Log:Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit: Corellia

Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit - Corellia

OOC Date: January 8 2022
Location: Corellia
Participants: Warren Vael, Nerys Greystorm, Aconaa, Ariel Teral, Aryn Cortess, B'haav Adasta, Chani Tahn, Colo Nell, Fyrris Vochar, Jallo Dara, Luna Tokani, Noemie Lenoir, Phia Rajan, Tarq Najjic, Ulani Kalgaav, Bizz Bliptettjupp, Imani, Rook, Ban Iskender, Amallia Maadine and Reverberate as GM

"THE FIRST" all of Corellia's hells seem to break loose as the upper rim of the colliseum explode in arcs of pyrotechnics that shower multicolored showers of fizzing and crackling color towards the very center of the massive swoop track, "OF THE INTER-RIM" laser lights paint the fog and smoke above the track in dizzying swirls that strike metal confetti to create a mirror ball effect, while Gutu Phluu, Gran Major Domo of RACING descends from the sky and through the haze with arms outstretched and dressed in a suit that looks like it is made of liquid silver, arms thrust outward and overpowering even the crowd's cheering with his amplified voice "CHAMPIONSHIP RACES!!"

Even as he is lowered to a central dais, safe from race shenanigans by a barrier wall and deflector shields that blue the air around him with their powering up. Points in the rows between banks of seats from ground to the heights erupt with streamers and even little souvenirs and keepsakes in clear duraplast capsules begin descending on one-shot repulsor'chutes for the crowd to pluck from the air.

Out on the fields the racers are emerging to where their craft are to be positioned at the start, Sebulba and the Sanyassan Yu'nasa a few meters apart, waving to the ecstatic crowds while Gutu continues to speak "Please! GENTLEBEINGS! Enjoy these baubles made possible by the generous B'Rot Mining and Metals! Crafted of polymers and precious from their mining concerns for the purpose of YOUR enjoyment! B'Rot Mining and Metals, based in BEAUTIFUL CLOUD CITY, BESPIN!"

Otho'oku Baj, the Ranat racer scurries the distance, stopping to sniff and press her forelimbs together while her tail whips about. The Rodent Racer's massive dish ears swinging forward and back and then she is moving forward to her bike.

More lasers, more lights and more firworks flash and holodisplays show the spiraling course of the raceway of the coliseum. Straightways and hairpin turns suddenly becoming switchbacks and figure-eight blends and then again as race walls rise, fall, lock into place or disappear creating massive expanses for racing aggression to be set loose. "RACERS TO YOU VEHICLES!!!" the crowd explodes and gigantic spots swing down to bathe all those on the track in light "RACERS, START YOUR ENGINES!"

If there was any way to look classy riding a swoop, he would have. Warren would've been wearing his suit. The problem was, suits costed money. He did not have money. It was why he was even entering a swoop race, even if it WAS a fun pasttime. Instead, he was dressed in some simple leathers, a quick swoop suit he had picked up from the closet with some questionable wear in the elbows and knees. It might last, it might not. Frankly if he got thrown off the swoop bike, he had much more to worry about than a bit of skinned limbs. His brown eyes looked up towards the skies, to the stands, and he lifted up an arm, waving it back and forth as the crowd went wild at the spectacle that was about to occur. A slow sauntering walk, and he was headed for his vehicle. Not his own, a rental. He couldn't afford anything fancy or anything sponsored.

Nerys did not, as a rule, find herself on Corellia, her home world, as a rule, unless it was strictly necessary. And today, it seemed, it was necessary. She had been ensconced in one of the pits, her bike being looked over, and, having found it suitable for the race, she moved it out onto the field, heading for the starting line. Thankfully, she was not required to dodge any of the sundry gifts being parachuted down to the crowds. Ah no, only what relative peace and quiet one could find in the runup to the start of the race. The others racers, minus Sebulba, were given a nod, and a word of luck, before Nerys settled into her seat, engine revving up and then down again as she waited for the start of the race.

Aryn of House Cortess, finds her seat amidst a small, luxurious collection of other seats inside a private box suite here at the stadium. With excellent view, its own open bar, and holo-transmissions for the 'views' they couldn't witness, the suite answers all the needs of a highborn sports enthusiast.

Once settling into her seat, Aryn held up her wine glass to the staff person pouring a blue label made popular by Corellia. "I have my doubts of such vintage, but when in Corellia, one must give it all a honest effort-- not too much, sir. Thank you." She brings the glass close, breathing in the wine's scent and closing her eyes.

Celebrations for the race commence and Aryn hazards a sip of her beverage, her lips tilting upward in a subtle satisfied way that conveyed 'she liked it.' "I have been looking forward to this."

A grand day out for the Championship Races and Fyrris is set up nicely in the box, server droid behind, oversized arm-chair like seat positioned for a grand view of the tracks and display screens and copious quantities of bubbly on hand. Observing the starting of the whole to-do, the Codru Ji has a cigarra held for him then lit once it's tucked into the corner of his mouth.

"I need to sponsor more sports. The seats alone."

"Yes sir." the monotone agreement of the server droid,

"Keep it flowing too, these always get better with drink."

"If you say so, sir." The droid affects a shrug to the response which sets the gambler's eyes rolling before he sits back in his seat to take a drink from his champagne flute.

Ah, lasers, pyrotechnics, and the sound of roaring engines. Luna Tokani doesn't love all of the odd jobs she does around... well, the galaxy, really. But this? -This-? This is a job she loves. Unlike most of the pedestrians in the Swoop Race Coliseum, Luna is not protected by a barrier wall or blast shielding. In the little gold bikini she's wearing, she's not protected by much. The irony is that, despite the relatively slight size of her high heels, her feet might actually be the most protected part of her body. Since this is Corellia, she isn't waving a little flag. No, it's -fancy-.

Standing amongst the racers and towards the front, Luna has aloft a rectangular shaped display screen. The text on it is a vibrant red that boldly says 'STOP', though a blinking light in the top right with an engine ignition indicator signals for the racers to start their engines. As if, of course, there weren't a screaming voice coming over the intercom, but hey! Accessibility!

A few other girls in matching outfits are spread and scattered throughout the starting line, but Luna Tokani is the only one with a big, happy grin spread across her face.

Ignition.

She loves this part.

Of the many specialties of the coliseum, Colo delights in the peculiar mixture they make of Lum. The terrible, boozey drink is all that a spectator and punter like him needs aside from a handful of friend namba patties he's got stuffed into a paper cone. He hoists them carefully as he turns away from the vendor, patties held tenderly in one hand while the broad, disposable brew sits in the other and his eyes track the screens again to spy when the races are. The races are supposed to start--oh.

The blaring announcement comes and his nerves are on-end and his feet alight in no time. With no further thought than seeing how his gambling instincts will take him in today's circuit races, he stampedes back through the scrum of on-lookers and gamblers to try to find a viable seat that isn't just a blurry screen.

More appropriately dressed for the occasion this time, Aconaa was down at the tracks decked out in a Corellian-style swoop suit. She was busying herself tuning up a fairly new-looking swoop bike she had rented out from one of the local vendors and looking around the track to see what her competition would be like this time, noting some familiar faces as well as the lack of others. She shields her eyes from the flashy laser and light show for a moment as the announcement goes on. "They trying to blind and deafen us all before this starts?" she mutters to herself, shaking her head. After a final check of her swoop's systems and fluid levels, she hops on the bike and starts revving it up.

"I do say so, so where is my plus one?" Mr. Vochar's head turns from his displays to the droid, brows lifting, "The guide droid is still with them, yes?"

"As far as I know, sir." The droid affects a shrug to the response which sets the gambler's eyes rolling before he sits back in his seat to take a drink from his champagne flute.

"No, Colo, this way." A green-eyed, brown-haired fellow who would be slim if not for having the shoulders of a gymnast is trying to lead the gambler further up into the finer seats. He's wearing a suit with tight black leather pants and a snug black leather coat, with no shirt, but a ring hanging by a leather band at his throat. "Know B'haav /and/ Fyrris, so is double-okay to invade sponsor booth. Have done this before."

He approaches the entrance the sponsor section, where a security guard looks at him, expression dubious. "Tarq Najjic and Colo Nell." He didn't even check behind him to see if Colo was with him. He just assumed. He pauses, buffing his left hand against his coat, as though he should be on a list to be checked. After a moment, he adds, "Are with B'haav Adasta and Fyrris Vochar." He looks in the stands for Fyrris, giving him a wave and then continues scanning for B'haav. Even if he doesn't spot him, he waves again, kissing his palm and then blowing it up there.

He totally knows people up there, Mister Security Guard. "Come on, will miss start!"

Amphia Ras Rajan was born for this sort of situation---not the muddy pits of the race, or the sweaty press of the stands. Instead she's found herself being lead to a private box with access to all the wine and bubbles she wants, and it suits her. The droid is leading her, but Phia is the sort of woman who sometimes seems like she's not paying attention to the help, and she doesn't really animate to any appreciable extent until the droid leads her into this special private box, and then her eyes light up in a glee that borders on the nostalgic.

Her dress is white, form fitting and all but completely backless, but instead of leaving the skin bare or investing in distracting jewelry, she's glued gems to her shoulders and the back of her neck in a geometric pattern that shifts and glitters as she moves. The heels of her shoes are clear and spiked---the straps are glittering gold. Her hair has been piled up on her head and her smile is feline as she makes her way to the man in the arm chair.

She ignores the droid, and invites herself to sit on the arm of the chair, crossing her legs and keeping her posture perfect. "Thank you so much for this invitation. I can't say I know much about races though." She tells the man before nonchalantly sliding into his lap in an artful sprawl like a spoiled cat. Poor Fyrris.

Sitting in the stands in a middle row - she hates the middle row - wide-eyed and fascinated, Noemie Lenoir's attention is fixed on those in attendence as much as the race itself. Hers is an eye for fashion and there are a LOT of fun outfits on display here in every color she can imagine. Silks and leathers and velvets, it's all present.

This includes her own outfit, of course, which is a yellow and white sundress and a wide-brimmed beach hat, beige with a purple band along it. Her feet rest in a pair of woven sandals and it's clear this girl knows how to dress.

Noemie has a small bag of bantha gummy candy which she opens just enough so the top of the wrapper hangs off the side and doesn't leave her with anything to have to discard, then reaches in and pinches an orange gummy between two fingers to start snacking while she waits. A pair of Twi'lek walk down the aisle some distance from her and her attention focuses on one of their outfits, a black brow rising in admiration at the shoes in particular. Yep, there are definitely a ton of cool outfits here tonight.

B'haav Adasta arrived early, not so much to beat the crowd, or for love of the spectacle of it all, but simply to watch all the small things come together. The crews assembling, swoops being polished and maintained, final touches... The sort of things that seem utterly mundane, but sometimes the little things will matter most. The Balosar's in his usual totally-not-a-Balosar disguise known as 'wearing a hat.' The palp-cover of the day is an oft-seen black bowler with teardrop embroidery, which blends well with the black Hapan suit with golden trim and twin columns of buttons on the double breast. He holds an ornate silver cane in his left hand, and a datapad in his right, where he's checking for any sign of messages.

The totally-not-Shadowport Shadowportian is a little preoccupied - so much so that when a repulsor-braked bauble lowers in front of him, he startles, narrowly juggling the datapad back from a tumble out of the Hapan-Silk-Commission-sponsored box to the crowd below. Softly, after a heavy and deep sigh, he puts the pad away and takes the bauble from one Dr. B'rot's mining concern, examining it more closely. This preoccupation is only broken as the sound of engines igniting causes him to set the trinket down on his bag and pull out his datapad again to check it once more.

Ban Iskender comments aside to Aryn, "I must confess anticipation at the display. Even with a great professional interest in the skill and machines on display, I've not beheld such an even in attendance, ere now."

Ban Iskender comments aside to Aryn, "I must confess anticipation at the display. Even with a great professional interest in the skill and machines on display, I've not beheld such an even in attendance, ere now."

The cacophony, for a moment, is deafening. Between the voice amplified by massive speakers to the explosive celebratory display, there is no shortage of sound. It doesn't surprise Chani Tahn that she sees not a single Pau'an in her vicinity. Nor does it surprise her that a great many of the sentients in stands wear some degree of protecting hearing. She has her own. Devices created from molds of each external auditory meatus are fitted into the shells of her ears and cancel a great deal of the noise while dampening the damaging decibels or filtering them out entirely. They're hidden by her let down dark hair, framing a face that shows subtle, but unhidden, awe at the grandiosity of the display. Tucked away into a row of numerous sentients from planets she's never been to or heard of, the young Naboo native blends into the crowd with non-descript clothing that does little to stand out in style or color.

A brief glance at the chronometer on her left wrist precedes her fingers digging into a flashy colored bag of snacks, which are fetched from within by a makeshift cage of her thumb, index, and middle fingers pinching them between. They're slipped quickly between her parted lips, then chewed, with the obvious motion of her flexing jaw telling the tale. Her gaze fluctuates between the view down at the ground level of the arena and the major screens offering closeups for those, like her, who are nowhere near the real action either by choice or by lack of the credits to gain preimum seats to a series that has been steadily growing since its debut. Chani observes racers taking to their heavily customized machines, readying themselves for what essentially seems like a battle.

"This is but my second event, though I recall the first being quite spectacular. I knew you would come to enjoy this, my Lord." Aryn intones back to Lord Ban, offering her wine glass at a tilt to lightly tap against his with a charming smile on her face.

Colo nearly loses his Lum as he catches a friendly, familiar voice and then a friendly, familiar sight of Tarq not only beckoning him by name, but giving him an exclusive seating arrangement elsewhere. "Right!" He beams, all grins and gleaming eyes as he sneaks a look over the shirtless gent. "Is that what knowing Fyrris gets me, then? Well, consider me an invader..." He musters up, immediately downs a goodly sample of frothy Lum and eases on after the majordomo of Fyrris and off to the sponsor's booth.

Though as they encounter security, he seems a...little less certain of the confidence of his would-be benefactor. "Er. They're gonna let us in, right? I've got creds riding on this race. If we miss on a big win...!"

Lady Ariel's bodyguard was already exasperated with her by the time they'd gotten to the stadium. She'd never been to Corellia and there was stopping to look over /EVERYTHING/. "My Lady we're going to be late." Herol had stated quietly. The young noble had given an apologetic look before following after the man. Her gaze was trailing over everything still, but there were no stops this time. She was just focused on not being late and getting a good seat. "In the box." Herol points up to where the other Alderaanians are and she gives a nod, "Thank you, Ser Herol." she states gently as she picks up the hem of her skirt a little and makes her way up. Aryn and others are given quiet greetings, but she didn't want to interrupt too much.

There is a red-headed blur doing its best to make its way through the crowd in a hurried fashion. That blur is Ulani Kalgaav and she's fairly certain she is late. Mumbling to herself worriedly as she goes, the young woman shifts the weight of a crossbody satchel on her shoulder and tries her best to make it to one of the more expensive, elaborate seating boxes with a series of 'excuse me's and 'so sorry's and 'my mistake's.

Eventually she gets to where the Alderaanians are seated and is likely stopped by security. Or wait staff. Or someone. "Oh! Um... excuse me," Ulani says in sickeningly genuine voice. "I'm with... Her Highness." Which may or may not receive a dubious look. Depends on who is on duty tonight.

In the seats is a Mandalorian in GLEAMING ARMOR. The tall, Horned-Dreadfinder, is colored like living flames! With Most-Gold and Most-Brass on either side, all three cheer, roaring to life. The Mandalorian, with his two ZEDs, raises an ancient rifle - a 6-2Aug - and lets it CRACKPOW into the air! <"ACONAAAAAAA!"> The Togruta shakes the rifle in excitement, as Most-Brass and Most-Gold (the droids known as Rakka, and Takka) also cheer her name.

<"A-CON-NAAAAAAAA!"> Ori'Hapvarnna shakes, shimmies, and his grenades clink. True excitement.

Ban Iskender clinks glasses before drawing a polite sip of his own drink. Green eyes go from Aryn to narrow on the distant line of swoops, before his attention is caught by Ulani's attempt at entrance. "Ah, Lieutenant. Fair met," he voices. No need to throw her out, security, thank you.

Noemie jumps in surprise when the Mandalorian fires off a rifle not too far from her, head snapping in that direction expecting to see some kind of fight going on! Her hand was at her mouth, putting a green gummy bantha in it, but she freezes in place, watching who she thinks was the one that fired it. A Mando, probably. She glances around, seeing that there's nobody firing back and giggles, grinning in to her gummy which she finally eats, turning her attention back to those closer to her. There's a man both over and under dressed for the occassion which some know as Tarq. An awfull lot of pretty dresses, too. Phia's backless dress, Luna's .. well, it's something anyway. The outfit that really takes the most of her attention is Aryn's. She doesn't recognize the woman, but anybody would stand out in a dress like that. She puts her gummies down for now and powers up the datapad that rests on her legs, pressing her thumb to the side to eject a small stylus and starts sketching a dress design on it while she waits for things to start. It's not a replication of what she just saw, but she's taking inspiration from it to be sure.

Aryn regards Lady Teral with a raise of wine glass in greeting, "My Lady, welcome," And when Ban mentions someone's rank, Aryn turns her gaze toward the suite's entrance to see that security has temporarily halted Ulani to prevent her entry. She gives such a genuine answer, enough the guards look back and find Aryn watching. A lazy motion with Aryn's hand prompts the guards to allow Ulani to pass. The noise from the stadium drowns out a bit, and she's introduced to a room decorated of luxury with ample, comfortable seating, its own bar and wait staff, and a place near Lord Ban and Aryn to sit.

"Come, Mistress Kalgaav, you would not wish to miss the start.." As if on cue, the start is given!

"Yes, will be fine, Colo." The security guard isn't buying it, but he's a Kuati, not a quitter. He pulls out a comlink and taps it. "B'haav.... pick up. Is Tarq Najjic, getting static when trying to join you in sponsor's booth. Do not want to miss race start. Wave, message security, something." He spins around at the announcement, watching the engines start. He stands up on his tiptoes. "There it is. Now see what you've done," he chides the security guard. <"B'haav, you there?">

The lights of Luna's display board change from RED to YELLOW, flashing each of the words in order. READY. SET. Luna takes in a breath through her nostrils as she hears all of the engines begin to roar, top gears screaming in potential energy just before it converts to kinetic.

GO. Her board switches from yellow to green, and that word flashes on and off rapidly as the swoop bikes and speeders lurch from their starting positions and careen past her in an incomprehensible blur. The air they displace is enough that, when coupled with their speed, a few of the dancers (including Luna) are forced to take one small step back. One poor swoop bike seems to be having some issues in the starting line, and Luna offers Warren an encouraging (albeit likely drowned out in all of the sound): "GO LITTLE SWOOP BIKE, YOU CAN BE DOING THIS!"

So encouraging, this Luna Tokani.

Ulani tilts her head to the guard, smiling with relief as she isn't immediately tossed out on her bum. "Thank you, sir. Thank you." Wait, isn't that-- "Er... ma'am." A flush in her cheeks, Ulani hurries past security to approach the nobility seated. Aryn gets the first bow. "Thank you, Your Highness, for the invitation. I've actually never been to a swoop race before."

Ban gets the second. "You are too kind, Lord Ban. Truly. But I'm only an Ensign with the Republic and I've not earned the honour to hold rank for New Alderaan."

Ariel gets the third. "Lady Ariel! I feel it's been ages! How are you settling in? How is your grandmother?"

Oh. There's a very loud race starting and that pulls Ulani's attention; watching wide-eyed as it literally takes off.

Despite Warren's saunter, he's on his bike and switching the engine and and making sure it's ready to go. There's a little bit of an odd hum to it, which is not promising, but he pays it no mind. The crowd is roaring practically out of control, and he makes a mild face at all the lasers and reflectors that dance across the sky. Really it's the blaze of light that throws him off guard as the announcer screams, and though he steps on the pedal, he can't see very well. Initial blindness. Bah. At least he knows where the other swoops are beside him as his swoop engine roars to life, and sends him across the starting line. There's a bit of a rocking motion as he swerves slightly, but it's not enough to crash into the other swoops or into those who are cheering the races on with flags as they zoom by. He can't help but lift an arm to wave, even if he does look a bit silly.

B'haav's jumps again - a nervous fellow this day - when the datapad in his hand buzzes and a comlink opens. Or maybe it's the blaster fire. Probably not though. B'haav answers, and before he can say much more than, "Tarq Naj-" He's hearing the whole detail. He stands from the booth, leaning over and looking down to security. <"Tell them to look up,"> he says on the commlink and then sets the pad down. Upon gaining security's eye, the Balosar points beyond to the two with one familiar face between and then points to himself.

'They're with me.'

B'haav sits back into his seat just as the blocks drop and a great many in the audience are leaping up. Another addition seems unlikely. He looks up to the terminal showing the standings, picking out a familiar name and sending all his good thoughts into a quiet clap as he calls out from the padded seat of his sponsor box: "Let's go, Nerys Greystorm!" He's looking at the datapad again, though.

Nerys, pushing her speeder up to the blocks, gave one final glance to the other racers, before she settled into herself, though whether she was doing through a mental checklist, saying a prayer, wondering if she left the stove on before she went out the door, or simply trying to block out the cacophony all around her who could say. All that was for certain, was that as soon as the blocks dropped, Nerys was off, speeder revving as she zoomed away from the start, making a beeline for the course markers. Even the other racers, for the time being, were ignored, as she buckled down to the race.

Seeing Colo and Tarq, Fyrris offers a nod and wave to allow admittance, even with two arms now settling to support the crook of Phia's legs and her back just below the gems - the fourth offering her a sip of champagne,

"Of course, Amphia, I wouldn't see you in with the rabble of course. Art should be protected." amber eyes slipping over from the crowd and back to the Hapan now occupying him as a seat. At least he's not bony, and the suit is pure shimmersilk providing for a delightful upholstery for the codru now made a seat that only squirms -slightly- beneath her, while Fyrris's waving hand now traces a claw tip around the gemstones applied to skin, curious and facinated in one while observing the shifting colors and the pattern of their placement.

"And I know little of the races other than they make me copious amounts of money that I have converted to scrip and intend to roll around in later." pointed ears perking at the idea.

Ariel gives a dip of her head to Aryn, "Your Highness, thank you." she states before she's moving to take a seat towards the back. She'd been encouraged to go out and enjoy things, so that is what she was doing. Her guard settles into a relaxed stance at the back of her chair and she looks back to him to give him a smile, "You're going to stand the entire time?" she asks him. He gives a soft chuckle, "My job is to make sure you get home in one piece, not enjoy the sights." he points out. Ulani gets her attention and there is a smile to her, "Miss Ulani, I'm doing alright and making progress. Grandmother is doing alright. How are you?" she asks. "I heard that you're now a citizen of New Alderaan, so congratulations on that." she offers.

"You say that, but I can't help but notice the noise is getting louder and my Lum is half-gone..." Colo muses back to Tarq and the security guard both, though the latter gets a skeptical eyebrow. He goes quiet when Tarq starts his call up, however, and pleads for divine intervention, or at least that which might come from above. "I think maybe I sho--" He starts up, only to be proven the faithless party when they're allowed admission by the skyward-looking guard in the next moments. Colo's credit-winning grin shines up and he stuffs a helping of namba into his mouf before giving an elbow at Tarq's side. "Tol' ya they woulf leff ush in."

Aconaa leans forward on her bike and pulls down her helmet visor. "Here we go," she mumbles, revving her engines to full throttle. The helmet, at least, helped shut out some of the distractions from the race. She takes a deep breath to determine herself, a focused expression on her face underneath that helmet. When the signal was given to go, the brakes were off and her bike zips forward at top speed as she heads off with the other racers.

"Think nothing of it, mistress Kalgaav. Please, find refreshment and seat. We are happy to have you among our number..." Aryn raises her hand, motioning to the staff, conveying 'wine for Ulani and Lady Teral'. Both Ladies are offered a glass and given a selection of labels to choose from. "You are most welcome, Lady Teral." To the Lady's protector, Aryn smiles. "I commend your dedication, sir." Siiiip from the wine glass, and Aryn's attention returns to the race; briefly, at least. She cuts a look over at Ban to see if he's enjoying it, too. She has a subtle smile on her face.

"There, see?" Tarq points out B'haav, and then Fyrris, to the security guard. The guard is polite in passing them, and he is equally courteous: "Are just doing your job; thank you for diligence." And up they snake through the much /less/ crowded and over-packed sponsor booth. Tarq grabs a seat near B'haav. "Thank you, your timing? Perfect." He hears the Balosar's words, or at least reads his lips, and tips his head towards Colo. "He cheers for Nerys. Who is your money on? That, that is real question. Tell me so can cheer. GO NERYS!"

He glances over to Fyrris to wiggle his fingers and air-kiss, and then he spots Phia. Again. "She is everywhere. Should Tarq Najjic warn Fyrris?" he wonders aloud.

As the race starts, Noemie pauses in her sketching to watch the racers take off! The datapad becomes less important, though she does take care to save her progress so she can pick up later where she left off. As the racers speed away her attention is fixated on those that are out in front first. Brows are wide in amazement and it's clearly the first time she's seen a spectacle like this up close and in-person.

The Naboo reaches up to adjust the wide brim of her beach hat so she can get a better view of the stands above her, namely the box sponsored by the Hapan Silk Commission. Being an amateur fashion designer, she was their target audience in the advertising after all. She smiles to those inside, even if they can't see her (and if she can hardly see any of them), wondering what kinds of lives those people lead. "I wonder what kind of lives those people lead!" It turns out she vocalizes her thoughts to herself sometimes. If only she knew there were a literal princess in attendance.

When the racers are out of sight, though, her attention moves from the Hapan Silk stands to one of the many holoscreens to watch the racers' progress.

A quick look around her then Ulani picks a seat that is nearby but not /quite/ with the trio of nobles. She may be familiar with them but etiquette makes it's silent demands in her head. Propriety must be maintained. When a server approaches her, Ulani ponders on her order. "I would love some hot tea, actually." Wine-and-dine it is not but Ulani is content at the prospect.

Opening her satchel, Ulani pulls out a datapad and a stylus pen along with it as she answers Ariel. "Indeed! Princess Aryn saw fit to honour my sister Nestra and myself with citizenship. It is an incredibly joyous occasion and thank you." When the screen flickers on, Ulani's blue eyes look up at the track for a long, studious pause. "A pity Lord Bors could not make it today. I think this kind of break-neck action would be right up his alley."

CRACK-BOOM!

The long rifle goes off again, casting smoke from the termination. The brightly colored Dreadfinder shakes the rifle, Sand People style, while Rakka and Takka crack their giant metal fists together. "AAhhhhh!" <"COOOOOOOoOOo!"> "Naaaaah!" The three gleaming figures clap together and when the racers begin to take off, Hapvarnna leaps onto one of the droids and howls like some unchained thing. Despite the armor.

The familiar faces in the sponsor's booth make Colo's eyes alight and his stomach stop barking orders for booze and garbage food. Instead, he wipes the greasy mark off the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve when he spies Amphia and her benefactor--and his--seated together. They both get a respectful nod from him as does B'haav when he hears the first cheer for Nerys. "Ah, fancy meetin' ya two here, eh?" He shoots out at the former duo, though seems quite content to slide along into an available seat for a treat and a view that's improved by the height above it all. Tarq's query is shot back at him without so much as a second-thought: "Nerys, of course." What else is he going to say in his position?

Amphia plucks the flute of champagne from his fingers, delicately tipping the flute so that she might take a dainty sip from the bubbling wine. The little smile that creases her features is genuine in its appreciation of the luxury of the thing, and she offers it back to him despite the fact that she's left a nude-colored lipstick mark on the edge of his glass. She laughs softly---sweet as bubbling honey---at his comment and leans to drape an arm over his shoulder so that she can lean herself against him without affecting her posture. Her olive-toned legs cross demurely---too demure for the cut of the skirt which has risen with the bend of her body, but has not affected her modesty by any means. A calculated choice, then.

The gems themselves are gold toned and iridescent, with smaller gems forming looping, delicate spirals that accentuate the larger gems. It must have taken hours and she must have had help, but it manages to be elegant instead of gaudy, especially with the matching earrings that dangle like champagne bubbles and the high neck of the dress at the front.

"It's always good to know where your money comes from." She agrees, dark eyes flicking to the other two as they enter, and there's a pause---not quite caution, but surprise perhaps. Surprise to see Tarq Najjic so soon after the last time. And the time before that, in fact. "Hello. It's nice to see you again. I don't think I've met your friend---" The brunette woman draped across Fyrris like a self-satisfied cat pauses to glance at the balosaur. She lifts a hand to crook her delicate, tapered fingers in a wave, and the glittering gold of her nail varnish glimmers.

Past the starting line and into the opening set of curves, a shallow kris-blade serpentine with the flexible, segmented track, dipping suddenly or raising; forcing racers to slow and follow the curves or speed up and become airborne for precious split-seconds where repulsor 'traction' could be suddenly lost and thus the position of each racer. Yu'Nasa finds herself slamming into a side-wall when a rise jostles her off course, screaming obcenities to the laughter of Sebulba speeds ahead past her. The lights blaze to silver white along the tracks, putting all in stark relief and clear view for the crowds to watch, whether bare eye or via the various holo and personal hand held displays.

"Gentlebeings of appropriate age, per their species and, or, governments, can enjoy a sampling of fine liquors being distributed among the crowds tonight provided by the Pazaak and Tabac of Parmac Sector, Nar Shaddaa! Fine tabac sticks and cigarra are available from your vendors tonight as well! Next time your in Hutt Space, don't forget the Pazaak and Tabac!"

Curves tighten and those small dips become dangerous pits, the light rises become sudden ramps and the path cuts to a coliseum length shooting star lane that could handle three swoops side by side before sparks against the walls would form. Sebulba is shaking his fist at other racers, watching the course and for a potential victim as his pod, modified to be classed as a swoop, has a series of vents opening along its flanks.

"IT'S BEGINNING TO HEAT UP! The track that inspired the Sluis Van Race Sphere is back in full works, thanks to engineers of Sluis coming to aid in Corellia's rebuilding of public works since the expulsion of the FIRST ORDER, returning Corellia to a world of peace and prosperity!" Also smuggling. Also spice. Also unrestricted commerce and industrialization.

All the racers have launched, and the 'flag' girls (which sounds a lot better than display board girls) are hustling off of the track to get behind the blocking wall and blast shield. Well, most of them. Luna Tokani is still on the track, her right hand held to her brow to shield out some of that light from her eyes. She's watching the last traces of those swoop bikes and speeders disappear from her vision with a big, silly smile. It's the sound of the crowd, the fading sound of engines, and the announcer peddling drinks, gambling, and food set to the backdrop of Corellia that makes Luna smile. Never in her life did she think she'd see anything quite like this.

It's just so... perfect.

She takes another moment to close her eyes and soak in the atmosphere. The smell of exhaust and fried food. She exhales, turns, and goes to join the other digital display board girls behind the safety of the wall and blast shield. She heads into the stands. Another part of this job that makes it her favorite? A lot of down time.

B'haav, now having some company in his proximity, looks up to Tarq as he shifts the datapad to the hand holding the ornate silver cane. He rises, and offers a hand to shake to the whirlwind that is Tarq Najjic, and a quarter bow to Tarq's friend. "B'haav Adasta," he manages over the sound of the crowd and the amplified speakers full of engine noise to help make the action being relayed on screens FEEL more impactful even on the farther sides of the course. Or so he assumes. As he straightens from the bow, his Tetan lenses look down to the crowd below - on their way to the track - and note a woman in a yellow-and-white sundress looking up in his general direction. For some reason, it feels like he's beint scrutinized, and some bit of nerve brings out a small wave that quickly and awkwardly precedes him dropping back into his seat. B'haav looks to the vendors nearby, pulls out some chits, and offers them in exchange for a packet of tabacc sticks, with which he begins fidgeting.

That rocky start Warren had is enough to set him back, and he sets his jaw beneath the loose flap of cloth that covers his mouth and nose to keep flying dirt out of his face. Watching the other swoops ahead, his strategy for the opening round is not to blaze through immediately, but to get a feel for the course, as he has never flown this before. When the course suddenly dips and weaves, a foot to one pedal slows the swoop down so he can follow it along. He'd wait for theatrics a little later and work on control for now.

And they were off! Nerys dipped down, bringing her body in close to the frame of the swoop bike, cutting as much of the drag as she could as she manuevered her swoop along the course. She was not playing it safe, and so, despite not making any moved to interfere with any of the others racers, she aimed her swoop for the outside edges of the track, the bike popping up now and then as Nerys made her best attempt to keep her speed up and cut out some of the slow downs that were inevitable as she guided the swoop into the curves. It was a bit like watching some desert animal popping up and out between the dunes, only with less sand. Bonus.

For now, at least, Aconaa was focusing on her own driving more than the other racers while noting their positions relative to her. In particular, she was focused on that narrow lane coming up and her position relative to the others going into that. Luckily her swoop helmet assisted some with that, for the rest she was relying on pushing her bike at full throttle, flying straight over some of the dips and aiming to distance herself from the other racers and give herself some breathing room once they're in that narrow lane.

Brother Bizz was up at the refreshment stands getting a proper cardboard snacky tray, so he's late to the race. When he does finally waddle his way down the racers are already off! But on his tray he has an array of Corellian race day delicacies, including fried cronuts with Corellian apple compôte filling, Corellian ryshcate tarts, spicy nerf sausages with Boontaspiced mustard, and an extra-large sloshing cup of Corellian Spiced Ale (Ham Solo's favorite!). He turns left and right, looking for his seat in the bleachers. Hmm.

Noemie's eyes are on the display screens adjacent to the Hapan Silk booth, nibbling on gummy banthas while watching the racers. A Togruta woman is shown for a few moments, then the image shifts to a human woman, then a human man, giving each of them equal time in the spotlight - at least on the screen she's watching. Other screens focus on single racers in particular, or action shots and such.

She can't help but let her attention drift back to the Hapan Silk stand and squints a bit to make out a few of the forms within. They all seem to be conversing amongst themselves, but one seems to have caught her gaze. She grins, and though surprised, offers a tiny wave back to the man with the impressive glasses. Noemie Lenoir's attention moves back to the crowd and this time when the Mandalorians fire their rifles she's able to keep her composure now that she knows where it came from! An Umbaran a few rows down squeezes through people as she makes her way to her seat and the Naboo admires her top. Such a pretty fabric.

An air kiss is returned for Tarq and a twiddle finger wave for Colo and Bav in turn while his attention swiftly returns to the woman handing back his champagne, accepting without reservation and getting a little of that coloring to the corner of Fyrris's mouth when he takes his sip and raises the glass for the droid to swiftly refill.

"Indeed, I do enjoy knowing where the money comes from, keeps from loose ends." head tipping again while the light show sets off Phia's decorations, another casual taste of his drink before it's offered back to Phia, the claw tip following the gem pattern even when he looks to B'Hav,

"He's a good man, fine clothes. Excellent hats. I have need to travel to Hapes to see if I might acquire a new suit. Hopefully something flattering." the arm around the Hapan's back shifting as she leans in to rest a palm on her hip, perhaps to draw her a bit closer as well.

Ariel gives a smile to Ulani and a nod, "It's good news all around these days." she tells her. Or well, she was hoping all was good. The wine that is brought over is taken and settled to the side for the moment while she takes in the sight of the swoops taking off. Herol bows to Aryn, "Thank you, your Highness." the man smiles to that.

"Of course, sir," Aryn intones to the Knight whose duty was to escort and guard the Lady Teral. Aryn has since reclined into the luxury of her chair to watch the race. She is thankful for the noise dampening functionality of the box suite as it drowns out a lot of the painful chorus of screams that seem to constantly persist out upon the rest of the stadium. Bringing her wine up, she sips and watches without much comment; satisfied to be in the company of friends and kinsmen.

There's a race happening, and for once Imani decided to come and see what the fuss was all about. It's her first time at one so she's gone all out, buying a hat for one racer, a banner for another, and a little stuffed toy for a third. She doesn't know any of them, or if they're any good, but none of that lack of information has stopped her. With goods in hand she shuffles through the stands and drops into an empty seat to watch the race itself.

Ulani is watching the race but in an odd way. She's got her nose stuck into her datapad and only occassionally looks up. If she can't see the swoops from where she is sitting, she is looking up at the terminals. Then it's back down again to her datapad, her stylus scribbling madly.

No cheering. No hooting and hollering. Just inquisitive looks taking in details then taking notes. So many notes.

Tarq leans over to B'haav and says in what amounts to a whisper here - a loud voice, to be heard over all the audio. "B'haav, your palps are burning. Phia - woman in lap - asked Fyrris about you, he said you were good man, and fashionable." Then he attempts the niceties. "B'haav, this is Colo Nell, friend and gambler from Nar Shaddaa. Colo, is B'haav Adasta, stylish trader, reliable friend."

He glances back at Phia and Fyrris. "Gather you already know /both/ of them, maybe, Colo? May know her better than Tarq Najjic does." He notices the wave from Noemie down below. "B'haav, do you have fan?" He blinks. "Does Tarq Najjic have fan? How to ask... hmmm."

Oh right, the race: "Go Nerys! Wait, does he have /torch/ on side of his engine?" Tarq is not a committed fan of racing. He is getting the Sebulba memo decades late. "Is that legal?"

The full length sprint of the race banks into a hard turn that takes the racers along the outer edges of the coliseum floor for a half of the circumference before a sharp ninety degree turn seems to rise from nowhere. Lights change colors to streaks of gold and deepest green that move past racers like a hyperspace tunnel. Opaque on the inside but by means of clever holo-work the racers visible to the crowds.

In the myriad of sweeping color within the path becomes hard, sharp, zig zag turns that branch in opposite directions, with some closing off and others opening to force racers into what become hard curves that weave and straighten before bending again. Racers are forced to cross paths at speeds risking impacts

"The Hypertunnel Madness section of the races is brought to you by Shim Productions! A cavalcade of wonders for your latest celebrations and parties!! For your next party to be spoken of for years to come, contact Shim Productions!!! Look at those racers go gentlebeings!"

It's absolute havoc in the paths as racers are woven together and separated again in a series of helix intersections on the way to a final straightaway leading to the next turns for the race.

There he is, gleaming and glittery, down in the most-front seats because booths are not his style: Azeezel Raj. He's leaning on a large Houk, who is leaning on him, she with her large ax and he with his - is it a gun? Yes. A pistol-shaped glass of...something.

"Hm?" The Houk grumbles something, and the Zeltron man turns his crimson skin towards her. "I'm sorry, dear. You're going to need to speak up - you see, I've stuck grub inside of my ear, and taken at /least/ four lines of Spice on the way here in your cruiser." She grumbles again, a massive arm settling on his shoulders and the Zeltron just glances to the three-fingered hand. "Ah. Yes. Trust me, I'd rather do that, than be here." The Houk looks pleased - the Zeltron lifts the drink to his lips - a press of something in his ear. A little flashing light visible. <"I have her with me now, if you would be so kind as to move along before I actually have to-"> The Houk grumbles something to him and Azeezel Raj just smiiiiiiles that smile.

Tarq's introduction goes well with Colo who is, even now, washing down the remnant of his coliseumside snack with another heaping gulp of lum. The dark-haired gambler's eyebrows shift up and then settle back down as he briefly shifts to heft his mug in 'greeting' to the pair introduced. "That I do, my friend Tarq. One I owe money to, the other keeps leaving presents in my bed." He's upbeat about the statement, so leaves no indication that he finds either of the situations annoying. Indeed, he's still smiling as he hoists the mug again to properly greet their other benefactor. "B'haav Adasta--Colo Nell. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. And thanks again for the view. Hopefully knowing Tarq doesn't color me in the wrong fashion?"

Noemie cants her head curiously. Clearly, advertising works great on her. She's back to the datapad which rests on her legs, taking a moment to look up 'Shim Productions' on the holonet. She reads a bit and bookmarks it for later, letting her attention return to the race, the crowd, and what's left of her gummy banthas. "Nearly out," she says to herself, slightly pouty about reaching the end of her gummies. The Naboo crosses one leg over the other, adjusting her skirts and the woven wedges strapped to her feet combined with the wide-brimmed beach hat of a similar tan shade give her a very casual and girlish appearance there in the stands. Like some at an olde-fashioned Fathier race.

Phia seems like the sort of person you would be hard pressed to upset by touching her. She allows Fyrris to draw her closer, and even accepts the flute of champagne back when it has been refilled. She takes another sip of the bubbly wine, and shifts casting minor spatters of prism-shattered light across the nearest wall. Colo actually gets a little wave from the brunette too, before she hands the flute back to Fyrris.

She wants to say that you can always trust a man in good clothes, but Azeezel Raj is simply proof that this isn't the case. "He sounds lovely." Is what she says of B'haav instead, flexing an ankle in a way that makes the metallic straps of her shoes glitter. Not because she's bored, but because wearing shoes like that comes at a price, and that price is pain. "You don't really seem to be enjoying the show, though." She comments to the four-armed man, head cocking in almost feline curiosity, allowing a few of her the twining tendrils of her baby hairs, free at the temples, to tickle him because she's leaned in close to try and actually have a verbal conversation. It's not exactly /loud/ in the private box, but still.

"You don't want to travel to Hapes. Terrible, boring place." She says, voice still light, but her shoulders tense ever so slightly, and her eyes stray to that flute of alcohol.

Jallo has been sitting there keeping an eye on the race for a bit but between some laps he gets up to get his meat product blob thing that looks disgusting but well he can't see so it's good for him. Along with that a bottle of Corellian Ale because thats what one drinks on Corellia. Returning to his seat he takes his helmet off sets it down in his lap as he eats and drinks appropriately.

It's a tense race from the start. Chani watches the take-off from the beginning, then is relegated to the large holoscreen serving her particular section of the stands. Some of the racers contend for the same general position in the race, jockeying to get closer to the front of the pack and take the coveted first spot. The crowd around her is electric with enthusiasm. She maintains her seated position, even despite some of the sentients to either side surging to their feet to launch their limbs into the air either in roaring approval, a moment of trash talking, or to decry their chosen racer not doing as well as they expected. Pulling a few more of the snacks from inside the flashy colored bag braced on one thigh, Chani slips a trio of them past her lips and keeps some clutched in reserve, quietly--anything she does is quiet compared to the concert of noise surrounding her--chewing.

Even Chani perks up at the announcement blaring through the speakers, though. 'Hypertunnel Madness'? If there's one thing the swoop race has been good at, it's picking intriguing names for the track so far. It's not the name that makes her adopt the ghost of a wince on her features. It's the track itself demanding the racers perform stomach-churningly quick inertia changes just to zip through the zags that have popped up. Her fingers tense on the bag, crumpling its edges and deforming the column that makes up its body from the pressure exerted against it. This is far faster paced and far more dangerous than any kind of racing she's seen before. It's a marvel that the individuals on the bikes willingly choose to throw themselves into it as they do. Perhaps that's simply the price they agree to for the greater promise of fame and fortune.

It's towards the tunnel and past the sharp 90 degree turn that Warren takes that he decides to stop being careful. Or rather, to take a chance, as he can clearly see with the opposite directions and paths going across eachother there's a very good chance he might be able to weave onto a better path. But of course, he has to not crash into another racer. His foot on the accelerator, he pushes the bike forward, leaning hard to one side to move the back through a zig zag turn and then moving into another as the colorful lights flash around him.

Brother Bizz sits down near to Chani Tahn with his cardboard munchie tray on his lap. He takes a fork from his robes and spears a spicy nerf sausage, dips it in Boontaspiced mustard, and bites it. "Oh the sausages are quite spicy today!" he says to Chani Tahn, offering her a bite of his half-bitten sausage while chewing. "Won't you have a nibble!?" Leaving the sausage out in the air for Chani to bite, Bizz grabs his massive commemorative mug of Corellian Spiced Ale single-handed and guzzles it.

And, as the racers were forced to split apart, the end up looking like some buddy buddy cop drama out of Hel. And...Sebulba, because of course it was. Nerys only just stopped herself from freeing a hand to flip the Dug off, as they sped off into the course, zigging and zagging, the old Dug coming close enough to flash Nerys with his vents. It was a good thing all that hair of hers was hidden under her helmet or else the redhead might have ended up with a very unfortunate bowl cut. But, a sharp tilt of the swoop and she was out of the sanger zone and zooming on, moving at breakneck speed as she maneuvered to try to make up some ground against the swoops she could see racing ahead.

B'haav glances around Tarq as his fashion-forward friend loops him into what his distractions had missed him. He offers a wave of greeting to Phia, along with a wave to Fyrris just beyond. "Sorry, it's been a long week!" He turns those Tetan lenses to Colo though and offers a quick shake of his head. "Much to the contrary. There aren't very many people whose friends I'd be more likely to count as 'Good' folk. I've known Tarq Najjic long enough to know that he doesn't spend time on those who aren't deserving of it." B'haav looks to the crowd, then back to Tarq.

"I just... Saw someone looking up here as I was looking down there and... I don't know, it felt weirder not to acknowledge meeting someone's eyes so I... Waved." Awkward. Yep. B'haav Adasta's wheelhouse. He sets down the tabacc packet and picks up the datapad again, looking once more for some sort of update.

Nothing.

Aconaa's gaze was now shifting between the track ahead and Otho. She continues to tear ahead at full speed, slowing only slightly to bank into those turns before taking off at full speed again. She was looking for every opportunity to overtake Otho on one of those criss-crossing intersections, narrowly avoiding impact with him in her efforts. Perhaps even a bit deliberately. The close calls would give the crowd something to get excited over at least, and were getting Aconaa's adrenaline pumping for sure.

The immense, orange-red Houk-woman twists her chest-sized ax, showing something to the Zeltron Fancyman that sits with/beside her. Azeezel Raj stares up at the screens, but nods his head slowly, "Mmm, yes. Ten-hundred necks, eh?" A finger presses to his ear, <"Gosh. Houk cannot do math. Surprise? Are you two inside yet?"> The gleaming Zeltronian touches the Teta Monacle on his left eye, the topaz screen coming to life with little lights and numbers. The Houk grumbles something, thrusting the ax down on the seat-floor causing a thud. Some of those nearby look nervous, Azeezel Raj however, just settles one 'dainty' hand upon the woman's rough, bullet-scarred shoulder. "No, no. You don't need to prove it. I promise, I believe that you cut off ten-hundred heads-" His black eyes turn on the screen, watching the races, and when a close call kicks by -- there is cheering if someone dies, or if someone doesn't die. He's busy drinking, and keeping his massive companion calm.

It's not peripheral vision that informs Chani of Brother Bizz Bliptettjupp's arrival, but the rather sudden waving about of a half-eaten delicacy being waved around and dripping with mustard. When it's waved around on a utensil and summarily offered in her direction, Chani shoots Bizz a frowned look. "What? It's half-eaten! Thanks, but no thanks." She gestures with the held treat bag, lifting it off where its braced against her thigh in emphasis that he need not offer any of his array of gathered snacks. "You know anyone named Gar?" Chani asks half a beat later, absent-minded and idle rather than honed in on the question she poses the robed figure that takes a seat next to her. What few bits remain clutched between her fingertips are relinquished to her taste, and the quiet chewing resumes while her eyes scan across the race unfolding before them in both projected form and reality.

Noemie sits back in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, and props her datapad up in her lap, even while the screen is off. Never know when she needs to look up something in relation to targetted advertisement! Or gets an idea for another sketch..

While the race gets tense her gaze moves from what everyone around her is wearing and toward the holoscreens, wide-eyed in amazement as drivers perform (or dodge) stunts. She's finished up her little bag of gummy banthas, sadly.

Shifting again and even tensing when things go into madness, Fyrris's grin becomes wider and a bit of gooseflesh ripples out where the fine hairs are teasing him, "Oh... I enjoy myself well enough. Years at the tables. Maybe I'll give you a private lesson in sabacc face; even if you seem to be a natural at it yourself." the ankle rotation gets a look from the codru, head canting with the color shifts, but then eyes are back on Phia anew.

"This is a much better way to enjoy it as well, I admit." a little twitch of his nostrils and a turn of his head to make her have to move closer to speak in the close up fashion she has been, a twitch of an eyebrow with it and a full width grin that exposes his elongated canines with it.

"Terrible and boring, maybe. Where would you suggest for a bit of shopping, my dear?" fingers walking up her back to rest between where her neck ends and her back begins. "I've been all over, but if I get surprised I'll bring you with and I may even hand you my expense card."

growing cold. Luna Tokani is with the other flag girls near the finish line, and while the sound of the stadium is still immense, it's subsided enough that their laughter can be heard lifting up past their immediate vicinity. One girl talks about her home, another talks about school, and another her to-be bride and their child on the way. Luna stays quiet, for the most part, chiming in only on occasion to provide bits of support and appreciation for the other girls. She's got that same, big smile on her face that she always seems to have.

Those big, hazel eyes. They're such strange things, aren't they? How they never seem to really take a color of their own. Right now, they're a steely sort of blue, though the light reflected from the stadium lighting will see them shift depending on who she's looking at. A little more green. A little pink. A bit of a sandy yellow. They also have little tears welling up at their edges.

"I am so proud of all of you," she says to a chorus of supportive 'awwws' from her fellow flag girls.

"We love you, Luna," one says.

A year ago, she was just a slave girl living on borrowed time. Bare feet in acid rain, skinny and waifish and homeless. Now? She gets to travel the galaxy. See the swoop races. Make friends, eat noodles, dance on bars, laugh at jokes, and cry during sad holofilms. If one looked at Luna's accomplishments on paper, they might surmise that she hasn't really done much at all. A dancer, a waitress, and a flag girl. They'd be wrong, though. Luna's done something truly remarkable: She took her life back.

And she couldn't have done it alone.

Raised lengths of track barely wider than a swoop erupt from the coliseum floor, ravine like lengths that risk swoopers being pinched between hard surfaces or having a sudden dip of their vehicle prow hitting ground and catapulting them into the air.

Yu'nassa and Otho hurl insults and gestures at one another in addition to the other racers before the ratan slips into a corkscrew tunnel wide enough for a pair of swoops side by side, 'held' to the track by centrifugal force.

"Gentlebeings! The Hapan Silk Commission has brought several of its tailors, and their luxuriant selections of cloth, to Corellia for the first of the Inter-Rim Championship Races! Don't forget to visit their spaces in Coronet City for the finest clothes and accessories available in the galaxy! Smooth as the racing we're seeing TODAY!" Gutu's voice over the roars, smiling three-eyed face on various displays, brushing his hands down the fine suit of Hapan silk worn today.

Sebulba's foul mood is matched to a few items tossed from his swoop's forward storage compartment at others before he pushes forward all of his throttle controls to take a leap from an extending ramp in the track, engines lighting him in fierce sun-bright oranges as he goes airborne. "WE'RE NEARLY THERE! THEY'RE GETTING READY FOR THE LAST CIRCLE OF THE RACEWAY BEFORE THE FINISH!"

Know how many articles are on the Holonet about people dying in swoop races? Rook does. Having spent the last however-long-we-won't-be-picky glaring at her datapad outside of the actual arena, something has finally prompted the white-haired woman to edge into the actual arena. A black synthleather jacket is zipped to the neck, regardless of temperature, and long hair dragged into a too-tight braid. You know, in case the metal spikes and death glares weren't off-putting enough. She remains near the top of the stadium, more lurking than attending, with arms crossed and her eyes narrowed on a nearby drink vendor. That's bound to get awkward soon.

Ariel gives a look to Herol and there's a smile to him, "My grandmother knows that I'm not well travelled, so we'll have to get my curiousness under control eventually." she muses quietly. Which shouldn't be hard to do given they had the means to do it. She then settles her gaze back on the race and to see who is in the lead for the time being. She didn't know any of the racers, so she wasn't sure who to cheer for.

"I have a droid shop on Chandrila," Ulani offers quietly to those around her. Her feet are planted on the edge of her seat and her knees tucked up to her chest as she draws quick sketches and continues to make notes. "And I've been thinking about learning how to repair starfighters, too. But I'm also intrigued by these swoops." The scribbling and such continues as she looks up less and less. "I'm wondering if I can incorporate the mechanics into a smaller droid design. Maybe an idea for T3. Poor little guy has been a little neglected lately in any upgrades."

Ulani stops to inspect a sketch on her screen; the frown on her face all but revealing her immediate thoughts on it. "I think I'm a long way from there, though."

Hapan Silk Commission samples and reps here in Cornet? That's literally why Noemie even came! Her focus is back on that sponsor booth and those within it, a wide smile beaming from pink-glossed lips. She even shivers a little in anticipation! Virtually everybody is here for the race, but the small sponsored fashion show of sorts afterward is the main attraction for her.

But it IS still a race, and the Naboo's gazing back at the screens. She makes note of who's in the lead, a Togruta, being chased by a Dug that even -she- knows the name of. Everybody knows Sebulba. Sebulba always wins. This earns a grunt from the small girl. Her foot, dangling beside her leg as the first one crosses over it, begins to bounce a bit while she watches, eager to see how the race turns out. She refers to her datapad again, checking the positions privately and is presented with small profiles on each of the racers. She takes a moment to read through these. She's not betting but it would be silly not to get to know the racers to some degree.

As enormous as the stadium is, a quick look around Warren puts the pressure on. First, not to crash, second that the race is almost over if he doesn't get ahead really soon, and glancing behind him is one swoop. Ahead of him...a lot of swoops. Frankly, it's embarrassing. He had given up the pasttime, but he was not this bad...was he? Pushing harder on the pedal, his swoop shot forward, sweeping back and forth between the 'crevices', and racing with a blinding speed through a winding tunnel that almost leaves him dizzy. In fact, he almost crashes. It's with a very abrupt turn that he avoids hitting another swoop bike, altogether in his attempt to get out of the tunnel and get around the person ahead of him. His bike does scrape alongside the wall, and he lets out a 'Kriff' as he leans heavily to one side, and puts a hand out as if he's going to crash. He just barely succeeds in moving away from the wall and not becoming a flaming wreck.

Colo's look to B'Haav is...skeptical, to say the least, but he has the thought enough to wipe the expression with the last chug of his lum that he can muster. The booze goes down with nary a cough and a casual setting-aside of the mug so he can answer the pleasantries. "I've known Tarq long enough to know he can get me what I need, so...glad to hear the opinion's shared in some fashion."

His next quip is all for Phia, who at least earns a nod and then...a smirk from him. "Can I get you a pillow for my room, then? I'd hate to think you were uncomfortable when you strutted in without me being a good host."

With meat in hand Jallo begins to eat the disgusting blob washing it down with proper swigs of his Ale his face following along the racers as they're moving around the track a grin on his face despite the eyes covered by strips of leather, "Told you Eyes this race would be interesting to watch."

And then they were out, and Nerys could put some, if not a great amount of distance between herself and the other racers. Sadly, she had fallen behind Sebulba. And trust, no one liked to see the Dug from behind. It was worse than the view from the front. In and out of the ravines she want, dipping down until it was only just possible to spot her on the holocams and then exploding upward as she went nearly airborne. Was the statium covered? No? Likely a good thing, as Nerys might, just might have come close enough to hit her head on anything that came close to being a roof. But all was well. And the race was on.

"Shiraya.." Chani mutters the word under her breath. The rapidly transforming track is an obstacle all its own, but a glimpse of two of the racers gesturing madly at one another while they blitz along at ridiculous speeds is enough to make Chani tense in her spectator's seat from far away. That they then go into a tunnel that no doubt would plaster someone to their seat from the force demanded by the prolonged turn is disconcerting. It takes a moment for her to breathe again, and part of it comes because the holoscreen displaying the race to her briefly interrupts the view of the track to provide a visual barrage of advertisement to go with the Gran's roaring voice pouring out from.. everywhere. She doesn't know where the speakers are, but they're set to absurd levels of volume. Chani can feel the noise resonating in her chest.

"No, that's not him." It takes a moment for her gaze to drag away from the racing, and it does so in a double take, with one glance cast towards Bizz before Chani's eyes finally orient over to him. "You know him, or something? The Dug? Or you just go to the races a lot?" A measuring gaze is leveled at the robed man, who she notices is sans orphans. She approves, at least, in that this is likely not a place for them. "Don't worry about it. Gar, I mean. Just thinking about some things." Chani's gaze retrains itself on the track for the last circle to play out and for a victor to claim whatever temporary crown will be bequeathed to them this day. She's hoping they all make it across the track, because one of them comes very close to wrecking his swoop.

Aconaa was fighting hard to keep her position, not helped by the fact that a certain Dug has managed to close the gap just as she had managed to put some distance between herself and Otho. As Sebulba starts coming up close to her she takes one of the jumps hard at full speed. A bit too hard. The nose of her swoop dips low as she comes in for a landing and she just barely pulls up, the bottom of the swoop sparking against the track. Still, she manages to straighten out and keep going, letting out a sigh of relief that she at least hadn't crashed.

B'haav looks up at the mention of the Silk Commission's tailors. That... Had taken some doing to put together, after all. Naturally... They're all from Refined Aesthetics. Because if the 'Commission' is sending someone? It will only be the best. And that is - of course - Refined Aesthetics. With a small smile, he looks up to the screen just in time to see Nerys' swoop taking to the air and he drops the datapad into his lap to applaud, the tabacc packet narrowly dropping atop the tightly-held technology in time. "Nerys Greystorm!" As cheers go, it's not much. But... The secret Balosar is trying. He offers a smile to Colo, and then takes up the datapad again, giving it another look before pocketing it for now.

Back to fidgeting with the tabacc packet in one hand. B'haav looks over to Tarq, offering a meaningful look, and then a shrug. Tetan lenses look back to the race as the action continues to unfold.

"Tarq Najjic embraces wide spectrum of friends, Colo." He pats B'haav's arm. "Doctor Adasta is one of kindest. Too kind, probably." He listens to Colo, Phia, and Fyrris talk among themselves without interjecting, but he's not hiding that he's paying attention either.

Not talking for once gives him more time to pay attention to where the racer he is supporting is in the course. He winces as Sebulba flares his vents, letting out a big sigh when Nerys is out of the immediate danger zone. "How has Dug not been banned? Suppose people love bad guys," he says, without a shred of self awareness.

He looks down at the gathered flag girls, narrowed eyes and shading his eyes with a hand. "Mmm, am surprised Luna is not in stands. Suppose championships - stricter, yes?"

Phia's hair smells like that same oil---clary sage and night blooming jasmine. Heady, floral, feminine and luxurious. She shifts slightly, settling against the man close enough that those baby hairs continue to tickle his skin. Most of her weight is settled where her arm has been draped over his shoulders---her big brown eyes flick toward the business of the race, but it offers her little in the way of entertainment, and so she goes back to what she was doing: conversating.

"I think you'll find that most women from Hapes do well at the tables. At least, they don't do terribly." It's a cultural thing, perhaps. Women aren't meant to emote---it's a weakness. If the elongated canines bother her, it doesn't show on her face---even her body relaxes, tension draining away so that she's left boneless and comfortable as a spoiled pet cat on someone's lap. "I think you'd do well to ask Azeezel. He's been everywhere. And divested clothing wherever he went."

She doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed at Colo's comment. Instead she examines her painted nails and hums. "You could use better sheets." Is all that she has to say on that matter. The mention of Luna does have her briefly looking out toward the race itself, but there are so many faces and she's already been drinking. It's futile.

As declared by Gutu the deadly weaving tracks level out to a perimeter circle of the coliseum, a final lap of the first championship race that allows the crowds a sight of the racers and the procession of raising platforms centering on the raised dais where Gutu has been standing.

For the racers the path is met only with sudden raised wall sections that force weaving and muscling for position as lights run ahead of them in flashing torrents of changing color. Multiple hues, tints and light spectrums to dazzle viewers while the oversized checkered holo-line bursts to life, each dark check with a face of a racer on display.

"ITS HAPPENING GENTLEBEINGS! WE'RE COMING TO THE END!!" Raised to the heights of the nosebleed seats with a stepped collection of ledges encircling the tallest synthetic butte and each steadily lowering plateau a holographic image of the racers as they near the end of the run.

Bizz flags down a passing Sullustan vendor, paying some credits for two Corellian potato sticks, which are fried potato tornadoes on a stick. He hands one to Chani Tahn, but dips his own in mustard and nibbles it. "I do not know Sebulba personally, but anyone who watches racing knows that dirty dug. I used to have a podracer! But a lylek on Ryloth got embedded into the nacelle." He keeps his potato stick in one stumpy-yet-surprisingly-dextrous hand and guzzles Corellian Spiced Ale (Ham Solo's favorite!) with the other. Some of the foamy ale sloshes onto his monkly frock.

Noemie's eyes focus on the holoscreens as the dazzling lights fill the stadium. Flashing lights and colorful sparkles are a great way to steal her attention, apparently. Her lips part slightly as she watches the spectacle, uncrossing her leg and sitting forward to watch the race. No longer resting it in her lap, the Naboo grips her datapad between both hands so it doesn't get dropped since she's so intent on watching the race now that it's in the final stage. That doesn't stop her from stealing glances at the more fashionable onlookers that walk past her row, though!

"Never scrimp on the bedclothes, Kid." Fyrris offers on the tail of Phia's comment to Colo, chuckling and letting his features fade back to polite neutrality before he responds to the feline of a woman resting comfortably on him, one lower arm now fully about Phia's waist and the other holding the bubbly for himself as well as for she if they deign to take a drink.

"As for the Zeltron, I could, but I like to take chances and see how they pay off, eh?" head lolling to one side while he looks to her with renewed curiosity "Speaking of which, how would you like to take a little ride in a luxury ship, rather than that nice, but quaint, little freighter you've been travelling in." one corner of his mouth turning up,

"I can promise a much more relaxing trip."

"Ahhhh, I missed it?!" Mollie Madine says as she barrels into the Swoop Race Stadium. The evidence for her late arrival is likely written on the two bottles of Corellian ale (at irregularly drank intervals) in both of her hands. They slish and slosh as she walks her way down the durasteel staircase towards a row of seats that's being loosely occupied. She's so tipsy, she's forgotten the appropriate way to step in front of people... do you go butt first, or knees first?

Butt first seems rude, so she opts for knees. It's a decision she regrets immediately, as she has to make actual eye contact with people while bumping knees on her way through the lanes.

"Sorry, pardon me, don't mind me, haha, excuse us," she's saying with a smile. She finally reaches an empty seat and parks herself down in it. Big swig from her bottle of ale that they don't even sell here. Feet up on the chair in front of her, prompting an irritated swivel of the man's neck sitting there.

"Ahhh, don't be daft. Watch the race," she says, lips still surrounding the neck of that bottle.

When Aryn adds in her own bouts into the technical world, Ulani's head jerks up and blue eyes have a new light to them. "That's wonderful! I could teach you a bit of what I know sometime if you'd like, Your Highness. And getting dirty is part of the fun. Just never wear your best stuff, mind. The grease is difficult to work out." As the race is nearing the end, Ulani powers down her datapad and tucks the fancy, schmancy stylus away into a small front pocket. One made just for the stylus. Because that's how Ulani rolls.

"You've that lovely vineyard. Have you considered gardening? I took up the hobby on Chandrila and it's very therapeutic. Granted our apartment is more green than the walls are blue but it's lovely to come home to."

Coming to the end, they are, and Warren is dead last. He's right behind one of the other swoop racers, swerving back and forth to avoid getting a faceful of dirt and rocks, but the finish line is several swoop bikes ahead. His pockets feel a little lighter, and there is a sense of desperation in him. He's not going to make ANY Of his credits back this way! He mutters under his breath, his noises completely washed out by the wind and the bike engine, and he puts his foot on the throttle hard. It takes every effort and strained muscle not to crash into the world as his swoop bike archers around to cross the finish line. Even as he accelerates as hard as the poor, old swoop bike can manage, he knows he's not going to overtake the lead racers. But he tries to at least swerve in front of the racer in front of him.

This was it. The final stretch, the last leg, the end of the beginning. Nerys pushed her engines to what, if this were a lesser vehicle, would be the red line, her swoop charging into the walled segment of the course, the swoop skimming the turns as she made that final circuit, probably with a bit more bravado than she should have, as the swoop, likely on its last legs (and that's what you got for using a rental) and fighting nerys for control. It clearly wanted to go one way, and she another, but she proved the master, in the end.

"What's a lylek?" The offered stick is assessed with some scrutiny before Chani takes it. "Thanks." A summary appraisal of it reveals it to be nothing more than fried carbs, if she had her guess, and a nibble taste test reveals that to be exactly the case. It's got some sort of spice on it besides, triggering a tingle through her taste buds that is equal parts guilty pleasure and deliciousness. "So that's a 'yes' to the frequenting the races. Did you ever race the podracer? Or just had one for.. reasons?" The question posed to Bizz leaves Chani time to muse on the potential reasons for owning one aside from that. "They used to have that on Naboo, you know? They had a course that went through the Lianorm swamp. I think after the Naboo and the Gungans reconciled, they closed it down. Mostly because it was sacred ground, I think."

Rook shifts her weight as she forces her attention away from the vendor and back toward the sea of faces, eyes narrowing slightly as she looks for... well, that's harder to say. Whatever it is, this sort of distance lends itself toward the woman's fondness for rude staring, and we must take advantage of such rare occasions. A tattooed hand slips into her jacket without bothering to look, fishing out a small black vape cartridge. A long drag is pulled from the mouthpiece as she forces a glance back to the racers, and it speaks well for whatever she just inhaled that she manages to look toward the actual race at this point.

Ariel gives a look to the wine that she's not taken a drink of and then to Herol as he moves to take care of it, "It sounds like there are a lot of exciting things going on for the Alderaanians, this is always good to see." she states in her ethereal tone to the others. "I think I need water, I've never been good with alcohol sadly." she gives an apologetic look to those gathered before she gives a smile to her guard, who has indeed fetched her something else to drink.

Aconaa was still fighting for first with a certain Dug, and now he was in the lead. Gritting her teeth and focusing on Sebulba, she maneuvers to pull up alongside him on one of those turns. With that raised wall coming up, Aconaa pushes into the Dug from the side to try to hit him into it. Unfortnately, the Dug manages to maintain control of his vehicle, and Aconaa lets out a swear under her breath as she pulls away to put some distance between herself and the Dug incase there was any retalliation from him.

"I would be delighted to learn from you, Mistress Kalgaav." Aryn comments back, pausing to sip her wine as Ulani went on to question about gardening. Aryn lowers her glass and nods her head. "When I was younger, I used to join the staff during the evenings and the harvest. I recall a certain satisfaction at cultivating life into the world. It was relaxing work, I miss it. I have property on Chandrila, though. Perhaps we might start a garden together if duty brings us back there, hm?"

Colo offers a faux-pout, a sticking-out of his bottom lip for all of a brief flash at Phia's not-looking-at-him-but-advising-him-all-the-same. Fyrris goes in for the double-punch and the Corellian lets out a groan like he's been hit with a blaster. "Not even -my- sheets! Ugh. Hafta talk to the cap'n about that so I can keep this pesky cat lurking around more often, I guess," He muses aloud, only to hush himself from further commentary when the blaring announcement hits him.

Then Colo's on his feet, eyes wide, gambler's instincts firing full in his blood. His hands clutch the outline of the sponsor's box and he leans forward like it might get him a better view of the final stretch of the race. "C'mon! Anyone but -SEBULBA-!"

B'haav is also on his feet as the race approaches the home stretch, tabacc packet now on the floor of the box between his feet. He's about to call out another super-great-cheering name-of-racer shout when something in his pocket vibrates. It's a datapad, folks. B'haav's hands lower and he quickly pulls out the datapad. Glancing down, he taps a few times, and then looks over to Tarq Najjic. "Can you hold down the seats for me? I need to go see to something." Tetan lenses look out to the racers as he steps away, his trust in Tarq Najjic shown with the left custody of his satchel, and cane.

Oh, dear. Aryn has said the magic word. 'Garden'. Drawing in an excited breath, Ulani catches it in her chest to keep herself from a literal squeal. Though it does eek out gently in her reply. "I've mentioned such an endeavour to Lord Bors on numerous occasions." Accent on 'numerous', to be sure. "The wish to build a public garden. I had considered Chandrila. And of course New Alderaan. Maybe in a few years time, I would be so bold as to try some kind of oasis on Jakku or Tatooine. A greenhouse on Hoth!"

As her pie-in-the-sky dreams start to manifest into a string of words, Ulani snaps her jaw tight and stuffs her datapad deep into the recesses of her satchel. "Forgive me. I get carried away. But yes. I would love to do that."

A battle indeed between Aconna and Sebulba; sparks flying from their impact of their swoops and the crash of metal when a plate from one of the quad-engined machine flies free to scuttle behind and along the track like a throwing blade.

The finish line is passed and the crowd is screaming. Faces are on displayed from first to last place all around the coliseum. Highlights of the racers runs and interactions on display. Lanes opening to bring the racers into a growing bowl within the raised platforms where Gutu stands above all, with lanes leading to first, second, third and finisher positions. The aged Dug and former champion making his second first place finish all season, upper arms thrust skyward in celebration.

"GENTLEBEINGS, CONGRATULATE SEBULBA ON THEIR SUCCESS AT TAKING LEAD POSITION AT THIS FIRST OF THE INTER-RIM SWOOP CHAMPIONSHIPS!!" The crowd goes beserk and Sebulba signs are raised into the air with rousing "WHOO! WHAH! WHOO! WHAH!" chants traveling in a wave around and around the stadium like a rolling doppler affect

"BUT DON'T FORGET OUR SECOND AND THIRD FINISHERS GENTLEBEINGS! LETS HEAR IT FOR ACONAA AND NERYS GREYSTORM!" those names getting their own blazes of confetti, streamers and fireworks spraying into the air and creating a blizzard of color and light reflection.

"WE HAVE AN AMAZING START TO THE CHAMPIONSHIPS AND OUR NEXT IS AT WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL, CLOUD CITY!!" Gutu's face is everywhere again, massive front teeth exposed in a triumphant smile. "THANK YOU FOR ATTENDING THE INTER-RIM SWOOP CHAMPIONSHIP FIRST ROUND!!!"

"Y'gritti, I believe that is against the rules." "Yes, quite. Rule 1,455: No firing upon the racers from the race stands." Takka and Rakka speak as the golden, gleaming, flame-painted Hapvarnna in his armor stands tall in the seats - horned-helm turning to stare at the ancient 6-2Aug. It's almost like they know whatever look is going on behind that T-visor. <"Whaaaat? He would neverrr-rrr-rrr do this t'ing you say."> When Aconaa's name is sung, Hapvarnna raises that rifle like some kind of spear and fires it off into the air again - BANG

As those around her start to rise to their feet, Noemie has to as well, her heeled wedges giving her a few inches extra to see over some of those standing lower than her in the stands. She leans to the right, then the left, trying to see between people. As the swoops come speeding through the finish line she can't help but smile. She doesn't know any of the racers, but their enthusiasm is contagious! She clutches her datapad so it doesn't get knocked away while the crowd gets excited. The rifle goes off again but the Naboo hardly even notices it through the crowd.

Brother Bizz says to Chani Tahn (after settling his beer mug in his cardboard snackie tray), "A lylek is the most fearsome beast on Ryloth - even more dangerous than the gutkurrs!. I was racing to win a prize pot for the CHILDREN, you see, and a lylek put its pincer right through my starboard nacelle. But I still got second place, praise the FORCE." The Ugnaught monk dips his Corellian potato stick in more mustard and gnaws half of it off, then doinks it into his tray. He raises his pudgy hands in the air. "Sebulba! Oh look, that Togruta is right on his tail! What a race! That Aconaa is a fast Togruta, I wonder of her head-horns make her more aerodynamic."

Fyrris is sitting only because Phia is in his lap but there is an obvious shift where he sits, bouncing himself and the hapan woman in his seat. Lower arms keeping her steady and upper arms suddenly up in victory,

"Yes! My Dark Fathier!!! HAHAH!" it would be the codru gambler who would have bet on Sebulba. The one who has been getting edged out, slammed into walls and crashed at least twice since the season started. The odds were stacking up. The bet chances were horrible, but the potential take was too good to pass up.

So the gambler continues to gamble, upper hands coming down to grab Phia's face so that he can slap a kiss on her, no art to it, all excitement; pure and unfiltered. "Stang but you -are- LUCKY and gorgeous!"

Amphia laughs, amusement curving her features in a way that seems quite genuine. "It's good advice though. He knows more about textiles than he's got any right to." She comments, reaching for the flute of champagne and taking a delicate sip before she hands it back---she isn't bothered by the closeness, and in fact seems to be ignoring it. "I never say no to trips. There's no other way to broaden one's horizons." The farther you go from home, the wider your brain gets, apparently.

Phia actually smiles at Colo's antics. She leans her cheek against her own shoulder, hair imposing further on Fyrris' personal space, watching the man with those big brown eyes in a manner that might almost be mistaken for affection. "They're terrible sheets, really." She agrees, flexing her ankle again in a way that makes the leather glitter. "Maybe eventually we'll be able to afford silk." We. As if she has her own berth on the ship at all. As if she doesn't just wander around and take naps on other people's bedding. Her interest wanes though when he becomes very invested in the racing.

And then she's being kissed---it surprises her, but she doesn't do anything about it. She just sort of lets it happen, and even laughs after it's over, bright and bubbling. "Do you know, people often tell me that I'm lucky." Or unlucky. It's really one or the other. Poor Tarq.

"I don't think I have anything that belonged to the winner," Imani says to herself as she looks through the objects she purchased, curious, but not put out to discover that her method of randomly choosing things by how cute they were didn't result in sussing out who would win. Yet more proof that she's definitely in no way psychic. Alas.

And then it was over, and Nerys pulled back on the throttle, as the racers passed over the finish line, and she pulled the swoop back into the pit, sliding down and giving herself a shake. One did tend to cramp in the saddle. "Congratulations!" That, to Aconaa, as Nerys promptly ignored the Dug, heading away from he swoop and closer to the stands. He might have won, but he tried to cheat. Suck it, Dug.

Aconaa's own swoop was rattling a bit, having taken its share of damage over the course of the race. It might have been relatively new going in but it was definitely in worse shape now after a hard hit against the tracks and now butting heads with Sebulba. She lets out a sigh as she crosses the finish line just behind him, reluctantly accepting her second place finish and moving her swoop into the second place lane before finally coming to a stop and pulling her helmet off - something that takes some doing with it fitted over her montrals. She flashes a small grin at Nerys as she's congratulated. "Thanks, you too," she replies.

"Hoth would be quite the endeavor. I am not sure how fertile ice could be, but I would love to read your research on such." Aryn issues with a smile, her attention on the race long lost. She came to this for Ban's sake, the Lord loved swoops, and she figured he might enjoy the race, too. Clearly, Aryn came for the conversation and wine, something no one would openly admit about reasons for traveling to Corellia. "Nothing to forgive, Ulani. Relax. Your passion for growing things inspires me."

"Well those are -wise- people, Amphia, that notion of having you with at the tables and a few cruise ships? Not a notion, a request, an invitation. I insist." his hands are still on her face, and with a conscious effort they go to her knee and around her shoulder, respectively, the only hand not on the hapan the one holding the champagne.

"Tarq, she is very lucky. She's going to be -very- lucky as well." glance stealing to the Kuati and his ears perk up in lupine fashion again, "Also I need the name of the tailor for your top." attention swiveling to Phi, "I think you need a new outfit, an ensemble or a dress." brow cocking up into a sharp arch, "Maybe some more gems from various worlds akin to your present decoration, yes?" the lower arm around her waist lifting to raise her hand and show her wrist.

"Something coiling up from here."

Warren's swoop came dead last. By a hair he had missed crossing the finish line in front of the other race, and he kicked the side of his swoop bike, making it wobble and twist out of alignment before it had come to a stop alongside the other swoop bikes. Switching it off, he rested his head against the handlebars with a heavy sigh, the cheering of the crowd in his ears and filling the entire stadium. Good grief, how had he completely flubbed that up? He was trying to participate in a champions' race amidst actual good racers as a wannabe gang swoop racer from his childhood. It was rediculous. Grumbling to himself, he climbed off his swoop bike, a little shaky from adrenaline and the lack of movement from the bike, and removed his goggles and face mask. Where the goggles and mask had been, his face was clean, but where the dirt and dust had hit him, he looked like he had gotten a weird kind of sunburn.

The sun-worshipping Togruta, with his flame-painted armor is still cheering. Shaking his rifle. Hollering, while the two ZEDs with their cycloptic eyes turn to look at one another. "Oh dear." "Yes. Quite." The are reduced to beeps and boops, while Hapvarnna poses atop someone's chair - who turns until they see the rifle-bearing figure, <"SUUN-CHASAAAAA ACONAAAAA!"> Another ka-blam of the ancient rifle, before Hapvarnna is dragged back to his seat by the two ZEDs. A string of glow sticks hanging off the rifle with teeth and feathers. Rakka and Takka can be seen waving rapidly at the racer.

Noemie Lenoir shuffles her way through the rows, her thin frame proving to her benefit as she pushes past Nautolans and Feeorins and other bulky lifeforms to make her way up the steps and toward the Hapan Silk Commission presentation she primarily came here for. She pauses at the doorway to adjust the wide-brimmed beach hat she wears, using both hands to set it just right so she looks extra cute to the delegates she's going to meet. Like an artist holding her designs close, she clutches the datapad to her chest and steps out of the station, toward the presentation booth, walking easily in the woven heeled wedges she brought here from Naboo.

"Thanks for the potato stick. Glad you survived the podrace." Chani motions with former and expresses sentinment with the latter. With the race coming to a finish, Chani rises from her seat and begins filing out, getting a head start on what will be a swamp of sentients. Some will linger, some will try to leave immediately, and almost all of them will get caught up in the swarm that follows. Chani hears an equal amount of boos to cheers, with Sebulba, as Bizz stated, being infamous for his attitude on and off the track. Passing by a trash bin on the way out, Chani dumps the treat bag and takes one last bite of the fried potato before it, too, joins what will be countless other snacks and beverages piled into bins so tall that it probably won't stay clean.

She gets lost into the crowd fairly quick, an inconspicuous and unassuming person in a veritable ocean of sentients who are the same.

The show is over, and Mollie Madine's bottom is still firmly planted to that seat she didn't pay for, with her foot lightly nudging against the backrest of a seat currently occupied by an increasingly irritated looking man. She's got a commlink tucked into her ear, though, and she's loudly talking over those around her.

"Yes, kittens," she's saying into the comlilnk.

"You what? Five of them? No, mate, I said five -tons-. Yes. Yes. -YES-," Mollie says, rolling her eyes. "What language do you speak? Is it basic? How many different ways do I need to tell you? Do I need to yowl into the comlink like a wookie 'fore you understand me? Five tons of Loth kittens. Ya..."

She pauses, blinks, and turns her eyes up to Fyrris' little private booth. Was she invited? Probably not. She stands up and tucks her hands into her pockets anyway, moseying her way in that general direction while she continues to speak.

"Y'can take 'em? Y'sure you're not gonna... make 'em into rugs or anything, right? 'cause I'll sort you out if you do," she says, the edge to her voice gone the second she's thinking about some ill fate happening to those... five tons... of kittens.

"Really? Oh that's grand! Thank you! I'll send my boardin' codes to you right away!"

She sprints up the stairs and... well... she doesn't -kick- open the door to Fyrris' suite, but. It's close.

"I found someone to take the kitties!" she exclaims!

"Just absolute drekk of sheets," Colo agrees with Phia, nodding along as he does. The race ends, though and he lets out a harsh puff of air from his nostrils before settling back. "Well. Didn't lose everything at least. Nerys showed!" He announces more to himself than to Tarq, though the other gent did ask who he bet on earlier. Maybe it was a lie, but now it seems the truth is out.

"But we'll get silk one day," He assures Phia with a turn of his head from the race for the first time in a few minutes. With things wrapping up, his bloodpressure stops racing higher and he manages a cock-eyed smile at the lap-seated woman and her furniture. "Maybe Fyr can kick us an extra investment in, er, crew morale?"

Ulani breathes gently. Trying to relax, by the way, is not easy to do. "Import the soil and insolate against the cold and to prevent invasive species from getting out. Not that it'd survive very long. Any greenhouse would have to be state-of-the-art. Granted, that idea as a whole is more of a fantasy. Not one I would pursue anytime soo-- oh!" The race is over. When did that happen? "Well, that was invogorating! I have some new sketches and it's been lovely to spend time with you all. We're are returning to active duty soon, I am told, so this was a lovely respite. Thank you!"

"If you like." Phia agrees, apparently not aversed to being dressed. After all, there isn't a lot of nuance to what he's proposing---she's meant to be a distraction, and fortunately she's very good at it. Not so fortunate, perhaps, for the people that Fyrris intends on distracting and fleecing of their money, but fortunate for him and for her. She plucks that champagne up again and empties it into her mouth, before handing it back to the man with all the hands.

"Terrible. Abyssmal." She agrees with Colo, commiserating because she's very aware of how terrible his sheets are. "Yours are the worst." She isn't sure why. But she also hasn't thought about it much. Scratchy and smelling of cleaning products. Abyssmal. The suggestion has her looking at the four-armed man though. Her lips press together in consideration. "I'm sure you could talk to him about it." She tells Colo, smile starting to curl across her features---little cat with a canary in its mouth.

"You should ask Tarq about the outfit I was wearing when we met. I was quite proud of that one."

Brother Bizz finishes his fried cronut with Corellian apple compôte filling, and scarfs down the rest of his Corellian ryshcate tart too. He tosses his cardboard goodie box to a trash droid but keeps the extra-large collectible mug of Corellian Spiced Ale for his journey the exits.