotech running through/in him has cooled him down that much!
If he began to overheat, it could kill him, so he’d probably dunk himself in a bath full of iced water if he could, but whatever is closest would have to do in an emergency like that. It would take a fair amount of heat to get him to that point, though.Before his tech was installed, he got overheated very easily and passed out from it every now and then-- iced water was used then too to cool him down.
These heavy things are probably the first thing people notice when they see you, and you’re fine with that. They used to be fleet-standard, but you’ve gotten upgrades worthy of someone as high up in the fleet as you are (which is, essentially, the top), and splashed a pindrop of the savings you’ve accumulated over the sweeps into customising them into things that are yours.
If they weren’t shiny and chrome, they would probably look just like average arms and legs, apart from the thin glowing seams (the glow is custom, created simply with tiny biowires that were attached into you; they glow with your red and blue as your power ebbs and flows through you) that run along them and the way they grind sometimes when you’re behind on maintenance-- you try not to do that too often, because you really do love these things. They’re more you than the rest of your troll-body, even though the ports are all but invisible until they’re being used.
They’re as strong as your Empress, as your matesprit and even Kankri, and as cold as the former two as well. You don’t mind.They make hand-to-hand combat so easy and fun, and rough play even more so.
Equipped: fancy lights, fuchsia tentacles with minds of their own
