Log:Boonta. Eve. CLASSIC.

It's Boonta, Baby.

OOC Date: May 19, 2023
Location: Tatooine
Participants: Rieve Selki, Zena Tane, Terek Rosol, Cadogan West, Cailyn Dean, Lira'Una, Tamsin Cas, Siywa Tralos, Hadrix Kora and Jallo Dara

Binary suns blaze down over the Grand Arena of Mos Espa, filled beyond capacity, more than one hundred thousand sentients from across Tatooine, and those in Hutt Space familiar with the desert backwater, are gathered in a festival environment. Streamers fired from cord-pull crackers burst into the air, caught by desert winds and waft across the stands like whisper light serpents of varied colors.

Even Hutts have arrived on world for this celebration of the rise of Boonta Shad'ruu to godhood. Several of the massive beings resting in shaded VIP sections at the top of the stadium, where humidifiers and servants keep them moist and guards keep watch for would be assassins.

"GOOD AFTERNOON Rek!" A nemoidian in light robes declares, visible on hand-held viewers and holoprojectors from her place in the announcer booth, looking to her left to the Yuzzum sitting in the other seat, the furry, neckless, creature raising both hands above his head in excitement,

"HELLO BAKKI!"

"We have an EXCELLENT BOONTA EVE today don't we?"

"THAT we do, Bakki! Some are even planning to call this The Sebulba Memorial! Ever since the Boonta Eve Grand Champion's final ride to Malastare's Eternal Canopy, how many pod racers can say they passed of old age!?" As the announcers speak, pods are being brought out to the starting lanes, their drivers walking alongside and crews running checks or carrying banners and flags for each, "There's Zup Fup! The favorite for the classic! And Puk Batoo!" a gotarite and meftian, respectively, leading the group, sharing glares with one another.

"I bet they're still sore since the Sullust Slam earlier this year! I hear that Puk's spouse is -still- in a coma!"

"Indeed, Zup shows no MERCY!" the pair laugh and shake their heads in unison before Rek continues, "Tuk Banoo, Bozzie Bumbles and it looks like Vutttu Kubu is among our number as well! Why the classic has brought racers out in droves!"

The crowd begins hooting and shouting for the racers coming out, among their number an aged, red headed, dwarf human inexplicably wearing a fur vest on a desert world. Music blaring over the speakers picks up and from one of the VIP enclosures a sluggish face appears, broad and sinister, waving to the crowd and gaining the cheering a hutt deserves.

"Bskki! It looks like things are going to be getting ready soon, they're signaling for the racers to begin readying themselves!"

What could a be-robed and gloriously flamboyant Hapan be doing down on the sands of Mos Espa's great course? Well in this instance? The Hapan is pretty much strapping himself to two starfighter engines and looking every inch the desert dwelling noble Princeling. His blue robes seem destined to flow and billow, to snap in the wind and cascade gorgeously in his wake. Equally glamorous, is the blue covering bound about his head to ward off the heat of the twin suns, while a pair of fancy goggles are worn to protect those frankly gorgeous blue eyes of his.

A whole lot of blue indeed! Why even the pod-racer is varying shades of blue, with the trembling engines and sputtering parts a veritable array of shades, and the small section upon which the Hapan himself is set is a bright electric blue. The Hapan's colours are plain to see! His pale features mostly obscured, and yet stylishly so. Likely when it comes to racing, a whole lot of style over substance... but damn he'll look good just seconds before any likely fireball.

Raising both hands to the crowd, Rieve waves and bows his head to his many varied and assorted fans. There's bound to be some people who love the colour blue above all else, right? The twin engines that are barely leashed to the seat behind tremble and sputter, with raw power diverted via the mere flick of a switch, and the entire pod-racer vibrates! The plasma streams of the engines burning bright for the moment, trundling and rumbling with restrained power. Ready!

How did Zena get ahold of a pod racer? Well, she knows a guy who knows a guy who owns one. Said owner's driver got beat to hell in a bar fight a couple nights ago. The Mando happened to be on Tatooine for ... certainly not nefarious smuggling/murder reasons, and was tapped.

Being an adrenaline junkie, of course she accepted.

One crash course in Pod Racer Piloting later, and the Mando is in the parade. She is, of course, in her armor, regardless of the burning heat. Inwardly, she is excited to bursting. Outwardly, she is playing the stoic Mandalorian bit to the hilt. She, at least, doesn't have her giant sniper rifle with her, but her right vambrace is kind of suspicious.

Her Pod has received a paintjob to match her armor, all greys and browns in a gradient. The front end of the engines nearly matches the sand, and it shifts and fades, becoming slate grey behind the cockpit. She makes her final checks and preparations, tuning the crowd out. For now.

"This is a mistake."

"No, it's fine. Trust me."

There's a beeping from the side where Terek is arguing with a blue painted Droideka, as Zee chimes in.

"No, it won't be like last time."

Another few beeps.

"I don't always say that."

The 'last time', Terek had crashed on the first lap. That was years ago, and Terek is a far better pilot than he was back then. This time, he managed to get hired on by a local crew in need of a pilot, and not willing to argue with a Mandalorian on price.

As the announcement for racers to head to the line comes off, Terek puts on his helmet and turns to his droids, <"Play nice."> Then heads off to the pod proper where the pit droids are putting the finishing touches on the pod when Terek reaches it. The cathar hops up into the pilot's seat, and starts flipping switches, revving up the engine and getting the systems up and running.

The racer's dark tan color's match the sands of the desert planet, as Terek checks over systems, double checking readouts and making sure everything looks good, he throttles up and slides out of the pit, keeping tight on the controls for the two oversized engines, before he pulls around to the starting line, dropping back into standby mode and readying for the race start.

In the heart of the starting (and finishing) line, a sleek and aerodynamic chariot settles, with its striking purple and dark gray color scheme twinkling in the Tatooine sunrays. Its meticulously crafted curves and contours embody both elegance and speed, promising a thrilling performance on the track. As the engines ignite, the racer roars to life, exuding an undeniable aura of power and exhilaration, captivating spectators with its dynamic presence.

Nestled within the confines of the pod racer's cockpit, a Thyrsian pilot commands attention. Adorned in a resplendent Naboo Sportsuit, her attire resonates with regal hues of purple, accentuating her presence amidst the racing crowd. While some racers vie for applause with flamboyant gestures, she emanates a calm and focused demeanor, uninterested in pandering to the spectators' desires for showmanship.

She was here for her own reasons, though.. The prospect of racing did put a smile upon her lips.

Ahh the Boonta Eve classic, a magical time where the Hutts invite everyone in the galaxy to celebrate their odd God origin story like some kind of super hero holovid. Siywa doesn't give a womp-rats sweet buttcrack about the particulars of the race, why it's held, or the Hutts.. what she cares about is the race. Specifically, the credits one can make betting on those races.

She has not yet placed her bet, but she's got her bookie on speed-comms.

See, the Corellian Togruta takes her wagers very seriously. She's a professional. For that reason, she's seated in the stands with a pair of binos held up over her crystal blue eyes watching the podracers get into position. A pair of identical Dug sit on either side of her enjoying some kind of snack that likely still moves. Verkhi slapping the creature on the forehead with one of his feet to stun it before tossing it into his open mouth with a resounding crunch.

While his brother is poking at the wiggling creature with a long digited toe. "It's smiling at me." He murmurs, Siywa snorting without lowering her spyglasses, "It did not, just eat your food and stop playing with it."

"I can't eat if it smiles at me."

"Then give it to me, I like crushing dreams." Says his brother amidst constant crunching.

"Sorry. Pardon me. Excuse me. I'm sorry."

Deep, baggy hood of a stark black robe pulled up over her head, Lira'una was /gliding/ through the crowd nearly a meter off the ground like the specter of death itself.

Well, no. She wasn't. But it /looked/ like she was. What she was doing, in fact, was surfing on top of a 4-legged spider droid that was clicking its way through the crowd, providing her a MUCH better vantage point from which to see than she usually had, relieving her from the stresses of having to use physical exertion to move around, and making her look like a spider-riding-weirdo that no one wanted to get to close to all at once. Frankly, it was /great/ all around.

"I. Hate. This." The deep, menacing monotone comes from BT-SKT, upon whom Lira'una was riding.

"I know, Skits. I just need to get a little closer so I can /see/! Try over there!" Lira raises a robed arm, the sleeve drooping as she points, and Skitter changes direction so that it /looks/ like she's gliding, phantom-like, in the direction she was pointing.

Spooky.

The Good Doctor Cas was at the Boonta Eve Classic, as she attended every Boonta Eve Classic. She was not, however, here as either a racer, or a spectator. Instead, she had settled herself not far from the medical tents, as was her usual place. Part of being under contract with the Hutts for the event, meant sitting near where the bent and broken bodies of swoop racers and bikes alike were likely to be brought in. Thankfully, she had only to deal with one of those categories. And, as a bonus, she had her own small tent to keep the sun off. The sun, suns, rather, which surely rose on this desert world with the sole ambition to fry the skin and dry the throat, must be battled in every way possible.

Settled in one of the risers of the stands, armor on and quietly wishing he was in one of the sets that had their own environmental controls, Al'Verde Kora watches with his companion Gripper at his side, connected to the race data people could view on datapads and instead using her holobroadcaster to put out an amalgam display at chest height to the big man,

"Why aren't you racing?"

<"I don't race.">

"Because you're old."

<"No... Because I don't race.">

"Also because you're old." the droid is shaking, holding in laughter while Hadrix's head is turning, to bracket her with his visor. For a moment they're just looking at each other before the big man's attention is back to the gathering racers.

<"Interesting crowd, 'lek?"> the droid bobs as if to shrug and both go back to reviewing the racers as they settle in.

Jallo had arrived a bit late to the start of the Boonta Eve. He'd made his way down to the small tent that Doctor Cas was utilizing having received an invite earlier from her, <"Doctor, a pleasure to run into you as always."> He 'looks' out towards the race before he pokes CNG-3Y3, <"Get me a feed I can use of the race please.">

"It is also, today, we remember a very important Hutt who made sure that the dream of the Grand Arena came to fruition. Stolen from us fifty years ago. We hope everyone gives a loud applause for Jabba, the Hutt who made the Classic possible." Bakki comments, hand over general heart region of her chest, Rek placing both of his over his own and giving a mournful look to a holodisplay of the mighty hutt lord, brought low by a horrific sail barge accident.

"I don't know about you, Gakki but I'm looking forward to see what happens here today, it looks like we have Mandalorians in the racelanes and two people with far too much money!"

Among the racers a Rishii squawks angrily at a gand who is bein helped into their pod, Bozzie Bumble and Tuk Banoo sharing odd looks - one more readable than the other... the other being a gand's mask covered insectile face.

Holo-displays over the starting line turn [ansi(hr,red) and indicate a 'ready' message as flags are waved with the Starlight and Waldo flats beyond, that first initial straightaway from the races. Pods begin firing up, engines rumbling, warbling, and in one case making a sound suspiciously like a heavyset man's laughter, if one were listening very carefully.

"Vutttu Kubu is is back from retirement we see, ready to race after three years since her accident on Klatooine." Rek adds, the Salenga being highlighted and then the image switches to the broad-scopes,

"Indeed, quite the spill, surprised she lived, let alone walks!" Gakki adds, the Naboo pod being highlighted for several moments before cameras move on. When all engines are running, the holo-display goes yellow and equally colored flags are waved while the yuzzem's voice is suddenly broadcasted loud enough for all to hear.

"RACERS! READY!"

Those long seconds where everything hangs on each breath. Adrenaline set to dump into people's systems. The excitement of the chase. That eternity before the lights go

[ansi(hg,GREEN)

The gong is struck and Rek's unnervingly deep voice roars "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" setting them off, into the first lap of the race.

Green! The engines of the Hapan's blue chariot roar as the vehicle lurches and powers forward, scattering sand in its wake and ensuring those billowing robes are flowing and scattering in his wake like water. Hunkering down as the speed of the pod-racer takes him slightly by surprise, there's no fancy driving here, there's just raw power being herded and wrassled in the right direction! And yeah! It starts. It zooms. It powers off into the right direction!

The hot winds of Mos Espa lashing against his goggled features, a brief grin etched upon his face, gap-toothed and adorable! The bright electric blue Pod-Racer boogaloos across the flats, skimming close to the ground! Raw power! Engines roaring!

The (second) tiniest Mando has her eyes fixed on the signal tree, her hands ready on the controls. She can do this. She can, possibly, even -win- this. She throttles the pod racer's engines to that sweet spot of controlability and speed, then spools them up just a little higher. She can handle it. The engines roar and spit heat that she doesn't even feel as the signal switches. Then again.

When it goes green, she just kills the brakes and the machine rockets forward, throwing her back in her seat. Under her helmet, she's grinning like an idiot as the squad of racers burst across the desert flats. Outwardly, she's silent and controlled. No one can tell otherwise.

As soon as the lights turn green, Terek's engine sputters out, <"Are you frakking kidding me!?"> The cathar growls out a few curses in catharese as he reaches down below the seat and grabs hold of a large spanner, slamming it into the middle of the pod's console.

Which proceeds to shut the whole system off entirely, which leads to a heavy sigh, <"Oookkay. Well, at least it's not like last time."> He mutters to himself, hauling back and whacking the hell out of the side of the controls, which turns everything back on. He stashes the wrench and grabs the controls, taking off, albeit a bit behind the expected leaders after all.

Cadogan West comes out the holo-gate hot. While his engines may lack for sheer power and acceleration, the Tionese racer looks to make up for that shortcoming with recklessness and aggression, promptly cutting in front of a neighboring driver to keep ahead while his engines get up to full speed, all while making rapid micro-corrections to the engine-chariot's course.

As the sound of the gong reverberates through the air, Cailyn's senses come alive, attuned to the subtlest shifts and vibrations. Her Echani heritage, renowned for their keen perception and reflexes, seemingly serves her well in the art of piloting the Pod Racer. Because /damn/, in a seamless display of skill and precision, she accelerates with lightning speed, the forceful surge of adrenaline propelling her forward.

The initial gleam of joy that had graced Cailyn's face upon the race's commencement slowly gives way to a focused determination. Her intense hazel eyes, vibrant and filled with concentration, remain fixated on the track ahead. The wind rushes past her, tugging at her short and obsidian-black hair, creating a dynamic trail of dark wisps that dance in the wake of her speed.

Tamsin, glancing over towards the Miraluka mechanic, lifted a hand as he took a seat, allowing it to settle in the air above his forearm, for a moment, before she leaned forward, retrieving two bottles of chilled, sealed water from the chest in front of her, one offered in his direction. It was as close as the muunish doctor came to a friendly greeting. She trusted Jallo's extrasensory perception to 'see' the movement. "Always good to see you, Jallo. I would say that I hope you have a good amount of work to do today, but that would seem odd, coming from me." Being that a broken swoop usually implied a downed driver as well. "Or perhaps not. One does like to do the work they've been trained for."

Inital position is importat and often overlooked, but it is hardly to end of the race. Vekhi fails to realize that as he grabs another creature and points a pinky out at the pilot Cailyn who leaps out ahead of the pack with some fancy manuevers, "There's the winner." Siywa doesn't speak at first, peering through her binoculars with red lipped sneer on her face.

"She's out ahead of the pack, sure, but she's already showboating this early in the race." Siywa finally explains, "And these are the flats. They haven't reached the canyons yet, where there's sure to be Sand-people." It's almost as much a holliday for them as it is for the Hutts. "She keeps flying risky, she's going to get in those canyons and has a higher chance of getting a blaster in the fusalage."

In the green'black display of her binos, Siywa scans through the sudden dust cloud at the other racers. "Puk is flying a little smarter and is right on her tail, then there's Rieve. He's not pushing his machine. You don't place a bet off the line, Vekhi. Eat your food." The other Dug snort laughs, "Yeah you big moron, you don't bet off the line, aint that right boss?" She doesn't bother answering the question she already answered.

GREEN.

Lira'una had made it up into a newly vacated (newly vacated because the person that had been standing there had no interest in a spider droid rubbing up against his leg) spot where she could see just as the light turned green.

Finally pushing her hood back and placing her fingers in her mouth, Lira whistled as the all (well most, anyway) of the pods launched. She knew two of the drivers relatively well, and she was at least familiar with a third. It was a /crazy/ coincidence, all things considered, given that the last time this race had been run, she didn't know /any/ pod racers.

It just so happened that the spot had been not that far from the orange-skinned Siywa and her dugs, blue eyes tugged their direction at the mention of 'There's the winner' just as Cailyn raced off the line.

"I don't know. I think your friend might be right," the lavender Twi'lek offered to Siywa with a friendly smile. "I /adore/ Rieve, but Cailyn does /not/ like being less than perfect. She's going to be hard to beat!" Friendly race banter achievement unlocked!

Jallo offers her a nod before he accepts the water, <"I'm sure by the end of the race both of us will be up to our proverbial eyeballs in work."> With a bit of a sigh he cracks open the water before lifting his helmet up to sip from the bottle, <"So who's the favored for the race this year?">

When the racers go, both man and machine turn fractionally, both stopping to looking to the display from the holobroadcsster rather than give themselves whiplash from trying to keep up with pods taking off.

"He just can't get a break."

Hadrix nods and the frown is audible in his voice, regardless of the vocalizer, <"Verd slays a krayt dragon and the galaxy has been punishing him ever since."> the pair lean back simultaneously to look at the live display from droids that follow to give a view impossible to get within the arena otherwise.

"Maybe we should have Evie work on his pod next time?"

<"She'd put a hyperdrive on it and kill us all.">

"Ok, let's think about having Evie work on his pod and not have her do it, then."

The big man nods the affirmative to that, leaning forward to look at the displays again. The dark armored figure highlighting the leading racers.

down on someone before I've seen what they can do off the flats." Siywa finally lowers her binos to peer over at Lira offering up friendly banter regarding the races, "But if you want I can call my bookie and have a wager placed for you?" Professionals get direct access. Lord knows she's won (and lost, mostly lost) so many Credits on races that they love hearing from the Corellian born Togruta.

A red grin shows rows of sharp teeth.

While Vekhi snorts a laugh at someone agreeing with him, baps one of his critter snacks on the noodle with the flat of his foot-palm, then grabs and munches on it while it's woozy. "Come'ere ya furry little drek, get in my belly."

"You know you don't have to hit them first?" Asks his brother.

"I know, it just feels more sporting if there's a fight first." Crunch.

"OH! It looks like Rosol of Clan Kora and Puk Batoo are having trouble with their engines right off!" Gakki exclaims, Terek's engine troubles and the Meftians being highlighted to the delight and jeering of the crowds. Hands being lifted and ax-chopped in a uniform chant of "Guoo-HAW! Guoo-HAW!" for those who pick it up.

The blazing run at the Waldo Flats is the pole position section of the race and it is a massive avian-tail of sand behind the pack as the pod racers take off. More streamers pop off and sparklers erupt that set them into multi-hued flames that hiss and sizzle overhead, harmlessly.

"Zup Fup is off to a great start but newcomer Dean has claimed an early lead! This has to have them frustrated, Fup has been talking about the Boonta ALL year!"

"Yeah, she's going to be out for blood!"

The flats drop away to rocky terrain, the Mushroom Mesa reached and with it the danger of the massive, bulbous, pillars of stone rising up to greet the oncoming racers. An obstacle course of dire proportion capable of creating impromptu tombstones. Russet colored rock formations forming jagged arches and blind turns. A wild ride leading for Beggar's Canyon beyond - if they can survive long enough to get there.

"Ladies and gentlemen this is exactly what we came here to see!"

"Engine stalls?"

"The thrill of the unknown!"

Bozzie and Vutttu clash, sending sparks flying while they near the dangerous stones.

"I'm here for the crashes!!"

Rieve is in his opinion flying at speeds that are beyond the comprehension of those who have merely placed a single foot after the other! Compared to the others? Oh he's trundling along and avoid scrapes and bangs and other sundry unfortunate endings by the skin of his teeth! But the Hapan ex-Lordling, that blue Princeling skims on by. Those mushroom shaped rocks prove to be no obstacle for the noble blood in control of this explosive chariot.

Reaching up to briefly brush a flowing and billowing sleeve against his sand-blasted goggles, the stylish Hapan hunkers down a little further to better avoid the blast of sand and rock. Over the sound of his engines he can barely hear the scrapes of other drivers, though he certainly witnesses a couple of the faster speed-demons up ahead suffer for their speed and their art. "Slow and steady wins the race..." Rieve murmurs beneath his breath, before smirking oh so crookedly at what is frankly the stupidest saying ever.

Rieve may think slow and steady wins the race, and it might. Somewhere. Here, though, is the home of speed madness and twitch reflexes. Zena keeps her hands steady even as she pushes her racer faster. Harder. Make the damn thing go. She's in fourth place through the flats, but she can make it up through the mesa and the tight quarters.

All she has to do is not slow down a whit.

The Mando doesn't slow at all. Instead, she seems to speed up, putting the pod racer through its paces, making it go as fast as her own skill will allow. She's not thinking, just reacting, moving the controls with the ease and calm confidence of someone who took a Muurian Transport into a firefight against a pirate armada and didn't die.

Because she did take that tissue box into a fight with a pirate armada. "

"I should have done this ages ago."

Things do not seem to be going well for Terek, as he finally gets off the line. He's very far behind the rest of the track, and as such starts trying to cut seconds off of his lap in whatever means he can. Which is what leads to him starting to hit rocks as he cuts turns a little too closely.

<"Yes I know shut up!"> He yells at the console as it beeps damage warnings at him, reaching down to mute the alarm with a hand as he nearly crashes into another rock formation, and then is caught off guard as he actually manages to pass one of the other racers!

That's the kind of motivation he needs, as he pushes the throttle forward again, seeing the other racers still ahead of him, but knowing he's not out of this yet.

The rock studded mesa leading into the Eve Crater is enough to cause most racers to ease off however slightly in favor of greater control and some shred of self preservation. So naturally, Cadogan tries to seize the opportunity to make up ground on the pack leaders, running his engines hotter and taking a narrow gap between stones that saves scant fractions of a second. Yet at these speeds, fractions of a second seem vast. "Let's rekking GO," he grinds out between smiling, gritted teeth. Adrenaline is a helluva drug.

Flashy and inconvenient paths aren't the reason Cailyn's racing. She takes it fast and tight, but deliberately chooses the shortest path through the Mushroom Mesa. Her eyes dart left and right, searching for anyone that might come up from behind her and attempt to knock her off the path.

Tamsin unsealed her own bottle, sipping as she watched the start of the race. She observed as was her usual, looking neither excited nor disappointed in the rough starts or the expansive beginnings. This was the Boonta Eve Classic, anything could happen. "I'm not certain I would give odds at the moment. It's always hard off the start. And they haven't gotten to the rough ground yet. I remember one of the first races I was enticed to watch in the clinics. Not this one, one of the swoop races. The Tuskens used the racers for target practice." A doctor could get so lucky. Ahem. "But I'm sure we'll be up to our elbows in it soon enough."

Lira's purple lips tug into a broad smile, her leather-wrapped lekku slithering up out of her hood and over her shoulders, looping around under her neck. "Oh, I wouldn't dare do that to her. The second I put a single credit on her, one of her engines would fly off. I have /horrible/ luck betting," she jokes, the words finished on a pleasant laugh that carries with it more than a little evidence of her youth.

Her eyes do shift back over to the Dugs, however, watching them with a mixture of fascination and horror, her nose wrinkling at the display.

"Get. Off." That deep, intimidating voice of the spider she was still standing on to lift her up above the crowds intones over the ambient noise, and it brings Lira's eyes back down.

"Oh! Sorry. I forgot." And with a little hop, she was suddenly a meter shorter than she had been before. A five-foot-nothing wisp of a thing in a black robe that was more likely to get swallowed by the crowd than she was to /see/ anything except glimpses of the screens.

Jallo nods, <"That makes sense. I just wasn't sure if there was a fan favorite in the races that I should keep watch on."> Helmet comes off to better enjoy the water, <"But the Tuskens I'm sure will shoot at something.">

With the race in full swing and Lira's recommendations (maybe), Siywa peers through her binos at the clouds of dust and sand spraying in the air behind the pods. "She's holding steady, Zup falling back.. that's bad luck." Siywa comments for her companions who don't really care. They're still discussing the particulars of fighting their food before eating it.

Her tongue clicks off the roof of her mouth, peering down at the chrono on her wrist. Betting ends soon, so she's got to make a decision. With the binos dangling around her neck, she reaches in her vest pocket and pulls out the comm to click buttons in a sequence on the side to dial up her bookie. "Borsh'ta, Siywa. I want to put ten thousand credits on-" Datapad up to read the names of racers, "Dean. Cailyn Dean." Squaking, distortion, "Of course I'm good for it, the frak do you mean I still owe you?"

"Don't be like that, Borshie... how long have we known each other?" After a pregnant pause, "Fine, make it fifteen, but I'm not paying you a precentage when I win. You rekt that up, bro-siffus."

She closes off the connection and slides the comm unit back inside her vest, "I don't believe in luck... I believe in lying and cheating and finding ways to twist the odds in my favor." The Togruta says with her binos coming back up to peer through them at the pods whipping through the valley, "But apparently that's frowned upon in major sporting events, so I'll see how it goes."

<"Maybe let-">

"Her add the hyperdrive." both shaking their heads, "That's rough... we should get him something."

The pair nod and Hadrix taps at something on his forearm mounted pad, sending data to Gripper's display to focus on some of hthe stationary cams mounted in the mesa. <"I mean if his engines behave, finally, I know he can get it in there. We've seen him fly.">

Gripper issues a synthesized grunt of acknowledgement but little more for the moment, watching the other racers and their trials and tribulations with the race. Letting Hadrix ramble some, <"I suppose one of these days I should go race... I figure it wouldn't turn out so bad?">

She can't help herself, "And then you can buy that new red sports-speeder that can go open roof when you want to impress the young ladies... because..."

<"Don't...">

"Beeeecaaaaaause..."

<"Gripper...">

"You're old."

Past the mesa and through the curves of Beggar's Canyon the racers are spit out into the short hump of desert plains that leads through Arch Canyon. Touching the dune sea and to the Hutt flats where the arena comes back into glorious view. The crowds standing and cheering wildly while the pods rip past at speeds that would tear skin or crack bones from the shockwave if one were to stand to close to the track itself.

"Here we GO folks! Newcomer Cailyn Dean is holding first like her life depends on it! Does she owe Cadogan West credits!? DO THEY BOTH OWE THE MANDALORIANS CREDITS!?" Gakki is far too excited and Rek is bouncing his strange cotton-ball body in his seat. Past the the stands with the faces and emblem of each rider proudly blazing on display screens to show lap one times and places even as the full pack is out on the Waldo Flats again.

Weaving through the Mesa.

And then heading into The Notch to run Beggar's Canyon where panic has broken out.

The spectators normally crowding sections of the canyon are going to cover and there is pandemonium from the mixture of slug and blaster fire criss-crossing the canyon as the second run through is begun.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!! It looks like the Tuskens that normally creep up on the Canyon Dune turn have decided to raid Beggar's Canyon this year! We have at least twenty fatalities so far and the crowd is putting up one helluva fight! Let's hope the racers can make it through!!

Weapons fire ricochets and rips across the narrow turns and close quarters of the canyon run, giving people more than their fair share of 'PANG's and 'BWANG's as shots strike their pods. They just have to get through! Get past! Then to the relative nightmare safety of the Arch Canyon beyond for Lap Two!

What a day!

Rieve squints at the battle that seems to be raging within the canyon, blaster fire pinging off the track and into the crowd as mayhem erupts with the invasion of the raiders. For the first time since he set off, the blue chariot erupts with speed, more speed! Erratic swerving and swaying, and more than a little bravado as the Princeling clings to the pod-racer! Those engines flare brightly and rumble with confusion and some measure of annoyanmce at the sudden burst of speed. Yet Rieve shunts those levers forward, and onwards he plows. Speeding up, and swerving to take the path of a ramp that should ensure he's more of an airborne target.

The blue chariot hits the ramp hard, there's sparks from the undercarriage and into the air Rieve sails. Gravity of course demands that these two engines and the bulk attached to them come down once more and Rieve braces for impacts! Sparks and sand! Blue paint grated away from the vehicle as it bounces, the engines finally settling with a growl of blue ion as Rieve plows beyond the canyon as a few blaster shots ping into the sand about him.

The sound of blaster fire is music to Zena's ears. The Mando's eyes glitter with manic energy behind her helmet as the pods swoop into Beggar's Canyon. She doesn't even worry about the violence. Instead, she just tries to get through here as fast as possible. She redlines the throttle, the pod's console screaming at her, but she ignores it.

Her hands twitch in microadjustments as she aims herself for the needle, pouring as much speed into it as she can. "Come on, you've got this," she says to herself. She twitches the controls one more time, a split second before the narrow pass, and her pod blitzes through like it's a wide open plain.

She briefly considers lifting her hand from the control and taking a potshot at the people in front of her with her wrist blaster, but that's not very sporting. It's very Mando, though.

It would seem that with the engines finally cooperating, Terek decides to keep it steady through the safer route, if only for the chance to make up some ground. He wasn't expecting everyone to pull so far ahead on this run. Still, at least he manages to not crash into anything this time, his turns finally getting back into the groove, <"That droideka is probably laughing at me right now."> He grumbles to himself, finding a straight away and pushing the throttle to the max.

And thread the needle, Cailyn does. She's certainly not the /best/ going through, but it still has the chance to further the distance from others. The massive metallic purple and dark gray engines that pull her forwards scrape and scratch against the rock formation, sending sparks flying out and around.

"Not that I am aware of, but, as you know, I have no real idea about swoop racing. I'm here for the work. I usually miss most of the nuances that go into picking favourites. I did put a few credits down on a couple of the racers, but I don't expect I'll see any return on my investment. I just picked them by look." Sort of like picking a shockball team by the colour of their uniforms. "Ah, this could be me." Blaster fire usually was.

Jallo shrugs, <"Not really big on the racing either. Well I love workin on the racer's vehicles but the race itself is just mild entertainment until the shooting starts. I just figured if there was a fan favorite it'd be the one to watch since that's where the most chaos would be going on around.">

"You should-"

<"Have raced... damnit... We should have parked at the canyon instead of the city."> throwing his hands into the air, Hadrix didn't race. He didn't get into a fight. Yes it's exciting, and interesting. But he could have been at a -race and a gunfight at the same time-. <"I'm cursed.">

"We're cursed."

<"How are you cursed??"? Hadrix and Gripper turn to face one another, with the little droid folding her clawed limbs beneath her as the pair glare as only to long time companions can.

"Because I'm going to hear about this for -days- until you get into a scrap!" one of the two pairs of limbs held like arms out, palms up, shaking her head at the big man.

<"Well then find us some work!">

"FINE. Maybe I -WILL-" a huff from both of the bickering pair.

Vekhi woots at the big display showing close-up views of all three podracers who chose to thread the needle of large rocks! One of the creatures in his basket leaps out and scampers away while the Dug is distracted. Skittering and chirping as it disappears beneath the seats only to be stepped on by a Basolisk stomping his feet with laughter! Chortling something about 'hoping someone crashes, but hoping they survive, but also hoping it's a real good crash, but also hoping that it's not a fatal one, but he hopes there's an explosion'

Siywa continues watching, sucking on her teeth as the Tionese racer closes the gap with the Mandalorian likewise starting to shave distance off Cailyn in th lead. She's not yet cursing, but the Corellian is definitely scooting towards the edge of her seat. The excitement is evident. Whether she'd be so existed with ten thousand credits of someone elses money riding on the outcome?

That's negotiable.

One of her montrels twitches, sliding up into a white wiith orange marked shaw around her neck. "They're coming up on beggers canyon." Zooming in, -click- -click- -click-, "Sand people sure do make these things more interesting, don't they?"

"Huge pain in the ass is what they are." Says the Dug who isn't Vekhi. Listen, his name is harder to remember, you can ask him what it is if you want. Siywa snorts, "I met one once... at least he said he was a person of the sand. Followed some wonky religion where they worshipped water and drank nut water out of a rock cup that look like a butthole that makes them see god or some other such nonsense."

BAP... CRUNCH.

The droideka is totally laughing now. A staccato 'Eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh' that has those nearby edging away.

But they've left the sand people behind, narrowly, behind with all figures still mounted but some a little worse for wear. Zup Fup still struggling for position, sharing rude gestures with Tuk Banooo when the two of them corner so closely that they almost tangle engines and disrupt power couplings.

Green holos were blazing when the pack passed the stands for the second time today, a wave in the stands started seconds before the racers have even reached the arena so that by the time they finish the pods have all finished rushing past in a cacophony of screaming engines and flying dust.

"WE'RE IN THE THIRD LAP!" Rek is bouncing on his seat, pointing at the displays as they begin to update and Gakki takes over,

"Cailyn Dean is holding the lead for all she's worth but West and Tane are chewing at her heels! This could be a slugfest final lap!"

The canyon is still madness on the third lap, but more controlled this time. The Tuskens being forced back and allowing the racers some measure of security in their movements... for all that there can be in this sort of scenario. But with the turn through Beggars Canyon left for the third time, the race bursts out into Arch Canyon for the last time today. Weaving into the stone wickets between the The Whip, Jag Crag Gorge and back to Laguna Caves.

Vibrations were causing all manner of problems and sections of Laguna were tumbling down sending stone to chase the racers into the Coil, the Chute and Corckscrew. The end was close and victory closer still - but still some distance yet remained and who knew where the racers might make their move.

Now that was speed! We'll have no more of that. The views are frankly stunning and Rieve zips into the Laguna Caves with such precision and care. Oh he's here for the sights, and there's an explosive one up ahead if the flare looks right?! But here and now? Oh Rieve saunters as much as a pod-racer can saunter. The engines are flaring blue, there's raw power under those vents and flaps and other mechanical things that truly aren't really anything for him to concern himself with. His hands aren't for callouses. That's for burly mechanics and so forth! Not for courtesans and high society minglers!

But the excitement! Oh the excitement! Rieve soars on his chariot of blue! The twin engines bouncing separate of eachother, barely kept apart except by some miracle of engineering that again, really not for his brain to be concerned with. Roaring about obstacles and swirling about more, Rieve relishes the sight of this dusty little spot of the galaxy! Obstacles are avoided! But then at his speed? Easy.

Zena's hands do not move on the throttle. Her console screams as she keeps the pod red lined and screaming through the tight twists and turns. She manages to slip around the pillars, skim entirely too close to the walls, and generally have good control over everything she has her hands on.

It's the stuff she doesn't have her hands on that's the problem.

She pushes the controls to wheel into a turn, the chariot of the pod racer swinging up, just in time for a sizeable rock to barrel down the canyon wall and hit the pod in such a way that it -peels- the bottom away. The Mando only flinches a little, just making sure her feet don't dangle down through the massive hole in the bottom of her racer.

"I knew my luck wouldn't last forever," she mutters. "Better not make me pay for it, or I'm shooting him."

It's risky, but what is a Mandalorian without a little bit of risk? Terek turns the tan racer towards the sharper turns, wheeling around corners and smacking into other racers as he pushes forward. It would seem that his luck has finally turned, but it may not be enough to make it all the way to the front.

He's just pushing to finish, preferably somewhere above last place. He rounds another corner and takes a leap off of a sand dune as he heads towards the straight away for the finish, pushing the throttle as far forward as it will go, <"C'mon hold together, I got this!">

When it's time to make a move, Cadogan makes a MOVE. It's not wise to hit the corkscrew at full speed, but he does it, gathering incredible (and structurally dangerous levels of) momentum, propelling his slapdash pod out in front of the pack. It may be possible that the accelerator on his machine is jammed, as he simply hasn't slowed down in quite some time. There's a curse and brief backward look as he thinks he hears a crash, but the outlaw is moving too fast to look back, now. "Drek-" he mutters through clenched teeth. "No dying, no dying.."

She's doing it! She's really going for it! The Thyrsian in the lead pushes all that her Pod Racer has as she leans into the corkscrew...

And then... In a heart-wrenching turn of events, Cailyn's mastery of the Pod Racer meets a catastrophic end. The once agile and roaring machine now succumbs to the forces of chaos and destruction. As fate twists its cruel hand, a series of disastrous events unfolds, shattering the hope of victory and replacing it with a scene of devastation:

th a thunderous impact, the power couplings of the purple and gray Pod Racer are violently dislodged, severing the vital connection between energy source and propulsion. The result is a catastrophic loss of control and stability. The once magnificent chariot, which had been hurtling through the racecourse with such grace and power before, is now crippled, rendered inert in a matter of seconds.

Amidst the chaos, an engine breaks free from its mounting, propelled forcefully into the distance. It becomes a distant speck against the backdrop, disappearing into the desert beyond.

Finally, the consequences of this catastrophic chain of events are dire for Cailyn herself. Her 'pod', now a twisted wreck, begins a violent roll along the unforgiving surface directly after the jump from the Devil's Doorknob. It tumbles and somersaults, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Each turn amplifies the severity of the impact, causing metal to groan and buckle, leaving the machine unrecognizable.

Within, Cailyn's body is mercilessly thrown around within the confines of the rolling pod. The once vibrant and determined pilot is reduced to a bloody, broken mess. Her body bears the brunt of the unforgiving forces, absorbing the impact with devastating consequences. Blood stains the cockpit, serving as a grim testament to the severity of the injuries sustained.

Fifty yards of destruction stretch out behind the tumbling Pod Racer, marking the path of devastation. It serves as a cruel reminder of the fragility of dreams and the swift and merciless hand of fate. Cailyn, now left battered and broken amidst the wreckage, lies motionless, her once vibrant spirit overshadowed by the harsh reality of the accident.

The weight of defeat hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the smoke and debris.

This at races such as these always go well...until they don't. And the sounds and sight of the various crashes, some mitigated, some...less so, brings the doctor to her feet. Still, there was no sense of urgency. These races were a well-oiled machine. The doctor simply lifted a hand, the sound of alarms from the medical shuttles already drifting back towards the stands from where the vehicles had been positioned along the race course. "Looks as though we'll both have our work cut out for us." Tamsin set the water down in her place on the chair, as she moved to the tent where she'd be receiving her soon to be patients.

On his feet when Terek makes his forward burst, Hadrix's cheering stops short when other racers are airborne and several are going into Bad Situations

Flinching and shrinking back some with the stone, metal and sand being hurled into the sky - the smoke trailing and the madness that follows it, Al'Verde Kora and Gripper remain up - well one. The other floats at his raised shoulder height.

<"If Terek does that, we won't mention it.">

"Nope..."

<"Not even at his birthday...">

"Only at his wedding if he gets married."

<"Agreed.">

When Cailyn goes for the high risk, low reward option, Siywa grinds her sharp teeth. "I told you! I told you she was too flashy..." The Togruta groans as the pod starts the loop, but it never finishes the loop.. Hell it might not finish the race... Oh, gosh... she might not finish the rest of her life.

The groaning becomes a quiet hiss.. long and drawn out. Watching the video feed center on that horrible wreck and the twisted, mangled vehicle that may well be the Thyrsian's tomb here on Tatooine. An orange hand snakes into her vest to retrieve her comm-link. Orange fingers dance across the side to dial up her bookie,

"Bosh'ta! Hey, Siywa. Just checking to make sure my bet on Cadogan West got in before the end of the session? --- The kriff you mean I bet on Cailyn? That's absolute drek and, you know you've had bad hearing since the last time we went drinking on Socorro... -- That was absolutely not my fault, I told you she was too big for you, you're a little guy, you can't try to mud wrestle a female trandoshan!"

Vekhi starts to say something and Siywa puts a finger up against his fat lips, shaking her head. "Don't make me play back the recording Boshie, you know for a fact I said Cadogan. You're being alphabeticalist just because they both start with C and I'm not going to stand for that kind of hate speak. -- FINE... well I'm definitely not paying you for a bet I didn't l- He hung up."

Peering at her comm, then side to side at the Dug, "We should probably get going to beat the crowds."

"He's sending people isn't he?"

"No, gosh, what? We go way back, he probably wouldn't do that. I'm just hungry, is all... and I want to eat... on Coruscant. There's this little bristol that has the best sausages."

Jallo takes another sip of his water before he picks up his helmet to put it back on, <"Guess I should go head to the pit area see who needs some work done. It was pleasure seein ya again doc. Take care."> Then he's heading towards the pit area.

"AND DEAN IS OUT OF IT!!"

The race bursts out of the Devil's Doorknob onto the Hutt Flats for the last time today, headed for the arena where the crowd is on its feet and screaming like mad.

"Out of the blue West has the lead and Puk Batoo has second! But the Mandalorians are holding third and fourth place! If he can make it into the top three bracket this will be some come-from-behind story for Terek Rosol!" Rek is still dancing around, looking like a child's plush toy gone mad with the gift of life thrust upon it.

Zup Fup and Bozzie are not fairing well wither, the Gotarite's pod dragging in sand past Cailyn's before barely managing to recover and nearly getting smashed into by Vutttu when her pod narrowly makes it out of the doorknob with half the right side opened and her engine stabilizers bent to the seven hells of Corellia.

It's open, wide, and clear running over he dunes for the arena. Victory is at hand. Glory to be taken. But there is also the chance of roughhousing with the tantalizing glimmer of victory so close at hand.

"It's here ladies and gentlemen! THE MOMENT WE'VE WAITED FOR! Who will be our Boonta Eve Champion!??!!"

Rieve lived. Rieve can say that he finished the Boonta Eve Classic. He even cranked the speed a little at one point. Blue robes a billowing, style and semi-speed drifting about the course regally! Those proud engines denied their full potential, and yet? And yet they did their thing! The wreckage he swept by looked back, but to stop was dangerous enough with the two pod-racers behind him. Rieve makes his way over the finish line, raising a hand to wave to the crowd oh so stylishly! Flashing a bright gap-toothed grin to those waiting to witness those faces drift across the line!

Stylish. Blue. Glamorous for sure! Quick? Nah. There's no dramatics or showing off, because Rieve is having enough of a time managing the speed and power that he has! His hands are going to need extra moisturising after this! He can feel the callouses almost starting to form! The horror...

Get cocky and you pay for it. Even if you're a hotshot Mando pilot who weaves a freighter through asteroids on the daily as you duck the Empire who wants to confiscate your cargo. Because it's illegal. REGARDLESS, Zena whips around, feet barely not dangling from the hole ripped in the bottom of her pod. She can see the finish. It's so close. She rips on the throttle hard, squeezing every last ounce of power she can out of the engines.

Then something goes POP

One of her engines dies. This would normally just be annoying, but it dies so hard that the static coupling holding the two in tandem shuts off. This means that the live engine rockets off to the left before she can kill the power, but it's too late by then. The pod is whipped around, the cables holding it to the engines snapping and sending the damaged compartment spiralling through the air like a thrown disc.

Zena tucks into a ball in the pod, pulling as much of herself inside of it as she can so that when it lands, she won't immediately die. It does land, and it hits hard. Skidding on the shredded bottom before tipping up to roll like a coin on its edge until it hits the wall by the stands. The pod quivers for a moment before it falls with a heavy clang. All is still around it for a moment.

Until Zena crawls out of the wreckage, stumbling a bit, but on her feet. She lifts a hand to the crowd as she makes her way off the track, her bell rung, but in one piece.

It's been a while since Terek had a rush like this. He pushes the pod, the engines flaring up and starting to smoke from the amount of heat they're generating as he pushes towards the finish line. Not only is he going to finish this time, he's going to finish at the maximum speed that this pod can get up to!

Under his helmet, his eyes are focused like the predator he is, watching every bit of movement ahead of him as other racers wipe out or push further ahead. Push hard through to the end. Just try not to crash into the stands as you pass that finish line like a blur, he tells himself. As Zena's pod explodes and crumples in front of him, he finds himself suddenly having to dodge a massive engine flying straight at him. He curses out loud, his speed suddenly working against him, as he weaves in and out of the debris field that fills the area where the racer had been moments before. Now it's just the finish line in front of him, and he throttles forward one last time, pushing those engines to glow a color they probably shouldn't be!

Cadogan West finds himself out in front on the last approach through a potent mix of luck, skill, luck, being the last of the frontrunners to avoid a crash, and luck. He keeps the engines running as hard as they can, stealing frequent glances backward to see if any other racers with better machines require cutting off, but the open sand and holographic finish line lie ahead. The significance and cheering crowd haven't fully sunk in yet, and in the moment the only thought he can muster is, "This is gonna make one hell of an alibi."

Cailyn's still there. She's been in better shape.

More crashes, and it's only getting more and more chaotic out there.

"I think it's good you didn't race."

<"Why?">

"I think Narsai would have given you The Look" both stand, silent and for a few breaths the race is forgotten as the pair ponder the look that the redhead would give. Gripper turns where she hovers to give Hadrix an earnest look... as earnest as a droid without even a basic simulacrum of a face can give.

<"I think I'd still race.">

"Of course you would."

Racing is less scary than The Look. And he might die, avoiding The Look entirely.

The pods cross the line at last and it's pandemonium.

"DO YOU BELIEVE IN BOONTA EVE MIRACLES GAKKI!?"

Both the nemoidian and the yuzzem are up, hands held and dancing around their chairs for a moment before Rek manages to speak again, "It's an UNDERDOG SWEEP!"

Confetti and streamers are raining over the arena now and the crowd is pumping fists into the air in a uniform "Oooh! RAHGH! OOOH! RAAGH!" chant for the racers as names and faces go up on display,

"Cadogan West and Terek Rosol claim the first and second place positions of the Boonta Eve classic with Rieve Selki inexplicably bringing up third place! A horrible upset for expected champion Zup Fup and hoped for Puk Batoo! We can see the Hutt Bet Enforcers already moving into the crowd, to round up people trying to welch on their bets!"

Ion blasts dropping some of those said betters trying to back out of paying their debts become another source of amusement, almost to the competition of the racers - the top three being directed to the winners circle to take their place for holos to be taken and wreathes to be draped about their necks.

"The Boonta Eve Classic has been won! And the prizes are being brought out to our champions!"

A tiny BD unit waddles from a small alcove, placing credit pouches at the feet of the winners and making to stand before Mr. West, hopping up and down on his little paddle feets.