Log:Inter-Rim Swoop Championships: Dantooine

Inter-Rim Swoop Championships: Dantooine

OOC Date: March 19 2022
Location: Dantooine - The grasslands
Participants: Th'endar Khait, Nerys Greystorm,Vega, Poe Dameron, Colo Nell, Xavier Harcourt, Qutha Buvu Pah, Azeezel Raj, Xavier Harcourt, Lumira Cortess, Orren Rist Bizz Bliptettjupp, Mandl, Zavr Drick, Borgol the Hutt and Reverberate as GM

"GENTLEBEINGS WE ARE NEARLY THERE! DANTOOINE IS HOSTING THE FOURTH CHAMPIONSHIP RACE OF THE INTER-RIM SWOOP CIRCUIT! ONLY ONE MORE RACE AFTER THIS FOR THE SEASON!" Gutu Phlu's voice echoes through the pre-fab stands set in place among landfall capable pleasure liners and yachts parked to view the starting line for the race. Dusty ground that has become hard-pack in seasons pass now hosting spectators and officials in droves.The hilly fields of Dantooine stretch out like a golden ocean with the wind stirring the tall grasses in waves.

Sebulba and Yu'Nasa appear ahead of Otho'oku, throwing debris over their shoulders at her while laughing to one another on their way to their swoops while the crowd roars and highlights of previous races and winners play in holo-displays above the masses.

"WE'RE ALMOST READY TO BEGIN!" Gutu appears on a platform akin to a Republic Senate platform, flanked by dancers who writhe beside him while his hand extends towards the starting line. "TODAY WE WILL SEE JUST HOW MUCH THEY WANT THE CHAMPIONSHIP BEFORE THE FINAL RACE!" Lights erupt all around the evening sky, filling with glitter and confetti before the Gran Major Domo of RACING announces,

"RACERS! TO YOUR VEHICLES!"

Amidst all the racers is a tiny little cathar pushing her beat up old Bespin Motors JR-4 towards the starting line. "Hokay... thiss is not terrifying at all..." She murmurs to herself, climbing up on the back, she pulls her swoop suit top up over her arms after untying them from around her waist and drags the long zipper up across her chest. Goggles down over her eyes, tucking hair back behind her pointed ears.

The bike 'greeeee-greeeeeeeeeee' everytime she hits the ignition, "Don't do thiss.. not while everyone lookss..."

Third time's a charm. It turns over and whorbles with a low hum, ready to start. 5R

This was certainly a change from some of the racing circuits previous venues, but Nerys approached this race as she approached every race, as she made her way from the makeshift stable where the racers were corralled until just a few minutes before the race began. Let out of their cage, so to speak, the small woman made a beeline for the swoop she had chosen for the day, lifting a hand to greet the crowd, though most of her focus was on the bike. Making it there, triangulating her enemy's location, an settling in with a nice round of verifying the swoop's power and navigation systems. The second time she lifted a hand, was to signal her readiness as the bike moved up to the starting line.

Poe Dameron step out to embark toward his racer, walking with a slight limp. He wears a dark set of racer's gear complete with a leather jacket that reads 'Pretty Boy' across the back. With wild hair, and a wild look, the bearded Poe Dameron boards his ride and turns over the engine, emitting a loud roar that's revved by the high-handle bars, each noise generated with a turn of his hand and wrist on the right side.

Poe brings down his goggles over his eyes and activates the driver interface.

Meanwhile, in the stands sits a blue and red battle droid adorned in bones and carrying a vast armory of weaponry. The beak-like head scans the racers and says in a nasally voice. "This unit's programming suggests MURDERING the competition to establish a one-hundred percent chance at mission success. PRETTY GIRL, this unit seeks approval of this mission. IT IS READY.. to commit atrocities."

<<"Calm down, Bones. You can't just murder people.">> Poe replies, huffing in amusement. The droid responds, "This unit would disagree..."

Mandl maximizes their meme-ability, choreographing a celebratory arm-pump to match their clip of "PREVIOUSLY, ON ENDOR..." and lifting the medal to what could be anywhere from scattered clapping to the thunderous roar of the attendant crowd? They mount their saddle, gunning engines on-cue...

Descending from the Poised Reek with his loyal mechies in tow, Colo Nell rushes towards the grassy hillocks overlooking the racing circuit with no small amount of exuberance. His datapad beeps and blirps, indicating that his bets are locked-in and waiting to be processed just like everyone else's. The only thing that waits? The result of the race.

The Corellian finds himself a nice, scenic spot to settle down upon and stretches a blanket out before applying a basket to the makeshift shelter as well. "Picnic time, folks. It's mostly junk, but..." He offers up, nodding in turn to the pair of Tan and Zavr that have bounced off the Reek with him. "Grab a snack and enjoy the zips!"

Alongside Colo and Zavr, Tan is not only blessed with awesome company, but gets to witness these glorious vehicles being driven to the extremes they were designed for. Draping an arm about Colo's shoulders one side and Zavr's the other, Tan wedges herself between the two and beams brightly. "Now this. This is..." She pauses for dramatic effect. "A great day out. The roar of engines! The purrrr of repulsors. The peak of performance!" Ah yes, the slightly oil-stained mechanic didn't quite manage the chance to dress up, but she certainly feels at ease as the gents lead the way to their seats upon the hill, snacks ready to be consumed. With Tan annoyingly tremoring with excitement between the two. "Look!" She suddenly exclaims. "It's Khait!" well that just warrants a deep intake of breath. "Th'endar! Th'endar! Th'endar! THEEEEENDARRRRRR!" The mighty roar of the Twi'lek sounds out!

Another trip to a farming world, operating as an agricultural consultant and now in the stands waiting for a race to start. Careful to be only drinking -alcohol- today, to avoid sugar by mistake and with a delicious Meat in A Softbread Crust on a stick. Delicious. Qutha is tucked into a section of the stands, edged in by a wookiee with an excess of braids in their fur and a rodian that seems obsessed with physical contact. So far its only been the occasional slap on his shoulder.

But it's patience testing none the less.

The crowd reactions are enough to stir the zelosian and he doesn't know where he got it, but he has a hat tucked down to his ears on his head with little flags extending exclaiming 'Yay!' and 'Race!' on them. The safest of cheers in this competitive area.

Xavier is leaning on the low partition that separates the track from the stands, arms lazily crossed and ankles equally so. He appears to be having a friendly chat with one of the pit workers as the racers pull away from their respective crews and head for the starting line. This crew in particular is for the most-hated of racers Sebulba though the crewman in particular doesn't seem to mind all that much. Pay is pay.

Whatever the two are talking about, Xavier laughs heartily and gestures towards Sebulba as the racer gets into his starting position. A quip is shared. A snort from the crewman merits another laugh from the dark-haired man.

Per the usual, Vega's not in her Jedi gear. Especially given the current climate for the Jedi. She is a known face at the races though, at least to those that keep track of the mechanics that hang out with the pilots that need assistance...or need their ride kicked. She's done that before. The white haired woman has her hair braided back from her face and dressed in simple clothes that are easy to get grease stains out of. "No, nonono. It's going to catch on fire if you keep it wired like that." she points out to one of the newer pilots on the scene. Though talk from murderous droids makes her look to the one in question...and realizes that Poe Dameron is manning a swoop. She walks over that way, "Good luck!" the Echani tells the General. Then she's heading off to find herself a seat in the mechanic pool before she gets ran over!

Zavr Drick carefully picks his way down the grassy slope, though perhaps less careful than he'd like as he tries to keep up with Tan who has to keep up with Colo. "This is madness!" he corrects Tan, "There's hardly anything under them! Oh, the anxiety!" As the blanket is produced, he helps to spread it out as best he can, dropping his nearly ubiquitous tool kit on one corner then anchoring another area with his own bulk. "But I guess you're right about the machines themselves. Those are quite nice." The picnic basket is eyed.. You don't become a chubby Zeltron by staying away from the junk, and a pink hand lashes out, snagging some pre-wrapped bit of food. He winces from Tan's yelling, but doesn't shy away, in fact scooting a little closer to the other two. "Oh, yeah, I think I remember that one from when I met you, right Colo?"

"The Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit would like to thank one of our sponsors for the assistance with both our spectator and finish line arrangements for today! B'rot Salvage & Ores! Do let your decision b'rot-ten! B'rot Salvage & Ores: The Choice of A New Generation! And now we're seeing our racers preparing! RACERS START YOUR ENGINES!!!"

The evening air grows dimmer only to be countered by the flash and glare of lights, hover-droids with small spots circling the racers and even earning a swing of an arm when they grow too close. The crowd roaring matching that of the swoop engines turning over, a great tidal wave motion in the grass behind set in motion.

"RACERS READY!"

Explosions of underlit confetti create a blizzard around the stands, tumbling down to the racers only to be whipped into a frenzy by their backwash

"GET SET!"

A few gestures are shared between Otho and Sebulba before they hunker down at their controls and laser lights create a massive green 'barrier' to be driven through just as Gutu shrieks

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Brother Bizz has come to Dantooine to see the races again. He carries a snackie tray that samples much of the local Dantooinian cuisine, including fried glowshrooms, carnivorous snail escargot, and a Dantooine ice-twist with multiple purple straws sticking out of its circular beverage container. He settles into a bench and slurps some of that refreshing ice-twist while watching.

Th'ander sits back in her seat, turning to look up at the mass of crowds with a sheepish grin partially hidden by her helmet and goggles. The announcers signals draw her attention back after a way up at everyone, way up over her head, and full of excitement! She settles forward on her bike and hold the break to reev the repulsors, for the excitement of that ROAR coming off the bike.

As soon as the lights go green, the Cathar leaps off the line, whipping around racers with tucked kneels moving the slender framed, beat up old Bespin swoop bike through the other racers! Tim

Was the worst always the start? No, not always, but today it was, as the lights flashed, the droids descended, far too close and the confetti flashed. Some of those pieces of colourful debris did not quite reach the heights of the skies above the racers and as Nerys gunned the engine, pulling away from the starting line, the intake valves for the air compressors were momentarily clogged, as one of the confetti cannons expelled its contents directly into the woman's path, and Nerys spent a few tense moments burning them out of the system, as the swoop fought her for control. The others racers were already pulling away, by the time the last of the debris was cleared from her intakes and she speed off to make up lost ground.

"Oh, the machines are the nicest part. The racers...er. They look nice, but don't get too attached. Can't recall how many rosters I've seen of entirely new names each season," Colo shoots back at Zavr and chuckles darkly under his breath. He purloins a hank of nerf jerky from the basket around the same time that Tan goes riotously cheering for one Th'endar Khait. Chewing thoughtfully, the Corellian perks a brow, then the other, and cheers right alongside her. "Might wanna cheer 'er louder, eh? I've got good creds on that one!"

Poe angles a two-fingered salute off his crown when Vega wished him good luck. "Hope you got a wrench ready for when this hunk of junk breaks on me.."

When the calls to prep go, Poe sets a foot on the foot pad which promptly falls off. "Oh, what the hell?" 'Get set!'

"Drek!.." Poe tucks his booted foot close and sighs. "Off to a great.." 'GOOOOO!"

Poe instinctively twists the handle and is put back in his seat. "..STAAAAAAARRRRRT!" His hair goes wild and back and his eyes are wide as he feels the G's of the swoop almost instantly. He cuts in after the lead, the wind making his beard go one way.

"PRETTY GIRL HAS LOST COMPONENTS.. failure is imminent. Permission to begin murder mission now?" Bones asks, a hopeful tone in its nasally voice.

<<"No Bones.. sit there and enjoy the popkernals!">>

The droid's head glances down at the bag of popkernals in its hands. "This unit's programming says these popkernals are incompatible with this unit's functions."

Mandl, too, struggles to start. Finely-tuned supercharged engine chairs are notoriously fickle and feisty, so when a misaligned magnetic bottle or de-synched piezoelectric sparkplug happens, it is an immediate "issue." Hurriedly adjusting the teeth-rattling electromagnetic field that keeps a swoop hurtling forward, as the bottle synchs and the sparkplugs fire on command (this time! finally!) Dr. B'rot silently thanks their gods they do not possess teeth to rattle. AND THEY'RE OFF.

Somewhere in the stands of people watching, a glittering white-and-blue ARC Trooper? No. It's Azeezel Raj, his helm in place, the Zeltron prods the side of the helm and a bracer, wherein the right-most lens glows sapphire with data-streams. Watching the races, but also -- calculating the races. Feet up on another seat. Beside him, a lean looking Falleen woman leans in to whisper something, her own yellow Tetans gleaming. <"Hm? No, no. I don't bet on who wins, usually. We rack up tallies on crashes."> The look on her face says it all. The Trooper doesn't look. <"You've a better chance of surviving a gunfight with a Mandalorian, than a race, you know.">

Had Vega dared to laugh at Poe? Yep. The Echani gives a thumbs up to the man, "I'll be on it. Just make it back in one piece." she had called back. But oh boy was this going to be a fun race to watch. Though Bones...Bones was scaring folks. Or well, he was scaring Vega! The Echani gives a look over the swoops as they start off and the mechanic doesn't take any bets. This race was up for grabs unless something devastating happened.

Head whipping to follow the racers in their initial burst from the starting line - a swig of cheap booze and a bite of meat-on-a-stick is followed by the start of a whoop. A country boy whoop. It gets to "WH" before Qutha cuts himself off, head ducking and looking shifty-glanced to one side or another.

"Woop."

A far more sedate sound and then a look skyward when the rodian has a hand on his shoulder again. And is shaking him. Again.

"Sun save me..."

The racers do as racers do when someone yells 'GO!' and shoot across the starting line. Xavier, content to stay in his leaned position against the low railing, lights a cigarette as he watches the start with the Sebulba crewman that he has, apparently, made friends with today. "Who's your credits on?" he dares to ask with a sideways grin.

"Ah'm s'posed t'say Sebubla," the grey-bearded crewman drawls with a knowing chortle.

"Noble." Comes Xavier's answer though he is mildly distracted from the idle converation and not-so-idle race as his wandering gaze falls upon a faintly green-tinted man. He manages to control his facial expression and after a few short breaths, looks back towards the monitors that follow the racers. "So, who did you actually put credits on?"

Again, the mechanic laughs and claps Xavier on the shoulder. But doesn't answer.

Zavr Drick gives Colo a wide-eyed look at his comment about the riders, then frowns, "See, told y'all so. Death traps." He shakes his head and munches on his snack, but as Colo comments about the particular feline racer and Tan keeps cheering, he finally raises his other arm and calls out, though doesn't yell nearly as loudly as Tan or Colo, "Yes! Yes! Go Th'endar! Pakko's needs a new set of springs! Woooooo! Also please do your best not to get into some sort of firey crash!" A thumbs up and a wide grin is offered to his blanketmates.

The raceway sends swoops surging into a shallow valley in the hills of Dantooine's vast plains. The roar of engines and the sweep of camera droids sending a herd of horned iriaz bleating and running southerly at first before the herd wheels as one towards the east, towards the area of the spectator stands.

"Exciting start Gentlebeings! As exciting as the fashions you'll find at the Hapan Silk Exchange! Where quality is the ONLY option! Check out the Hapan Silk Exchange today on your voyage home!"

The terrain of the valley swings northerly, putting the last lights of the dusky horizon on the left before light droids in place to mark the racelane also being beaming bright lights to provide some sort of illumination besides any headlights or vision enhancements the swoopers may possess. Sudden rises in the land create natural ramps and the stream of water runs down one side to form a thin line traveling the same way as the racers on this fairly languid neck of the race.

Colo takes a moment to actually find a comfortable spot on the blanket, but when he does...it's all jerky from there. He grins as the racers really set to surging, the wash of the engines' noise rolling over him and the exuberance of those nearby all he needs to enjoy himself. A Th'endar win would line his credit account fairly nicely, though. Despite the placid attitude, he does nod up at Zavr. "Oh, aye. Wouldn't catch me hopping on one of those. Too likely some other racer'll try and bounce y'off." Another munch of his jerky and he snickers anew. "Pakko's gonna need a lotta work. Hope your hand is steadier than the other day, Zav."

Th'endar is out here living her best life, hunkered down over the handles of her speeder. Her hips are lifted up just slightly from the concaved bucket seat, putting more forward momentum on the pedals, but she's already so tiny anyways it's hardly a rain-drop in a bucket! With one glance over her shoulder, she sways around through the bumps in the turrain, riding them, rather than leaping over. Like a surfer going across a tube rather than spiking it!

"Come on, Th'endar!"

The darkness descends and light strips illuminate the shift in environments, but her eyes adjust to it almost instantly, even if some of the color is drained out of what she's seeing. Don't have to know the light is red if nobody else is stopping!

The early troubles of the start of the race appear to have smoothed themselves out, as the swoop bike flashed a trail of exhaust behind Nerys as she read the lay of the land, feeling the play of the wind as it gusted over bike and person, trying to use the terrain to her advantage as she revved the engines, fighting to make up for lost time and distance. She made no attempt to cause trouble for the other racers. There might well be time for that with one particular racer, but the time was not now.

Poe takes one of the natural ramps, revving the engine so it roars and repulsors glow brighter beneath, casting out the moisture of the water he passes over. This creates a temporary mist, prompting Poe to wipe the exterior of his goggles. "Ugh, this hunk is not cutting it. COME ON!"

"Perhaps shooting it will render the vehicle in better working condition, PRETTY GIRL!?" Comms in Mr. Bones, who has lifted a popkernal to inspect it. "This unit's programming is telling it that popkernals are not enjoyable."

<<"Well, what about your drink, Bones?">> Poe calls back, his voice married with the noise of his speeder.

"Calculating.." Bones replies.

Mandl, mirroring Nerys in start and progression, chooses not to pounce on another competitor. Their time is best spent closing distance, suturing loopholes and building the foundation for some (reckless/foolhardy/suicidal) 'proactive derring-do' nearer the final laps...

Zavr Drick finishes the first snack he found and then goes back for another, finding some sort of salad finger sandwich and making a face. "Ew, pickles." It's dumped back in and he comes up with a some jerky of his own, seeming to consider it, then settling back with it. "Really? You bring that up here, in public? I assure you, that happens to all mechanics from time to time. You're talking with your customer, they tell you something shocking, and you drop a piece of metal into an electircal system." He tears off a piece of dried meat with white teeth and shoots a side-long glance at Colo. "Didn't seem to have an issue with them on the way over here." A pause. "So how much did you bet? We'll still have a ship to ride home in if your friend doens't win, right?"

Brother Bizz is distracted from the viewscreens as he attempts to eat those carnivorous snail escargot with a shell-holder and a dainty two-pronged fork. Unfortunately he exerts too much pressure with the shell holder and the shell goes FLYING into the air, like that holofilm where the prostitute falls in love with the corporate raider. The snail shell hits Qutha with a DOINK. "Oh very sorry," he says, wielding the next carnivorous snail escargot and forking out the buttery goodness from its shell.

"At least this looks very much less hectic than Endor did?" looking to the Wookiee who grunts, shrugs and plops a paw down on Qutha's head to give him a hearty ruffling head rub - an act that actually pulls a chuckle from the plant man. A offer of his drink is accepted with a very modest sip from the wookiee that earns the Zelosian a bit of sausage on a roll to try and a bit of what smells like grain alcohol that goes down a treat for Qutha.

"Not a bad day I suppose?"

The Rodian is shaking him again and tootling happily, trading a bit of nerf rib and popkernals for the remains of the meat on a stick.

Plant Man makin' friends.

And snail friends... Or an empty snail shell drawing a horrified gasp from the Zelosian as his head turns on a swivel, trying to find the source of corpses being pelted against him.

A boisterous Tan is yelling until she's hoarse. The name that drifts forth is always. "Th'endar!" The Twi'lek as ever impressed with each and every machine doing what it is designed to do and more. Hurtling at breakneck and deadly speeds. The risks great. The rewards greater. Punching the air, Tan hoots, hollars, and hoots some more like a demented Convor, before slapping both Colo and Zavr's shoulders. Oblivious to them eating them fancy basket foods. "She's doing well, the others are pretty damn good too." And finally Tan sits down, hoarse and raspy from her yelling. Her yelling and possible annoying of her dear friends.

Lord Borgol the Hutt resides beneath a covered pavilion whose synthsilk fabric ripples and snaps with the winds across the grassy plains. The immense gastropod lays piled upon himself, looking quite content and relax while his golden eyes - one organic and one cybernetic - watches the progress of the race. A modest retinue lingers in the orbit of the Hutt Lord, but permit the occasional visitor to join at Lord Borgol's approval. There are times when the cybernetic eye will remain fixed on the closest viewscreen, all while his organic eye may consider some supplicant (or just a simple visitor to his pavilion) that joins the Hutt on the grass, beneath the shade. Periodically comes a low rumble of surprise or delight from the massive Hutt, clearly invested in the race and the progress of it. At times he even barks something in Huttese that rolls like thunder across the plains, "Take the lead! Flash your vents!" Needless to say Borgol the Hutt, Lord of Tatooine, seems quite invested in the outcome of the race.

Though Colo's eyes are keen foremost on the race itself, he does keep an ear open to the Zelt sharing a blanket with him up on the hillock. The zip of the engines keeps him from hearing every syllable, but he soon laughs at what he -does- make out. "Look, no one else is listening out for a talented mechie right now, a'right? Quit gripin' and eat your jerky," He teases, waves a dismissive hand at the pink-hued mechanic and tears his own chunk of jerky off. The chewing is only interrupted with an abrupt cough and slap on the back by Tan who he shoots a rude look for a half-beat. He's about to say something else when Zavr's teasing affronts him even further! Dark brows rise and he scoffs soon after. "The Reek isn't on the line, yeesh! It's just a few thousand credits...and then a few thousand more..." The last part is muttered under his breath, naturally.

One final rise at the end of the valley that would be a box canyon if the natural walls were higher and steeper. Forcing racers into a jump that spotlights them for camera droids to take holo-stills and footage of the action before a sharp turn in the raceway directs towards a small lake fed by two rivers flowing in from the north and forming the mouth of a southwesterly routing river.

The guide-droids for the race angle to put the raceway directly to the middle of the body of water with running lights indicating a hard turn to start for the river exiting.

"OH! LOOK NOW GENTLEBEINGS!!" it's only as the racers are nearing this turn that the water churns in points and a repto-itchyian face emerges, large as a rancor with tendrils extending from around its mouth. No roar, for the lack of such biological facility, but the exhale as it lurches and extend these grabbing tentacles is a hiss like steam escaping geysers on a grander magnitude.

"LOOKS LIKE THEY WOKE UP THE LAKE-THRASHER!"

A drag of his cigarette later and Xavier gives a pat on the Sebulba crewman's shoulder. Well, fortune to that, my friend. Whatever that means. The mechanic doesn't get a chance to ask because when he turns to comment, the black-haired man is already gone from his perch.

Xavier moves through the clusters of crowds, blankets, and the odd pavillion. He passes by the Hutt's covered shelter and pauses. Clearly in surprise. With a grin, offers a pleasant greeting in Huttese. "Surprisd to see a noble representative of the Hutt clan all the way out here." Though he is certainly keeping his distance. And, if ignored, seems inclined to move along on his way.

Th'endar leaps off the last hill, mostly for crowd encouragement when she spies the droids hovering up there to record the action, and has a grin on her face that nearly splits it in two! She doesn't pose or posture, because that would require taking her hand off the handles, but she does angle the bottom of her speeder towards the snapping picture frame and comes down hard with a little bounce.

Skimming the sharp turn with a side spray of dirt before coming straight out towards the edge of that lake. Right up in the thick of skirting the top of those waters when one of the tentacles errupts out in front of her! She manuevers side to side through them nashing and gnarling trying to grab her, cutting so close to the thrashers maul she can smell its fested breaths!

"NO! No eat Cathar! Bad lake monsterr!"

Wib-wib-wib, she rockets past it, glancing back just to make sure everyone behind her is okay. Not long, just enough. Don't want to lose any racers!

Ah, of course the planet would not be without its perils. if it had been, quite likely it would never have been chosen for the race to begin with. But what was a lake monster against a sarlacc? And Nerys had jumped that, back in the bogs of Nal Hutta. And now, as then, there was no way but forward, as Nerys swerved out of the lane into which she had set the speeder, nearly sitting up into the pedals of the swoop as she banked sharply to drive the swoop up and across the box canyon at a prodigious angle, charging towards the lake and across the waters, using talent, instinct and sheer dumb luck to avoid the tentacles that exploded out of the formerly plaid waters of the lake.

"AHHHHHHHH!" Poe screams, as he jumps right over whatever that thing was. He loses speed, sparing a look back to get a better idea of what awaited them. "What the REKK was that?!" Twisting the 'gas' more, Poe turns his head to orient forward again and sets in to gain more speed.

Meanwhile, back in the stands, Mr. Bones is holding up a paper cup filled with an alcoholic beverage. The droid peers about at the organics, watching them consume their drinks, then proceeds to do the same, tipping the cup against its beak head and dumping it over him. "This unit's programming indicates the beverage is also incompatible, Pretty Girl."

<<"Well, you tried to blend in, buddy. Still, ..don't murder anyone!">>

"Roger, roger."

The comment presented by Xavier from the edge of the pavilion's footprint results in the Hutt Lord's huge golden organic eye shifting away from the nearest viewscreen and toward Xavier Harcourt. The comment earns a low grumble of amusement at the assumption, though the Hutt Lord does at least offer a portion of his attention to the aging human(oid), "Sport is sport. Whether it's spilled blood in a gladiator's pit or governments beating their heads together, sport is sport. This?" The Hutt gestures a thick, chubby arm toward the distant viewscreen which his golden cybernetic eye continues to watch while his organic eye remains fixed on Xavier, "This is fine sport. There's even a beast there to add flavor and excitement. Raw skill and talent at work here," he says, likely of the racers themselves judging by the gesture at the viewscreen and the racers on it, "but when one of them explodes? The crowd will go wild, because that is part of the sport". There's a long moment of silence before Borgol the Hutt gestures Xavier to approach, welcoming him beneath the shade of the pavilion, "Join me. Indulge in what hospitality that I may provide here."

Mandl's bucking, twisting swoop buzzes like a possessed lawnmower across the grasslands, a wake of antigrav energy distorting the air behind it. *wib-wib-wib-WIBWIBWIIIB* lawnmowerlawnmow-- OH KRIF JETSKIJETSKISJETSKI--* thrashing and jolting at the sudden change in... ehm... material density, the Bith's reputation for rapid-fire angle determination and rates-of-descent serves them well as they corkscrew past the giant squid, pausing to throw up a six-fingered "devil-horn" for the holocameras!

Zavr Drick oofs a bit as Tan slaps down at his shoulder, more unexpected than painful. "Well, yes... The machines are good. Great, even. I wouldn't mind getting a closer look At the machines, that is." Perhaps he's taking Colo's advice about becoming attached to certain riders. As Tan settles down, he smiles over at her, then over at Colo, despite the teasing. Such an unexpected turn the day has taken. As Colo mentions what WAS bet, he frowns deeply and shakes his head. "Shhhhhhavit." Now *he* is back to cheering on Khait and pumping an arm in the air, waiting, hoping, edge of his seat kinda stuff! The burst of tentacles out of the water makes Zavr cringe towards his blanket party, unable to watch.

Vega's already having to deal with people being persnickety with the way mechanics are handled, so the white haired woman shrugs, "If you want your racers death to be on your hands then you go right on ahead and let them do that. No skin off my back." she informs them. Then she's back to watching who is doing what. Hoping that Poe's 'Pretty Girl' is going to stay pretty and not end up 'Girl On Fire' because he crashed and burned. But it's Poe...so he'll be fine, right?

At Zavr's curse, Colo can't resist a soft chuckle. The gambler's green eyes flicker towards the Zeltran a moment, but just that. There's mirth in the shake of his head. "It's my credits, Zav, never fear. Promise I'll buy ya a good drink at Pakko's if I rake it in today." Tease done, the over-confident gambler peeps back towards the race just in time to spy tentacles thrashing and threatening to thresh one of the riders. The color falls from Colo's face in those next moments, leaving him paler than usual and quite curious as he mumbles aloud: "Uh. Is that...normal?"

"Oh dear."

Still rubbing cooked snail leavings from his neck, Qutha's eyes pop some at the sight on the displays, jaw dropping and a bit of rib dropping from his lips to bounce between the gaps in the stands to strike the soil down below.

"That is..." The wookie's growl cuts him off then the toodle-doodling of the Rodian next to him. "Did you two see where that shell came from?" gaining only shrugs and offers of more food that he is more than content to enjoy despite the unpleasantness of the gastropoidal shell assault.

"Bother..."

A long body, with a serpentine spine with fins upwards of three meters in length extending from its body distorts and then breaks through the surface of the lake. Six limbs with four, webbed, toes at the end and its tail almost half again the size of its body. Almost twenty meters from blunt snout to fork tail tips. Sebulba is screaming high and gravelly while weaving through the tentacles and throwing a gesture at Yu'Nasa who has drawn her sword to hack and swing wildly, narrowly getting free with one of the bleeding tendrils hanging from the back of her left engine, shrieking the whole way.

"FOLKS YOU CAN ONLY GET THIS SORT OF EXCITEMENT LIKE YOU'D SEE AT THE TABLES AT THE PAZAAK AND TABAC ON NAR SHADDAA!"

The creature lurches after the racers, heaving its body upwards on smooth skinned arms that don't seem to have solid joints for the shape of them, bending like a serpents while wide padded toes tipped with split, hooked, claws rise and fall from the waters. Like an amphibian more than a reptile or ichthyoid, the giant globes of its eyes round pupiled and its elongated face a trunk for the limbs of its mouth tentacles seeking flesh and durasteel to drag towards the rotating, circular, tooth filled orifice they surround. One of the massive limbs actually reaches past the racers, the size of it seeming to make the speed of the swoops appear far slower while the shadow of the creature darkens the already dim evening light around them. Surroundings made visible only by the droids in flight casting their lights erratically in the bid for survival.

"Gentlebeings, highlights of this race will be playing on sports bars across the galaxy, but you won't have the clarity of picture, quality of sound or focus on DETAIL as you'll see at the Pazaak and Tabac!"

Picking up speed, the lifting of the great bulk seems to lower the water level of the lake and in moments camera and lights droids are fully in the scrum with the racers, tweedling in panicked binary with their own 'survival' instinct leading them to not try to outrun the Lake-Thrasher, just the swoopers themselves. Curling waves of mud browned water rush after the drivers, chased by the escaping gas hisses of the creature seeking a meal; Yu'Nasa smacking the Ranat Otho in the shoulder with the flat of her blade as she somehow manages to work her way paist. She just needs to not be at the back of the pack right?

Otho seems to agree, squeaking wildly and gunning her engine for all it's worth while the creature makes it's lunging attempts to catch a racer still.

Lumira arrives with her usual swishy sashay, her long blonde ponytail happily swaying against her back. She is dressed in noble finery, one hand clasping a fluted glass filled with some sort of fizzy beverage. As she takes a sip, she wiggles her shoulders with obvious delight, and then picks up her stroll to arrive at the constructed bleachers.

"I'm sorry we're late," she remarks to Orren, turning her pretty face back to flash him a wide, dimpled smile, "But I simply couldn't resist stopping to look at the souvenirs!" To emphasize this point, she takes one of the decorative plushies he is holding and reaches up to make it *kiss-kiss* the dour Rist lord's cheek. She chortles a moment later and turns around to make for their reserved seats.

When addressed by the Hutt Lord -- they're all Hutt Lords, aren't they? -- Xavier remains silent if casually pulling another life-suppressing drag of his cig. Dark, dark eyes follow the short, fat arm of Borgol as he gestures towards the general direction of the race. And who knows? Perhaps beyond it when speaking of sport. A small nod, a blow of smoke, and Xavier returns his attention to the Hutt addressing him.

Though not a word of interruption. Not yet.

The invitation to join is answered with a courteous bow in one more puff of smoke before what's left of his cig is pulled from Xavier's lips, dropped to the ground, and snuffed under his boot as he moves past the guards and into the perimeter of the pavilion. "Anything is a blood sport with the right kind of mentality," he muses, coming to a stop a respectable distance away. He places a large hand against his chest and dips his head. "Xavier Harcourt. Thank you for your generous offer of hospitality. Do forgive me, though, for my ignorance. Whose presence do I have the honour?"

Orren makes his way through the crowd toward the 'nicer' section of tables with Lumi on his arm. He's dressed in the clothing of an Alderaanian noble this time, in black and emerald, leading Lumi in a bit of a hurry as the races are starting. Lumi shows him the plushie and Orren smiles down at her, offering a nod, "Yes, it's very cute Lumira." in a tone that's not dismissive or rude, but is a little bit.. placating.

They arrive at their table right as the races are beginning to start, Orren pulling out Lumira's chair and flagging down a waiter for some drinks before he eases into his own chair beside her. His hand comes up to rest on the small of her back but his attention goes directly to the race, eyes sharply focusing on the various swoops as they leave the starting line.

Bizz slurps from the purple straw of his Dantooine ice-twist. He nearly throws up his snackie tray as something bursts from the surface of the lake. "Watch out!" Then he chomps down on a fried glowshrooms after dipping it in some Dantooine cane syrup.

Sebulba rockets past Th'endar, who was weaving in and out of attempts to grab her speeder atop the lake, and she groans quietly at the loss of position. Her own wish to make certain everyone was okay behind her has cost her a footing... that and Sebulba is a pretty dang'on good racer to boot! "Oh no you don't!" She kicks a tentacle that comes too close, "Back away! Nu-nu-nu! Nu-nu-nu-nu!"

Warble-wibble

The swoop cuts around, side to side, just trying not to get eaten! "Thiss is why way can't have nice thingss! DO NOT EAT ME! I am stringy and gamey!" sprays of water, barely missing being wrapped up, the cathar is making a great show for the home audiances and holo-prompts showing her antics for the live crowd!

<<"Do not want to be sea monster dookie!">> That's just bad luck that they chose THAT moment to broadcast her helmets vocales to the crowd-speakers.

"I am Borgol, Lord of Tatooine; spawn of Vargoola, born upon Glorious Hutta, and I address to you directly because you speak an enlightened tongue," Borgol the Hutt answers back at Xavier with a certain quality of durasteel to his answer. It's not threatening, it's just firm and resolute. Borgol's arm shifts to gesture toward a small table that has been piled high with refreshments by some few members of his retinue. The Hutt's cybernetic eye shifts away from the viewscreen to regard Xavier, at which point the Hutt Lord presents the one who calls himself Xavier Harcourt with something of a nod. Though when one is without a discernable neck, really it simply comes across as some vague attempt at an extremely shallow bow. When he shifts himself upright once again a hand begins to fish about, seeking the hose and mouthpiece of a hookah that rests to his side. He doesn't pull from it yet, but instead replies first to Xavier's observations, "Everything's a blood sport with the right mentality," he begins to chuckle with another sound akin to rolling thunder, "you make a good point". Eventually though Borgol's attention returns to the viewscreen, but it seems he's not above making conversation while he observes the race, "Who do you favor, Xavier Harcourt?"

As the lake creature exploded out of the churning waters, intent on refusing the swoop racers passage across its demesne, Nerys dove down, judging, perhaps, that as with most creatures which sported limbs, it was the grabby hands/appendages/noodles, that were the focus of the attack. And so she descended into the veritable living forest of limbs as she swooped and dove, the bike charging through the obstacles as she maneuvered to get clear of the lake out back out onto the free air. If it crossed her mind that the tentacles might reach //down// to grab her, well, she drove as if the thought had never occurred. On to the end. To what end? Who was the say. There was always some other danger to be had on the way to the finish line.

"..aaaaaAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Yet another horror awaiting them, and this time, Poe gets grabbed! It's the booted foot that had the stand fall off at the beginning of the race. He tries to correct his course but is jerked to one side, then he over corrects the other way and has to rely on the interface read out to find an appropriate vector to travel. "..waaaAAAAHH.. get off me!" It claims his boot, but Poe gets away in a sudden burst of energy. It cost him his position in the race, he thinks, but that near-death experience has the ace pilot grinning like an idiot.

"Is PRETTY GIRL still functioning? Are your core components OPERATIONAL?!" The nasally Mr. Bones asks over comms.

<<"YES!..BUT I MAY STILL DIE!">>

"Very well, try harder not to self-terminate, PRETTY GIRL. Babu cannot conduct maintenance on you if your components break mid-circuit."

Mandl rockets past some, still trailing others, while the mad seizure-inducing flashes inside their helmet furiously compute optimal trajectories and limb-saving rotations, all while half-secured to a saddle belching antigravitons and carcinogens in equal measure! Their battle with the squid is clipped, precise and mathematical, as they assume a rotation based on mutually-opposing inertias tha-- *ZZZ-ZZZ-ZZZ* -- wha, huh? I feel asleep for a second. They're... fine, I guess?

Zavr Drick scoots closer to Colo as Tan settles and he gives the Corellian a shoulder bump. "I know it's *your* money. That doesn't mean I can't have high hopes for you and wish you the best." he says, chiding Colo a little. "But I'll hold you, to the drink, either way." Not watching the outcome of the lake monster, Zavr has no idea who survived, if anyone, and he stays turned away for longer than necessary, noting to Colo, "I have no idea. My only experience with sudden tentacle emergence and attack is from nature holos and... other kinds of holos."

Colo is speechless a few moments as one of the riders loses a boot to the tentacled monster. From the looks of things, it's definitely not something the race organizers invented just to keep things lively. No, judging by the looks of horror the Corellian imagines on the riders' faces, he things it's meant to keep things quite deadly. "That, uh..." He trails off, blinkered a moment. Colo only collects himself at Zavr's nudge. "Nh? Oh, right. Those fantasy holos, right?" He suggests, though his eyes daren't leave the show. "This is wild. Normally way more sedate than this!"

"WOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

Wookie, Zelosian and Rodian are all up now. Food forgotten. Drink forgotten. Amazing! Horrifying! All of them grabbing one another in a jumping group hug that sees the Wook lifting the other two and spinning around!

"They made it! They made it! HAWWWWW!" the words in all of their own languages. It's raining confetti and popkernals. And then it stops when the thing is giving chase. Eyes wide, mouths open.

"Maklunky" the rodian's voice. Gasping for the sheer size of the thing.

You said it, buddy.

Well, it would be rude not to take something when offered. Xavier looks over the table of refreshments, eager to find one he is fairly certain is not poisonous /and/ is thinner than freshly oozed slime. He finds it in a dark red liquid poured into a glass and offered his direction. Well, that certainly makes it easier. The servant girl doesn't even look up to see the slight, acknowledging jut of Xavier's bearded chin. Once the glass it taken, they are already retreating to blend into the rest of the entourage.

"I've worked with the Hutts in my younger days. Years passed. Gratefully, my retirement from their service was not a measure of declining favour." Evident by the fact that he still possesses his limbs and has not been fed to some nasty, large creature. The question of who he favours fills in the silence as he takes a sip of the drink.... waits to keel over... does not. Takes another sip then answers.

"The lake monster has currently won my heart." For all the excitement and daring of the race, Xavier appears to be at a point of elevated amuseent but not much else. "To answer truthfully? Sebulba. I cannot help but root for the most despised. It's in my nature. And yourself, Honourable Borgol of Tatooine?"

Ground is churned and moves like water under the weight of massive clawed paws for meter after meter once the racers are away from the water. The heavy bulk of the creature slowing it to a halt before too much distance. Boot being ground up by its teeth and a warbling sound escaping its gullet. "HOW DID DAMERON MANAGE THAT ESCAPE!?!" The creature recedes then, dragging its body and the movement sees a trench cut from the weight of it that will lead to eventual expansion of the lake before a final blowing hiss sounds like distant crashing of heavy waves on cliffsides.

"THEY'RE PAST IT! THEY'RE ON THE FINAL STRETCH! SEBULBA IS OPENING UP HIS LEAD!"

Open fields and fleeing herbivores now being chased after by kath hounds drawn to the commotion emerging from shadows in the darkness drenched fields that smooth into waving ripples of tall, slim, stalks that part before the racers and soon give sight of the race end. Massive star yachts forming something of a border and pre-fab stands filled with sentients and blazing lights. Even Gutu Phluu's hover-platform has been moved there since the race start, standing like a benedictory figure with arms outstretched. A speck resolving itself to a figure with shadows dancing in a frantic maelstrom behind.

"GENTLEBEINGS THEIR ONLY OPPONENTS ARE GRAVITY AND THEIR FELLOW RACERS!"

The finish line nears, the crowds, the blazing lights that appear from above via droid to highlight the racers. The spectacle that promises to become pandemonium.

"The beast is impressive. If I thought it possible, I'd send a collection team out here to have it added to my menagerie," there's a pause from Borgol before he concludes with a thoughtful grumble, "and, unfortunately, it would be poorly suited to Tatooine". The Hutt Lord turns attention for but a moment toward a protocol droid who seems about as bored as a droid can look. Though a golden eye turns to the viewscreen, then back to Xavier once again as another croaking chuckle escapes Borgol the Hutt as his claps his stubby-fingered hands together, "I too favor Sebulba!" he remarks with some measure of Huttese amusement bleeding into his booming voice, "Both to win and to die. To win, because his talent has stretched decades! To die, because what better way to a legend such as he to go out?" The amusement seems to coat the Hutt, as much as a mixture of saliva and slime that creates a sheen over portions of his thick-skinned, and of course, his big-boned frame.

The Cathar comes off the water with the back end fish tailing, having nearly gotten last minute swiped and over compensating with her right pedal accelerator. It very nearly causes her to crash front end down into the dirt. The only thing that keeps her from taking a dive is a quick thinking power shift. Her foot plants and the bike spins around in a quick 180 before refiring to ignite the repulsor, and send her rocketing forward with built up forward momentum!

It gets her within spitting distance of Sebulba.

Close enough to reach out and touch him.

This is the final leg and while she doesn't want to take any of the racers out? She doesn't want to lose either... So as she pulls up, her swoop drops to the side and smacks him right against the fusalog, bounces him away and then back over towards her! They engage in some back and forth, crashing together and recoiling. Until finally, with a "YEEEEE-AHHH!" Th'endar slams her bike in hard enough to peel paint off both!

"SORRY! YOU ARE VERRY GOOD RACERR! HAVE A NICE SECOND PLACE DAY!"

And now the end was in sight. As racers all around her appeared to jockey for position, Nerys did nothing of the sort. Instead, she focused on simply reaching the finish line. The bike's engines were pushed as close to the red as she dared, the readout flickering between placid green and worryingly orange as she pushed to make up speed, trying to gain some sort of distance on the racers. The finish line was wide, and she made use of that as she strove to get clear of anyone trying to interfere with her bike or her good self. It was all about the finish!

Poe is waylaid, and the soldier's first response is to reach for a blaster that isn't there. The shot would've been easy enough, but the action has Poe bracing more than he might have if he had both hands on the handlebars. He adjusts his flight path and glances over at the one responsible, jerking his swoop toward them with a bit more discontent behind it. The action sees him moving around the other racer, recovering.

Unfortunately for Mandl, Poe is a fighter pilot by nature, so when someone attacks him, he stays locked on until they die. His demeanor has changed now and instead of focusing on the race, he's honed in on Mandl.

Allowing himself a more sinister grin, Xavier then drives it away with a larger take of what he has determined by now is wine that he is drinking. Hardly the connoisseur, he likely can't even peg the correct quadrant of the galaxy let alone the planet, but it's acidic and dry. A proper taste. "We can all only hope to go out in a blaze of glory, mmm? Those that seek adventure and excitement, that is. I'm more partial to living for as long as I can. And doing whatever I must to see that holds true. A burden, I understand, that does not fall upon one so long-lived as yourself. It is good to find the amusements of life even when one has had to dredge in it for so long."

Finishing the drink, the empty cup is set aside and when another servant arrives with the bottle, Xavier lifts a hand with a simple yet naturally assertive decline. So much so that the servant stops with a jerk as if hitting a wall and then backs away. "It would seem that unless his rivals target him as a pack, Sebulba will take home another victory. And that one--" He points to the machine driven by Poe "--may be taking a life."

Zavr Drick finally turn his face away from Colo's shoulder to look out at the race, watching the racers zip on. "Gosh, I should *hope* it's not always like this. I like being right, but not *this* much! Is your friend still alive?" He searches the track for Th'endar Khait. "Oh, speaking of friends, do you see anyone else in the crowd? You don't need to go schmooze with anyone, eh? Rub elbows and all that? I can keep the blanket company, if need be." He gives Colo an easy smile then turns his look back to the track, searching. Zavr finds her quickly enough, spotting when she goes in to bash against Sebulba. A pink hand reaches out to grab Colo's arm and he lifts up to see better, "Yeah, Th'endar, you ... you crash that bendy twit into a... some sort of obstacle! Eat her exhaust, jerkface!"

Mandl plans a long and happy life, much to Poe's consternation. They keep up the pressure, tangling vanes and nipping where possible at his repulsor-fields or control surfaces. Nip, nip, won't go down that easy! Harry, harass, needle. As they rode one such contest to a hairsbreadth win in the last race, it may be purely professional interest! While neither seems to lose control disasterously thanks to the other, neither seems inclined to let the matter be. They continue intertwined, while simultneously hurtling for the finish-line!

Now there's something worth cheering over! Colo pumps his fist into the air as he catches sight of Th'endar and Sebulba knocking boots but notes the Cathar seems to be pulling out ahead. "C'mon!" He yells, the first and last bit of boisterousness he'll show for this particular race. But the Corellian's all grins as Zavr nudges him. "Not all like this, nah. Usually a touch more civilized, if still competitive," He reassures, all without taking his eyes off the race. Which...should answer his next question, probably. "Haven't been looking--you seeing this shavit?"

"OH! OHHHHH!" CRKKLKLK

Qutha's back suddenly feels amazing and he is set down by the wookie in time to watch the slamming and bamming happening out on the field. "This race is insane. Water monsters. Horseplay. W'never did aught back home when we did tractor-chargin'"

The wookie blinks and stares at Qutha now, head tilting over to one side.

"Y'know when y'an another run head t'head t'see whose gonna turn first?"

"Whrunk? Rwaahhh wahh..." one paw up to make a 'crazy gesture' that sends zelosian, wookie and rodian laughing and then toasting with refreshed beer.

Borgol acknowledges the motion toward Poe's own progress on the viewscreen and likely comments on it as well, "That one has a bloodthirst that I've not seen in the circuits in a few decades. Most will invest themselves in winning the race at all costs. That racer isn't shy about meeting force with force and I like it. It's not a good trait for someone hoping to win, but at least it makes for quality entertainment," the Hutt intones solemnly. Soon enough one of his retinue steps forward with a gem-encrusted bucket. Some amber colored liquid that fizzes and foams sloshes about the depths of the bucket. Once it is in hand, Borgol brings it up and when his great maw of a mouth splits up, he dumps the contents into the cavern of his mouth. The fluid is soon gulped down and the bucket dropped to his side; one of those embedded gems even loses its place and falls to the grace beside the Hutt Lord. He seems to either disregard or ignore the lost gemstone, but instead focuses his attention upon Xavier anew, "We must find entertainment where possible. Tell me, Xavier Harcourt, you've left the glowing embrace of the Hutts as your immediate employers. What endeavors do you pursue these days?"

Horns sound when the line is crossed at last with the crowd surging to their feet, bottles popping to shower frothy sprays of sparkling wine that turns the artificial light prismatic and hurling bright tints of the rainbow over land and person in equal measure.

"GENTLEBEINGS DON'T FORGET THE AFTERPARTY HOSTED BY SHIM PRODUCTIONS! A CELEBRATION TO BE SPOKEN OF FOR GENERATIONS, BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE MAESTRO OF JUBIULANT DISPLAY FROM SHIM PRODUCTIONS! NOW TO CELEBRATE TODAYS WINNER, NEWCOMER TH'ENDER KHAIT IN A SURPRISE UPSET!" the crowd goes wild and Sebulba, trying not spin out is forced to slide and bump his way

The holo-displays a riot of race highlights, dancers stampeding the finishing area to hang U wreathes about racer's necks or lift them to be carried about in a breath stealing display of celebration that has drawn forth the 'particular' sort that call Dantooine home. The glitter confetti and holo-laser lights being joined by blaster and slugfire as weapons are fired into the air in celebration.

"Gentlebeings! Mind your airspace while the locals get out their wiggles! WHAT A RACE!" Gutu's face on every other display, three framed shaders before his eye-stalks.

"THE CHAMPIONSHIP IS HERE! JOIN US FOR STORMBORNE CHAMPIONSHIP RACE AND OUR LAST FOR THIS SEASON OF THE INTER-RIM SWOOP CIRCUIT ON PAMARTHE!"

Zavr Drick nods quickly to Colo, "I am! I am *indeed* seeing this shavit!" There comes a beat as he checks the other racers, not really *getting* Poe's change of target, and he notices the still waters that are Nerys' calm and steady racing. "Actually no. Which shavit? Like that one there, trying to make a break away from the rest?" A pink finger is outstretched towards Nerys on a monitor. "That one seems to be playing it smart. Good for them. Not as good as Th'endar of course. But second place is nice, yeah?" And speaking of placements, Zavr jumps to his feet and jumps up and down a few times, "HUZZAH! We're not hitchhiking home! This is amazing! Way to go, Th'endar! You're the best racer I've ever seen!" Looking down at Colo, he thumbs towards the finish line, "Are *you* seeing *this* stuff?!" A hand is held out to Colo and Zavr will pull him up into cheering if he can.

As the swoop raced towards and then across the finish line, and Nerys brought the bike up hard to maneuver it into a turn to set it into its berth, she threw a very inappropriate gesture towards Sebulba. You see, this was the race for Nerys. It was never about winning. Nerys didn't care about winning, despite what she had accomplished in the races. She cared about beating Sebulba. That was what Nerys raced for. And the fact that she still had her helmet on did nothing to blunt the grin that went along with the gesture as she looked up to the final standings. "Congratulations!" she yelled down the way to the race's actual winner.

Mandl can count another race not intertwined with a flaming wreck, or one spinning hopelessly out-of-control while they vomit freely. No smoke, no joke! A victory in one piece is still a victory! They give six-fingered V FOR VICTORY salutes with both hands!

Colo's already cackling by the time Zavr intrudes upon his bubble. He's laughing up a good storm and rapidly shooting out a combo of messages and notes on his datapad. The messages are a mixture of claims on his bets and payouts of sub-bets he'd made to hedge--can't win 'em all!--but he's not so unhappy with that. The other messages are rude comments paid to those that thought he was crazy betting on the newcomer. He tip-taps into the device as he rises and collects his blanket, his basket, and the Zelt with his spare palm. "Ha! Go Th'Endar! Credit Cath!" After his celebration, brief as it might seem, he's all grins and nods over at Zavr. "C'mon, let's book it back to Nar before the lanes get clogged again. Time to -celebrate-, Zav!"

"PRETTY GIRL.. this unit's programming is telling it you are being stupid! CHANGE PROCESSES, no murdering.. remember?" The droid's nasally voice some how sounds sinister in saying so. It gets through to Poe, who snaps out of his focus with a shake of his head and blink. Rather than hone in on a target, his mind returns to the race and he slaps the switch on his bike and is put back against his seat with a loud MMph!

Cheeks begin to bubble as he sticks his hand out the side to render a heinous gesture to Mandl as he weaved ahead to cross the line.

When he made it and slowed down, Poe tried to leverage the other foot-hold to step off his ride and it released, spilling him over the side.. one boot gone, the other on, and some how.. in second place.

BB-8 rolls out to greet him. "Did I try to lose? Ha! You're so encouraging, pal." Poe sits on the ground with BB-8, thankful to be alive.

The eating habits of the Hutts, as a species, is one to behold. Xavier opts however to allow his eyes to watch the screen as the bloodlust of 'Pretty Girl' rips across the land and then -- somehow -- manages to grab second place. In those last fleeting seconds, Xavier's premonition sees fruitition and Sebulba finishes fourth. "Mmm. Perhaps death would be more honourable for him." Said without pity. More disappointment. "Ah, well. Perhaps he will explode in a glorious fireball for the championships."

The race over and there being absolutely no chance he's going to any afterparty, Xavier turns to address Borgol fully. "Duty called me some time back. I've only recently returned from such. These days? Well." The crows feet crease deeper with the wide grin pulling across the older man's face. "I tutor singing at the Chance Castle on Nar Shaddaa. Occassionally I will get jobs as a scout. Though those are fewer now that the First order and New Republic have attempted this ceasefire. Frankly, I think they're both misguided but that's just bias. It hurts my bank account more than anything." With a deep breath that heaves his shoulders, Xavier runs fingers through his hair. "Needlesstosay, I have time to burn on flying through three separate backwater systems to get to /this/ backwater system to watch no one explode."

The Cathar pulls out ahead and finishes the last bit of it across the finish line! As soon as she crosses those flashing lights, she's standing out of her seat with her fists raised up in the air pumping towards the clouds above! "I am winnerr!" She announces, almost jumping off the bike in her excitement before turning it off.

The swoop sputters and spits, then drops down to the dirt/grass as if it has had absolutely all it can stand of Th'endar's Bantha Dung. She hops off and darts towards the dias, grinning so big it actually looks like it might hurt her face. "Thank you!" She shouts over to Nerys, hopping side ways with her hands cupped around her mouth, "You are very good racer! I hope we can have beerr later to celebrate!"

She bounds up the steps to the dias and huffs, and she puffs,

"Can I say a few worrdss?" She asks someone, anyone, who might look like they are incharge of these things. Once handed a voice amplifier, it's brought to her mouth to speak to the crowd. "I jusst want to say thank you to all of racerrs. Also, I want to say thank you to my sponsorss. Nezwump's Meat Lumps!

If you want some tasty lumps, Nezwumps! Don't trust all those other chumps, Nezwumps!

"And also Pakko's, who do not sponssors me but fat regular named 'Gru'gor' who alwayss sayss I am not real racerr, he can eat it!" Mic cut, she keeps talking and pointing animately!

Vega gives a look over the damaged ships that come rolling in and the winners are announced. Though there is a look over the wreck that Poe brings in, "Do you need help slapping that back together?" she asks him as he sits on the ground. "Did some really anxiety inducing flying out there. But you came out alive thankfully." she nods to that. Then she looks to the BB unit and smiles, but doesn't interrupt his and Poe's time together.

"Yeah, see what you can do with that scrap heap. It just comes apart at random, particularly when I need something to function." Poe says, pulling the goggles up and blinking slowly and comically. "You do it up real nice, I'll buy you a drink!" The pilot grunts, rising up, and starts to limp off. "Come on buddy.." Said to BB-8. The clanker that mantles the stands' railing and runs after Poe, is Mister Bones.

There's a flicker of annoyance in the Hutt's organic eye. The cause behind such a thing isn't entirely certain, but judging by the fact that he watches the viewscreen when that trace of annoyance registers? It's not hard to determine at least the broad cause of such a fleeting expression. After a time of silence the Hutt Lord lanquidly turns his attention back to Xavier, whom he acknowledges with another faint shift of his head, likely another nod, "If you find that you're the sort with flexible morals and a thirst for currency? I invite you to visit the old palace on the planet Tatooine some day. From time to time I can be found elsewhere; but Tatooine is a reliable locale". The end of the race ultimately signals a rumble of contemplation from the Hutt, along with a glance first to the viewscreen, then back to Xavier while his stubby fingers gently waggle at the breeze blowing over the Hutt's lubricated frame, "Perhaps next time we'll see an explosion or two. Perhaps next time we can guarantee that we'll see an explosion or two."

Xavier's head shifts back just a bit; chin up and grin just as wide but his eyes squinting to crescents with mutual amusement to the Hutt's last remarks. "It is as if you can read my mind, most Splendid One. I do enjoy the fireworks. I am sure the finale will be one to remember." Whether he plays a hand in that or not? Well...

Mention of Tatooine does quirk a brow. "Ah. It so happens I've some business that ways. Perhaps you will indeed see me at your court. You are, indeed, most gracious." With that, Xavier offers a flourished, practice bow then a step backwards. "I will take my leave, Lord Borgol. Thank you for this most intriguing of conversation."

And take his leave he does; turning on his foot and exiting the pavilion to try to beat the rush off-planet. He doesn't want to be here when the crawfish hit the pot.