Log:Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit: Dud Bolt Memorial - Malastare

Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit - Dud Bolt Memorial - Malastare

OOC Date: November 13 2021
Location: Nal Hutta
Participants: Luna Tokani, Bizz Bliptettjupp, Nerys Greystorm, Netep Muri, Min Jodo, Jin Jodo, Kasia Ashkuri, Aola Ziveri, Rook, Tarq Najjic, Asalla, and Reverberate as GM

"MALASTARE IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE SIXTH of the Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit races! THE DUD BOLT MEMORIAL!" Gutu Phluu, Gran Major Domo of RACING raises from beneath a small stage floor to stand behind his podium while surrounded by a cyclone of streamer ribbons broad and glitter confetti. The early evening sun is just beginning to tumble below the horizon of the jungle canopy, night animal sounds absent in the cacophony of the event at hand. Laser lights sunk into the ground engage throwing lights in all directions and illuminating the smoke and fog being emitted by hovering droids that seem to be everywhere at once. Holoemitters projecting the gran's visage into the air over the stands that rise to either side of the starting lanes for the raceway.

"Gentlebeings libation and music for tonight has been provided by The Pazaak and Tabac. Nar Shaddaa's finest gambling and cigarra venue. A beacon of refinement and the will to face odds in the pursuit of something greater for ourselves, don't forget to visit the Parmac sector of Nar Shaddaa the next time you're in orbit!"

Dancers whirl through the stands and the grounds, weaving about those seated and the swoops in position while Gutu continues unabated, "Today our racers shall speed through the course where Dud Bolt himself won his first championship! Turned over to nature decades ago and now opened anew! Beset with the twists and turns of Pod Racing with a few new twists added to the mix! Gentlebeings prepare yourself! RACERS, START YOUR ENGINES!"

Rented swoop? Check. Rather boringly coloured swoop suit? Check. Harnessed and maglocked backseat driver? Che--newp. Ah well, two out of three wasn't bad, as Nerys stepped forward on her swoop, settling hew weight just right, making some final adjustments to ehr engines as the announcements began. She had taken the time in the run up to the start of the race, to catch sight of the racers peppering the field. Some she new from previous races, others from other adventures. All was well. A single rev of her engine and she nodded, signaling that she was ready, as much with a lift of her hand as that final pace to the starting line.

A few steps behind Nerys is a tan-skinned woman of average height, wearing a flight-suit rather than a swoop suit. The cut and cleanliness of it looks like this is probably the first time the thing has ever been worn, and it's colored in a stylish black (that's gonna be hot) with some red accents along the shoulders and seams. She takes a moment to look over her similarly-rented swoop, seemingly becoming familiar with it. She finds the right switches as she climbs on, sitting up straight and adjusting knobs and buttons to power the thing on in a low-power state. Just enough for the repulsors to keep it lifted and not make people suspect she's going to try to take a sudden start. Asalla's a few places back anyway, and as she fastens on her helmet she nervously looks over the crowd for a familiar face. She knows a few there, it's just a matter of finding them, really, which she spends the next few moments doing while the others prepare.

"-will be /fine/, Tarq Najjic promises." A man in a relentlessly leather suit - leather coat, leather slacks more snug than is reasonable, all in black - is reassuring the woman sitting next to him. He's not wearing a shirt, like that's just a thing people don't do, and there's a triangle of chest hair visible below the unbuttoned coat. He's sitting down, of /course/ he unbuttoned the suit coat. A green feather boa loops around his neck and tucks down the coat and down his back.

"See? There she is!" He points. "Looks like has done this many times, yes? Good colors on suit, too. Maybe need to get her sponsorship so swoop can match- but point is, /very/ few deaths this season. Sebulba is Sebulba, sure, but Tarq Najjic probably warned her."

The power of the crowd is astounding to behold in its intensity. The sheer mass of sentients gathered together seems to make the very air vibrate with the cheers that erupt at the announcement of the sixth race of the Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit. Min is, for a moment, awed, and its the crowd that she regards rather than the Gran that rises up on the stage to begin the presentations. The walls of the stands rise so high that a shadow is cast on the watchers and the start of the track, meaning the canvas of the sky above is made all the more vivid in its own itensity. The reverbation of noise fills her body and Min takes a deep breath in, like the essence of such energy could be absorbed by merely inhaling. There's nothing really changed, but if asked, she'd have described the energy as electric. It's like there's a subtle current in the atmosphere zipping from one sentient to the next.

"This is some spectacle," Min asides to the only other person she's sitting with. Her attention turns from the crowd to the track once the Gran calls for the racers to start their engines. She doubts she'll be able to hear them, even though she knows modified swoop bikes like those used in these races are probably powerful sources of noise in their own right. She knows they're aerodynamic frames over an engine tuned for as much speed as possible and packed with suspension modifications to the repulsorlifts that'll compensate for such wild weight shifting and turns. Oh, and good brakes. The leather of her jacket groans when her arms folded over themselves and Min kicks up a boot onto the arm rest edge jutting out from between the seats directly in front of her. The screen built into the seat to watch once the racers go out of sight is ignored for now in lieu of viewing those gathering on the track. "You think one of them is going to explode?"

It wasn't exactly Starfighter piloting or even shuttles to be out on the swoop track...but it did look like fun! That was enough for Aola to be interested in the Swoop race. The blue-skinned young woman's form was wrapped in her usual flightsuit, but the Swoop she was borrowing was...well, completely new to her! It was going to be an interesting little outing.

Sweeping her gaze over the other racers and crowd alike the Twi'lek actually lifts her hand in a little wave before securing her helmet in place, the protective weave and articularing plates secured around her lekku to protect the otherwise vulnerable 'brain tails'.

"Alright," Aola muses aloud, "Just like a fighter....if you were strapped to the outside of it..."

Bizz waddles down the bleachers to his proper seat. He has his Dud Bolt Memorial race t-shirt pulled over his Jedhan robes, and a matching yellow hat. In his grubby hands is a goodie tray including a Bantha Breakfast Biscuit with blue sauce, a silver package of blue macaron cookies, and an entire plate of fritzle fries with Sernpidalian mayo-ketchup dipping sauce. In the drink holder is a large frosty mug of the local Vinta Corporation purple ale, called the Vinta Harvest Ale.

Luna Tokani is among the dancers weaving through the crowd. The thin, sheer fabric that veils her body is bissected with accents of gold that catch, bend, and twist the light off of their reflective surfaces. Strategically-placed, those patterns of gold play against white against only the most intimate of places. The outfit is meant to tantalize -- the lion's share of her body is on display, veiled only in white fabric that turns sheer when the light hits it just right.

Her purpose is singular -- to distract those seated in the stands momentarily. A pretty thing to marvel at as she spins and twirls elegantly amongst the stands, all blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles lifted up from an alien sun on her soft and delicate skin.

The stands are packed, and seated among the racing fans is one Kasia Ashkuri, dressed as she always is in an outfit that is at least two levels more fancy than it needs to be for the current setting. It's an eye-catching dress in a vibrant blue shade, long enough to swish just above the ground with each step. Her jewelry game is similar in level of niceness, as is her up-do hairstyle and makeup. It's just her way. A bag rests in her lap, the top of it open as she casually plucks something from a container inside, popping the snack into her mouth. A cracker of some kind by the looks of it. Beside the cracker like food is a smaller slender bottle with a colorful juice inside that she sips from every so often. Someone came prepared.

The person Min is sitting with is Jin, her brother, who at the moment is enjoying the spiced meat-on-a-stick. Enjoying might be loosely used in relation to his actual enjoyment, but the sauce he is squeezing out over the length of cooked meat is making it delectable enough to, at least, be eaten. He takes a bite from it, chewing and responding, "If we're lucky, at least three will blow up. I've heard a race without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.." Jin continues to chew until the loud slurping noise indicates he's drinking whatever overpriced concoction passes for fizzyglug out here. "You follow the races any? Who the rekk is Dud Bolt? The rekk kind of name is that?" Another bite and more chewing. Jin has the yellow sauce from the meat-on-a-stick smudged on one side of his cheek.. somehow.

"READY!"

The spots focus on each racer and vehicle, shifting hues and spectrums to cast each in differering colors and then even into ultra-violet to make their clothes and paintjobs drastically change. Light strips embedded in the ground engage, crawling lines of bright glowing light marching away into the darkness - splitting into multiple tracks that disappear into the jungle itself.

"SET!"

More lights wash away the darkness of the growing night, turning blue-black into whimsical pinks and golds, searing oranges and venomous greens, glitter particulate light as flower puffs being released by the lighting droids - the effect creating sparkles in the air and pin-point reflections like sand devils twirling around the crowds and grounds. Gutu's voice parting the din like a velvet blade, "Remember gentlebeings, the after race party is brought to you by Shim Productions, The Galaxy's premiere boutique party planners! For any and all who wish to show that they understand how to ensure a good time - contact Shim Productions and you'll have the event of the century!"

"GO"

The ground embedding running lights blaze bright green and the speed of their crawl affect intensifies as such that it becomes flowing emerald lines that attempt to flee from the racers.

Thankfully, Nerys had had time to adjust to the sort of spectacle that these races seemed to enjoy, and she didn't bother to shy away from the lights and fireworks show, of a sort, that both lit the course, and accented the stands, at least those that were closest to the start of the track. her helmet was on, and she had her attention easily divided between the course ahead, and the readouts on the inside of her helmet. A quick rev of the engine, one, two, three, as the start was counted down, and then she pushed the accelerator to maximum, shooting off of the line and onto the course. Nerys drove the way she always drove. hellbent for leather and with no discernable sense of self preservation. Anything terrible that might happen? As a certain other Greystorm might say, 'It'll buff out.'

Luna continues her way through the crowd. It isn't really so much a dance as it is a... fancy walk. Walking with style, you know? She's moving on a pair of heels but making it look completely effortless. The tight fabric of her outfit shimmers beneath race lights as the engines roar. She can't so much hear the metallic tinkling of those bits of gold on her outfit, but she can feel them against her skin as she moves. And twirls, and glides in the narrow space that separates the spectator seats without ever brushing up against their knees with her own.

Her path takes her towards the pair of Min and Jin Jodo. She pauses very briefly in front of them. They both receive a friendly smile from the blonde dancer, and the latter receives a little extra: a finger that collects the bit of yellow sauce he's somehow managed to get on his cheek. It whisks it away and that finger is popped delicately into her mouth before she's on her way. She moves along so quickly that it's difficult to say whether or not she knows the two, but they are the only people she's stopped in front of, however brief a stop it was.

"Asalla is clever." Rook manages to find Tarq Najjic's hand and squeeze it until he glances down with wary eyes. "Oy, your grip does not help her hold on tighter. Did not agree because were not /asked/, because you are not racing. Here." He presses a disposable bottle into Rook's other hand that is definitely not filled with whiskey brought from outside the racing grounds, which is far cheaper than buying it in overpriced containers with an 80% markup from these vendors.

"Take drink, will be fine. See, is Luna!" He inclines his head towards the dancer. "Do not hire strippers for deathsports, surely." He glances sideways at Luna himself. "Is undressed nicely today, yes?" Look at the pretty girl, drink, forget about your friend's ever-increasing life insurance premium.

As the spectacle grew and the crowd got louder, Asalla kept her attention on her own swoop. Nervous and shy, it's easier to ignore all the people staring at her if she just doesn't look at them. Her hands grip the handles of the swoop and as the countdown starts she takes a quick glance down at the bike to make sure everything is set properly. It would be humiliating to have a failed start like that minor league race back on Taris...

Thankfully, however, that doesn't happen. At the 'GO', she slams the accelerator, holding on tight as the g-force from the sudden thrust jerks her body back. Her legs hug the bike tight while she glides through the first few moments. The mathematician's eyes analyze the route in front of her, looking for an optimal 'line' of sorts through the upcoming turns and obstacles to optimize her path and save a few seconds on her lap time. Route in mind, the Lorrdian leans forward, confidence rising as a plan is in motion.

A surge forwards, the swoop Aola rides surges forwards, the twi'lek gripping the controls tight as she speeds onwards. Whatever hesitation she might have felt tickling the back of her mind before the race began are lost in the scream of the thrusters and a whoop of excitement.

Now she just had to just avoid crashing and burning!

"Followed? No. I had to deal with watching them sometimes. Lots of men like to stand around and talk about the races like they're experts. What you need in a swoop, what you need in a racer. Like some high to-do managers looking to buy up the next rising swoop star. Podracing, swoop racing, doesn't matter. There's so much gambling on these things. Canto Bight just races animals and I've seen millions of credits poured into a candidate just because of some superstitious belief in numbers or some other rekking dumb factor. Frakking idiots, all of 'em." Min replies to Jin without glancing to look at him. She watches the sudden take-off of the racers, instead, swoops zipping into speed so fast they're almost impossible to keep track of in the first few seconds just because the mind isn't planning for the eyes to keep pace that fast.

"Anyone placing bets on the winner?" Kasia asks loudly enough to carry to those nearby, gaze sweeping the immediate area before lifting to look in the distance to the race itself. "Nerys has always seemed good at this sort of thing, but she's the only one of the racers that I really know to any degree today, so my opinion isn't the least bit informed." A sip of bright red juice follows. The bottle is lowered and slid back into its place in the bag on her lap, wedged in tightly enough that it probably won't spill. Hopefully.

Rook seems to be discovering new depths of Scowl (TM) as Tarq continues to speak. The white-haired woman's attention drops briefly toward the not-whiskey, her fingers curling around the diminutive bottle before her eyes are redirected toward the pretty girl. To Luna's credit, the dancer's sashaying movement does manage to hold Rook's attention for the span of a breath or two, green eyes narrowing a bit as she tries to make out the finer details that may or may not be covered in gold detailing. And the 'GO!' echoes overhead, and there's a sound escaping the young human that is -awfully- close to a growl, and that little bottle is pushed back into Tarq's free hand as Rook reaches instead into her own jacket. She still grips one of his hands, but the tiny silver spice vape that she pulls free is likely to help his cause, the mouthpiece brought to her lips for a drag that will hit far quicker than any alcohol. Look at the pretty girls. Look at the pretty girls.

The closeness of the trees once the race has started in earnest form a tunnel around the racers. Branches hang from above, jut out from the sides and vines hang like stalactites from the canopy, threatening to batter, entangle, or simply sweep riders from their vehicles like snatching hands of flora giants. Yu'nasa the Sanyassan and Sebulba are out the gate and muscling at one another for position before the dug is left behind with a clever checking maneuver from the repto-mamalian pirate. Tufts of thick stemmed bushes create the threat of humped dragon's teeth set randomly in the path of the competition.

"Gentlebeings we'd like to, also report that sadly racer Netep Muri has withdrawn from her participation in the Dud Bolt Memorial race - a move that's sure to strike her position on the Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit leaderboard. When questioned asked the reason for this last-minute bow-out, Muri's crew cited "medical leave" following a brutal assault at the Chance Castle Casino on Nar Shaddaa. The perpetrator is allegedly still at-large, so travelers to-from the moon are advised to be on the look out! As per Netep Muri, the rendering of the alleged perpetrator's face by authorities in recent holonet news cast is, in fact, NOT an accurate portrayal of the aggressor in the attack, but rather one of the fellow victims. But enough doom and gloom, BACK TO THE RACES!!!!"

The lit paths split, wending away and weaving back into one another - creating moments where quick reflexes and thoughtless action is needed to keep racers from colliding or to claim a lead from one of their rivals. The ranat Otho'oku left far behind the others. The old Pod lanes visible despite the years that had been allowed to reclaim some of the duracrete barriers and metal scaffolding that created places for vines to turn even the close jungle grounds into tunnels where a single misstep could result in disaster.

Mixed into these exciting dangers - false hillocks that the keen eye can find creating ramps for the courageous or crazed.

Oh! It was a jungle cruise! Hopefully, the floor would not open to reveal a sarlacc. But...hold on, would that actually be a disappointment for the spectators? or the racers? Focus, Nerys! She kept her swoop under control, as she swerved and dove, moving to try to make best use of the spaces between the vines, the ramps, and the other racers, as Nerys' swoop traversed the course, the accelerator pushed to the red line. She found see the pack coalescing along the course, more in her readout than through any turning of her head this way or that. She knew better than to take her eyes off of the course. Sightsee later, keep your limbs now!

The girl may be fresh off Taris, but everybody knows Sebulba. He used to always win! Asalla also knows Nerys, having worked with her prior, so when Nerys takes one path and Sebulba literally ramps out of sight, Asalla takes the other path, taking her chances with the unfamiliar. She keeps herself focused, brown eyes wide in analysis at the new surroundings while she deviates from the familiar. She sits up slightly as her swoop races at lethal speeds over unfamiliar terrain, though she still has to duck a few times at some of the overhead foliage. She keeps her eye on the path, her mathematical analysis working constantly to determine an efficient 'racing line', hoping to gain time with precision where others, like Sebulba, do it with flair. Could be worth trying, though. She leans forward as she comes to a fairly sharp turn, going wide as she decelerates, and then bringing the swoop inward as she presses forward again at full speed.

Forward forward forward! The least experienced rider on the track but clearly Aola was having a blast. Keeping tight almost -beside- Asalla, one particular weave has her backing off for a moment and it's a second too long as she loses ground.

A little 'eek' behind the protection of her helmet, the Twi'lek banks and jams down on the thrusters.

Dangerous branches or boggy swamp? Hell, the branches looked like more fun, especially compared to the idea of tumbling off into water she swore she could smell through the sealed mask from here!

Luna's path continues to wind and wave through the various spectators, her body twisting elegantly as she goes. A few of the more... emboldened... patrons attempt to place their hands on her, but they'll find her elusive. Evasive. Always a perfect twist or twirl at the right time to see those fingers slip and get palms full of air rather than the skin they were seeking. One Rodian is able to get his hands on one of Luna's wrists mid-twirl, however, and guides that twirling form into his lap within the bleachers. Luna laughs as she settles down, and that Rodian wiggles his shoulders from side to side in happy satisfaction of her response. He's treated to a little tap of her index finger to his nose before she's slipping up and off of his lap to continue through the route. Being pretty ain't easy!

Her path does take her towards where Rook and Tarq are sitting. It's an eventuality and an inevitability, but when she's there, her pace slows. Her head cants to the side as she looks down at the pair of faces, one familiar, the other not so much.

"Chance Castle Casino? That place in the Corellian district?" Min's musing more to herself than Jin, but that changes when she glances over at him. "You think it's connected to that other group trying to stir up trouble? Bunch of kriffers being violent because their blood is up?" Her crossed arms adjust, triggering another gentle groan of leather from the jacket she's wearing. It's zipped up in the middle, but the short hem exposes the fit black garb beneath. It's form-fitting in its styling, down to the matte black leather boots with squared heels. One slightly sways in the air with the dip and rise of her foot, perched as it is on the balls of her feet. The other rests flat against the ground, almost like its braced for something.

"Viewers we want to thank B'Rot Metal and Mining for their sponsorship and the materials that have gone to help make the Dud Bolt Memorial possible - having lent heavy equipment used to clear the old paths and install new lighting for the race. That's B'Rot Metal and Mining, based in BEAUTIFUL Cloud City, Bespin!"

Net like structures seem to jump from the grim lighting of the jungle path as the race bends on its switch-back laden orbit of the stands somewhere in the middle of all the madness. "GENTLEBEINGS! LOOK. AT. SEBULBA. GO!" the aged but still skilled dug sailing through the air, rolling his swoop through a hoop of branches and vines to slam down and spray muck and moss filled water behind him Arms of thick vines and tree banches that create barriers that the wise suggest be followed, despite the dizzying back and forth of the dog-leg paths that would have made even some of the greatest Pod Racers of all time strain to keep their control. "But keep an eye on newcomers Asalla and Aola Ziveri! They look like they're intent to move past him and Yu'nasa to give Greystorm a RUN. FOR. HER. MONEY!!!" Gutu's excitement such that the dancing ladies and men begin spinning and swishing through the crowds!

But there are gaps, gaps and risks. A means to bypass the lengthening of the course at the risk of personal disaster, dismemberment, perhaps the path to their ultimate destiny.

Jin is the target of Luna's affection for a moment, the yellow sauce on his cheek whisked away with thoughtful gesture. "Oh? I had something on my face.." He doesn't say thanks though. It's probably just a lack of manners or he's accustomed to being groomed in some way; which is not very clear. He does take another bite from the meat-on-a-stick, finishing it, then comments back to Min. "An easy subject to relate on, racing. I wonder if there's something to be done about hosting our own.. maybe fixing a racer up, you know? You saying millions of credits being involved has me thinking. Could be a way to move up in our line of work.." The thought is punctuated with a loud slurping noise from the straw and cup he's drinking from.

"Not sure. Once Meena is healed back up, maybe we'll have more answers. I'd like to return the favor, if possible. I've always loved a good game of retaliation." Slurrrrrrrrp.

Brother Bizz is seated watching. He takes his Bantha Breakfast Biscuit with signature blue sauce and has a big bite of it, chewing. "Oh that Sebulba is giving them what-for!" He grabs his commemorative goblet of Vinta Harvest Ale to wash down his biscuit. "But the Goosestorm is out front!"

Tarq's expression goes flat at the mention of Netep Muri's situation, and the humor is gone from him at a flash at mention of a second victim being blamed. His own hand tightens around Rook's uncomfortably, and then he wrenches his hand free altogether. "Kriffin' /drek/!" A strong outburst even somewhere where people are losing money on bets all the time. He stands up quickly, and takes a long drink from the bottle he'd tried to push on Rook. The drink doesn't stop until it's two-thirds gone.

He takes a deep breath, then another. He looks at Luna, and for once, he's not even slightly distracted. To Rook, he says, "Will be - on - ship." He stalks down the stands, making his way towards the exit from this section, leaving behind only a mostly-empty bottle of booze.

Asalla still has a cheering section. It's just one person shy of its prior high.

Oh, now they were really racing. Nerys jerked her swoop hard to the left, as the machine shot out of the second leg of the course, as the racers descended into the switchbacks. This was the moment when Nerys might prove that she was both foolhardy AND stupid as her swoop descended into the vines that tried to obscure the shortcuts through the course. Well, here went nothing. In she went, and she likely thanked, well, she did not believe in a Maker, but, whatever, that she did not actually own this swoop, as she descneded, making the first entry easily enough, the vines only fluttering in the wake of her swoop. The second and thurd proved more difficult. The second hard, the third nearly impossible, as the vines, which seemed to be made of durasteel snagged and caught at the bike, forcing her to hit the engine to stop from being caught completely. By the time she made it through, she was trailing greenery like streamers.

Asalla runs her tongue over clear-glossed lips as the track grows confusingly twisted, eyes narrowing to study the field with what little time she has to do so. A small gap in the vines look to avoid one of the wider turns altogether, which she aims her swoop for, darting in front of one of the other racers that went around the long way. She cuts through the vines fine, barely even needing to steer out of the way of a bogstalker and her swoop glides back on to the track proper well ahead of the racer from before. As she comes to the next turn, she spots a similar gap in vines, aiming for it as well. Given how well the last shortcut went, she doesn't spend as much effort analyzing the gap in the vines this time, relying on recent muscle memory instead.

Which was, of course, a mistake. As the Tarisian's bike aims for the second shortcut through the vines, the swoop catches some vines that were hanging closer together than she had anticipated. This results in her swoop bike fishtailing into a wide tree trunk, a flash of sparks and bark projecting from the bike and tree from the collission! Asalla holds a hand to the accelerator as she looks back at the rear of her swoop to assess the damage. "Kriffing repulsor engine took a dent," she groans to herself in a rare display of offensive language. "Looks like it has a few minutes left, though," she wagers to herself. Probably can't even hear herself over the noise of the swoop and the wind. She gets back on the track through the shortcut, but saved absolutely no time from this second one, coming back out in the same place she entered at. When she spots one more gap in the vines, she decides against it, instead staying on-track as she zips through the bogs of Malastare.

With her attention anywhere but the race, something bordering on alarm flashes across Rook's features when Tarq jerks his hand away. Eyes widen slightly at the expletives, and then the whole of her expression is stones over as she finds herself alone. A moment of confusion ticks by, her gaze flickering from the crowd to the racers, and then she setting her jaw and turning her attention fully toward the small vape cartridge in her hand. Walling herself off from whatever just happened, and keeping her attention -well- away from whatever may or may not be happening on that track. A look is tipped toward Luna as the dancer draws closer, but for better or worse, Rook seems to have made her own version of a retreat. She'll cheer when it's over, all right?

Kasia's gaze slides over to Tarq at his outburst, dark brows jumping curiously, but her curiosity isn't enough that she actually pushes to find out what's wrong. This isn't the bar, its harder to be nosey here. Her focus settles ahead to the race once again, casually snacking on the crispy treats stashed in her bag.

Luna had missed whatever outburst had drawn attention towards Tarq, but when he abruptly stands and makes his exit, there is a bit of a look of confusion on her face. It doesn't last -- she's better at her job than that. She just continues on her way, breezing past the empty seat that Tarq had left. She doesn't know why, but as she moves past, she's compelled to reach out and touch the other woman delicately as she goes. A simple, fleeting touch -- a stroke of her fingertip along the underside of her jaw, and then she's gone. A fluttering, brief little distraction. A twist of lovely skin and shimmering fabric and glistening jewelry as she glides on by. Some spectators glance fleetingly, others lingering, while others still look mostly annoyed at the way she's obscuring their view, however brief that is.

ranches zip by, narrow tunnels...hard to know exactly what was coming in the dark blur with the shapes ahead of her. Crazy speeds for the Twi'lek who'd never thrown a leg over a swoop bike before, but piloting reflexes and the sheer thrill of it was spurring her own.

Pushing it further she dives and weaves the bike between the trees and shapes, plunging into the shortcuts...only to give a little startled yelp as a particular 'criss-cross' of branches cuts across her bike.

The Twi'lek ducks low, hugging her form to the bike as it twists through a gap that might have beheaded her if she was taller... but she breaks through with impressive speed.

She made it! It's enough to have Aola giving another loud whoop of excitement.

"THEY'RE PAST THE THE JUNGLE JAWS AND SWEEPING INTO THE ZILLO BEAST BONEYARDS! THE DUGS OF OLD SLEW THE MIGHTY BEASTS OF THEIR WORLD TO THE VERY LAST DURING THE CLONE WARS AND THIS BEND OF THE MALASTARE RACEWAY IS A TESTAMENT TO BOTH THEIR CREATURE'S STRENGTH AND THE STRENGTH OF THE DUGS!"

And open the raceway does, jungle opening into a fern choked plain of serpentine skeletons ranging in length from sixty to almost one hundred and twenty meters length with multijointed fore and back limbs, spiked tail sections and places where bones have dropped away from the skeletons to create hazards all their own.

The central lane for the race surging towards the opened mouth skull of one particularly large specimen, the bones reaching easily ten meters in height with most of that gaping jaws with narrow paths between long, rotting, fangs before passing again into the 'open'. The raceway continues to weave through the bones and skulls of the great beasts - nearing a wall of jungle foliage with narrow channels cut between the trees.

"Gentlebeings these racers are as smooth as the fabrics you'll find at The Hapan Silk Commission - for the discerning fashionista! Don't settle for less when you can wrap yourself in the finest from the The Hapan Silk Commission"

Here she comes, trailing streamers of green foliage, the bits and pieces being ripped away by the breeze to decorate the ground or flutter down like banners around and on the white bones of the zillo beats that littered the earth along the course. A few choice zigs and zags and Nerys was now streamer free, and much more boring, quite likely. She made up for it by going at top speed through the course, flying as though she fully expect that if she hit something, it would simply vaporize in her wake. ignoring the fact, completely, that it was likely she who would vaporize. This was clearly not the time for caution, as she caught sight of her arch nemesis chugging along in her wake, but not so far behind that she could be cautious. No, no, not this time, you old bag. She hoped.

Asalla's swoop races out of the bog and into a fern graveyard or sorts, the Lorrdian sitting up as the spatial obstacles become less prevalent. She studies the path ahead of her now, that mathematic calculation finding the time to analyze some without as many obstacles directly nearby. She grits her teeth, finding the 'optimal' path based on her swoop's condition, her abilities and the area ahead, and twists her wrist to slam the accelerator forward, aiming to race through one of the skeletal rib structures near the main route. She steers her swoop bike in the proper direction, passing over some of the smaller bones that lie in front of and between it, the speed and force of her mount destroying the brittle bones in her wake. For any cameras watching her in particular, it'd probably make a nice shot for the highlight reel! As she comes out of the rib structure, she twists her head up to analyze the coming turn, steering her swoop wide so she can take the inner curve of the turn, still determined to use mathematical precision to gain an extra few seconds over the competition.

A near thing...again. There was a fine line between brave and reckless, and the blue newbie was balancing very keenly on.

A shift of her bike, Aola tears forwards to keep giving her wild, happy chase.

The main stands can be seen in the distance as the curve begins to shallow and the jungle patches begin to thin. Mist washes through from forest shrouded wetland and light bearing hoverdroids create a dazzling blaze to highlight racers as much as the track lanes. Trees with thick boles appear in the gloom of night - in the middle of the tracks forcing quick reflex swerves and even sharp turns to keep from being thrown into the jungle proper or simply crashing into a wooden wall.

"GENTLEBEINGS!!"

The race end is nearing, fireworks and fog machines go off rhythmically - showering vapors over the racers mixed with sparkling glitter dust that creates a cyclonic contrail behind each that radiates with staccato strobes of pin lights that give the affect of variated coloured flames trailing after each as the black and white checkers of the finish line finally comes into view.

Was it really announcing the end of the course? With the mists and the hillocks and boles rising from the ground to strike unsuspecting racers? The light did illuminate the course yes, but they also flashed whole swathes of the course into incandescence, making it that much more difficult to navigate. Tricksy race officiators, trying to give a final spectacle at the end of the course. Well, that's what they were here for, as Nerys came zooming out of the old boles, and flew into the mists, her dark form peeking out now and then as the heat from her engines burned circles in the whiteness that was blanketing the course, marking her straightaway approach to the end of the line. It was all in, now. She did not even bother to see where the old bag was. Surely a sign that she was focused on the finish.

As she comes around the final curve, Asalla cuts a perfect line inside the turn, extending to the outside of the lane after the curve - only just when the celebrations begin! The fireworks and the streamers catch her by surprise, and when she sees the flame-like lights come in to existence she screams her swoop through them. Coming near to the stands now, she takes a brief glance up as though to find a familiar face, but must not have found who she was looking for as her gaze moves back to the track, honed in on the finish line. She presses the swoop forward with a final burst of acceleration, crossing the line and slamming down the decelerator to glide her bike to the side and in to a parking berth in what must have been a practiced maneuver. Hope the cameras caught that.

Bizz guzzles more of his Vinta Harvest Ale purple ale. "The GOOSE is out front!" he says, spilling purple drink on the spectators nearby. "Come on Sebulba, show them what you got!" Some of the three-eyed Grans near him start bleating in protest at being sloshed with beer.

That last bend, the final straight, Aola's eyes were on the prize. Her violet eyes widen in delight at the sight. She'd made it without crashing and burning!

Well, not without one last rush! Thrusters at full, the Twi'lek is practially giggling at the display of the flames and fireworks, adding to the excitement of it all as she skids to a stop amidst the group of racers.

As things finally end she lifts her helmet from her head, grinning broadly. "That was -Amazing!-"

Luna Tokani's making her way through the crowds and the stands, but as the racers round that final turn, the majority of them begin to stand up to see them crossing the finish-line. The distraction sees Luna blink and turn her head over her shoulder to see what everyone else is looking at. A wookie standing behind her gives an encouraging growl, and reaches his fuzzy paws down to hoist her up and onto his shoulders so that she can see the crowd. It probably doesn't hurt that he's now got a pretty girl perched on his shoulders, but maybe galactic chivalry ain't completely kicked the bucket yet.

The fireworks and loud engines make Luna's eyes widen, and she holds both of her hands above her head as she watches them blow past that final turn and screech to a sudden hault. "Wooooooo!" she yells, barely audible over the sound of engines, fireworks, and other screams. Oh, and the wookie going "yggahghgahgwgwaggaghghgh" beneath her. She laughs, the light from the fireworks reflecting back in those gray, hazel eyes that always seem to reflect whatever color she's looking at. Now? They're a fireworks display.

When the boom of the loudspeaker announces a winner -- and thus an end -- Rook is shoving her vape into an unseen jacket pocket and glancing upward. It takes a moment of squinting to make out Asalla's form through the swarming pit crew, but once she has, her breath escapes in a soft hiss. Relief? Maybe. It's hard to tell, with her jaw set and her chin tucked as she begins to shoulder her way past the scores of roaring fans. There's little chance of reaching the racers any time soon, but in the meantime, the tattooed woman seems determined to find her way out of -- and away from -- the crowd.

As Nerys passes the finish line first more smoke and sparkle powder erupts from beneath them, arrowing in the wake of their passage, like a funnel of swirling color to highlight the passage of first place. More powder spews starting gold and then through silver to bronze as the first three finishers pass.

"Gentlebeings! It's over! We have our WINNER! CONGRATULATIONS TO NERYS GREYSTORM!!!" the crowd giving out sudden "Ohhhhh!" and "WOOAAAAH!" mixed with the wild cheerings as every other play suddenly shows Sebulba's swoop side-swiping a hump of what looked like grass but turned out to be stone, sending him spinning and skidding before his travels take him to the very back of the pack.

Larger than life holograms appear, showing Nerys Greystorm then Yu'Nasa and finally Otho'oku Baj. Captures of their expressions before the race rotating above and showered with light and fire from pyrotecnics. Highlight clips of their races tonight and before.

"BUT LET US NOT FORGET THEIR CLOSEST COMPETITION! IN SECOND PLACE YU'NASA!!! AND IN THIRD OTHO'OKU BAJ!!!" After the first three finishers Aola and Asalla's images are added to the grouping with fireworks both real and holoimaged going off around them. Only Sebulba is missing from the display, for his embarrassing drag across the line finish.

The race complete, the stands open for crowds to close in - held in check for the racers to have -some- space while still in proximity to those snapping stills and holos. Gutu takes a long spin at his podium with dancers spiraling all around him, all the while announcing, "STAY TUNED FOR THE TIMING OF OUR NEXT RACE ON TATOOINE!!!"

Because of course... Tatooine.

Nerys, who braked just before she would have hit the wall, lowered the throttle on the swoop to slide it into the berth. being as 1: it wasn't her bike and 2: she did not want to answer questions of whether or not she had taken enough insurance out on it for the duration of her rental, immediately hopped down from the seat, glancing over at the other racers, most of whom she didn't know, but offering congratulations all the same to any and all she could see. One, she did, and she lifted a hand to get Asalla's attention before she disappeared, "Nice driving, Salla!" Soon, though, Nerys was gone, pulled away, likely to find the single spectator who had come out to see her race.