Log:Inter-Rim Swoop Championships: Endor

Inter-Rim Championship Races: Endor

OOC Date: January 29 2022
Location: Sanctuary Moon
Participants: Amallia Madine, Nerys Greystorm, Vega, Aryn Cortess, Risani, Chani Tahn, Kael Greystorm, Chani Tahn, Qutha Buvu Pah, Zevin Daodhri, Xavier Harcourt, Bizz Bliptettjupp, Lumira Cortess, Mandl, Orren Rist, Netep Muri, Imani, Sela Modonric, Sheela Kloo, Colo Nell and Reverberate as GM

"GENTLEBEINGS" ewoks swarm about cheering and playing instruments made from wood, bone, leather and fragments of armor long taken from its wearers, a circle of them dancing in a circle about a pre-fab platform from which Gutu Phlu rises! The Gran Major Domo of RACING, dressed in authentic Civil War era Rebel Alliance forest clothing, sans the helmet with his arms raised high "GET READY FOR THE THIRD INTER-RIM SWOOP CHAMPIONSHIP RACE!!" Fireworks and primitive kites go into the air among the cheers while dancers in various attire swarm the stands all around the Ewok Village.

Sebulba and Yu'nasa shove eachother on their way from the racer's tent to the starting lines where vehicles are already set up and waiting, while the Ranat Otho'oku scurries ahead of them on a b-line for her own swoop.

Trinket keepsakes and baubles to commemorate the event are thrown to the crowds while images of the racers begin filling screens and holo displays all over. "Gentlebeings welcome to the EMPEROR'S FALL on BEAUTIFUL SANCTUARY MOON! With stands and supports, of a temporary manner, courtesy of B'Rot Mining and Metals - and one of the proud sponsors of the CHAMPIONSHIP!"

The lights swirl and the confetti fills the air when Gutu declares "RACERS TO YOUR VEHICLES!!!"

"... an' that's why we're cheerin' for Mollie Madine." Zevin concludes his list of Mollie's better and worse traits to his audience, two people who can't really escape: Sela and Sheela, no relation. The people sitting nearby have heard it too, whether they want to or not: his drawl is a smooth basso that intrudes into ears and thoughts like an old-school THX audio trailer. "Also 'cause we'll leave ye here to be et by cannibals if ye don't."

The Mandalorian is seated in the stands, flanked by the members and short-term guests of the Heliost's crew. His helmet is off, clipped to his belt and resting on his right thigh. On his left he holds the popped corn - he is in the middle, so it is his job to provide equal access to snacks. He tilts the bag towards Sheela, then Sela. "Dressed up in a war costume?" He's incredulous, but then he glances over the crowd. "I guess it's ancient history to most. Why the krif not."

It looks like he's shaven for the occasion and given himself a fresh buzz cut - the silver-white and black salt-and-pepper hair close cut. His deep blue eyes have laughter-lines extending out from the corners; he's smiling, and it lights up his entire expression. For those who recognize Mandalorians more by armor than by face, his is largely purple-black with some dark blue and occasional orange highlights - a bit of color to be easily identifiable and give it some individualism, but easy enough to hide in.

One hand rises as he points to the field for Sela and Sheela's benefit. "There. See? There she is." Still in warm tones but slightly quieter, "If ye die, Mollie, I'm draggin' ye back an' that's prob'ly right uncomfortable. So don't."

Amallia Madine makes her way out of the racer's tent with her helmet tucked under her right arm. Her free hands are moving towards her wrists, tugging her gloves carefully down onto her hands. Left, and then right. She makes her way towards a short, sporty-looking Ikas-Adno Nightfalcon and runs her glove-covered fingertips along the front up and over the windshield. She swings her right leg over it and sits down, taking the moment to pull that white helmet up over her head and then down on top of it. The clear visor is slid down into place with a -click- and she leans forward to settle into a more natural position. The repulsorlifts are already engaged and her weight down atop the seat only causes a subtle dip down. For now, though, she keeps one of her feet firmly planted on the ground.

She turns to look towards the crowd, but it's a bit difficult to make out any one person in particular. She knows she's got some people cheering for her, so she offers the crowd a little wave. It just so happens to be right around the time that Zevin is talking about dragging her corpse back to the ship.

Not even close to being in his direction, though.

Brother Bizz has come to the races with his orphans on a field trip to learn about Endor. "You see, this is the Sanctuary Moon of the large gas giant, which the Ewoks call Tana. Tana has 39 moon-like objects in orbit of it." The orphans include Miriala the little green Mirialan, Blelaila the Twi'lek, M'nevvus and Su'nil the Zabrak twins, Lemmy the human boy in his Grav Force 2 Tryshyn ELITE gravball shoes, little Padmini in a cardboard Mandalorian helmet, and little Shimsa with her stick and tattered scavenger costume. Bizz has an extra large munchie box tray made of wicker and kata-wata fern, and in it are fried Endorian tip-yip drumsticks with gurreck gravy for dipping, sugarleaf taffy, some fruity rainbow berry galettes, and a rootwood beer stein filled with Endorian honey mead. There's also a cup of disgusting swamp pickles which the childrens refuse to touch, and it is rumored Ewoks dislike them too. They all go to sit in the stands.

"No, I don't think they're edible. Too string." Was Nerys actually offering culinary advice to the droid who was riding in her own specialized harness on Nerys' back? Surely not. And yet, there did not seem to be anyone else Nerys could be talking to, as she made her way from where the racers had been waiting and towards one of the bikes that had been set out for them to use. She selected one, seemingly at random, offering a wave of greeting and good luck to those of the racers she knew. Bitty, of course, have the one finger salute with both hands to Sebulba, as Nerys climbed onto the swoop bike, "Stow it. He'll get what's coming to him." She set the helmet of her suit on then, and powered up the bike, revving the engine to pre-warm it.

Mandl is rumored to own a holographic Rose Speeder, which they are *also* rumored to only take out on Sundays, et cetera. To church and so on. Wherever they find their endlessly-replaceable generic swoops, this one is decorated hastily to match the banners they've paid to have hoisted in the stands. "Mine: Your Own Business!" they might say, with Dr. B'rot looking stern and authoritative from beside their logo.

"We have met her, you know," Sela says to Zevin. The statement is made testily, but it's a non-personal sort of testiness. She looks away from Zevin at one of the other patrons, testily, and takes a handful of popcorn, testily, and sucks on the cigarra in her non-popcorn hand like she's on a planet with a sulfur-phosphorus atmosphere and that bundle of space nicotine was actually the only hose back to the ship. She chews on some popcorn. She befouls the air with her tobacco. The crisp, wholesome forest moon, its scent redolent of flowers and trees and the occasional dreadful cannibalistic ritual, gets a healthy dose of whatever is burning in that one hand. And when her cigarra expires, Sela immediately pulls the pack out of her butt pocket and lights another. Testily. "Why would they race in a place like this?" she asks, rhetorically (that being just one of the adjectives). "Excuse me, miss, do you mind?" says one patron to whom Sela has been blowing smoke. Her response cannot be printed on a family moon.

Of all the locations that have hosted the Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit, this one is by far the most out of the way and uncharacteristic. There are no flatlands, no grand arenas, no glittering skyscrapers. The tallest things here are the trees, and they're neck-craning in their height. The spectacle of fireworks earn a skeptical gaze from Chani. Fireworks.. trees.. The two don't seem two mesh well together. She knows nothing about this moon save what history has told her about it. Her attention shifts to the sky, then, as if she might find the shadow of that dreaded moon still visible in it somewhere. Taking in a deep breath, she exhales it through her parted lips and adjusts herself in a seat that is nothing like the contoured, padded cushions often seen in more dignified arenas. Nearby, Brother Bizz Bliptettjupp educates his orphans about the system that they're in. It doesn't keep her attention.

The heel of her boot taps in quick succession against the ground at a pace that shows either impatience or anxiety. The loosely draped fingers of her accompanying hand slightly shift their positions with every uptick of her knee rising, then return to neutral rest whenever it drops down. In one hand, a viewing screen allows her to watch the race once it takes off from the start. Holocams positioned around the track will allow herself and the other spectators to admire the sport in all its glory without the logistics of going along with the racers who will travel faster than most any transport could hope to keep up. Their practically engines with some handlebars attached, if the conversations of the spectators are to be believed. Chani regards a pair of them talking about who is going to win, but dismisses the thought a moment later. It's less about the race for her.

"How many planets have you had food on, Bizz?" The large array of goods arranged on this one are side-eyed. He's got a veritable feast. Some of it will go to the oprhans, but the rest he'll probably consume himself. Chani tries to recall a moment where she hasn't seen Brother Bizz eating and finds herself wanting.

Lumira Cortess -- socialite, fashion icon, happy member of the New Aleraan noblesse -- is currently sitting in the stands looking *extremely* happy to be here. The lady sits with straight-backed poise, her hands anxiously clasped in her lap, as she looks out over the tents. She's currently sitting alone, although a helmet rests beside her -- not at all matching her fetching her blue dress and therefore likely holding someone's spot -- but she has no qualms with making conversation with strangers. Especially chatty strangers! She is also not above eavesdropping (in fact she loves doing it), which is how she hears Zevin's ongoing praise for this 'Mollie Madine.'

"You sound like quite fan," Lumi remarks, casting an amused glance in the half-Echani's direction. "I'm inclined to place a bet after all of that build-up." She grins at him, eyes gleaming, before she turns around to observe the screens that flash pictures of the racers. It's not surprising that she doesn't recognize any of them -- she is New Alderaan nobility, after all -- and yet, ironically, when Mollie's image flits across the screen, the lady gives a double-take. Huhhh? "...I think I know her..." Lumira murmurs, her well-shaped brows scrunched together. But how? From where? She'll have to think -- but likely not too hard.

Sheela had agreed to join them on the Sanctuary moon, even though they were complete strangers, and sits with them in the stands to watch a bunch of speeders go around in a circle very quickly. The fact that she's grinning betrays her, this is a whole lot better than watching sand blow across a desert! She too has her helmet off, but it sits beside her on the stand rather than clipped to her belt. Periodically reaching out, she takes some popped corn and tosses individual kernals in her open mouth while watching the set up and listening to Zevin explain the intricacies of why they should be cheering for Mollie.

"Oh, there she is." Pointing herself. Her own armor is far less colorful. Drab and brown, it looks to be more utilitarian than vibrant. Her skin is tanned and her red hair has blonde streaks just like someone who spends way too much time in the sun.

"What are those little monsters dancing in a circle?" She's never seen an Ewok. The fact that her father DIED here at the end of the GCW would bother her if it hadn't been a rather noble death. "Wait, are those the little gremlins that the Rebels manipulated into winning the war? Oh, they're darling... how much do you think one costs? I want to feed them to my fanned rawl... Yes you little furry monsters! You look like predatory bait." Hands cupped around her mouth.

Why WOULD they race in a place like this... Sheela looks to Sela and nods, hands motioning to her. "You know how many people died here?" Pointing to the Ewoks, "Because of those little bra'gru'dyrs?"

"You seriously don't have anything other than bugs," Risani intones flatly to the wide-eyed teddy bear known as an Ewok lurking behind a crudely crafted, wooden vending cart. Given her height, she positively towers over the local vendor but the short sentient ignores her incredulous posture. One might even find the juxtaposition amusing. "I fly like a billion parsecs here, hungry as kriffing heck, and all you've got is bugs. Do you not have like a rodent or something? You know, less legs, squeaks or something. I'm not even that picky." The response she gets is barely more than an indignant click, coupled with the brisk shake of a head in the negative. Risani is dressed in her usual one-piece spacer suit. Predominantly violet-hued, there's grey accents and black ribbed padding on various convenient spots for one that is knocked over or sent sprawling more frequently than she'd like. Over top of this, a short-midriff revealing bomber style jacket is worn. Risani pivots and peers up in to the sky as if the heavens would assist her in filling her belly. Hands atop her hips, she wobbles in place, tail swishing idly back and forth. "Ugh," the felinoid huffs, turning back to the vendor to produce a small credit chit. "Give me a kriffing bug." The exchange is made, and she's presented with a rhino-beetle like creature about the size of a fist. "Here goes." Crunch! It splurts in to her mouth. "You know," Risani muses as she munches. "This isn't half bad. Give me another." Credits are exchanged and she now has /two/ bugs. Risani wanders towards the stands.

Sanctuary Moon.

He was here for plant samples and information for Agricorps, only to find himself swept along by the little fuzzy bear creatures to the village and to a place on the edge of the stands where the festivities are still covering him in glitter and surrounding him with all sorts of flashing lights and a dancing... woman? It's hard to tell with some species who is gyrating around poor Qutha, making his cheeks go green while he hooks thumbs in his jacket pockets and tries to look... Not out of place in this madhouse.

"Crimminy..."

One of those days, Qutha. One of those days.

True to his nature, one Colo Nell arrives a touch late to the party. Have the races started up already? Has he missed the opportunity to lay bets on the odds of Sebulba taking yet another victory over the other riders? Will this squat, over-strong bear he's haggling with give him one of his (her?) people's hats to wear despite a complete lack of intelligibility between them?

The answer is no to the last, at least, leaving Colo grumbling and grunting, gesticulating wildly in a way that attempts to communicate anger but mostly communicates madness to the bear who drops from the conversation and toddles off to tend to her (his?) soup. Colo wastes little time in beating a hasty advance towards the stands that have been set up. The answers to the other hypotheticals will be answered when he arrives in fashionably late style.

Imani isn't one to attend races often, but for some reason she's here at this one today. Her dress is casual, dark colors and practical cuts leave her outfit a bit plain, though there are a number of weapons add more noticeable accents. She's whistling a cheery tune as she moves through the crowd of unfamiliar faces. An open spot is spied among the seats, so she ducks past a few people to drop into the open seat.

The Ewoks begin to cheer louder and with them the crowd, the music thudding and thumping with heavy beat that sinks into one's chest and quickens the pulse. Fireworks explode and the natives all cheer and squawk in surprise and delight for the display.

"RACERS! START YOUR ENGINES!"

Sebulba, in the front block for prior first place, thumbs the ignition of his swoop and the heavy engines thrum contrasting to the wailing scream of Otho's and the deep, guttural, roar of the Sanyassan Yu'Nasa's. Each starting engine getting the crowd louder and louder with excitement and anticipation.

"READY!"

More fireworks erupt, set off by the ewoks and judging by the pyrotechnics crew it was before they were supposed to.

"SET!"

Spotlights both fixed and mounted to hovering droids all turn to focus on the races and the skinned drums of the ewok begin beating at a fever pace. Ewoks and dancers cavort about faster and faster. Bone and wood bows are raised and fire arrows into the trees trailing ribbon streamers of multiple colors of varied hues and tints before Gutu cries out at last.

"GO"

Brother Bizz sits down on a bench and is swarmed by the greedy children who take pieces of those fruity rainbow berry galettes and the sugarleaf taffy. Some of the orphans who sat with Chani at Bespin beckon her. "Come sit with us Miss Chani!" says Bleilaila the Twi'lek girl. Bizz grabs a tip-yip drumstick and his stein of Endorian honeymead before any of the kids get at it. "I have been to many planets and I eat on all of them. Who can say how many? I once ate cabbages with the plant-people of Revyia. Oh here they go!"

Orren is there, making his way through the crowd. Dressed sharply in black and emerlad green, his outfit is a touch too formal for the occasion, though he wears it well. His eyes shift around the arena for a few moments, perusingthe stands before he finds who he's looking for. He moves with a slightly elongated step that could be interpreted as awkward or a swagger, depending on how charitable one is to the slight swing of his step. He's carrying two drinks, one brown in more of a highball glass the other a flute of something pink and sparkling.

Pushing through the crowd, he'll find the saved seat next to Lumira, reaching down to clear it before he settles into it and leans back into it. He offers the flute to Lumira and goes quiet, leaning into her with his shoulder to watch as the race starts, eyes alertly flickering from the screens to the race itself.

Ready. Breathe in. Set. Breathe out. Go.

Mollie flicks and kicks from neutral into first gear, snapping the clutch up and down and squeezing the throttle towards her. That swoop bike lurches ahead and, for the briefest moment, there's a sensation in her stomach of liftoff. Neutral to first. First to second. Second to third. She climbs up each gear with a rhythmic and methodical pace, with the length she spends in each gear gradually growing shorter and shorter. She's not paying attention to where she is in the pack. Not yet. She's just focused on hitting that top gear and the feeling of the speeder bike beneath her.

Nerys had been to too many of these races to be much distracted by the spectators or the spectacle. And this was a new world, mostly, to her and worth taking a look at, if she could manage it while she raced. lots of space debris to go space spelunking in...later. Now, though, she simply revved the engine, making certain she was in the block allotted to her when the time came to start the race. And when the flag fell, metaphorically speaking, the swoop leapt away from the block, Nerys driving as she always drove. Like a woman with very little sense of self preservation. It was the long easy stretch now, but that would soon change. It always did.

"Plant people eating cabbages.." Chani trails off, both to let that statement sink in and because she half-expects it to prompt some further explanation from Bizz. It's easy to swap seats. While she doesn't sit directly in the middle of the orphans, she does sit closer to them so that some of them can observe her viewing screen without having to try to crowd exclusively around the one Bizz is trying to carry with one hand while dealing with food with the other. "Where is Revyia?" The nervous -- or impatient -- tick of her heel tapping repeatedly against the ground has stopped. Away from the view screen, her dark eyes have settled on Bizz after prompting him to supply further information about this planet she's never heard of. "And what were you doing there?" The good Brother is, after all, a well-traveled sentient who has held many jobs doing many different things.

Mandl's requisite "engine with handlebars" may have hit a hitch. Perhaps the plastic garlands of color-matched flowers like giant leis were *too bold* a stylistic choice, as they threaten to clog the intakes with each petrol-scented breath of the beast! They flap in the hot wind, tantalizingly close to... critical... pistons and spark-igniters... *FZZT.*

Shoved back by his reaction to the racers being told to go and the continued explosions and FIRE, Qutha's emerald greens are wide, mouth briefly an O and his hands white-knuckled on his knees until he realizes he's bruising himself and again his cheeks color a light green. Head ducking despite no one really noticing his reactions - there's that moment of embarrassment before he gets his composure.

Then he has a wokling in his lap, playing with the lapel of his jacket and chattering on in his (her?) native tongue and smiling at the small one, letting them grab his hand and tug at it - gaining a look from several ewok parents who swarm to the zelosian, patting him and saying... Something. Something he's yet unsure of.

"/You/ know 'er, Sela." Zevin takes a handful of popcorn and chews with loud crunches as the race begins. "/She/ hardly met 'er." He interrupts his eating to balance the popcorn in his lap and cup both hands around his mouth.

"GO MOLLIE MADINE!" The sound reverberates in the nearby stands as she kicks in the throttle.

Back to a more regular, if still loud, volume for spectators, he looks at a nearby screen, then sideways at Lumira. "I am - the - fan." His emphasis is plain. "Also the evangelist. She's a real great pilot an' driver both. If I were a gamblin' man, I'd have money on 'her."

He spots the gambler farther down and waves to grab the man's attention. "COLOOOOO." He tilts his head at a nearby spot.

"What's yer name, miss?" He looks back at Lumira. "An' yer friend's." Orren did just sit down next to her.

Despite appearances, Sela Modonric is not entirely a smol ball of grump. She may be chain-smoking in a way which even people who like a cigarra would be offput by, and she may be cussing up a storm at the dad who wanted to take his kids to enjoy some wholesome camping and swoop racin', but Sela can experience pleasure. Like when Sheela Kloo says a bunch of people died here. "Was it lots?" Sela asks the Mandolady, a note of hope and optimism in her tone which might surprise those who know her from other, bloodier contexts. But then phat engines are roaring, putting out nearly as much smoke as Sela, and she watches the action for a bit. Nobody dies immediately, but Sela watches the first turns anyway, puff-puffin' like the Little Swoop That Could. "Everyone knows Amallia Madine," she tells Zevin without looking, in a flat, straight tone that brooks not even the chance of error.

Lumira perks right up when Orren arrives with her drink. She goes so far as to give her hands a happy clap -- are her nails painted to perfectly match her dress? you better believe it! -- and accepts the fizzy pink drink with a winning smile. "Thank you~" she tells him, careful to accept the delicate flute without spilling so much as a drop on her dress. She takes a little sip off the top, leveling the heavy pour to avoid any unfortunate accidents, and then draws her face away when the effervescent bubbles tickle her nose.

Lumi laughs, nose crinkled. She is ready to say something else to Orren, but that's when Zevin addresses her. The lady looks in his direction, a warm smile already in place. "My name is Lumira," she tells him, offering a lilied hand -- but it's facing downward, making a regular shake more difficult. "And that's all rather impressive," she goes on to say, "As I'm fairly sure this...Mollie...was a caterer at a function I attended on Nar Shaddaa. At least, if that is indeed her likeness..." The Cortess glances to one of the screens that features Amallia's image and name. Lumi looks over at Orren and says, "Isn't that her, Orren? The caterer who told me to..." she hushes her voice as if saying something very scandalous, "...Fark off?"

"We drank a beer in the same bar earlier." Sheela explains helpfully, wibble wobbling her hand side ways before reaching out to grab some more of that popped corn, "In some cultures that makes us best friends. In others it makes us poor influences on one another..." The initial spectacle of the racers errupting off the line passes rather quickly, though there's still the monitors up to track the action.

"So now what? We just wait for them to ride back past us very quickly?" Tongue digging at the back of her teeth, piece of kernal that had wedged itself inbetween them was becoming a constant sour point. Side glancing over at Sela, then again when she realizes the question was for her. "Was what a lot?" She doesn't quite realize that the smol chain smoking grumpy ball is also a psycho. "Oh, death? Yes... There are sections of the moon ~" Pointing off in a that wayish direction, wiggling armored finger.

"That are completely radiated from all the Star Destroyers that crashed here..." She cants her head to look up at the trees, "Many Bothans died to bring us these races."

She then smiles over at Lumira, giving her a thumbs up. "I'm Sheela Kloo and I support Mollie Madine for winner of these races through the death forest."

The route out of the village behind, through heavy brush, tribal totems and cheering ewoks in tree lofted platforms above - the shallow snaking track turns sharply into the forest itself. Sebulba clinging hard to the second place shot and making sure to offer a very specific gesture towards Nerys as he speeds past her, there might have been been a "CHOOBA!" hurled her way as his quad-engine swoop, in many ways similar to his pod, chuggagrumbles across the distance.

Massive redwoods forcing racers to weave through narrow spaces between thick trunks where split second mis-timing could mean the difference between continuing the race or being hauled off on a stretcher. Or possibly picked over by scavengers before the body is retrieved.

"Quite a gamble given for our racers to take on, gentlebeings! Like the gambling you might see at the Pazaak and Tabac on Nar Shaddaa! Where fortunes rise and fall by the hour, if not the minute! Remember to take time for yourself and enjoy the finer things, at the Pazaak and Tabac!"

Hovering droids within the trees indicate the race lane borders, while also providing a terrible distraction while they flash and strobe whenever racers grow near.

Just in time. Colo spies the starting flares of engines and the shining lights on the screen as he skirts through the stands and he's just in time. His eyes light up as the screens change hue to keep the audience informed of the roars of engines and the clamor of what's going down below. Up with his datapad, however, and he swiftly tip-taps some keys to ensure he doesn't miss out on some of the intricacies.

He's brought out of his data fugue by a combined assault both from Zevin's shout and by the roar of support for Captain Mollie. The latter is minded in the background while his eyes snatch up and spot Zev, whereupon he makes to approach and...blinks a moment or two as he spots the pair of Lumira and Orren. His steps continue, but there's definitely a confusion in his voice as he greets the trio in turn. "Er. Heya, Zev. Do...uh." He blanches for a second, looking first to Orren with a nervous smile, then Lumira. "Do you know these two, too? Ah. Hiya, Orren. Lumira." Awkward.

The smell of cigarette smoke floats in Xaver's wake as he meanders amongst the undulating crowd. The roar of the speeders in the distance amplified by the holoscreens and speakers dotted all around so that every angle of the potential carnage cannot be missed no matter which seats you were able to afford. Which is fortunate because Xavier is nothing if not a frugal man; boots on the ground of the Sanctuary Moon and deep brown eyes searching for a familiar target in the throng of sentients who may have afforded at least a booth or some semi-private seating.

So imagine his surprise -- just imagine it, will you? -- when he happens to find a semi-familiar face in the blur of faces. Weaving in and our, Xavier waits until he's close enough to the quartet of race-watchers before he projects his voice over the ruckus. "My, I hadn't intended to find you here, Mr...." Xavier looks up at the canopy of leaves above them, blowing out a ring of smoke as he thinks. "Nell. Indeed, you are a long way from the theater." Then he looks to Orren, Zevin, and Lumira. All new to him. "Forgive the intrusion, mm?"

The repulsorlifts of Mollie's speederbike have begun to whine. At that to gear, it's now a matter of keeping those engines firing and not losing her nerve. Trees whip past in a blur, and Mollie knows that just -one- misstep could see her impacting one of those massive treetrunks and scattering her body parts across half of the track. She's not really aware of anything but the feeling of the throttle beneath her right hand and the bouncing of the clutch above her left foot. The brakes? Not really an option.

Some of the racers veer away from the pack, while others veer into the middle of it. Amallia opts for the middle way -- a less-than-risky but also less-than-safe line that takes her through winding trees and a few others. She takes care to avoid them, but she's also not worried about cutting anybody off either.

"Push push push push push," she says, voice lost amongst the scream of repulsorlift engines.

Now this was where it got good. With the first leg of the course long enough to allow Nerys to blow out the engine and get it operating at top form, she increased the thrust, pushing the bike to its limits as she began to weave and cut through the trees, sometime catching air, and at others, banking so sharply she could have reached out a hand to peel a bit of bark away to take home as a souvenir. But this was not the time, and there would be souvenirs after as she darted ahead, trying to gain traction on the other racers. The time to feel the bike beneath her had passed.

Brother Bizz gulps his Endorian honey mead as he watches the race, surrounded by orphans who are hooting and gasping. He says to Chani Tahn, "Oh it is a planet out on the edge of the Outer Rim! I was studying the Tyia, which is their FORCE tradition that emphasizes the harmony and unity of beings. They are plant-based organisms so that is easier for them to understand, perhaps." He takes a bit out of a meaty Endorian tip-yip drumstick.

Orren looks over to Zevin, "Orren Rist." he says by way of introduction, short and to the point, stiff backed and formal as he lifts and sips his drink. Lumi questions him about the racer and he glances up again at the screens. "Probably, you know how those racers are." he adds, "You'd think they'd be paid enough to not have to work as waitstaff." Colo approaches and Orren's eyebrow lifts a bit, his posture loosening a bit, "Colo." he says with a faint grin, then he looks down to Lumira and back to Colo, eyebrow still lifted. "How do you know Lumira?" He doesn't get up, seating is at a premium here after all, and he's not about to try to lose it by standing up to greet the gambler. Still, his tone is friendly and he's subtly less stiff than he was a moment ago. So that's something. "Who do you have your money on?" he asks, cup tipped toward Colo.

"Sweet Light, this is swoop racing?" Qutha's head is up and he's looking at a display now, brow raised, "This feels so familiar..."

How familiar Qutha? Tractor Chicken on Zelos II while someone with a portable speaker was blasting some high tempo ballad about waiting for a champion? Waiting for a champion until the end of the rotation? That they had to be mighty and they had to be quick and they had to be fresh from the contest?

No Qutha, you never would have played tractor-chicken with one of the rival farm kids. Your mamma woulda twisted your ears and papa woulda whopped you upside the head. All for wanting a thrill and some competition. Lets be real here, plant boy.

Yes. It's exactly like Tractor Chicken on Zelos II.

And he's cheering without even realizing it now.

Mandl's tepid, slightly flammable start must've worked them into... quite... the pique. So focused, so determined are they to make up lost ground that when the accelerator is hit they take *flatly insane* chances, and _by gum it seems to work?!_ spiraling between sentinel redwoods, veering at a suicidal clip, they shoot forward with enviable speed and stored-up grace? Some-kriffing-how?!

"Hello Sheela," Lumira offers in return, a brilliant smile flashed her way next. "It appears we've formed the unofficial Amallia Madine cheering section, hmmm? Admittedly, I don't know a thing about her except she looks adorable in a bowtie and has an exceptionally crass mouth, but I suppose I can add 'stellar pilot' to the woman's list of skills." The Alderaanian noble pinches her lips together, attempting to hold back a laugh, but the effort is futile; a moment later, she giggles, the sound bubbly and warm and impossibly friendly.

She's still tittering when Colo walks up, the sight of the ne'er-do-well-gambler (Lumi's interpretation of course) eliciting another wide smile that makes her dimples *pinch*. "Colo!" she says, almost in perfect harmony with Orren. Hearing the Rist lord greet the man is a surprise, of course -- enough to make her blink her pretty lashes and look over at him. "We know each other from Nar Shaddaa," she answers, looking from Orren to Colo with amusement. "Colo sold me glitterstim," she 'whispers' to Orren -- though not very well -- and then adds, "And then we went dancing. He's very nimble." Said with a straight face.

There might be more, but that is when Xavier approaches and asks for them to forgive the intrusion. "Not at all," she says, even tugging on Orren to scoot over and make room for the man, "The more the merrier. Always!"

"Meetin' folks, makin' friends, findin' out Mollie swore at people and is maybe workin' caterin." Zevin's tone is dry. "This is Colo Nell," Zevin tells Sheela. "An' this is Sheela. Sela I think ye've met, maybe? She does tech work on the ship sometimes."

"Nice ta meetcha, Orren." When Lumira extends her hand, but pointed down, he looks at it, and then just awkwardly shakes it with his own gloved one. "An' to yew." Pause. "Oh. Yer nobles, I guess."

He points at Colo then. "Yew can bet on whoever ye want, but yer cheerin' for Mollie."

Risani's insect snack has a burnished carapace and a mossy green interior much like the innards of a crustacean. For some reason it has a vaguely grainy texture, once the initial splurge of uncooked fluid has gushed in to the felinoid's maw like a runny egg yolk. To the stands she marches. A self-satisfied look pulls her lips in to a toothless, placid grin as her stomach's rumbling fades away. Sacrifices must be made. It doesn't take the felinoid long to spy a spot in the stands, but it's through a myriad of spectators and many of them, so engrossed in the race and unwilling to pull their attention way, are going to make for complicated obstacles to her ultimate destination. Steeling herself, Risani picks her way as best she can through the tangled mass of legs, snacks, and small children more interested in the things stuck under seats than the whirrs and screeches of vehicles built for speed over safety. Making it a full two meters without smacking someone in the face with her tail, or stepping on anyone with her over-sized feet, she breathes a sigh of relief for seeing the empty seat within reach. Then a small child loses control of a tiny speeder toy and it rolls under her foot as she steps down. With a yelp, Risani skates and gravity takes hold. In a flurry of reflexive motion, her limps whirl under her to land with the grace of a professional Twister player. One unfortunate detail: her bug snack, still intact, is whipped full force at a small willowy woman named Imani.

"Isn't the harmony and unity of beings part of.. everyone's tradition? Obvious exclusions aside. I feel like that's just part of it. Or maybe that's my own culture talking." Her eyes shift from viewscreen to Bizz, moving to the latter when he speaks and the former when she asks some new question in pursuit of the topic of their conversation. What can be heard of it, anyway, over the crowd and the eager children excited to be somewhere new and watching something so exciting -- and so dangerous -- transpire right before their very eyes. She starts to ask another question and then thinks better of it, attention briefly caught on the orphans before winding up on the robed monk working through his array of food and drink with an almost ritualistic methodology to it. A bite of this, a bite of that, and some drink to wash it down with. "Did you stay with them a long time?"

Sela Modonric finds herself in a classic Sela bind as serious as any the racers might meet. She realizes, from the way Sheela twiddles her fingers, from the mention of death and destroyers, that this conversation has been about something a bit more dramatic than swoop crashes or camping injuries. "Oh," says Sela, in a smol way, as Sheela turns her attention elsewhere. Meanwhile people are crowding into her section of the audience, Lumira and Colo and Orren and Xavier and all, and talking to Zevin, whose popcorn she is suddenly too overwhelmed to eat. Her knees pull together and she sucks on her cigarra and she looks up at the huge forest and she gets even smoller.

Colo's assailed from all sides by awkwardness, most of it--all of it--of his own doing. His normally-placid, calm, collected expression is replaced by a flash of color about his cheeks and a hint of sweat crossing down one brow as he flicks his gaze from Zevin, Orren, Lumira and...Xavier. And back again. It nearly makes him dizzy, but Orren's and Xavier's words give him something to anchor to.

The pitch of his voice is a touch higher than the norm. "No, no, Mist--Xavier. Intrusion...welcome. No theater here, indeed. For either of us?" Gulp. Inviting the snake into the midst, he has an answer almost ready for Orren before Lumira deftly saves him. "I-." He begins. But her answer is entirely too much information and the bead of sweat on his brow soon falls and makes him blink as he shifts his nervous greens to Orren again. "Yes. What she said." Definitely what she said. He doesn't even manage to answer who he's betting on. Must have slipped his mind for some reason.

"Definitely cheering for Mollie." Managing that, at least, comes in line with his less-than-contented smile towards Sheela. The armor and Zevin's presence at least set him at ease a moment. "Pleasure's all mine, Sheela." He offers back, though with another nod and flicker to Sela. Bit by bit, he's recovering. "Seen her around, aye." Without a pause, he gestures at Sela. "Mind if I get a pull offa that?" The cigarra, he means.

Brother Bizz's orphans like to be annoyingly close to Chani. Blelaila the Twi'lek sits on Chani's lap, while Miriala the little green Mirialan and Shimsa with her stick and tattered scavenger costume try to horn in on Chani Tahn's holoscreen viewer. "Quite some time! But they are plants, so it is difficult to measure time on Revyia. I wrote a treatise on their philosophy but did not publish it, as studying THE FORCE was not en vogue during that time." Bizz grabs a pink swamp pickle and chomps on it. CRUNCH.

Imani looks like a very relaxed person, leaning back in her seat, half watching the race in the way people who don't really pay attention to sports watch it. It's interesting when you're there, but there isn't any emotional investment. The casual lean is interrupted when she is assaulted by a bug snack. The thing slaps right against her forehead, and without thinking her hand is on a vibrodagger strapped to her thigh as she sits up straight. The weapon is partway out of its sheath when it clicks that this isn't an actual attack, just what might be the first phase in a food fight. Rigid posture relaxes slightly as she plucks the snack up from her lap, holding it between two fingers as she looks around. "Did someone lose this?"

The treeline breaks and sweeping fields open up around the racers. Hovering droids with lights, cameras, or indicating where the edges of the race lanes are stretch on and on over hills and shallow valleys between them. A leisurely place by comparison to the forest itself with the evening sky darkening and the first stars of the night starting to poke out on the eastern horizon.

"We want to thank Shim Productions for their contributions to the Championship Races, their diligent work with the Ewoks to make sure that today's festivities be at their very best! Remember, Gentlebeings, Shim Productions promises a party that their great great grand children will speak of!" the cameras begin showing multiple angles of the racers across the screens, "A surprisingly smooth section of the run for our racers, the plains of Sanctuary Moon - a brief jaunt in the open on the way to the coastline and the finish awaiting in view of a SPECTACULAR sight!"

Flights of birds with feathers that reflect like prisms erupt ahead of the swoops, massive wingspanned moth like creatures showering dust in their wake displace themselves and a pair of condor-dragons soar over the fields that run ever towards the deep blue of a horizon where water will be found.

"I'm sure he is." Orren replies to Lumira, flicking a look to her then back to Colo. His arm comes up as he scooches in at Lumira's urging, loosely wrapping around the smaller woman's shoulders. He looks up to Zevin and nods a bit, "We are." he confirms though he doesn't expand on that piece of information at all.

Colo will notice that he's a lot stiffer here than he was when he met the man the other day, more formal and quieter. He shifts to settle in against Lumira after a moment and looks back over to the race. "I guess we're cheering for Mollie." he says, though he doesn't add a cheer or anything else of the sort, he does smile a bit and gesture Colo down to the seat beside him. "Take a seat." he suggests, looking back up to the race as he does and sipping again from his glass.

Cigarette plucked from his lips and held between two fingers, Xavier turns his head away from the group and blows the next puff of toxic smoke from his lungs. How polite. Deep, dark brown eyes are going from face to face to face. Colo to Oreen to Lumira to Orren Zevin back to Colo. And slowly that smile somehow seems to grow without getting bigger. Instead, it starts to crease his crow's feet and sparkle his eyes. Oh, yes. He can see the awkwardness and confusion.

Not every swoop race has a crash, but he might be able to witness one here.

"Thank you, friend," he says in a mixture of accents in response to Lumira. The non-smoke wielding hand reaches out to take the noblewoman's hand and kisses the top of it just north of the knuckles. "Xavier Harcourt. The pleasure is mine." Then it is released and a nod offered to the others gathered extends his introduction. "I see you've all met Colo. It would seem he gets around, mmm?"

Now that smile is wider for sure and Xavier pulls his hand up to take a long, poignant drag. The race forgotten. This is far more interesting.

"Olarom, Colo." Sheela greets him with a raised hand laying a fist against her armored chest, "Oh! Look, they're kicking each others bikes!" The combat style engagement of swoop racers certainly turns up the enjoyment for most of the crowd, the Mandalorian amongst them. Not so much that she forgets that there's conversation, but enough that she temporarily glances towards one of the screens where swoops are banging off one another along the track. When she looks back Lumira, it's with a pleasant enough grin on her sunbaked lips, "Olarom. It seems as though we have. We should have had shirts made. From the small bit of conversation I had with Mollie, I know that she'd appreciate anything that has her face on it."

Sela, she leans forward to look over at the smol one, "There was a war fought here. I relatively large one, actually..." They aren't on that side of the moon, of course, but with a glance around the massive forest she can roughly guess in which direction it took place. "Those little goblins-" The Ewoks, "-Were notorious for using the helmets of fallen Stormtroopers as drumming instruments in their celebration. Because they are terrible little pests that haven't achieved upper intellect, much less an understanding for how distasteful that would be to a culture of people who look on their armor as part of their religion."

She shrugs a shoulder, "Now they are being exploited. Tribal dancing for the amusement of spectators who have invaded their home..." She sighs and lifts a hand in a 'whatcha gonna do' gesture. "They were better served as prey for larger predatory beasts."

As the race breaks through the trees and opens into the scenic view around her, Mollie can't help but briefly tip her head up at the expanse before her. It's jarring, really. To go from claustrophobia and speed to something that feels relatively safe by comparison. But she knows that this clearing means that the racing margins are going to get tighter and narrower. She's got no choice but to play it aggressively through this section. She takes a hard line through the path as one of those condor dragons dives in a beautiful, agile twirl. It fans its wings out just before the ground and glides alongside Mollie and some of the other racers. Curious, perhaps, about what all the fuss is for.

One of her lines steers her directly in front of Sebulba. It's a miscalculation at 600kph. She taps his front with the back of her swoop bike and the whole thing shudders, but she keeps the hammer down and accelerates through it.

Alas, no more forests. Nerys had enjoyed the forests. What she had not enjoyed was the approach of that slimy old Dug, and the vertical lift that had been required to escape the flashing of his vents as he brought the swoop in close. She nearly caught air. Not at all a good thing, as this was a swoop and not an air speeder, but she managed to keep control of the racer, as she dove back down, catching sight of Mandl on her way down. She made no verbal call to the Bith, but one of Bitty's hands freed itself from where she was clinging to her harness, communicating some sort of sign, hopefully, to the Bith geologist, Nerys' fellow galactic spelunker as she dove down to try to hem in the Dug and force Sebulba to have to veer off course.

"YE-" he's standing. Paused. Blinking and with a ewok child still wrapped in one arm, cheering with him, ewoks all around him cheering. There's a moment he's choked himself off from his excitement, but the child and the little furry people around him are enough to coax the orchardist flora-sentient.

He and they are jumping and the little wok is on his shoulder now, clinging to his head, held steady with one arm and going as wild as the people around them. Qutha has attached himself to a group of sorts, where he can't understand them and they might know a few words of what he's saying.

But who cares, this might be the most 'at home' he's felt in forever.

Absolutely forever.

"Bith spit," Risani curses and lingers, unsure of what to do after that social faux pas. If she could blush, which she probably can under that tawny fur, she'd likely be beet red. For the moment, she merely remains poised on all fours as the gears in her mind crank along. In the end, she is spurred to action not by a decision, but by the annoyed kicks and curses she's given by the occupiers of the seats she's spanning. Rising to become a bipedal sentient once more, Risani stammers apologies and raises her hands in a defensive posture as she skitters along. The pull of her stomach is stronger than her embarrassment for having launched an impromptu cooked insect based assault on an unfamiliar individual. She approaches Imani as sweetly as she can manage. "Hi there!" Risani singsongs, adding in a diminutive waggle of her fingers as a playful wave. She straightens then, her hands clasping each other behind her back. "Sorry about that. You can have it if you want, I guess, like if you really want to eat a BUG." She stifles a cough and continues. "Like, who would want to be a weirdo and eat something like that?"

Sela Modonric is curled up rather, as if in self-defense against crowds and trees and friends participating in dangerous sports. It affects her mind rather. For example, as Colo Nell asks her for a drag off her cigarra, which she is sucking down at such a rate it is already mostly embers and Sela-spit. That would be gauche, so without hesitation she shakes a fresh dart out of the pack on her lap, sticks it between her elegant lips, lights the fresh one with the near-butt, plucks it out with her fingers, and offers Colo a pretty-much-new dart. Then, in the time it would take Colo to have an appreciative drag and offer the cigarra back, Sela shakes out another new one and with only slightly shaking hands chain-lights it too. "A war I heard about that," Sela replies to Sheela. Just like that, no punctuation. She drags on her new cigarra. She drags on her butt. "I don't suppose I'd like those goblins no miss I'm Sela by the way not if they live in a place like this AAH MOLLIE!" The last two words at the full, butt-spewing Sela Shriek as Amallia and Sebulba make body contact at high speed.

Lumira is small but she is very comfortable being bossy, which is why she tug-tugs on Orren's arm until enough space has been made for Xavier. With the drape of the Rist lord's arm around her shoulders, she will turn to press a chaste kiss to his cheek -- one can practically here the *mwah!* when her lips touch -- and then she's delicately clasping her hands in her lap. Yes, she's paying attention to the race, but she's also a social creature and everything has just become so much more interesting with the familiar overlaps.

Colo looks uncomfortable, but Lumira reads it with the wrong context. "Oh, Colo, there's room for you too," she purrs, looking own the row of seats and adding, "I'm sure if we all scooch together, we can squeeze somewhere in between."

Lumira offers this without a hint of irony, her blue eyes shining brightly up to him. But oh! What's this? Xavier takes her hand and presses the kiss to her knuckles and the noble lady smiles warmly at him. "Colo *does* seem popular, doesn't he?" she says in reply to his comment. "And Mister Harcourt, it's so very nice to meet you. I'm Lady Lumira Cortess -- Lumi *just* for giggles -- and this is Orren." A beat. "/Lord/ Orren Rist." Lumira squeezes Xavier's hand and then delicately extracts herself, if only to give Orren's side a prim *poke* with her elbow.

Mandl's theme-song, if they had one outside of a low-powered community access jingle, was still playing strong in their head as they ducked and dove and-- uh-- "swept?" "swoped?" "swooperized?" like a being possessed. As if their every sub-par finish in these months were temporarily erased. They dodged and dove and cornered like a professional, in this moment, trying to force the great Sebulba himself to wrap his bike around a trunk.

Kael's late to the start of the event but the tall Greystorm makes his way into the stands to climb into one of the seats peering off towards the track as he tries to figure out the current standings. "Oh dang it the race is already going."

Blessed skies, there's a distraction overhead in the guise of condor-dragons sweeping all before them with dust. Colo's given a moment's reprieve and, it seems, that's enough for him to sweat less, worry lesser, and correct his nerves. Sheela draws a small smile from the gambler and a greeting nod, but once he's done with his cadged puff of cigarra he focuses. "Thanks, Sela." Xavier gets the first call afterwards. "I get around enough. Should say the same to you. We keep...bumping into one-another. Following me, then?" He teases.

The invitation for comfort helps him right the ship of Colo's state. It's snug and a little cramped, but he slots himself in somewhere near Zevin and Orren both without a thought. His prettyboy teeth shine white and bright as he spreads more thanks. "Fancy meeting you both here, Lumira, Orren. Didn't realize the 'Rist' you meant was...well." He waves the back of his hand at Orren to state the obvious. "Ya coulda warned a fella, Lady Lumi." He clucks, playfully chiding.

Orren smiles faintly at Colo, shaking his head some, "It's just a name." he says a bit dismissively, "It doesn't mean anything, I don't care that you sold her glitterstim and danced." said with a sudden smile of his own. He polishes off his drink and sets the glass somewhere out of the way an convenient. At least convenient for Orren. Maybe less so for the wait staff.

"Don't crowd each other. There's plenty of viewscreen for everyone." Chani's hand grips the handheld device at an extended distance, elbow braced against the top of her thigh and screen angled up with the tilt of her wrist. "Do you have your writings gathered somewhere? They'd probably make a decent contribution to the.." Chani breaks for a moment. The delay is long enough that she's clearly searching for some other way to continue what she was just about to say. "The library." Finalized, she casts one final glance to Bizz before ensuring none of the orphans crowded around her are attempting to edge into see more of the screen than any of the others. Chani seems undisiturbed by their rambunctious cheering and jostling. She's more focused on her conversation and the race at hand without sacrificing the watchful eye that ensures the orphans are always accounted for and closeby.

For a spell, Sheela is focused on the race, following Mollie's progress with a nod before looking back to Sela. An official greeting, she reaches out around Zavin to offer her hand, "Sheela. So is Mollie a regular at these? She seems to be doing quite well.." As for Ewok, she shrugs indifferently dispite would could be considered venomous undertones, "They're barely a people at all. House pets with an organized language and rudamentary social constructs. I doubt they even honor their dead." She isn't well versed on the furry heathens, however.

Truly, this isn't the place for it though.

There are races to cheer for!

"Mollie! You're going very fast in a circle!" Her hands extend up over her head to clap for her sections chosen champion. "This is very exciting. At the end is there singles combat between the victors?" Glancing around at everyone around her, Orran, Colo, Xavier. Sela, Zavin, Lumira. "That would be interesting.. You've one the race, now choose your weapon."

"Oh, I follow everyone." Xavier takes the offered seat and lounges back amongst the Nar Shaddaa riff-raff and Alderaanian nobles. What a mixture, but he seems at home. "A pleasure to meet you all. Truly. I've not been on this moon in what feels like decades, mmm? Hard to tell if anything's changed, really." What with it being mostly trees and teddy bear people. "You say you are rooting for Miss Madine? I don't think I have had the pleasure. I was going to put my bet in for Sebulba because I do love to root for the most hated racer. Sadly, I was too late at the box."

"I think I'll skip this snack for now," Imani says as she holds the insect snack out to Risani, as though she's going to want it back after it bounced after her forehead. "It didn't do any damage. Trust me, I've been hit with a lot worse in my life. If only they were all so gentle as..." The bug is given a little wiggle. "This." She doesn't have any comments on the weirdos that might eat bugs, there are a lot of bug eaters around.

"Gentlebeings, make sure to visit The Hapan Silk Exchange on your way back towards the Core or the other side of the Rim! Today's fashion choices aren't just brought to you by The Hapan Silk Exchange, TODAYS fashions are -ONLY- found at the Hapan Silk Exchange! Be ready for excitement! The racers are headed into Finalizer's Finish!" Sebulba, being hemmed, shoved and pushed further snarls and hurls insults at the Bith and the Droid in Human Clothing - snarling and spitting while he works to keep himself from being plowed out of place or shoved into the ground.

A short, steep, rise preludes the racers having a small jump to pass before dropping into a dry basin that may have once held dens of creatures and wild fields of flora; while some of those still do exist here, shrapnel and slag from the death of a First Order Resurgent class Star Destroyer litters it. Warped by the heat of re-entry and impact with the surface - hunks of hull and superstructure thrust up from the ground like rotting teeth and broken bones creating weaving lanes to pass through, dangerous curves, potentially deadly obstacles.

Quick reflexes are required here and a clever, or malicious, racer might find a means to position their opponents for an early finish to the course. Like the Ranat, Otho's when she manages to get clear of Mollie's shenanigans.

Brother Bizz finally finds a half of an uneaten fruity rainbow berry galette in his snacky basket and starts to gnaw on it before an orphan sees. Lemmy the human boy in Grav Force 2 Tryshyn ELITE gravball shoes is hopping up and down as the race getes extra exciting. To Chani Bizz says, "My writings are here and there! Perhaps they can be added to the bookshelves." He washes the confection down with his very large wooden tankard of Endorian honeymead.

Lumira laughs at Colo, her freckled nose giving a small scrunch. "I warned you plenty," she tells him, her lashes giving a playful flutter, "I told you that he was a Rist lord and a bit scary -- but that it tends to be a family trait." She turns her cheerful face toward Orren, her brows giving a single bounce, and then she looks back over at Colo. "In any case, we had *such* a fun evening -- we really must do it again soon! And not only because of the party favors that I trust you can provide again." The lady's eyes glitter with good humor.

Lumira takes a sip of her fizzy pink drink, the cheery bubbles making her wiggle her shoulders with delight. When she places the glass down, she asides to Xavier, "Indeed. We are all cheering for Mollie, though Orren and I don't know her aside from her second...third...fourth job?" Lumi tilts her head, face scrunching with thought. "In any case, it's rather sad -- she obviously has to juggle multiple careers, but who's to say which one is her preferred calling?" Gossip is usually her forte, but for some reason, it's just not that entertaining tonight! Perhaps she sounds a bit catty, or perhaps it's just impossible to keep up with the exciting race.

Regardless, Lumira makes no apologies and holds fast to the self-evident truth that she is othing except delightful.

But oh? Hapan Silk Exchange? Lumira perks, then looks to Orren, "Oh! We really *should* stop there on the way home! Yes? Yes!" Marketing at its finest.

The Ewok Section with Plant Guest Star has become the gentlest of mosh pits. Ewoks being lifted up by ewoks and tossed in the air with Qutha's help. Qutha being swept up and tossed into the air, the ewoks taking his apparent excitement for complicitness; but why shouldn't they when he's been helping with the excitement.

It's a party over there. Food is moving around, drink, a hood has been shoved over the Zelosian's head. He's not even sure what he's been eating at this point but there's a decided sweetness he can detect on his tou-

"Oh... Oh no. Hey I'm drivin'..."

Well that explains why he feels so loosened up.

Relaxing back into the seat he'd snagged Kael lounges some watching the track fingers drumming on his thigh as he's watching for the moment and then his attention turns towards the announcer and sighs, "Hapan Silks hmmm? I don't see why not although it's always so bright there."

That sudden short, steep rise sees Amallia Madine's swoop bike launch from that makeshift ramp. The motion makes her stomach drop and her lungs draw breath in. For a moment, she feels those repulsorlifts disengage from the ground. That's the thing about swoop bikes -- they're always in the air, but they can still jump. For that brief moment, Mollie Madine is flying. She laughs like a lunatic as the bike streaks through the air, repulsorlifts -wrrnrrrnrrrnrrrnrrr-ing feverishly as they attempt to engage that ground to bounce gravity off of.

-CHUNK-

She lands hard, but with the hammer down and banks hard, taking an aggressive angle and line through those hunks of wreckage and debris. Brakes are engaged as she rounds into the turns, eased off of, and throttle applied on the way out.

Risani's tail wiggles with barely excitement for having the opportunity to retrieve the crispy critter. Her outward visage though is much more sedate, nearly solemn as her lips press flat and she leans forward to carefully pluck the once-projectile from Imani's hands. Once the snack is in her hands though she grins impishly and pivots to allow gravity to pull her in to an open seat right next to Imani. "So, first time at a swoop race?" Risani makes idle conversation as she examines the beetle, tilting it in the light. It gleams with a curiously metallic edge despite being wholly organic and likely non-GMO. "I personally don't really like races, super boring and the food is usually really gross." Abruptly, she gnashes the head and thorax of the bug in one bite. Chewing with her mouth open, each crunch of her jagged teeth is coated with verdant slime and shell. "But I was hired to transport some people here so I figured I might as well stick around." "They were kind of rude," Risani notes after a moment of unfocused thought directed at the horizon line. She turns then, swallows hard, and eyes the side of the other woman's head. "Maybe I should leave them here." Her eyes narrow conspiratorially.

Another sigh of relief flows from Colo's lungs to his lips and out his nostrils in a prolonged burst of air. He needed that relief from Orren and he gets it, nevermind the tease from Xavier that sets him towards the mirthful cycle he prefers. To Xavier, though, he can't resist a puckish tease. "Yes, yes, you just conveniently happen upon the planet you don't travel to often and bump into me...again. I know your tricks, old man," The Corellian notes with a cluck of his tongue.

But he reserves his sarcasm for Lumira, albeit playfully. "Yes, yes, I -should- have known the -scary- Rist lord that I'd run into was the one you meant, Lady Lucky," He quips, appending her nickname from their eve together. His eyes sparkle as he narrows them upon her. "It...-was- fun, though. Perhaps we invite your dark lord along this time? I don't want him left out in the cold."

"you're most welcome colo," says Sela. Just like that. She's in a smol mood. Surrounded by the sudden opulence of nobility and the brash conviviality of the Smugglers' Moon scum set, surrounded by chat and trees and death and trees and history and trees, Sela is being smol. The only thing big about her is her nicotine consumption. She's at least back down to one cigarra at a time, as the dad who she'd earlier shouted at for telling her off feels a spat-out butt whisk mercifully past his face. Sela listens to Sheela explain Ewoks. "You should honor your dead," she agrees. Echoing Sheela's words and implicit sentiments, almost unconsciously. It saves brainpower, which is in precious sort supply just at this minute. "Mollie races quite a bit she's very free and easy with her safety it's one of her endearing characteristics." This is the moment which Amallia chooses to spend taking a jump. 'Characteristics' normally has five syllables in Sela's Outer-Rim accent. On this occasion it has nine.

Ah. No good path ever lasted, and the ease of the leg behind them was quickly eaten up by the rusted and overgrown remnants of the cruiser. Now THAT was worth picking over. But Nerys's voice, audible only to Bitty who was patched into her comms was stern. "If you try to grab something and lose an arm..." She knew her droid well enough to know that the spy droid was inching a hand out, "We are not coming back for it." The hand was quickly tucked back away as the sped through the valleys, dips and canyons of the 'course' trying to avoid the spikes of metal and hand buried platings, rising up from the ground like bad teeth.

"Go Mollie!" Zevin yells, heavily distracted from the conversations around him.

When her swoop and Sebulba's bump at high speed, he's staring at the screen and rises to his feet. "KNIFE THA SUMB-ITCH!" Is that really allowed in racing? Doesn't matter, he's into it. "How dare he!" Clearly it's his fault Molly's bike impacted it. "That snake should be kicked from the-!" As her bike bounces off the ground but she seems to gain ground, not lose it, he raises his hands to the side of his head. "Don't- oh. Come on, Moll, come on."

That popcorn? It's gone, scattered throughout the stands when he rose. I hope you wanted an earful of bellowed support, vilification, and concern, because you've got it.

The gaze to Colo hits him sidelong through a haze of smoke. "You hardly know my tricks, young man," comes the retort; smooth and effortless. "But happenstance is a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Xavier looks back up at the screens and frowns a little. Seems there won't be any crashes today. A pity, that. Ah, well.

"I've been stumbling over Alderaanians a bit more lately, too, it would seem. Rising from the ashes, as they say. Remarkable." The stick burns down the rest of the way with a flare of bright red then is flicked into the foot-stamped ground to be lost amongs the soil and who-knows-what-else.

"oh she's jumping! And we're standing up!" Sheela joins Zevin, waving her fist in a manner that looks more dramatic than truly enraged, "Yes! That villain!" Someone ahead of them, a few rows down, shouts that they should shut the gonk up, they're a huge Sebulba supporter and that he's actually a lovely fellow from what he's read on the screamsheets of the holonet! "Shut your mouth! Look at how he cheats!" Pointing at the replay of him colliding with Mollie. "Completely unacceptable in this form of competition." She has no idea that that's true, but she sure seems certain that she is!

Conviction is important in any argument.

Especially if you're absolutely wrong.

"I'm of a mind to start shooting at him and see how he drives in a live fire exercise..." To the spectator, "And YOU, Copaani mirshmure'cye? EH? Shut it or I'll shut it for you."

"Second," Imani answers, the hand on her weapon relaxing enough to shift to settling in her lap. "Been a while since I'd gone out for much other than work, so I thought I should do something. This was the first thing I heard about so I decided why not. I don't really understand how any of it works, but it's better than looking at a wall, right?" She seems cheery enough at the observation, and not all that bothered by watching the bug be eaten. She'd seen Sebek eat plenty of terrible things in his time. "How rude were they? Gotta be pretty rude if you're thinking about leaving 'em here."

Mandl's chance to win it all is swiftly contested, as it would be in any race, so their fight becomes in the moment with Amallia Madine; fins clash, chrome scrapes, *a-whirl-and-a-twirl* and the contest is decided, alas in Amallia's favor as the esteemed doctor's vehicle spirals dangerously out of the lead!

"We'll just have to wait and see where the bookshelves end up. Maybe here." Chani's shrug is verbal rather than physical. With one of the oprhans sitting in her lap and the other two crowded around her arms, it's difficult to do anything but sit in place and talk and make sure the view screen is angled so that they can see it. "I'm sure through all of your wanderings you've come across some pretty interesting places. Maybe you should make some suggestions. Inquiries?" Now Chani does try to shrug. There's little vertical movement. It's more a shift in weight in her seat than it is a truly expressed gesture. "Hopefully there won't be a lot of moving. I'm sure these little ones don't like moving so much. But maybe they don't have to."

Showing up fashionably late, a caped blonde tugs back her hood to reveal her scarred face. "Oh my, I hate that I was not punctual for this. I do hope our seating arrangements are still reserved." Aryn Cortess holds out her hand daintily allowing the person with her, Kiko Alde, to lead her toward their designated seating. Aryn's hand finds the natural bend of the Lady's arm, and the pair make their approach quietly. Thankfully, their seats are not taken, and both fluff back their capes to sit, get settled, and try to understand what's going on with the race!

Past the remains of hull and superstructure to make it through to open, rolling hills, long legged animals with extended muzzles and long curving horns bounding in waves away from the oncoming racers. "Here we go gentlebeings! The FINAL STRETCH THROUGH THE ROLLING HILLS BEFORE THE COAST!"

The tall grasses flowing like rippling water with the winds over the plains and in the wakes of the swoop racers. The rises of the ground lend to sudden jumps or moments where swoops are skimming the tops of grass stalks like water-skippers before dropping down and plowing trails through the gold tipped greenery.

Ahead, the water grows more visible and with it the remains of the Death Star thrust from the sea like parts of a broken skull glaring towards the shoreline. The sheer volume of the wreckage there creating sub-fields of gravity that breed storm clouds that don't reach the shore. Torrential patterns with high winds that send walls of spray that can be seen even at the distance that the swoop racers come from. A juxtaposition of opposites that creates of pure dichotomy of calm and excitement; the turbulent waters to the strip of the peaceful, stony, beach having a pre-fab endzone set up with checkered markings an transport craft waiting to pick up the racers.

"HERE WE GO GENTLEBEINGS!"

Perching her fuzzy feet up on the chair in front of her, taking care to not poke its occupant if at all manageable, Risani slouches deep in to the curvature of the seat. Tucking the last little morsel of the insect in to her maw, she chews aggressively and nods just as emphatically with every syllable uttered by the lean, practically dressed woman. Her tail angles its way between the bottom of the seat and the rear. Finding a gap between her body and the arm of the chair, it coils on to her lap and thumps against her thigh at a regular rhythm. "I mean, it's just go fast. Vroom!" Risani's hand cuts through the air in mimicry of the machines zipping around on the track below. On the point of looking at walls, she ponders the notion with a noncommittal hum. "You know, I was so farkled on giggledust once that I stared at a paint bot clearing graffiti from a wall on Nar Shaddaa from sun up to sun down. I've never had to pee so badly in my life. "But yeah," Risani quickly switches topics with a flourish of a hand. The subject is discarded to the wind to make room for another. "I flew these people for basically nothing and they don't even invite me to sit with them or anything. Bunch of bantha suckers. Every do something nice for someone and they just ditch you?"

His smoke extinguished, Xavier pulls out his pack from an inner pocket and peers. Only two left. When did that happen? A grunt and Xavier stuffs it away once more and begins to rise. "It has been a pleasure to meet you all. Truly. Mr. Nell, don't be a stranger. I get the sense that you might pass as a decent actor for the black box productions, mmm?" A heavy hand falls onto Colo's shoulder and then Xavier dips his head to the others in his section.

"Enjoy the rest of your evenig, friends. May we cross paths again." A single lift of his hand and the ink-haired man starts making the long trek to the starport. To beat the traffic.

Orren had a very important comlink call that called him away but eventually he wanders back in to find his seat with Colo, Lumi, Zev, and a few others. He's got a new round of drinks for himself and Lumira, his black and emerald outfit looking as neatly pressed as ever as he settles back in. Lumi is handed another fizzy pink drink in a long flute, and he's got another shorter, squatter glass with something brown in it. He passes the pink drink over to Lumira and looks up to the screens once more.

Colo's smile for Sela is genuine, another nod of thanks for the cigarra given over, but his -smirk- is paid wholly to Xavier. "I keep trying to learn them, too, but they evade me. I blame you, sir. Or maybe I should blame your luck. Can you teach me -that-?" He shoots back, tsks softly, and buys a reprieve in his cigarra. "I hope we cross again, Xavier. Safe lanes, yeah?"

Orren's return does make the gambler's eyes wander, however. He peeps at the drinks with a lust born of a dry mouth. "Not even a refresh for your favorite dive-bar investor?"

Amallia Madine takes a hard bank into one of the last remaining turns just in time to see Mandl carve a line in front of her. She yelps in surprise and immediately engages her brakes. There's all sorts of swearing and cursing drawn out of the young woman as Mandl's swoop swings in front of her and, spiteful thing that she is, assumes he -meant- to take her out. She hits the gas just as he drifts in front of her and pushes through, sending him into a tailspin and putting her into the lead.

From there, it's the finish line. That swoop bike is redlining, repulsorlifts whining in protest from the strain she's putting on it. She hops through hills, leaping like a gazelle from one swell to the next and carving downhill towards the final stretch when she feels someone impact the back of her swoop.

She nearly spins out, but eases off the throttle and back onto it during a natural dip and swell and powers through. The back-end of that swoop bike snaps into place.

Full throttle all the way down, now.

"Push push push push push!"

"Can't say as I've had that problem," Imani admits with a glance over to Risani, the languid slouch returning as she relaxes more. No more bug attacks. "But that's only because I don't fly. Never flown a ship in my life, so don't have anyone asking me to fly them places. I'd probably accidentally jump us into a sun or something, and no one wants that."

Nerys, if anyone bothered to ask her, would tell whomever was asking that she did not care much whether she won or lost at these races. Perhaps she might have done, in the beginning, but these races had become a grudge match, and as they raced through the final stretch, once she had made an attempt, but not successful one, to attack the Dug once, Nerys focused on trying to make up ground. She did, briefly, consider trying to push Sebulba out of the race for a second time, but she was not about to risk losing to the Dug so close to the finish line. No, now was the time to get to the end of the line.

One might be forgiven for thinking, watching Sela, that she's finding her membership of the large Amallia Madine Booster Club more than slightly absorbing. She's leaning forward. Elbows tucked into her tummy. Fingers shaking, only partially from an excess of space tobacco. The cigarra just hangs permanently between her lips now, and the popcorn on her shoe from when Zevin leapt up and spilled it all has not only gone completely unnoticed but has been reinforced by a nice dusting of ash. When Amallia has to emergency brake, the embers of Sela's dart glow incandescently. People talk to her. She does not notice.

Mandl did not "plan" to make an enduring grudge of Amallia Madine and her Plucky Bike of Pluck, but *you stole my lead,* and the fenders now attest THE DOCTOR IS IN. A shower of sparks, another in the series as they clash in three-- four(?!) dimensions? Like furious bees, each hurtling forward at their maximum velocity, ensuring at least this finish will be one for the holo-books, whomever prevails! WHO. WILL. IT. BE.

Dronk.

Dronch.

Drunmpf?

What's the word. Who cares this is great! They've put more crystalized sugar melted into nectar drink in a little horn in Qutha's hand and he's become akin to 'that girl' at the bar. The 'Wooooooooo!' girl. He's gone "WOOOOOOOOOO!!!" at least twice. His jacket is tied around his waist, his shirt is unbuttoned. His face is flushed a healthy green at the cheeks and nose.

"Ah... luff you guys." one of the Ewoks is hugged and kissed on the cheek and the Zelosian in turn is being buried in the snuggliest of group hugs while they hoot and cheer for their own reasons now. He's not even sure he's at a race anymore

"Oh! You know what," Risani suddenly is flush with renewed energy but it's not enough to have her leap out of her chair. Instead, she merely widens her yellow-flecked eyes and angles her head so that she can side-eye Imani. "I thought that too. Like, I barrel rolled my ship in to buildings and other speeders so many times in the sims that I was pretty sure I was going to kill myself the first time I piloted my ship but I was taught something." Tapping a fingertip to her lips, the volume of her voice goes low and guttural. It nearly crests a menacing growl for all intents and purposes. "You can actually let the computer do like, all the work. That's how I got here." Waggling her brow, she shifts back so that she faces forward and peers at the race through her akimbo legs. "Why even have pilots when computers can do everything?!" Weaving he arms over her chest, Risani continues. "Some edgy guy, like the almost adult kids that think Pakko's Place is a cool place to hang out or whatever. Dressed in black, mask, carries swords around. You know," she pauses and examines Imani, ensuring she's following along. "Anyway, he taught me this and it worked just fine. That's how I got here today and I have all my fingers and toes still."

Sheela, like Sela, is caught up in the excitement of the races finale! Hanging onto every thrilling moment as Mandl and Mollie jockie back and forth for control of the front of the pack... She's still standing, but leans forward with her armored fists closed around the back of the chair infront of her. "Come on, Mollie!" Despite herself, she's gotten all wrapped up in it. Maybe she hadn't really appreciated how emotionally invested she could get into a bunch of speeder bikes circling a track! But here she stood, eyes going from the track, to the close view provided by the monitor, and back again.

With Aryn settled, Kiko is looking for beverages. "Ugh," She says, "What passes for a respectable vintage here? Anything?" Aryn laughs, and shakes her head. "Were it noteworthy wine you were in search for, my Lady, I daresay you have come to the wrong place. We came for racing! The vintage comes /after/ when those victorious party."

Kiko sighs and hangs her chin on her hands, "Alas.."

Aryn laughs and pats the Alde's back endearingly.

Fireworks and the cheering of the crowds transmitted by speaker systems erupt when the finish line is crossed. The Ewok Village, native and visitor alike, bursting with cheering and music being played by the locals. That cacophony being joined to the sound of hundreds at the finish line casting up the sounds of their excitement to mingle with the laser lights and pyrotechnics celebrating.

"GENTLEBEINGS! THERE YOU HAVE IT! OUR WINNERS OF THE THIRD CHAMPIONSHIP RACE! MANDL B'Rot! NERYS GREYSTORM AND AMALLIA MADINE! THEY'VE DONE IT! PLEASE DON'T HOLD BACK TO CONGRATULATE AND CHEER OUR CHAMPIONS! AND DON'T FORGET TO VISIT BESPIN TO CHECK OUT THE OFFERINGS OF B'ROT SALVAGE AND ORES: THE CHOICE OF A NEW GENERATION!"

In the village the winners faces are on display in shades of gold, silver and bronze, their names being written in laser lights against mist and smoke. The dancing of the ewoks as well as the scantily clad entertainment builds to a fever pace. "WE'RE SO CLOSE TO THE END OF THE CIRCUIT, BUT WE'RE NOT READY YET! JOIN US NEXT TIME ON DANTOOINE FOR THE FOURTH INTER-RIM SWOOP CHAMPIONSHIP RACE!" Gutu's excited face everywhere as he makes his announcement and holodisplays project the planet in question into visibility above the stands.

Blelaila the Twi'lek wiggles on Chani Tahn's lap, trying to get comfortable while being elbowed by the two other orphan girls. It's a constant struggle. M'nevvus and Su'nil the Zabrak twins stare mesmerized at Risani's thudding tail. They stare at it. They want to touch the tail. Or grab it and YANK it or something. Bizz is oblivious. "Hoooo they've DONE IT!" he shouts.

"Remind me, as I've forgotten, but if my dear sister asks where it is we spent the week, what is it you'll say?" A small, green-haired woman moves among the outer rim of crowd, attention split between the overhead live footage and an only slightly smaller chocolate-haired girl at her side. Both are dressed as though they'd come from a hike, though given how burdened each is with food and drink, concessions might've been their most mileage walked today.

"Anywhere but here," the girl replies without missing a beat and shlorps some melon juice through a wooden straw.

"Ah, yes...that's right." Netep Muri's lips curl into a sly smile, eyes sparked with clear and present knowing(and knowledge is danger!) and she rumples the preteen's mop of curls. "Anywhere but here. C'mon. I see enough elbow room for us to squeeze in, just right..." and her shuffle slows to a standstill, face tipped slightly askew as if detecting...something. A slight furrow of viridian brow, a quick swivel of skull.

"...Neti?" realizing that her adult is no longer hovering directly behind, the mini Muri does a 180 and hurries back. Her Lorrdian training IS in its infancy, but she knows a puzzled and/or worried look when she sees it. "Neti?"

"S'nothin'," Netep lies, boldface, flashing a grin down to the girl. "Just saw an amazing set of...y'know, it's not important. Let's g----" And aw, skrag, the race is coming to a colorful finish!!! Both little women make disappointed groans in unison.

Imani tilts her head back, angled to look up at Risani while completely missing the end of the race. Such is life. "What was his name?" she asks, sitting there wearing all black, with more than a few blades strapped to her. She'd feel called out by the remark, except she's not all that edgy. That she leaves to other people worried about it, she's just happy but well armed. "I've been told the ships do most of the work, but I haven't gotten around to figuring it all out. I've had to invest a lot of time in other things that felt more important."

Amallia Madine streaks across the finish line in third place, kicking on the brakes and pressing her weight into her seat. The shift in her weight and position sees her coasting into a slide that gradually slows to a stop. Her heart pounding in her chest, her hands shaking, Mollie pulls off her helmet and turns to look towards the positional rankings as they tick in. Mandl. Nerys. Amallia Madine.

That helmet goes flying into the air as the young woman realizes she placed on the podium. She stands up on the leg-rests of her speeder bike just as that helmet impacts the ground and lets out an elated "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" with both hands balled into fists and thrust above her head.

There it was. The end of the line. Nerys pushed the swoop as hard as she could. No longer focusing on any of the racers but the one who was sitting inside her suit. Bitty, though could not help but flip off the Dug as they passed him. The flip off turned into a thumbs up to Amallia and Mandl both, whether she saw it or not, before the speeder hit break hard and Nerys nearly spun out, as she came in at top speed, braked hard and spun around back into the starting block she had left from. As soon as the bike shut down, Nerys fairly jumped to the ground to head closer to the stands.

Mandl, too, appears to be spent of all their energy. If they were to pull their helmet off they could perhaps *pour* the sweat out, but presently they are merely limp and staring at the sky, as the automatic cut-offs reduce the bike's speed. Drifting toward the winner's circle, they rise. "Is-- is it over? Am I on fire?"

Sela's stare at Amallia down the final straight does no justice for Mandl and Nerys; they are present in her peripheral vision, but only insofar as Amallia finishing third naturally requires somebody to finish first and second. The last yards, where places are exchanged and feats of driving performed, see Sela not so much smoking as breathing in her cigarra, and in the moment Amallia crosses the line and celebrates in a manner which demonstrates beyond question her spine is intact, Sela exhales in relief. This means that a whole bunch of toxic smoke rips the wrong way through Sela's nose, curled up in self-consciousness and apprehension as she is, and the cigarra goes spitting out towards some orphans and smol Sela falls forward out of her seat and smacks the seat in front of her and coughs up most of her lungs and generally makes a scene, which through the tumult can be discerned as one of pleasure.

Risani's ears twitch and pivot to focus on the Zebrak children as instinct lets the felinoid know she's being hunted. It takes a moment for her to notice what her subconscious has already acknowledged. Even then, the twist of her head to bring the children in to view is a languid thing, expression stony and threatening wrath. Then her textured tongue sticks out and she tugs the lower lid of one of her eyes down. "Myeeeeh!" "I don't know," Risani shrugs in the end. Her face snaps back to its usual placid stance with the edges of her lips curled up just a little bit so it looks like she's constantly grinning. "But yeah, ships are super expensive. Nevermind most of the Galaxy sucks so I can kind of just stick in one place. This being said," the felinoid sucks her lips in and moistens them with a flick of her tongue before continuing. "I wish I could visit the beaches of Chandrila again soon but with Sith planet killers floating around it doesn't seem like the best idea!"

Woooo! As the racers cross the finish line, Lumira rises to her feet and rolls onto her toes, giving a few dainty hop-hops of enthusiasm. She claps her hands together, not crass enough to yell but certainly laughing with breathless delight. "Oh!" she says, hands still reverberating, "That was exciting! She didn't win gold -- alas! -- but she performed very well."

Lumira looks over to Zevin, her long lost friend from the start of the game, and gently places her hand on his shoulder. "You must be very proud," she says, as if the man were Mollie's father or boyfriend or who knows what else. She looks back to the race with a final laugh -- her glee absolutely infectious -- and then turns around just as Orren returns with a refill. Perfect timing! Her other flute is now empty.

Lumira is caught in a half-twist, reaching for her drink, when she espies the recently arrived Aryn Cortess. "Cousin!" she says, ever so thrilled. "...That is to say, Your Highness." Lumi gives a prim curtsy, just to be polite, before ruining the formality by reaching out to snag the other blonde and draw her into a warm embrace. She'll give the woman a *squeeze* followed by a kiss on the cheek, saying, "What a lovely surprise. Your seat remained empty so I thought you weren't going to make it."

While it's really rather good that Sebulba was not the winner, Mollie being knocked out at the very tail end of the race has Sheela's eyes narrowing, "Congratulations Mollie!" Her green eyes glance up at the replay, watch the collisions that led to it, and then flick back down to the trio of faces being put on display. She inclines her head and looks to Sela, "You alright?" When there is coughing of toxic smoke.

"What are the rules on going down to celebrate?" She's reclaimed her helmet from the bench and has it craddled in the curve of her arm. Her other hand rests on her gunbelt near one of the pair of blasters. "She survived. There was one racer ... I don't think that's true for." She looks around to see if said racer has finished. "It bodes ill for him."

While it's really rather good that Sebulba was not the winner, Mollie being knocked out at the very tail end of the race has Sheela's eyes narrowing, "Congratulations Mollie!" Her green eyes glance up at the replay, watch the collisions that led to it, and then flick back down to the trio of faces being put on display. She inclines her head and looks to Sela, "You alright?" When there is coughing of toxic smoke.

"What are the rules on going down to celebrate?" She's reclaimed her helmet from the bench and has it craddled in the curve of her arm. Her other hand rests on her gunbelt near one of the pair of blasters. "She survived. There was one racer ... I don't think that's true for." She looks around to see if said racer has finished. "It bodes ill for him."

"The Sith left that system," Imani replies to Risani with a cheerful sort of smile and a complete lack of shame at being associated with them. "They had a message to convey that they felt the entire galaxy needed to know. I mean, don't you think it's fair that they know the sort of people the Jedi actually are?" she asks. "It's best to have the truth out there, so that people can make up their own minds about who they actually want to support, and if they want that to be Kylo Ren."

"Hey look!" Muri's younger companion points to the final standings being broadcast. "Dr B'rot and Nerys..she's the one you work with, yeah?"

"Indeed she is," Netep confirms before releasing a shrill whistle and whoop of victory on behalf of her friend. Victory over Sebulba is victory enough. The kriffer. "Let's see if we can get intercept at some p--"

Muri whips around *very* swiftly, like something bit her in the rear or smacked her in the back of the head, or some other startling offense that's put her on guard. She stares *hard* into a group of bodies moving away. There's a dark head of hair among them and a trailing, familiar scent...not that he's the only body to smoke that particular brand, but...

"Sorry," Muri grunts, flashing the kid another grin. "Thought I uh...thought I heard somethin'. Just...*WOW* these drinks, amiright?" A grimacing smile then, and she slurps her own very-much-spiked melon.

"YES!" Lumira is right: Zevin is very proud. And even more importantly: "An' she's okay." What are the rules about invading the winner's area? He's not sure, so he's shouldering his way through the crowd until he reaches the edge of the barrier.

Then with a brief jetpack firing, he comes up and over. "Mollie! Yew did /great/, girl!" He reaches out to give her a big bear hug. He shoots a dirty look at Mandl over her shoulder, but he's already pushing it by being here. No untoward behavior is forthcoming. He pulls a bottle of water from his waistband and pushes it into her hands.

"Good racing! You were being driving very fast!" comes the voice of a short, sweet blonde flag girl. She's in a little gold bikini and holding a bronze banner above her head. It floats in the wind until she brings it down to wrap around Amallia's shoulders. Mollie smiles to the flag girl warmly and sits a little further back on her speederbike. Her pulse is still pounding in her chest, though the ringing in her ears has begun to subside. Adrenaline dumped to soak her neurons has begun to release, bleeding into a sort of sublime euphoria that makes her fingers tingle and gives her the sensation that she's floating.

"Ahhhh, well thank you precious. Is this little banner for me, then?"

"Yes, it is! I am hoping to see you in more races. Be having good luck next race, yes?" she says, and then gives Mollie two quick pecks on the cheek. Mollie just smiles and turns to look up towards the crowd at the finish line. It's well and truly possible to make out any of her friends, so she opts to simply wave to a wide variety of stands and positions as that cute little flag girl high-heel steps away.

Zevin jetpacking over makes Mollie laugh and tip her head back. She's still wrapped in that bronze flag and in a suspended state of post-adrenaline bliss. Grinning ear to ear, she reaches back to tug her ponytail out with her left hand.

"Ahhhh, that was so much -fun- mate! Did you see me hit that jump? I was -sailin'-! Thought I might never come back down," she says, laughing.

Colo's on his feet with the rest of the crowd as the race comes down to the wire and results in his...losing his best. He curses the Maker under his breath and checks his datapad for a few moments. Flicks and taps are made and he sends off a variety of payments, but does end up receiving one back in return. Off-handedly, he comments to Zevin. "Well. The cap'n 'show'ed at least, so all's not lost. How'd you do?" He wonders, not that he knows Zevin for much of a gambler.

But now that the show's over? So's Colo's interest in the show at large. Ah, but what a cheer that goes up. "Cap'n Moll! Huzzah!" His fist even pumps the air, albeit half-way to show he's totally cool. One last shudder of support knocked out of him and the gambler beams a smile to his confederates and begins to slide free of the stands and off towards his ship. One last nod at Sela in thanks and Sheela as he departs and he's off.

By a series of wordless, hack-filled gestures, smiles through coughing, propping herself up on the seat in front of her, and general well-meaning green-faced waving and pleasantness, Sela Modonric attempts to communicate to Sheela that she is fine, really, thank you. With further gestures in the direction of the Man-dalorian, she tries to further explain to the Manda-lady how the etiquette at swoop races appears fairly free-and-easy, unless you try to sit in the nobility's seats, but this subtle line of communication is ill-suited for Sela's current capacity. Instead she, though well behind Zevin, attempts to explain with action, clamouring away from her seat towards the third-place circle, where Amallia is bubbling and making flag girls fall in love with her. She probably couldn't use another cigarra but, looking up at the fading light over the huge forest moon trees as she crosses the clearing, lights one anyway.

"Oh, did they?!" Risani arches a brow as her voice lilts high. "Kriffin wizard! I don't know about all that Jedi stuff and Barlo Men or whoever, I just want to hang out on the beach." On that point, her clawed fingers wrap about the arms of her seat to help her sit up straight and proper rather than continuing to linger in her spine breaking slouch. Stretching, her hands go high, the worship of the heavens not lasting long. "I guess that's the end of the race. Politics are so boring. Rather eat bugs to be honest," Risani eyeballs her fingers, lamenting that they no longer had access to the delicious, local delicacy. "Like seriously. It was pretty tasty." Turning her attention back to the other woman, she tilts her head to the right, jewelry jingling cheerily as she offers up a sympathetic smile. "Sorry again for, you know, lobbing that thing at you."

Aryn is drawn by the posh core accent yelling cousin, and looks up to spot another blonde Cortess. Her brows arch with surprise and recognition and she rises up to return the greeting gesture with a short bow before accepting the embrace and hugging her cousin back. When her cheek is kissed, Aryn smiles and returns the sentiment.

"Yes, alas.. we were held up by other business. I wish I could have attended sooner, but things have a manner of going off schedule. You well know, I am certain. Do you intend to stay long now that the race has concluded?"

Behind Aryn, Lady Kiko has risen and moved off to find drinks, temporarily disappearing into the crowds to look about.

Sheela returns Colo's nod, touching her fingers to her brow in a lazy salute, but then she's moving through the crowds towards the celebration circle. At the bottom of the railing she leaps over and lands in a crouch and jogs the rest of the way to where Zevin is picking Mollie up in a big hug, clapping her gauntleted hands together with a grin on her weathered face. "That was pretty exciting. There were a couple times there... anyways, it's good you survived. Celebrations are so much better when you're alive, I've come to realize."

She looks to the other two Champions and nods to them as well, "Congratulations. Especially to you ~" Pointing to Mandl, "~Your last minute aggressive push was impressive from a tactical standpoint. One might think you deliberately positioned yourself to cast the two of you ahead!" Wiggling her finger betweenx Nerys and Mandl, "Truly excellent. Glad I was able to be here."

M'nevvus and Su'nil the Zabrak twins really want to grab Risani's tail. But when she looks at them they decide against it. It's just not worth it. Brother Bizz finishes his rootwood beer stein filled with Endorian honey mead with a pronounced breathy "AHHHH" and proceeds to stand up. "I think that is enough EXCITEMENT for one day, children! Now let us go collect soil samples for your biologicals homework on Chandrila." He belches.