Log:Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit: Tatooine

Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit - Tatooine

OOC Date: December 11 2021
Location: Tatooine
Participants: Luna Tokani, Bizz Bliptettjupp, Nerys Greystorm, Netep Muri, Pranda Jax, Fyrris, Kasia Ashkuri, Sar Yavok, Aconaa, Mandl, Jallo Dara Rook, Tarq Najjic, Asalla, Sumi Kora and Reverberate as GM

"GENTLEBEINGS WELCOME THE SEVENTH of the Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit races! THE B'OMARR MONASTERY SWEEP!" Gutu Phluu, Gran Major Domo of RACING strides from the opening of a balcony on the cylindrical building that once housed Jabba the Hutt's court to stand behind his podium, arms thrust victoriously into the air. Obscured by the blizzard of streamer ribbons, pyrotechnic smoke and glitter confetti bursting from tubes concealed by the balcony railing.

Twin suns begin to set, allowing the daily heat of Tatooine to bleed off while sand and sundry colorful paper and favors are cast about on the first of the nightly winds. Holoemitters projecting the gran's visage into the air over the stands that rise to either side of the starting lanes for the raceway and beaming visual displays of racing, crashes and poll rankings into the smoke and dust above the stands and the palace itself.

"We hope everyone enjoys the display and refreshments for tonight provided by The Pazaak and Tabac and Shim Enterprises! Combining the aesthetic genius of Shim Production's entertainment know how and Nar Shaddaa's finest gambling and cigarra venue. For high class celebrations and affordable WOW factor, be sure to check these two OUT!"

Lights flash and more confetti rains over the crowds as the race lane lights begin to power on to neon brightness, with a holo-broadcasted start line. "RACERS TO YOU VEHICLES!!!" the crowd explodes, cheering and setting off little favors to add to the visual and audial din before more fireworks explode just before the line. "RACERS, START YOUR ENGINES!"

Dust. Sand. Suns. It's hot, and there's so many fine particulates in the air that Pranda's every thumping step out to the swoop bike on the line doesn't really do too much to add to it despite the little clouds kicked up around the textured soles of her boots. The protective suit keeps the seat of the bike from burning, much like her hands are saved from the metal extensions of brakes and other switches along the handles. Slipping into place on the bike, the booming voice of the announcer is the one that leads her thumb to the necessary switch and like all the other swoops, the engine of her JR-4 kicks to life and begins to growl with a hunger. It makes the dust and sand even worse. Pranda focuses ahead, gaze aimed towards the starting line.

Thankfully, Nerys was already by her swoop, and so she did not need to expend more energy than she had simply trying to keep herself from melting under the heat of the twin suns. As the gran began his announcement, Nerys lifted a hand, a signal and a greeting to those in the stands that she knew, before she climbed up and into the swoop she had chosen for the race. She knew many of the faces of the racers who had come out to this next event, and those received a lift of the hand as well, but no word. She was not breaking the seal on her helmet and inviting dust and sand in under her collar. Racing in it would be bad enough. Once she was settled, she moved the swoop to the starting line, giving her swoop a final once over before she decided that she was ready to begin.

Luna Tokani is moving up in the world. Or is it down?

Either way, instead of being one of the girl's in skimpy clothing in the stands, she's one of the girls in skimpy clothing on the -track-. Today's articles are quite Tatooine-inspired. A two piece of shimmering gold, with similar-colored gold chains that hang from her waist and belly. They catch the desert sunlight and reflect it in every direction as she holds one of the many flags that will signify the start of the race. Her hazel eyes look a little sandy brown amidst this backdrop, and they're trained on one particular JR-4 as its engines come to light.

Okay, so she's a little biased. A little bias is fine.

She feels the sound of engines coming to life in her torso, and the smile it brings to her face is as bright as those Tatooine suns. She laughs emphatically, and it's all she can do to not prematurely start waving the flag in excitement.

Mandl's custom swoopsuit is flaps-within-flaps, a series of channels for air and dust that has the benefit of revealing even less detail about their body than is normally present. They mount their vehicle, pumping the engine *wrrr-RRR-rrr-mmm* in a salute to the overseer. Marking readiness.

A human woman in a black and red pilot suit walks around a swoop bike that looks like it's seen better days. Scuffs and dents still mar the rear of the bike but mechanically it seems to be running fine. Probably cost a lot to repair. Asalla grabs the matching helmet from the steering handles and offers a wave to Nerys, recognizing her first. As she's clasping the helmet in place she catches sight of Muri and, hands still on the rim of the helmet, the last two fingers of her left hand twitch a couple of times, the pinky an extra time in particular. The slender woman climbs on board the bike and reaches down to twist the dials and presses her thumb to the buttons required to start the engine!

Holed up in his private box, near the monastery itself, Fyrris reclines to watch it all, both what can be seen in the hear and now as well as what he can view on the displays arrayed before him.

"Another day, mmm?" "It's hot on this planet. Why can't they have these races on some world with a name like Air-Conditia or the like?" "Not in the cards, I suppose?" the servant droid quips in its questioning answer, handing an icy beverage to the Codru-Ji who has a number of fans pointed at him and sun-shader screen keeping the low hanging suns from directly shining on him.

"Very funny." "Clearly the amusement protocols you had installed have taken." "Clearly." both Codru and Droid look at one another. The droid's head tilting and the four armed gambler's brow lifting then both are gazing back out at the madhouse waiting to be let loose.

Vega's not a stranger to the Swoop circuit and doing repairs for some of the more obscure racers has helped put a few more credits in her pocket. Not to mention she's fixed them since she left Eshan so early in life. She checks over wires and gauges carefully before moving on. The Echani is dressed in simple clothing that is easily cleaned when it got dirty, her long hair has been tamed back into two french braids that fall down her back. She gives a slap to the machine that she was double checking and then moves quickly to get off the race course so she doesn't get added to a splatter chart.

Flex'ka Vana has landed nearby, emerging onto the spectator stands in a hooded cloak. Usually it's for nefarious purposes, now it's just so he can keep the SUNS out of his eyes. In one hand he's carrying a viewscreen, the other is wrapped around a brushed steel thermos. The Shi'ido pauses his stride to find a good seat, choosing one at the very end of the first ring. The spot allows him a decent view of the track, the racers in starting positions, as well as keeping him mostly out of flying debris range.

Netep has recovered (enough) from the theatrical near-death experience and is back in the saddle, chumani! She's brought her Nightfalcon as her mount of choice for this re-entry race, as the big, blue behemoth of a bike was her first and most beloved. Also, flashy as hell compared to the others. The colors of her suit coordinate well enough, making the walking kaleidoscope easy to see against the bland expanse of....sand. It's hot, it's dry, and she loves every degree of it.

The halfbreed's third eyelid winks a moist layer of tears over her purple irises that turn to regard the stands as she climbs aboard the bike, stuffs the helmet down over her impossibly wrangled braids, and toggles the rider-bike interface system with a touch of her hand to visor's edge. A subtle gesture, maybe just a flexing flick of wrist comes in response to Asalla's and she settles into a comfortable, forward lean. Ignites the Nightfalcon's engines, levitates a slow meter or so off the ground as repuslors kick into gear. For now, a low hum, but soon....

Jallo Dara has arrived and is making his way into the stands to watch the race his armored form protecting him from the blinding light of the sun (don't mind the lack of eyes has nothing to do with him not having a care for the brightness of the sun)as he walks towards an open seat in the stands his visored helmet scans the racers preparing for the start of the race, <"Oh good I didn't miss the beginning. So much chaos at the start it's the second to best part.">

Well, this might be tempting fate a bit. Aconaa was down on the tracks with a borrowed swoop bike, getting ready for the race. It was, afterall, something she had always wanted to try out. She had a pretty basic flightsuit on to pass as her 'swoopsuit' for the race and a pair of goggles to keep the sand out of her eyes. She checks over the bike's controls and revs it a bit, making sure it's all ready to go, then glances around at the competition. Spotting Asalla nearby, she gives a curt nod to the other woman before turning to focus on the track ahead.

It's not fashionably late if the race hasn't actually started yet, so it's possible Tarq Najjic is here earlier than intended.

The human is walking out just behind Jallo with his companion just behind him. "Thought about leather suit today." The one with no shirt. "Then remembered is desert planet. Would be digging sand out of awkward places for /weeks/." Instead he's wearing a red suit with floral patterns of black and flashy white over a black collared shirt.

"Jallo!" he finally recognizes the Mandalorian from behind - an acquired skill. "Sit with Rook and Tarq Najjic. Wherever - are still - seats." He scans the audience. This time no one he knows well is in the VIP booths. So much for seat piracy. "Up there, maybe?" He jerks his chin towards empty places a few rows from the top. "Up there," he decides, and begins to walk up the steps. "Please excuse." Somehow he's making it okay, despite his kuati heels. Practice!

"READY!"

Dancers holding display panels that flash the names and stats of the racers march across the starting line in a wheeling parade of flesh and flashy clothing. Pirouettes and leaping spins mixed into their movements while holo-light displays and smoke erupt from the panels held. The face of each racer broadcast above, rotating between others until the very last of the dancers have made it across.

"SET!"

All lights go out, leaving only the red glow of the twin suns bathing the raceway. Even the crowd hushes, allowing for only the engines of the swoops to be heard. No music, no fanfare, not even the pop of a streamer cannon letting loose. The air feeling as though it was being sucked into one massive inhalation. A fizzing sound drifts from just before the starting line and lights blaze to life to wash the racers in tones of gold when Gutu's voice returns and the crowd's cheering with it.

"GO"

Green lights, hues of various tints and spectrums erupt with the call. The race is on.

Rev. Rev. Halt, clutch, shift, and then throttle again. Pranda's swoop takes off from the line, sweeping out of its starting position to try to find an open lane to surge forward with. The dirt and sand that had shifted around beneath the bike's active repulsors is nothing compared to the carved walls of it that kick up in response to the powerful engines ejecting thrust to propel the bike forward. With the light of the planet's twin suns glinting off the swoop and the polarized visor of her helmet, Pranda immediately gets into the mix of other riders as they had off from the starting line and while the crowd erupts with a series of cheers. Or maybe it's braying, for blood. The excitement of the potential carnage that might get churned up in the sand.

Borrowed swoops, that you did not care about, if you crashed, were or had been the way to go for Nerys...until it wasn't. And the contact her foot made on the controls to speed the swoop forward as the call came to begin the race...met with nothing but a short sputter. Ah. Well, her testing of the fates had to turn up unlucky eventually. No worries, as Nerys remained on the seat of her swoop, hands flying over the controls as she made some quick adjustments, before she tried it again. This time, the swoop roared to life, completely ignoring that she was now quite likely one of the last off of the line. Swoops did not acknowledge failure, right?

"GO!"

Luna Tokani immediately lifts the flag in her hand above her head. The wind from the desert is at her back and catches that flag, rippling it towards where the swoop racers have begun to lurch from their starting positions and into the race. She pulls a breath in through her lips as she immediately loses Pranda's swoop in the blurred rush of speeders past her body. They are far enough away from her that she's in no real danger from them, but the -sensation- of it all is overwhelming. She can't help but laugh and jump up and down in excitement, her strappy little sandal-flats creating foot-sized divots in the sand beneath her.

The air the speeders displace cause the flag to rush in the opposite direction and behind her head. They're more powerful than the wind as they roar and zip, and her blonde hair follows the same pattern as the flag.

She's yelling. An emphatic and excited "woooooo!" that's entirely drawn out by the sound of speeders, but she can feel it in her chest too as she hops happily up and down, much to the delight of the nearby maintenance crews.

Mandl's choice, one of the craft that made clear the difference between "a swoop" and "a speeder-bike," was a banana-seat strapped to a V8 engine. Be their curious choice of transport as it may, they rocketed forward in a spray of sand! Expertly adjusting torque and RPMs with knees and (... eesh, hooves), they are hurled bodily forth! Wheee-eee-eee!

At the 'GO!', Asalla twists her wrist back in an instant and her bike thrusts forward near top speed. Maybe it's the damage sustained to the bike from her last race that keeps her from starting at full power but she holds on tight to prepare for the G-force of the thrust. Her bike shoots out beyond the starting line, past the streamers and pyrotechnics. The Taris-born Lorrdian allows herself the briefest of moments to glance down at her control boards, likely ensuring the bike took the heat well, and presses forward across the track, pre-emptively gliding her way toward the outer 'lane' of the track, if it could be visualized as lanes, to prepare for a smooth line through the first turn. The black and red helmet of her flight suit keeps the sand and debris out of her face at the cost of a bit of aerodynamics, but after the scrubbing she had to do when the LAST race was over, there's probably a good reason for that!

Nerys isn't alone in having a little trouble. Muri's beloved falcon LAUNCHES FORWARD and then....has a coughing fit. In layman's terms. In a Muri's terms....

"Fraggled borked up piece o'drek rep--" AH! nope, forward again it kicks. Is it gonna go? It is. Is it?

Maybe Netep should've just stayed in bed. Bed's a great place.

Luna Tokani, still standing in the sand and holding that wind-waving flag above her head, is front and center row to see Muri and Nerys' speeders lurch forward and stall at the start. She makes a soft noise that's, again, lost to the sound of sand and wind. As the two riders fuss with their engines, a distant but encouraging voice calls out from Luna's direction in front of them.

"You can do it!" she says.

Heart of gold, Luna Tokani.

Aconaa revs up her swoop one last time, rocketing forward alongside the rest of the racers and leaving the starting line behind. Being her first time at the races, she was definitely playing it safe, trying to distance herself a bit from the other racers and avoiding any unecessary risks. For now, at least. Her gaze shifts between her swoop's readout, the track ahead, and the racers around her, being extremely cautious that nothing goes wrong. Fortunately, she was a Togruta, so she had at least some awareness of her immediate surroundings even without looking.

Flex'ka scans the racers, looking over them as they await their countdown. Before he can investigate all of them and pick a favorite, they're OFF, and his attention shifts to the viewscreen he brought along. Hey, there's a bunch of extra info on here. Neat. The shapeshifter scrolls through the racers' stats, records and whatnot, before focusing completely on one of the larger view screens overhead.

Vega had shuffled herself off to the side where the other mechanics that were just visiting were. She gives a smile to one she is familiar with, "Seems like we might need to give a bit more elbow grease after the race. Some were looking a bit worn already. Hopefully no one makes a new skid mark out there." she hooks a finger at the course. Then the woman moves to find a seat and kick her feet up and watch things.

The initial straightaway streaking out from the Monastery leaps from a small cliff of rock and sand that sends up spumes of glittering silicate in the wakes of the high speed craft in such a way that it gives credence to the name of the Dune Sea, like golden waves that freeze in place.

There are no lights sunk into these grounds, but there are sail barges and skiffs retrofitted for crowds to watch while also marking out the race path. Known as the Sand Rapids for the dunes that contain loosely covered, and dangerous, rock formations - shallow basins that turn out to be chasms filled with loose piled sand that can turn to sink-holes.

If anything, though, the presence of so many that it dissuades Sand People from coming near. To this section at least. But it is a massive expanse across dangerous dunes, where the dastardly might dash against their rivals, or those in the lead might be tempted to swerve and blow sand into the faces of those chasing.

Rook trails after Tarq, arms laced across her chest and her jaw set as she shoulders her way past one of the thicker throngs of onlookers. She is dressed in her usual assortment of unremarkable black on black, with long hair manhandled into a loose tie at the nape of her neck. A quick glance is spared toward the track as the loudspeaker booms, green eyes skating across the various racers, and then she's re-centering her gaze on Tarq's back. Fortunately for him, looks can't kill.

Jallo Dara glances over at Tarq and nods a bit, <"That sounds like a plan."> He turns to follow Tarq and Rook up towards the other seats with a better view... <"I don't think the view will change for me no matter where I sit so may as well sit with those who I know and can conversate with.">

Pranda ignores the blurs of skiffs set up as watching platforms for the race. More concerning is the thick cloud of sand and dust that would be easy to get lost in. Being lost and traveling at this speed? Never a good combination. Pranda veers to the side, using the generous width to make sure she's not catching someone else's kicked up particles or exhaust. It's hot enough without baking in the backwash of another swoop's vents. She edges the throttle farther, increasing the sense of vibration through the bike's seat and encouraging it ever faster and ever hotter at the same time, no matter the particular danger that might come with having clogged vents and too-hot coils on a planet that's as harsh to life as it is to machinery.

Perhaps that one little hiccup at the start was the last of Nerys' trouble. At least, the woman could hope so, as the swoop sped across the desert, and she set her sights on catching up with the rst of the pack. She ahd her eyes focused on the singular figure that she had long ago decided must be beaten at all costs, but she was not, yet, in a position where she could make an attempt on his lif---his position in the race. No, now, now was the time to make up distance, to find a good flow across the sands, and to avoid the traps which were sure to erupt from the ground when she least expected it. Jabba's palace had not been undefended.

Mandl, although off to a promising start, had never expressed appreciation for the featureless monotony of the dunes. Initially hot on another racer's exhaust, a combination of the glare from the endless sands and unkind changes in the desert winds results in their losing ground...

With the rest of the speeders lurching their way out of the starting area, Luna gives one last encouraging cheer and wave of her flag. The other girls have left, mind you. Far less pitying of those poor souls with engine problems than she, apparently. Luna turns to look back towards the stands and hurries across the raceway to safety. It's a long race, but she doesn't want to be there anywhere close to when the riders will be coming across the finish line. Her steps take her up and into the stands, still holding that golden flag that she's got rolled up and tucked into her torso.

In that shifty, sparkly little two-piece that's really no more than a golden bikini, she moves throughout the stands to find a place to put her flag for the end of the race. On her way, she naturally comes across Tarq. That guy is everywhere!

"You! You are everywhere!" she says to him, clearly agreeing with the writer.

And she looks to those accompanying him as well, Rook and Jallo. She beams at them. Her soft, cream-white skin has taken on a touch of tan and pink due to the twin suns. Smatterings of freckles have appeared on her shoulders, arms, and across her nose as if they were flowers popping up in the first rain of spring.

"I got to wave the flag! Did you see?" she asks the three.

They probably didn't, but she seems so excited, doesn't she?

Asalla's swoop bike glides in to the golden sand dunes as she comes off the low cliff, speeding between skiffs full of onlookers and gamblers. She allows herself a short look over her shoulder, lowering her head quickly in acknowledgement of the familiar orange skinned Togruta directly behind her and leans her bike slightly out of the path so she doesn't blind her friend. She still maintains her lead over her, though.

As the first turn comes, the Lorrdian glides her bike inward, decelerating as she approaches the curve, only to slam on the accelerator halfway in to it so that she comes out at full speed, and tilting her bike back toward the outer lane. The mathematician is focused more on maintaining a perfect 'racing line' than in raw speed and short stunts.

There's a benefit to a all-encompassing helmet. No sand face! The obstruction hazard that sand sprays pose are of course very applicable, so Netep keeps her path as straight and to the point as she can, even if that means narrowly skirtly natural obstacles. Nature's a you-know-what, and the desert is no exception, but fellow racers can be even more so!

Netep opens it up wide in attempts to regain some lost ground and rips over that cliff with reckless abandon into the welcoming embrace of the dune sea. One could ride forever, out here.

Tarq grabs a seat and scoots over so that there's room for Jallo and Rook both next to him. "Think is the helmet," he tells Jallo, "but always forget you do not /see/ in traditional - sense. Imagine noise bothers you that much more?"

He glances down at the starting line, where everyone has finally gotten off, and sees Luna. He raises a hand in a royal wave, slight hand motions back and forth, before sticking two fingers in his mouth and unleashing a loud wolf whistle. It will be largely consumed by the crowd, assuredly. "What /does/ flag girl do after race starts? Best be gone by lap two." Because it would be tragic if she got run down.

And then she comes right at them. "Tarq Najjic saw," he says drily. He waves to a seat next to Rook. "Know Rook, yes? See, Rook?! Are fun people in crowds sometimes." He gives her shoulder a squeeze with a grin. He also presents her a gift: her own spice vape. Where did he get it? Best not to ask questions.

As Aconaa gets her bearings relative to the other racers, she can't help but notice who's right on her tail. Sebulba. THE Sebulba. A smirk forming on her lips, she maneuvers her swoop in front of the Dug and flies low to the ground to kick up a cloud of sand to try to throw him off. Much to her dismay, this only seems to -annoy- the Dug and he shoots forward through that cloud of sand to effectively pin her bike between the 'pods' of his own custom bike, the power coupling between them coming threateningly close to the Togruta herself. "Karkin' hell," she growls under her breath. Time to see how hard she could push her borrowed bike. She guns it hard to pull away from the Dug, engines straining from the effort as she puts enough distance between them to safely swerve to the side away from Sebulba.

The Codru sits upright when Sebulba is accosted in the field and denied his revenge on the togruta woman, brows lifting. Even the server droid to his side looks shocked - optics brighter and small 'lifts' built into the rims of the sockets popping out as if to bug its eyes.

"Oh I like her. Have drink vouchers sent." "Yes, sir. Right away sir." "Send her an appreciation package as well." "Are you sure?" the droid turns to look at Fyrris fully and the four armed club owner shoots a look back, "Did I stutter?" "No sir, your speech programs are impeccable as always..." the droid turns to one side of the private box, working several screens. "Damn right they are." a haughty sniff from the codru who is back to viewing the racer readouts, "Gonna have to see if we can meet this maniac." leaning forward to rest his lower elbows on his knees when his wing-tips are down on the floor, upper hands held with fingers steepled.

The winds of fortune certainly are fickle as the Sanyassan pirate, Yu'Nasa's, place in the lead is quickly overtaken by other racers streaking past, leaving her in a cloud of silicate while she shouts her curses through the screen of the bandanna over her mouth and nose.

Skiffs and barges become fewer and fewer seen and camera droids take up their place. Swoop displays begin showing the race lane markers - though driving lanes have become fuzzier and fuzzier as the run moves out into wide, open, desert. Even the dunes have mostly flattened, mere humps on the horizon, but the path is headed towards a vast dip that rapidly approaches.

Lagging at the back, the rodent-sentient Otho'Oku is chittering and sneezing for all of the dust, tail whipping back and forth while he stands in her seat, twisting the throttle to no avail while she's left in the rear of the pack. Sebulba is shaking a fist and hollering SUCH obscenity at Aconaa as she manages to pull away.

"Gentlebeings! Newcomer Aconaa has swept right into second place with that little joust with Sebulba! The Swoop Circuit tradition of newcomers powerhousing at the head of the pack is mysteriously maintained!!! The racers ae nearing The Carkoon Turn! If our racers don't want to risk position loss they're going to have to take a dangerous turn within range of the Great Sarlaac! Said to be the resting place of the body of the legendary Boba Fett, who even now is being kept alive and forced to exist in a state of living death for another nine hundred years while he is being digested! But your ships and structures won't have that same worry of a living death if you get your materials from B'Rott Mining and Metals! The next time you think of cutting corners, go to Cloud City, Bespin and have a chat with the informative representatives of B'Rott!"

The Pit of Carkoon, indeed, looms ahead with the race-way markers displayed vehicle sensors showing that there is -some- leeway without going out of bounds, risking disqualification. The shriek of engines and the vibrations in the sands having woken the sarlaac. It's tentacles are lashing from the spike tooth filled maw and the biting beak jutting forth within the pit.

Tentacles seeking prey to join the famed bounty hunter.

Vega takes the down time to check over her tool kit as the race continues. She didn't want to leave oil and other debris on them like some rookie. Her BB-unit rolls over to her, warbling as it approaches and she gives a chuckle, "We're heading back as soon as this race is over, I promise little one. All of our business here is handled." she tells the droid as he rolls from side to side.

At these speeds, Pranda can feel feedback in the bike from deep divots of sand carved up by the repulsorlift's downward force against the loose grain. As much as the sand is forced down and then up, it's also forced back, carving a wide V into the desert. The interface of her visor doesn't hold back when coveying exactly what danger is coming up and Pranda doesn't risk anything. Not much, anyway. She guns the throttle and threads through at a distance that flirts with danger without getting so close that she could peer into the cavernous maw of the open wound in the desert sand. Risk can bring reward, but too much danger has the odds too stacked against her for Pranda to risk bringing the zipping swoop too close to the edge.

Why did Nerys know this was coming? Of //course// the race would take them towards the Sarlacc Pit. This was not something you wanted to put out in front of a wave in fromt of a space tomb raider, okay? Someone who could not turn down the chance to see what delights and delicacies might be found in said pit, if only one could get both a good look at the maw of the monster, and mark where such baubles might be. And, well, what was a girl to do? Especially when there was a race on the line, and a field of competitors of marked skill and determination Also Sebulba, but he didn't count except as an enemy combatant. Nerys angled the swoop, ginning the engine to full throttle as she aimed herself directly at the pit, it's yawning mouth and grasping tentacles sweeping the sands as she approached, a living vaccum intending to sweep her up and into its maw. And then, just as a pair of the tentacles snapped out to bring its prey down, Nerys double stamped the throttle, the swoop popping up and over the beast, giving her only a brief glance down at its maw before she was clear.

Was that an arm she had seen? A booted foot? The world would never know. But she would.

Mandl attempts neither guts nor glory, the revelation of the Sarlaac's involvement stirring their most practical nature from *deep, deep* within! Taking the middle, hugging their turns, they manage not to wipe out entirely? A victory for the status quo of "breathing!"

Asalla's eyes open wide at the sight of the sarlaac. She'd been notified before the race that it was going to be a race hazard, but reading it and -seeing it- are two different things. An altogether more intimidating factor is SPEEDING DIRECTLY TOWARD IT. The Lorrdian presses her lips together behind her full-covering helmet and grips the handles of her swoop bike, taking a mid-track position to try and go around it and avoid the flailing tendrils. She speeds past one that came close to hitting her, relaxing in relief as she passes it but it comes around and catches her bike by surprise, sending the girl tumbling forward.

The soft sand of the dunes catch her fall, thankfully, absorbing virtually all of the impact, and the sarlaac's tendril flailed in a different direction in an attempt to catch another racer, giving the Lorrdian a chance to rush up and mount her bike. She accelerates immediately, glancing down to read her systems readout. Cursing and grumbling to herself all the while, a black-gloved hand reaches down to twist a dial, transferring some extra cooling toward repulsor four. "Same one as before.." she groans. Hopefully the cameras didn't see that. (They did.)

What -do- flag girls do after the race starts? This particular mystery is being solved, at least for Tarq Najjic, by the little Luna Tokani. She's still clutching that flag to her torso when she's introduced to Jallo and Rook. The hazel-eyed woman's smile might imply, however, that she knows at least one of them. Luna's eyes turn to the tatooed woman and she smiles sweetly in her direction. She gives a little back-and-forth turn of her shoulders, arms wrapped around that flag.

"I know Rook. She was at the Circus with me. She helped me pick out this," she says, and maneuvers that flag away from her chest enough to show the necklace dangling from her throat. It's gold, like the rest of the jewelry on her body. A delicate chain with a simple, elegant fitting that holds a deep red gemstone.

"And I am pleased to meet you, Jallo," she says to the other man. Her eyes turn to the empty seat beside the two, but she doesn't invite herself to sit. She does give a glance down the row of the aisle where other dancers weave through the crowds, delighting as they go. But Luna? She seems to be content to stand there with her flag. Proud as a peach.

What do flag girls do after the race starts? They mingle, apparently!

"Can I sit?" she asks.

There's comfort in the familiar. Or... something like that. Rook's attention shifts toward Luna at the dancer's glittering approach, though it's hard to say if it had more to do with that bikini or the accompanying 'see, Rook?!' Whatever the case, she -does- see, and there's even a flicker of grim appreciation. "Hey --..." The Tarisian's greeting trails off at the sight of her own drug paraphernalia, her eyebrows furrowing in an expression that gets tangled up somewhere between confused and alarmed. "Kriffing -thief-." Accusation? Fact? Why not both.

The vape is snatched by one tattooed hand, and a narrow-eyed look tipped toward Tarq before she's sinking back in her chair to begin fiddling with the spice toy. It's more coincidence than intention that has her noticing the leaderboard, the vape halfway to her lips as she blinks owlishly. "Is she...?" A hand snakes sidelong, aiming to strangulate whatever part of her unfortunate companion that she may or may not get ahold of.

Flex'ka watches his small screen now, enlarging the track layout as an interesting curve lies ahead of the racers. "Sarlacc?" he reads out loud as a little info blurb pops up next to it. His eyes squint together as the shapeshifter shakes his head slightly. There's no way-- and then there is, as one blip decides to not go around as the track is lined out, instead flying going straight for it. Flex'ka scrolls through holocam feeds rapidly to try and locate the proper one, which he does just in time to see tendrils swing around, barely missing their target. "Force.." he whispers. "That could've gotten nasty." The man puts the viewscreen down, watching the main feed on the screen across from the stands as he drinks from his thermos. It's almost like he was there for that.

Jallo Dara shakes his head a bit, <"I wouldn't say that noise bothers me any more than it does anybody else. But I think that lack of noise impacts me more if that makes sense? I'm not quite sure how to explain it to others."> Once he's settled into a seat he removes the helmet, "Otherwise I'd be worried about the helmet dampening everything. It took some time to modify all my gear to function best for me though."

Wandering into the stands with an order of space nachoes and two beers, Sar Yavok makes his way over to where Kasia Ashkuri is and has a seat. Her husband is nowhere to be seen, so this is sure to cause no end of salacious gossip in the salons across the Galaxy.

"Who's winning?" he asks, having been in line for concessions since the begining of the whole affair.

A trek through the dunes of Tatooine is not complete until one's almost been made into a meal by dragon or hungry pit creature, OR pissed off and possibly been beaten by the local tribes of Tusken Raiders. The Sarlaac is not a surprise when a deperession in the topography is alerted to and rather concentrated heat signature found therein. While off to a rocky start, Muri is begining to find her rhythm, toeing the line between self-preservation and destruction, then edging just a weeeeeeeeee bit over.

But not OVER over, like Nerys. As Muri jerks to the right, throwing herself and bike into a dangerously lean around that tight curve, dodging tentacles, a shape from behind sails riiiiiiiiiiiiiight over. To the other side.

Behind that visor, Muri's eyes grow WIDE in surprise, then her mouth in a maniacal grin.

"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" in support of the other woman's hairbrained idea.

Sumi, who has left one of the spectator meat stands, makes her way to one of the more modest seating areas to find a vantage to watch the race. In one hand, she sports a spicy stick of meat, which is also on a stick, and the other has a sketchy ale, which she purchased at the suggestion of a Rodian, who Sumi threatened with his life if the suggestion was bad. After a sip, the alien was no longer sweating it because Sumi seemed fine with it, or at least stoic enough to walk off without violence ensuing. Finding her seat, she reclines a bit and takes a big bite!

Kasia seems wholly unconcerned with the potential for gossip and scoots over a little bit to give Sar more room beside her. "Someone named Asalla, I think," she offers, glancing over at Sar with a smile. "I hope you got enough food to share. I meant to bring more, but Hex found the snacks in my bag and I didn't notice it until I sat down here." Few snacks, but she did bring a small hand held fan that she flicks back and forth to cast a bit of a breeze on herself.

The wonders of the Pazaak and Tabac Box, with Fyrris looking like a holo-villain in his silver/red suit, steepled fingers, intent expression. How like a bird of prey he looks. How much like a hovering shadow of overwhelming misery must he possibly appear. How so like a bearer of ill tidings is the Codru-Ji in appearance?

"No more bantha-chil and cheese-strip crisps when I'm going to be in the desert..." a gurgling rumble in his tumbles

"Indigestion tablet, sir?" The droid already offering over two bright pink chewables that the Codru swipes up, shoving in his mouth. "Shall I get the industrial strength spray?" another pause, "Would you like a squeaky bone... sir?" "I'm not a wyrdwolf any more, damnit... that was thirty years ago." A narrow eyed look for the droid.

How much like a fellow bent forward with tum-tum issues he truly is.

After managing to disentangle herself from Sebulba and seeing the Sarlacc coming up, Aconaa wasn't going to try her luck a second time. She didn't particularly feel like becoming another meal for it, so she sticks to the middle road instead, banking into a turn and pulling back to make a small hop over a tentacle that was in her path. She gives a bit of a sympathetic look to Asalla as she passes by the Lorrdian woman having trouble with her own bike after trying that turn. As she evens out her course, a glance is given back over her shoulder to see how Sebulba was doing. She grins as she sees the Dug struggling a bit now himself, but her expression turns wide eyed as she also sees Nerys pulling off that insane stunt of jumping -over- the Sarlacc! She lets out a swear under her breath in amazement.

Passing one of the beers to Kasia, Sar squints out at the track and says, "Hate I learned about this thing so late; I would've signed up myself. Bloodfin's been itching for a race." What a stupid, dumb Corellian thing to think. And he's even wearing a jacket out here in the middle of the desert. Stupid, dumb Corellian stuff abounds.

He lifts his beer for a sip and asks, "Any of 'em die yet?"

"Please, do sit." Tarq invites Luna with a word and a gesture to the empty seat next to Rook, a hint of aristocratic etiquette slipping through for a moment. He eyes the golden chain at Luna's throat. "She has good taste." Is that self-congratulation? Maybe, but he is staring at the necklace with approval. He glances at Rook's vape, then to Rook, then back to Luna.

"Tarq Najjic would /not/ have thought about such needs. Am glad does not stop you from ..." He pauses. "Mandalorian-... -ing." Being a part of your culture? "What can you see, of race? No holos, clearly. Hope announcer provides enough detail." He glances back over to Luna. "Can you - detect - her necklace? Maybe Rook can describe it for you."

"No, just some personal business with someone that needed to be handled. It's all squared away. Nothing for you to worry your little round self over." Vega tells RN-D1 as she finishes with her tools and places them back in their case. If there were emergencies she'd break them out, otherwise she was going to just lean against the rail near the other mechanics that are taking over the race as they watch it on a datapad.

Sebulba, Yu'Nasa and Otho'Oku alike in their respective places make for the turn at the pit; seeing others ahead or looking back towards some behind as they make the hard bank. It's only Yu'Nasa that has fortune there, weaving around the sarlaac tentacles while Sebulba lets out a shriek when one latches onto a stabilizer fin, ripping it free and nearly sending him out of control. Much like the ranat whose swoop is now missing an entire engine nacelle cover, spewing smoke and far more sand than it normally should while the rodentia sentient is squealing in a high pitched warbling wail, fur puffed out and tail stuck out straight.

"Remember, gentlebeings, after the races be sure to head by the Hapes Cluster and visit 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!" Gutu's voice piped in for all of the crowd as the racers make their way from the Sarlaac pit.

"It's a harrowing rush at The Carkoon Turn folks!!

The path through the sands runs through a rocky region of dog-leg turns and switch-back zigzags, no open desert, but signs of life in the rocks is hard to ignore, then impossible when the crack of cycler rifles and grunting war cries fill the air - loud enough to be heard even over the shriek of swoops.

"They're in the The Tusken Thoroughfare ladies and gentlebeings! Hair raising action abounds, the sand people sure don't like our presence, and less that the race is running on the border of one of their established territories!"

More shots strike stone or ricochet off of vehicle frames while the sand people pour from their homes like sting-wings. Each turn seeming to have a half dozen or more, shaking gaderffi staves, firing slug rifles or in a few cases launching massive bolts from ballistae intended to harpoon the racers.

Kasia spies Sumi as she makes her way over from the food, free hand lifting to give the Mandalorian a wave that turns into an invitation should she want to join. That waving hand is then filled with a cup of alcohol, which she accepts gratefully, taking a sip from it immediately. She crinkles her nose, because of course she does, but that doesn't stop her from taking another drink. "Not that I've seen, but there's still plenty of time for that." She glances over to Sar. "There have been a lot of races lately, I'm sure we could find another one for you to enter and potentially die gloriously in."

Luna's a bit of an odd bird, to be fair. When she asks if she can sit, she's not really looking at any one of the three in particular. Instead, she's looking at that necklace, at her fingernails, at the spaces between their faces, but never into their eyes. On occasion, she'll glance a little closer. Maybe she'll watch how the muscles in their jaw move as they speak, or their lips part and tongue move to form words in their mouth. But never on the eyes.

"Okay," she responds to Tarq when he invites her to sit, and she settles down onto the spot right next to Rook, deciding to unfold that flag to sit on rather than let her actual golden space-bikini butt touch the seat. All the beer, nachos, and cheese bits about? Smart gal.

She squints at the standings and, when she sees Pranda's name in second place, she nearly jumps right out of the seat that she'd just settled into.

"Oh!" she exclaims.

"Go go go!"

Jallo Dara hmmms and shakes his head a bit, "I don't know that it would do me any good to have it described. How can I describe what I can see and not see when compared to something I've never experienced? I don't know what the description would be except what I imagine it to appear as. But yes no holo's but I can see fairly intricate details of everybody around me. Material of their clothing, the armor they're wearing all of that. I just don't know the colors and light doesn't matter to me."

It's a constant lurch of rapidly downshifting to hit the bank around the next clump of rocks before throttling up at the apex of the sharp turn and racing up through as many gears as she can while approaching the bend of the next. The inertia and the near-dizzying effect it has is more than enough to keep her mind occupied away from the flashes of slugs pinging off of rocks and punching little waterfalls of sand and dust and dirt up and out of the track. It's a constant strain between the movement of her hands and the movement of her body leaning into the turns and trying to jerk back up straight to right herself so that no ill distribution of weight sets her off balance and screws up the lines that she's trying to take through the course.

Nerys who had run most of these races on luck and a complete lack of self preservation, had always lived by the adage 'begin as you mean to go on'. And she certainly did so now. having cleared the Sarlac, she tightened down her restraints, adjusting the fit of her boots on the controls, as she dove down head first into The Tusken Thoroughfare, as it was so cheerily called. If she was going to go out, she was going out with a bang, gunning the engines all the way.

Well, Nerys didn't go down, but there was a bang, as she weaved her swoop too close to one of the slides of the narrow, classic bad move, as she tried to avoid a pocket of rubble in the center, and a blaster bolt exploded from a blind on her right side, nearly tumbling the woman off of her swoop. Why she was still on the swoop, much less piloting it, or how, well, that was probably a question for another day. Today, she was doing everyone a favour by painting the sand behind her with droplets of blood. 'Do not go this way. X does not mark the spot.'

"Kriffing mother of..." Rook doesn't actually trail off, but for the sake of our dear readership, we'll pretend she did. One of the racetrack's sharper turns seems to help her remember why she -wasn't- looking at the hurtling racers, green eyes closing tightly. Fortunately, she seems to know that vape well enough to take a long drag on the thing without... you know, looking. It's fortunate that no one seems to -actual- expect that necklace to be described, because it seems very unlikely that she has even tuned into the conversation. "... worse'n the kriffing death pits..."

Mandl's determination to-- well, "not come in last," if nothing else-- may lead them to dare closer to known Tusken lanes-of-fire than their earlier prudence would suggest. Cutting across a few thoroughfares, ducking and weaving and... daring... they are only *just not* bisected by a passing musket-ball!

Just surviving the LITERAL SARLAAC, Asalla's not in the mood for many more risks like that. She's a mathematician, not a stunt actress! So of course fate delivers her another potentially lethal hazard. This is where chaos theory comes in to play, the Asalla knows it.

Taking that tumble back at the pit likely cost her the race, Asalla tells herself with narrowed eyes and an uncharacteristically impatient grunt. But there's a chance here to make some of that time up. Putting her faith both in the goddess of her people, and in that of the chaos theory, the Lorrdian utters, "by Via.." as she takes the impulse to race the direct paths through the rocky thoroughfare. Slugthrower rounds fire off on the rocky arches around her, one nearly grazing the nose of her swoop it came so close and the girl pushes the bike for all it's got to save some time and get out of the line of fire. She takes a glance behind to see if anyone else is being fired at. She has some friends in this race, after all. Not seeing anybody in her immediate vicinity she presses forth, somehow coming out of the thoroughfare unshot. Maybe there's something to be said for the unreflective blacks of her flight suit that a friend helped her pick out.

Turning to note Sumi, himself, Sar nods his head to the woman before looking back to Kasia. "Yeah, maybe so. Gotta find some blaze of glory to go out in before I die choking on a nacho or something," he explains, lifting one to pop into his mouth. He sniffs sharply and rolls his shoulders. "This'd be a lot more entertaining if we could shoot at them, too," he notes, chewing his nachos loudly

Luna peers sideways to Rook when the girl squishes her eyes closed. She turns her head to the side and peers at the tattooed woman's profile, lightly chewing at her lower lip. Like this, it's easier to look at her face. The other woman's eyes are closed and she's tightened up, after all. A soft sound escapes Luna's lips, and then she leans forward to delicately pet her fingertips through the other woman's hair in an attempt to soothe and calm.

"You do not like these races, do you?" she asks as she lightly smoothes those fingers through the other woman's hair.

She peers past Rook to Tarq and Jallo, the two men's conversation making her tip her head even further to the side so those big hazel eyes can peer out from around Rook's face as she continues to pet the woman's head.

"I think it looks a lot like really good cake tastes," she says with a certain sense of finality. There will be no arguments.

"You've been in so many blazes before, maybe glory just doesn't want you," Kasia suggests to Sar with a brief grin, and a gentle nudge of an elbow into his ribs. "I could see that being more entertaining. I bet you could get away with a race like that on Nar Shaddaa." She looks over to Bizz, inclining her head to the snack laden monk. "You've missed a good amount of the race, but there's still some left to watch."

The Nightfalcon creeps into a bit of a gain of some racers formerly ahead as the pack goes screaming into the canyon.

Now THIS! This is racing.

As a number of little 'oh no' dots appear on her HUD, Muri pushes the bike (and her nerves) to its limit in weaving through the bottleneck death trap that this could become. She does try to avoid SOME of the worst, buuuut...

A blast of searing heat almost takes her clean off the bike, and the pair careen unnervingly close to the rocky wall. One of the stabilizer fins slices through some brave vegetation sprouting there, milliseconds away from slamming Muri into a million pieces, but then her weight slumps back the OTHER way and she miraculously stays on course. Maybe even jockeyed another position ahead!?

Is she even aware?

The sensation of a trillion little internal explosions is still overwhelming her entire sensory process, but somehow Muri's hands remain locked on controls.

Vega's watching a few of the other mechanics and their droids as the Sand People start to shoot at the racers and there's a moment it startles her. She didn't like blasters. Not at all. She runs a dirty hand back over her braids and then breathes out as she looks to the screens to see who or what might have gotten hurt. Tatooine was an unforgiving place, even in the downtime.

Aconaa was once again hedging her bets a bit, maneuvering almost dangerously close to some of the rocky formations with the goal of using them from cover from some of the tuskens. And that was a LOT of tuskens pouring out of some of the formations to take shots at the passing drivers. "Just like the gangs back home..." Aconaa mutters under her breath as she zigzags her way through the thoroughfare, keeping her speed up to get through it quickly and clear the tuskens as shots from their cyclers hit the sand and rocks around her.

As the swoops escape from Sand People territory and back into open desert the small butte holding Jabba's old palace comes into view, its sloped access side tantalizingly close and the paths through the dunes. Sand is flying and the setting suns have turned the landscape blood red with long shadows reaching out like clawed figures.

A spume of sand erupts far in the distance and a titanic shape seems to breach the desert surface like a whale before sinking again. The monastery is close, the lights of the stands, the fireworks going off to lead the way and the holo-displays of the race displayed so large that it can be viewed from over a kilometer away.

"HERE THEY COME! BACK IN THE CLEAR!!!" pyrotechnics erupt turning the sky to shades of green and blue..

It's sedate, compared to the last two sections of the race. But not home yet.

Sumi isn't in the ideal position to catch the nod Sar offers her, but had she seen it, the gesture would have been returned. Currently, she's heckling one of the screens, laughing and talking simultaneously while chewing. It was something about the Sandpeople being drek shots. Apparently, she was wanting MORE blood. She drowns her sorrows in the ale and finishes up with the Meat on a stick.

Brother Bizz pops a delicious live nut-beetle into his mouth as it squirms, then CRUNCH. "Oh these are spicy. Look!" He points up at the viewing screens. "That Bith is driving like a mad Bith!" He washes down his beetle with a large slurp of Mandalorian Unbelieveaable Ujcake FizzyGlug.

The finish line is in the distance. Green and blue blitz towards the sky in a flashy spray of pyrotechnics. Pranda straightens the nose of her swoop towards the end and guns the throttle. The bike protests the strain because the vents are fighting not to clog and the engine is starting to ride the redline from both the strain of being pushed towards the limits and baking under the merciless twin suns of the desert planet. She's caked in dust and sand. Whatever color her swoopsuit was in the first place, it's muted underneath various mixtures of beige churned up from different parts of the course. Even the visor on her helmet is tinted, almost refusing to refract the fading light as the binary pair begin their descent towards the horizon of the planet.

"Why would they serve that when it's this hot? Mos Eisley... PHA." both right hands coming down in fists. "PHA! I say! Whole planet is a hive of scum and villainy."

"Why did you eat it then sir?"

"You stop your space damned logic with me!" Fyrris barks while his lower hands go to hold his stomach and he continues to chew indigestion tablets. "Ugh this is worse than that time on the Grand Whorl Casino Cruiser." "I don't recall sir." "The... zelton." "The zeltron... sir." The droid leans in slightly, "It is not my fault." "What isn't?" "THEY HAVE PHEROMONES!" the codru snaps and the droid leans back slightly, and if it had lips it might be fightinng a grin. "Oh the one who left you naked, in a supply closet, that left with your ship and placed that 'call me' card between your-" "YES." slumping back in his seat, the gambler accepts a fresh drink from the droid, a little something for the gut rumblies now, feet out, allowed to flop to the sides. "Didn't you call her?" "Yes..." "And?" "Worth it."

Nerys was still, well, not standing, but she was still on her swoop. And she was still pointing it in the right direction, so far as her navigation system was reporting. That was a check in the plus column. In the minus column was the fact that she could feel her skin crisping, and worse, she could feel sand getting into her suit and grating on that crisping skin. It was like pouring vinegar on a cut, it made the pain so much worse. But she had started the race, she would be d***ed if she would end up a Did Not Finish. If it killed her, and it might kill her, she would simply have to walk it off.

Perhaps it did not kill her, but in the end, Nerys simply couldn't stay on the swoop any longer, and while her swoop did finish, almost, the racer did not, as she tumbled down from the bike and landed with a thud on the sand. Ah well, here was hoping one of those barges had medical.

Luna Tokani's eyes are on the holoscreen and she hops to her feet. Whatever she's seeing has her undivided attention and is making her entire body seem to buzz with excitement. She reaches behind herself to grab at her flag so that she can run down the steps and towards the bottom row of seats that overhang the finish line. She starts to wave that flag emphatically, half bent over that rail in her glittery gold bikini.

The other flag girls have joined her now too, but Luna Tokani's got her eye on one particular speeder.

"Go go go go go!" she yells!

"Y'know, maybe you're onto something there, Kasi," Sar says with a grin. His attention turns to one of the screens and he lifts his beer for a sip. Watching Nerys crash out the man wrinkles his nose a bit and looks to Kasia. "She's definitely dead."

Asalla's made it through the rocky section free of slugthrower holes, and her swoop's still performing well, unlike the -last- race by the time she'd gotten to this point. The end is in sight, can be felt even as the heat of the pyrotechnics reach her even from this far. A frown forms on her lips as she passes Nerys, doing all she can not to decelerate and throw the race as she looks at her friend while she passes. She's still moving, that's good. The frown of course deepens when she passes the others who didn't make it to the finish line, sighing nearly with a sense of guilt as she presses forward. Chaos theory can't be predicted with a high degree of accuracy. There will always be some variability to it, no matter how confidently the numbers suggest a particular outcome. The Lorrdian crosses the finish line, her head sweeping the crowd until she finds a very familiar pair. Her frowns forms to a smile as she parks her bike alongside the track and slides off of it, removing her helmet to wave at Tarq and Rook!

Seeing she was now in the final stretch, Aconaa guns it at full throttle. This far into the race, it was go big or go home as far as she was concerned. Her swoop groans and sputters in protest but, in spite of the strain, it manages to keep it together. Even if only just barely. There was definitely a bit of smoke starting to seep out of the engines now. For a borrowed swoop bike it was holding up pretty well all things considered! Reaching the finish line, she turns her bike on its side to try to kill some of her speed as she slides on past it.

One of Rook's eyes opens -- just one -- at the unfamiliar sensation against her hair, her chin tipping in such a way that the brief peek doesn't offer any unwanted glimpses of the racetrack. "If she dies, I'll kill her," she intones darkly in Luna's direction, though it's anyone's guess if that was an effort at conversation or just a very special kind of threat to the universe. That briefly opened eye shuts once more, but when she sinks a bit lower into her seat, her huddled form is angled just a bit closer to Luna's own. The rush of the departing girl's movement startles her eyes open, and a choked sound escapes the Tarisian as her attention shifts reflexively toward the finish line. She stares until her vision has cleared enough to recognize Asalla's waving form, looking a bit numb compared to the roaring crowd around her, and then manages to raise one of her own hands in weak acknowledgement.

That Dark Blue/Magenta helmet with green detailing hangs lowly between the shoulders - shoulder - of the rider's right arm and....

Seconds before Muri's skull gets bounced off her body with a skimming strike over the canyon pass's floor, Netep spasms, jerks upright with a violent lurch that overcompensates and sends her listing the other way, but a full-throttle emergence from the deathtrap means she doesn't get creamed on the wall. Moments later, bulleting on toward the psychedelic pyrotechnics, suddenly feeling the heat of the twin suns like never before and like her head's NOT a heavy ball of lead, but rather swimming in the clouds, Netep Muri slumps forward with a lucky balance of her unconscious weight.

Perfectly centered.

Accelerating.

Not stopping. Or slowing.

Oh shavit?

Blessedly at the last possible moment to avert certain tragedy, one foot slips, both hands go completely lax, and the big blue steed just coasts on into stable. Maybe bumps the podium a bit on its way by, but....least it's carried her home?

The limp, possibly bloodless body of the little Lorrdian linguist slithers off with a 'fwup' into the sand and gives the desert a good drink.

Somebody please remember to feed her Balosar. And Ormond.

Up the shallow incline, past the frogdog rocks and to the loop that will bring the racers around the B'omarr Temple; where the spider-droid mounted brains of the monks can be seen slowly plodding and contemplating the world around them. Cultivated sand and stone gardens visible and the maelstrom of glitter, ribbons and lights when the finish line hoves into view.

"HERE THEY COME! HERE THEY COME!"

When Yu'Nasa passes the line it's pandemonium, its only the need to wait for the other swoops to pass behind that keeps the crowd from rushing the arrival area in the aftermath of the race while dancers appear from anywhere and everywhere, firing glitter and confetti cannons and pyrotechnic systems shower the area in light and sparks that fade before they get too close to the crowds.

"AND THERE WE HAVE IT GENTLEBEINGS! THE RACE IS DONE AND THE CHAMPIONS OF THE DAY ARE BEFORE YOU! BE READY! CORELLIA IS COMING UP NEXT AND WITH IT THE START OF THE INTER-RIM SWOOP CIRCUIT CHAMPIONSHIP RACES!" Gutu is hopping about like mad, before lifted onto the shoulders of dancers to be carried around in circles.

"I'm a font of wisdom," Kasia informs Sar with another smile, eyes angling ahead to the race. "Oh. Yeah, she might be," she agrees, brows furrowing slightly with concern. "These races are so dangerous. I'm just glad Hex never got it in his head to race in them." She finishes off the last of her drink, then sets the cup down beside her. "Don't give him that idea, please."

The closing lap is coming and Vega hops back down where everyone else is waiting to see what messes come in. And oh boy, is there a mess! She gives a low whistle before she plucks up her tools and waits till it's safe to head out. A womans work was never done!

Netep Muri ; just lays there and bleeds.