[ At first, Andyr isn't following, doesn't get the timeline for the things he'd been told about before, and is more focused on the hand at his wrist, frowning for how quickly Steve had wanted to touch gone. Nothing he takes personally, more so concerned about what the mark means to him. Made more so with the tone he takes.
It's at 'sold off' that is all slots into place, and Andyr's hand reflexively tightens around the fingers slipping through his, eyes a bit unfocused. The slaver post that Nick told him about. The one that had set him off one of the first days he way here, when he was ready to hunt down the old captains and empty their throats onto the hallway tiles at the mere suggestion that they might've had something to do with people being sent there. It still lingers in him - that creeping paranoia that they're just cattle in a pen, that they can be traded out or picked off whenever it's convenient. That maybe no one actually goes home through the Ingress. Hadn't the new captains said something about it being design to carry cargo? The reminder of that place, and the new knowledge that Steve had been one of those people traded off, takes andyr from the relaxed, peaceful calm he'd been so easily sunken into, to a flare of rage, and nothing to do with it.
The slavers aren't here, the captains aren't here, what happened to Steve is already done and the ink on his skin is branded permanently onto him. His eyes practically burn into the blue streak he's staring at, and his hand around Steve's tightens, as if holding onto him can somehow erase it. ]
Are they dead? The slavers. [ it's hard for him to let something like that go so easily, to just go back to feeling blissful and contented. least of all with whatever's going on here fueling his compulsions. sometimes andyr's compulsions aren't that pretty. but maybe, if he knows they're gone, that they paid, that something was done. maybe that's enough. (nothing's ever enough to make up for being another man's property, steve was from a place safe from that, he should have been safe) ]
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It's at 'sold off' that is all slots into place, and Andyr's hand reflexively tightens around the fingers slipping through his, eyes a bit unfocused. The slaver post that Nick told him about. The one that had set him off one of the first days he way here, when he was ready to hunt down the old captains and empty their throats onto the hallway tiles at the mere suggestion that they might've had something to do with people being sent there. It still lingers in him - that creeping paranoia that they're just cattle in a pen, that they can be traded out or picked off whenever it's convenient. That maybe no one actually goes home through the Ingress. Hadn't the new captains said something about it being design to carry cargo? The reminder of that place, and the new knowledge that Steve had been one of those people traded off, takes andyr from the relaxed, peaceful calm he'd been so easily sunken into, to a flare of rage, and nothing to do with it.
The slavers aren't here, the captains aren't here, what happened to Steve is already done and the ink on his skin is branded permanently onto him. His eyes practically burn into the blue streak he's staring at, and his hand around Steve's tightens, as if holding onto him can somehow erase it. ]
Are they dead? The slavers. [ it's hard for him to let something like that go so easily, to just go back to feeling blissful and contented. least of all with whatever's going on here fueling his compulsions. sometimes andyr's compulsions aren't that pretty. but maybe, if he knows they're gone, that they paid, that something was done. maybe that's enough. (nothing's ever enough to make up for being another man's property, steve was from a place safe from that, he should have been safe) ]