Prison World #3: Panultima (tw violence, torture, coercion)

[spoofer]

Characters: Ensemble Cast, maybe even you!
Summary: The third prison world in Xistentia is a terrifying subdimension where sentient people exploit each other in order to run technology that will fend off D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. The 'ruling' class, Primus, are bound to a system of coupling (see: fake dating!), legacy and nepotism, whereas the Servus are put through an elaborate media circus (see: Hunger Games). You're here to study this world. And perhaps even to free those captured.
Date(s): February 8-20
Warnings/Notes: Violence, torture, coercion

Panultima

You cursed your gods and died

The Primus Life

If you thought Earth was a tough neighborhood, welcome to Panultima. Here, life is sweet. At least, as long as you're one of the Primus class.

It's a sprawling city of wicked spires and elaborate canals, covered in a luminous, translucent shield. Rather than a circular planet resting in orbit, instead, it's a flat plane of matter suspended in space, the foundations of the buildings rooted in only a hundred feet of stone and unknown technology. But the vast majority of citizens care little for that. After all, the city has every amenity and experience one might desire.

Restaurants line the streets. Theater is at an apex in development, with a particular focus on integration of moral philosophical themes. Gondolas run the canals, whereas a railway races over the winding laser-track in the air. Fashion is diverse, colorful, characterized by wild shapes, patterns, and accessories. Food imported from worlds both thriving and dying across the multiverse. At the numerous colleges and institutes, premier technology and opera are under constant invention and reinvention.

COUPLE STUFF

Primus culture emphasizes couples. Trios. Larger groups of lovers than that, even. After all, with romantic love and loyalty to care for, and survival hanging on it... who has the time or energy to care about justice for all?

Not these guys!

In this world, the mission and pleasure roll together well. The implant picks up information, so your main job is to explore. Perhaps you and your partner might enjoy yourself a glow-in-the-dark cocktail in a smoky bar where a two-headed singer is providing the music, a tour of the massive shield generators in the sparkling complex. Or pick fruit from one of the hundreds of bonding trees in the city's central park— so named, because it requires successful completion of questions to "the newlywed game" for each before one of the luscious, sweet fruits is released from a vine.

THE SERVUS LIFE

But for the little guy, life is considerably shittier. Welcome to the arena, the fully manipulable bubble reality set up to torture the slave class. The emotions of pain, fear, anguish, and wild, adrenal victory.

Most days, it looks like a forest— incidentally, very much like Xistentia. There are dozens of hybrid creatures in it, most of which are edible, others toxic, several very dangerous. However, the ground below can change at any moment, turning into mud or belching acid baths. Or you might find yourself abruptly attacked by a bear with biological armor growing from its huge shoulders. The control room, operated by Primus, is concealed from view. Its role is to keep the environment challenging for those competing, shifting the settings of the place to advantage some and cripple others.

But the arena's programming isn't the only threat.

Instead, you have a motley host of macabre killers, other Servus locked up in here just like you. Some have survived in here for years, earning favor from audiences thanks to the amount of pure horror they squeezed out of their victims. Some of the better-known brands are the Bantam Butcher, a fallen angel whose first kills were those who took his wings, and now thrives on torture. The trapmaster seems to have control over environmental factors that rivals the control room. And the baker trio will eat the flesh from your bones if they catch you.

For infiltrators, the challenge is worse. Not only might you need to kill, survive, and explore the arena with your implant— but if you want to save the very same people who are out to murder you, how are you going to do that?

Breakout!

Several days into the mission, and that's when it happens-- the control room shuts down, under attack. And suddenly, there's pandemonium. Within the arena, some of the servus know immediately what this means— and they're willing to make a break for it, cutting each other down, crippling each other if it means that the Primus might have slower-moving people to contend with and allow them to escape. Others seem to have long since given up, failing to respond as the trees suddenly go dark and motionless, the birdsong dying into silence. After all, where is there to go? It's either D.E.S.T.I.N.Y., or to join the system that hates them, isn't it?

Are you inside the arena, or out? Are you there to help the fleeing Servus, or are you merely ready to scramble on home yourself and save your own skin?

Footnotes

1. Please ensure that threads are marked with appropriate content warnings!
2. The plotting post for this event can be found here, and the original announcement with some other details is here.

Comments

kurt wagner [nightcrawler] ❧ ota (unless labeled otherwise)

[shadowblends]

cause you're everywhere to me (open)

[coming into this crazy new technological world is a bit jarring at first. there are insane twists of buildings, weaving bodies of water, stores lining the streets in all shapes and sizes. kurt isn't entirely sure where to start at first; it's all so much to take in, but there is one thing he is sure of: his current look certainly won't be primus impressive. looking the part was going to matter for once and unfortunately, he didn't have a backup x-man suit.

so, it's a brief pop in, out and once he's more dressed for 'blending in,' he can be found waltzing along down the streets, visiting theaters, shops, and restaurants. the teleporter's more than a little adventurous, which isn't such a bad thing, yet maybe he happens to bump into you while flitting about, stumbling back with a quick,] I'm sorry! [before immediately moving to help pick up anything that might have fallen.

or, perhaps you end up in a gondola seat beside a wide-eyed blue boy, the heart-shaped end of the tail he has draped across his lap idly flicking with excitement. once the boat begins a more promising notion toward moving, he turns, addressing whoever has sat beside him with fervor.] Isn't this amazing? I've never been on a boat before!


[although, after chatting with kavinsky, there is also the chance of catching him during later times where he'll be rescuing those from the gladiatorial battles. considering his mutation, he has the ability to get people to safety, especially beneath the cover of shadows.

he'll be doing his best to avoid any actual fighting during search and rescue, although there is always the chance.]

when i close my eyes, it's you i see (closed to loki)

[when he finds loki, nightcrawler is carrying an odd bit of self-confidence with him as he approaches. maybe it's the way his hair is styled, sides smoothed back, front swept up out of his face in a way that kurt's never thought to try. dark hair streaked with blue had been his only thing first, but styling? who would've thought a spritz here and there of hairspray could make such a difference?

there's a chance it's also what he's wearing, a complete contrast of his usual jogging pants and an oversized hoodie. he steps up onto the sidewalk in front of the god, shoulders rolled back, spine ramrod straight and a broad grin stretched across his face.] Fancy meeting you here, [he greets, voice lilting with playfulness.]

you're everything i know (closed to aoba)

[running into the familiar blue-haired male wasn't something he'd planned; they hadn't seen each other since the gala and this time, he's slightly less anxious and feeling far more positive this time around.]

Aoba! [he calls from the opposite street, hand cupped around his face. then, he raises the same limb, giving an enthusiastic wave before heading over.

the easy bob and weave between people has been practiced many times now. he shouldn't be hard to pick from the crowd, still clad in stark white with a splash of holographic silver glitter beneath the coat from his earlier visit with loki.

once he frees himself from the group, he continues forward, only pausing when he believes he's a respectable amount of distance away where they can talk without disrupting the foot traffic, but not to the point where they're uncomfortably close.] Hey, are you busy?

that makes me believe i'm not alone (closed to kavinsky)

[after he gets the message from joseph, a bench is where he suggests they meet-- with a little tree hanging over the spread of one of the canals, dropping sweet smelling flower petals onto the surface below. kurt is leaned over the railing, head tipped, idly watching the blossoms drift on as he waits.

he isn't sure what the dream thief has for him and honestly, he's worried to think about it when he remembers the other 'gifts' he's been given throughout the past week or so. golden sex toys, scooters with vibrating seats, flowers that moaned. (okay, he'd laughed at that one afterward, but that's beside the point) he's nervous, yet also not, because as time progressed, so did the the gifts.

starting with the making up of the oddly sexual foliage. this time, they made a high-pitched giggle that kurt couldn't resist snorting at, even if he'd covered his face in a pathetic attempt to stifle the noise anyway. then, it was these good-looking shoes (hadn't he seen them before in one of the store windows?), followed by a few drinks ... then things began to click into place: kavinsky was. trying?

and while he should be ecstatic beyond belief, he can't help the fluttery feeling in his belly that he's wrong, maybe kavinsky is still just putting on a front for the primus, but.

if that were the case, why wouldn't he have kept giving him the more ridiculous stuff?

he heaves a breath, turning on the ball of his foot and slumping onto the edge of the seat, one hand adjusting the coat of his outfit (sans collar), the other rifling through his hair. it's not as neat as when he was with loki and aoba; the sides are fine, but the bangs are disheveled, hanging down in his face. makes for a good way to hide once the other boy does show up, though.]

wildcard

[ooc: or come at me with something of your own!]

[dothelokimotion]

[ To his credit, Loki doesn't laugh, even if the light in his eyes is dancing with amusement. He's not wearing anything special, though his trademark leathers and cape is no longer to be found. Instead Loki is sporting a suit with a scarf hanging around his neck. ]

Indeed. A fortuitous coincidence.

[shadowblends]

[a fine suit like that might not be anything special to loki, but to kurt, there couldn't have been more of a serendipitous moment. he tucks one hand into his pocket, fangs at full gleam and tail flicking with excitement.]

Funny, [blue starts, reaching the free limb out so he can motion over loki's scarf.] We're both dressed up with nowhere specific to be, I assume. [and hopefully, he doesn't look like a fool.] How would you feel about going for that coffee? Or tea, if you prefer.

[dothelokimotion]

[ The blue, as always, catches his eye, causing a fain furrow in his brow which he dismisses quickly enough. The lines and swirls don't help either, reminding him of his own. ]

I would not mind trying the coffee.

[shadowblends]

Marvelous! [he notices the wrinkle of loki's brow, but makes no mention of it. instead, kurt shifts so he's standing next to him, one hand hovering near the other male's elbow while he gestures a ways down the sidewalk.]

There's a coffee shop just down the road here where we can go.

[dothelokimotion]

[ Loki gestures with his hand. ]

Lead the way.

[shadowblends]

[and so he does, guiding them both down the path with a bounce in his step, hands finding their way back into the pockets of coat.]

So, what do you think of this place?

[dothelokimotion]

[ Loki glances around, cocking an eyebrow. ]

The coffee shop or this location?

[shadowblends]

This location, of course. [he shakes his head, raising a hand to cup around his face and stifle a laugh.]

We haven't made it to the shop yet.

[dothelokimotion]

It is . . . [ Much like Sakaar without the constant junk falling from the sky. Similar rules, similar people. ] . . . nostalgic.

[shadowblends]

Familiar, then?

[kurt briefly strides ahead, grasping the door handle and pulling, motioning for loki to go ahead.]

[dothelokimotion]

Yes and no.

[ He shrugs loosely, a harmless gesture. ]

My world is nothing like this and yet . . . there are similar veins that run across the stars. I'd be blind not to notice the patterns.

[shadowblends]

[he cocks his head to the side, curiosity dancing in those brilliant eyes.]

Well, there has to be something that connect them all or else we wouldn't be here, right?

[pillz]

[it's probably just a front. probably. kavinsky is probably just a lot of things— mean, careless, callous, casually cruel, indifferent to the joy and suffering of others. he's probably just some asshole in skinny jeans. he probably doesn't care, really, except to get funny butts for stupid jokes, and to experiment with his power, spoilt even when he isn't being actively sadistic.

except

except that doesn't entirely explain it, when he glances over at kurt in his iridescent glory and says nothing, just watching him a moment. then his eyes are back on the glittering, magnetic hovertech road, their frictionless craft whisking them sleekly forward into the night. but he glances back again the next moment, and neither sadism nor being spoiled explain it, either, when he asks,] You okay, man?

[shadowblends]

[at first, his attention had been focused on the peculiar thing they were currently gliding around on, astonishment clear in the way his golden eyes lit up. it'd been awkward, stabilizing himself on the board behind kavinsky, arms secured tightly around the shorter boy's waist, but as they continued moving along, kurt became more relaxed, shoulders slumping beneath a comfortable weight.

and then, he's being asked if he's alright, which reminds him that he really isn't.]

I'm fine, [is what he answers with though, pressing closer, head raising up so he can rest his chin atop kavinsky's hair.] Thinking too much.

[pillz]

[there is a head on his head. which makes kavinsky feel short!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!

and somehow he doesn't mind. it's less exclamation points, actually, and maybe vague semicolon sweatdrops? with a side of pretending to mind, then pretending he doesn't mind that he doesn't actually mind, then deciding to pretend he doesn't notice otherwise he would have to irritably fluster kurt away from him and reclaim his man points. it's manly to be taller, you know. ignore everything rafaello has to say about it. rafaello plays by rules that fledglings won't know for another hundred years.]

'Bout what? [he asks, casually as you like. it's not the same as asking someone what's bothering them. it's more allowed.]

[shadowblends]

[if it wins him any manly points back, kavinsky could more than likely heft kurt like a sack of potatoes. he's honestly one of those 'might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet' people, vampire strength aside.

okay, perhaps not that drastic, but he's small despite his height and — in all fairness — usually appears shorter than he is because of his less than suitable posture half the time. point is: kavinsky's stronger than him and lifting people up? totally manly, though blue wouldn't understand the point of such things, especially when it comes to heights.]

About Xistentia, [nightcrawler begins, throat tightening for a fleeting moment before he fights through.] If what we're doing is helping. [he swallows, a deliberate motion that can probably be felt, their positions taken into account before admitting:] And you.

Everything that's happened between us has been [pause] tumultuous, but I've come to the realization that I care about you. [his eyes shut, arms squeezing tight around joseph's middle. don't let this be a mistake—] A lot.

[pillz]

[because joseph kavinsky is a joseph kavinsky, he doesn't respond immediately.

actually he doesn't respond for three seconds. five seconds. well into a conversationally awkward amount of seconds. the thrum of the machine below them and the drone of the wind around them patches over the sound in two-note, mechanical monotone. for a long moment, kurt might even think that kavinsky hadn't heard him speak. totally untrue, of course. vampire hearing!]

That's nice, [he says, eventually. there's tension buried under his voice, belying his casual word choice. he leans gently, and takes the hoverbike sweeping around the edge of a set of residential towers, glittery and luxurious, spangled like a constellation germinating in the dark, climbing for the limitless recesses of the sky.] You saving my world right this fucking second, sweetheart. One shitty mission at a time. Little baby step by step.

[he almost adds: if that's what you're saying. but he knows that isn't what kurt is saying. so he doesn't ask.]

Thanks, I guess. Say 'you're welcome.'

[shadowblends]

[the growing silence between his admittance and kavinsky's response is not only awkward, it's deafening.

he's well aware of the risk he'd just taken, stepping out onto this metaphorical tightrope. advice from rosie had reassured him that as long as he was upfront about it, things would usually fall into place afterward. this? does not feel like one of those times.

kurt didn't think it was possible to actually feel one's heart drop into their belly, but the awful sinking feeling he's going through definitely comes close. he shifts when kavinsky does, biting the inside of his cheek as the older boy talks. he has no idea how to be more upfront than he's already been, except for pushing through his attempt at-- being coy? deciding what game or angle is being played here isn't something he's worried about.]

Good to know. You're welcome, sure, but that's not what I was getting at. [he squeezes his arms around his companion's middle, applies the slightest amount of pressure with his chin on the top of his head.]

And I have a feeling you know what I was talking about. [a breath, slow and steady as he gazes up at the extraordinary stretch of buildings.] There's no reason to pretend like you don't.

screeches kat ok can you disco me when you can!! about!!!!! how much drama we want

[pillz]

[much of kavinsky's bullshit boy bravado is heavily contingent on

• causing sufficient confusion and dismay that the other people in his life— the ronan lynches, the adam parrishes, the joe macmillans, the vexes, the rafaellos, the caleb holts, don't actually have any real sense of what the fuck is going on, and ergo,
  
• nobody can call him out on his shit.

sure, that came at the horrible expense of leaving an inauthentic life, never being emotionally vulnerable. desperately craving love that he was incapable of actually winning. desperately starving for intimacy, while he was incapable of all the honesty and compassion and courage that was truly required for it. in one sense, he has always wanted to have his cake and eat it!! and in another, he had persuaded himself that this painted paper mache model was true cake while he choked down cardboard and told himself it was fine, until he could lie no longer.

a lot has changed since then. he's become more honest, he's become less unkind. but that means sitting with the terrible fear of unknowns, of ambiguity, of realizing that even if he really tries with people, in love, with sincerity, he still might fail-- and that he's woefully underequipped to try anything at all.

somehow, the warm weight of the lanky boy on his back is simultaneously both a beautiful temptation, and a crushing burden. the skinny, tattooed muscles in his own back are caught up between tension and relaxation, like trying to fight a chemical high.]

Do you really want to do this right now? [he asks. he can barely hear himself over the thunder of blood inside his head— funny, considering he doesn't have a proper heartbeat.]

throws glitter everywhere and fingerguns all while vibrating uncontrollably!!!

[shadowblends]

[long ago, kurt couldn't have proceeded like this. his feelings would have sat and grown, until they were an insurmountable tangle of words that he'd constantly have to force down and hope wouldn't creep forth at the most inopportune moment. no, this time — with help from some friends — he's decided to be straightforward and completely upfront in the moment regardless of how his heart has been threatening to crack his ribs, burst forth in a gory show of peculiar affection.

which is all terrifying in and of itself, but when it means dealing with a boy like kavinsky, someone who's not used to being called out, things seem harder. that's not including any stubbornness, jerking around, self-deprecation or inappropriate jokes yet either, so he's got a feeling there's a lot more to look forward(?) to.

even though he's flush against kavinsky's back, it doesn't take a genius to notice how the dream thief can't decide if he's at ease or on edge. all nightcrawler can think to do is tighten his arms, gingerly squeeze the pale boy in his hold and be frank.]

Why prolong the inevitable? [and that is the most truthful thing kurt has said to someone.]

[pillz]

[that's a terrible thing to say to a chronic liar, and kavinsky is. was. might still be. he doesn't know anymore; he feels fractured and strange, which has always been true, but he feels it more keenly now. once upon a time, he had an armor of caked cocaine he could hide behind.

his undead heart slams the brakes in his chest, a split-second before he hits the ones on the hovercraft. they start to slow abruptly, but not violently, coasting to a stop on the edge of the glassy track. the vampire half-twists at the waist, reaching to pull the mutant's arm, urge him off the craft. there isn't a lot of force in it, but there is something scrabbling, insistent, almost childish about the way kavinsky handles him. he used to be cool, if kind of slimy. he's not that now.]

Do you know what 'make believe' means? [he hisses. he glances around. the other machines whizzing by are far and few between, and there's little chance even with vampire hearing that they might catch wind of this conversation. but for that instant, he pretends it's about that, because it's easier than asking,] Do you even know what I fucking am?

I'm a motherfucking monster.

[that isn't a nikki minaj quote. or if it is, it's wildly unintentional, blurted out as a substitute for deeper and more difficult truths. he'dve called himself a monster any time in his life— worn it like leather or shitty cologne. the shift in tone, the devil in the tails, that's where the ugliest, most important parts of the matter is, and that he's not willing to say. he can barely look at kurt now.]

[shadowblends]

[the hovercraft lurches enough that it surprises kurt, making those iridescent eyes widen with surprise once they come to a complete stop. he blinks, trying to comprehend what exactly made the other boy cease movement, to break the theatrics of their 'relationship' so he can persuade him off the board. it's odd how adamant he is, the way his arm is tugged-- almost like something's not quite right.

all of a sudden, regret pools in the pit of his stomach, bile rising up his throat, burning his tongue and leaving an awful taste in his mouth. he swallows it down, though, lets kavinsky lead them away from the other people nonchalantly floating here and there.] Sure I do, [he claims simply.] Don't you? [a slight smile, partially forced past his somewhat uncomfortable state.

except, it would seem even kavinsky's having trouble maintaining eye contact, which kurt's bizarrely grateful for. his stomach still doing flip-flops, he heaves a breath, long and drawn out as he reaches a hand up, grips the shorter brunet's chin between his thumb and first digit.] Then what does that make me?

[he tightens his hold, firm enough to coax kavinsky's gaze upward.] I don't care about you being a vampire if that's what you're worried about. [a beat.] Or perhaps you mean your past? Should that be the case, you've been inside my head— experienced firsthand what sort of [pause, another breath] horrible shit I've gone through.

And you know what? That's not even the half of it. [his breath hitches this time, like it's becoming more difficult to keep talking.] My point is: I don't care about anything except the here and now, Kavinsky, and whatever you decide to do from there, I'll be at your side— fake marriage or no. [kurt still isn't fully sure why, but he cares. he cares a whole lot and he's hoping it's enough.]

SCREAMS I AM SORRY KURT tw homophobia etc. dysfunctional screaming.

[pillz]

[you know what the worst part is—

--the worst part, without a doubt, is that this is everything kavinsky has ever wanted to hear. promises to stay, declarations of fidelity, fingers under his chin and an unblinking stare. affection. maybe not as much sex as he'dve liked, but under the mess of yacht lights and bright white cocaine, kavinsky's most vulnerable and pathetic reality was that sex, just like the boats and drugs, had never been enough. had never even been the fucking point. it's just easier to talk about sex than it is the love that he was hoping to steal with it.

it's not that kavinsky has never been offered this before. it's that— the only time it was, maybe a time-and-a-half, fate snatched it out of his hands. aric disappeared into the ether, and vex turned out to be a desperate dream that might as well have been cut from an outright fucking lie. and kavinsky has enough goddamn insight to recognize the common factor.

himself. (dundundun.)

and so it's not kurt's fault, of course, it's not kurt's fault at all, when the voice climbs out of kavinsky's throat cracking like puberty.] That's the stupidest fucking bullshit I've ever heard. Whatever I decide? Whatever I fucking decide? [the traffic doesn't slow as it zooms by. panultima likely sees more than its fair share of divorce, too. he pushes kurt's hand away, his tattooed hands-- almost shaking, for some reason. some stupid reason.] You gonna fucking stand there and gloat about being my best fucking, saving my life, if I kill somebody with a Goddamn tire iron?

Put somebody's puppy in an oven. Waterboard Ronan Lynch's baby fucking brother because it's fun. [he sneers, a little belatedly. it wobbles on his face, then holds, if only barely. he aims a shove at kurt's chest. his strength is— frightening.] Be a candyass or a chump. Not both, mutant bitch.

IT'S OKAY he is a big boy that can take it craughs

[shadowblends]

[wow, that's ... ample information he hadn't been anticipating. never once has the little blue demon thought murder would be something that'd come up in this discussion.] More than likely, I'm going to ask why you're putting puppies in ovens, beating people with tire irons and waterboarding others, but. [he hesitates briefly, features twisted by a grimace. the strength of kavinsky's push is what initially recaptures his attention; it's enough to make the air whoosh from his lungs, cause him stumble back, eyes wide as he raises both hands and clasps the other boy's shoulders.

nightcrawler knows he should disengage-- just let go and step back, except that's not what he does, oh no. his fingers become more firm and before he can stop himself:] I haven't the slightest clue what 'candyass' means, [he starts, the slow withdrawal of his hands tentative.] I know a chump when I see one, though. [the 'foolish' meaning, in this case. fatigue settles over him like heavy clouds. there's very little left for him to say and still, he heaves a breath, somewhat defeated, but not down for the count quite yet.] I'd hope you would have decent composure and— oh, I don't know, common sense enough to know that doing those sorts of things is wrong?

But I guess we all make mistakes. [hell, saying it burns his tongue in more than one way. kurt isn't free of blameworthy events (such as killing beings during wartime or letting things get out of hand at the gala), so his mind's not clear whatsoever. no regret admitting what was said-- he only wishes things could have been worded better.

doing this during a mission also makes it less convenient, which feels more deplorable than he'd like, but can't go back now.

after abruptly turning on his heel, he says over his shoulder,] You'll need to ask yourself: will you continue through life as that person? [because honestly, does kavinsky disclose such things for shock value?] Go out on a limb and stop being afraid. [he's got a feeling. that, and slaying cute, innocent things can be explored another time.] I've never imagined bragging about my ability to help someone, regardless of their past transgressions, but thank you for preening permissions. [sarcasm. sounds defensive and is, for all intents and purposes.

everything feels wrong, even taking another step forward on the sidewalk seems unsuitable. walking away from kavinsky hurts and though he hates admitting it, for both their sakes, this reaction might have been the best decision.] Take what you will from this, I suppose. [a beat.] Should you decide it's worth your time, our daemons never have trouble finding one another. [then, against every impulse he has, kurt strides on alongside the congested road, hoping he has enough self-control to keep from looking back.]