Log:Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit - Lothal

Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit - Lothal

OOC Date: August 21 2021
Location: Lothal
Participants: Netep Muri, David Ironside, Vhe Tenara, Nerys Greystorm, Zelo Parrai, Fyrris Vochar, Pherra and Reverberate as GM

"LOTHAL is PROUD to present the second of the Inter-Rim Swoop Circuit races!" mirror-reflection gold suited and sporting his stylish three 'clip' shaders over each of his eyes, the Gran announcer Gutu Phluu strides out from a small curtained tent to a raised dais amidst smoke and shimmering silver pyrotechnics. Two lines of suggestively dressed male and female dancers gliding past the smoke and flashing lights to orbit him while holding firework and confetti launching tubes to add to the visual cacophony. Holoemitters projecting the gran and the dancers into the middle of the sky over the starting line.

"Brought to you by Shim Productions, The Galaxy's premiere boutique party planners! and The Pazaak and Tabac - Nar Shadaa's most luxurious music, cigarra and gambling hall! And last, but not least, The Hapan Silk Commission! Fine Hapan silk, the only fabric worthy of the work done at Refined Aesthetics!" more holo-fireworks fill the air as racers are ushered out to the starting zones. "Gentlebeings! From the planet Sneeve, Gaggi Flynn, from Rydar II, Otho'oku Baj! From Malastare SEBULBA!"

Amidst the crowd roaring images of racers begin appearing in the holo-display; "Presenting last weeks winners, Netep Muri! The Mandalorian Zelo Parrai! And from Naboo, David Ironside!" more fireworks go off "Today we stand on one end of Pelamir Gorge! Once a forested valley, the Empire's mining operations widened it and left much of the Spine Tree's a ruin - only to be reclaimed in the intervening years since the Battle of Endor! Today our contestants will be Running Pelamir - an obstacle course in and of itself of nature-claimed industrial machinery, new-growth trees and other hazards in the quest for success and fame!"

Spotlights turn to where the vehicles are already set, "Gentlebeings! Start your engines and we shall see who can win The Gorge Run!"

When his name is called, David Ironside waves to the crowd in attendance and the holocam droids alike. His free hand clutches his goggles, and as he mounts his swoop, he spots Sebulba nearby. "Hey! Stick to podracing!" he calls out to the Dug, grinning as he slips the goggles onto his head and over his eyes. Looking around, the pilot somewhat unnecessarily notes to himself how different Lothal is from Jervo's World, attributing that to the fact Jervo's World tracks are all specifically created for racing. This track is just.. there. Kinda.

"Y'know..." Netep asides to a girl who's piling up a few tools back into toolkit while the race prep crew escort the Nightfalcon onward to the starting line. "Kind of surprised Waldin didn't put a plug in fer the Guild, this round. Location considered." Muri rubs a little salve (grease?) onto her tautly braided mane to help the helmet squeeeeeze into place. "Y'member those Will'o Wisps I told you kids about?"

The 'kid' looks up, bobbing a headful of curls identical to Muri's and grinning a grin that's muchly the same.

"Well, wasn't far from here, that find. Just North of here, in the old city." 'Old' being a relative term, reserved for use by those too young to have remembered (or been born during) the Galactic Civil War. Such as the miniature Muri. Barely miniature. The girl, somewhere around the cusp of puberty, stands just a couple inches shy of her swoopsuited relation. Were it not for the elder Muri's tatoos and hair dye and colored lenses, one would be forgiven for mistaking one for the other, at a distance. Must be bigger genes in there, somewhere.

Before Muri can launch into a more in-depth explanation and bore the entire crew, the orchestrated noise fest begins and Gutu Phluu's voice rings out with his entry spiel and introductions of racers. Wagging her brows just once, Muri whips her helmet off hip, crams it onto her head, fastens, and offers the girl a mock salute. And toss of a cred chit. <<"Don't tell your dad,">> comes the mic'd farewell and she trots out from the service tent. Snugged up inside the confines of an indigo, purple, and green-accented swoopsuit, Muri is once again color-coordinating with her ride. Arms flail overhead for a brief wave as she goes, but more attention is paid to her steed - and those mounting their own.

"May fortune favor, min duskals," she calls out after flipping her helmet's visor up a few degrees. It's snapped immediately down again so she might toy with her augmented reality interface for a moment, ensure that all readouts are indeed pixelating into her field of vision.

Nerys, whose name was not called, was able to enjoy the last few minutes of the countdown to the race, her head bent slightly down as she spoke to the smol ID10 droid who was sitting in her place on the swoop bike she had rented for the duration of the race. Once the announcer came on the mic, however, the smol droid lifted up from where she was resting, coming over to magloc herself onto the back of Nerys' racing jacket, where a special harness had been set up for her. In addition to the magloc, the droids tiny arms secured her body with some straps, before all of her limbs disappeared beneath her chassis. By then, Nerys had settled onto the bike, which hummed along as she maneuvered it to the start line.

Zelo Parrai - second place at Jervo's world, first place in the hearts of fans of cobalt-blue Nautolans in yellow-and-orange jumpsuits - walks out onto the launching ground, more confident than last time. A green feather is tied to one of the many tendrils spilling down his back, and his entrance stops at his swoop. HIS swoop. No rented model, this. A Bespin Motors JR-4, fresh out of the showroom on Corellia. The Nautolan swallows down what few nerves he has and waves to the crowd.

Black pool eyes turn to each of the other racers in turn, a nod of respect to each, though a deeper one is offered to Netep Muri, who had beaten him soundly in the last race. "Good racing today, everyone!" Zelo sits on the swoop and ignites the engine after the repulsors lift off. "Best of luck to everyone," he adds over the whine of the repulsors. He looks to the stands, and offers that same odd grin that so many fell in love with last time.

Pherra, glad to be off of Nar Shadda, made her way up through the stands. The tall Mandalorian wore her aged and battered armor, pulling the helm off as she got to a seat. Ears perked at the mention of a Mandalorian in the races. Well, that was unexpected! The redhead looked around for a drinks vendor and waved a few creds at the one hawking beer. She then settled into her seat, excited to watch the races.

Settled into a sponsor box on repulsors over the raceway, Fyrris watches with a casual grinning expression. One of four hands holding a cigarra, the other a drink glass and the other pair folded neatly in his lap, while a droid just behind him attends. "Not a bad little shin-dig, not like the Quasar Ultimate - but can't compare a casino cruiser to a raceway eh?"

"Of course not, sir."

"Yeah well. The cooler working?"

"Yes sir."

"Fantastic, this'll be thirsty watching." the Codru puts his feet up, relaxing.

Sebulba's response to the ribbing is an interesting, and choice, dug gesture that is blurred on holo-displays to rounds of gasps and laughter alike. Anything he says suddenly drowned out by the din. Gaggi and Otho'oku waving before they too mount up and drop goggles and visors into place when the gorge begins lighting up like Life-Day on some very serious drugs.

"Gentlebeings! In moments we shall start - a simple starting passage as our competitors enter the Gorge! The slow return of the Spine Tree Forests! But don't worry, we have hover-cams in place to make sure our viewers here and at home won't miss a thing!" the holo-displays showing off weaving trails through the growing trees - sparse enough for it to be an easier start but only on the outsides - the faster inner part being more closely packed and so more likely to upset an unwary racer.

"RACERS" a thunderous alert horn akin to a fog horn bellowing.

"READY" fireworks and confetti begin launching into the air, shirt-cannons pumping free clothes into the crowd.

"SET" more confetti, arching over the starting lines.

"GO!" a final burst of pyrotechnics right behind the racers. Shifting displays of green and gold rippling in the air.

David chuckles at the gesture Sebulba shoots his way. Got in his head already. His foot touches the accelerating pedal, revving the swoop slightly. Not enough to move it from its place on the starting grid, but the engine spins up audibly regardless. When the 'GO' is called, he shifts into gear, shooting ahead of the pack from the get-go. Good, lets him focus on where to go, rather than where anyone ahead is going to be.

Muri's helmet returns the nod to Zelo, acknowledging the Nautolan who'd breathed down her neck during the final stretch of that last run. Her left hand lifts momentarily from its grip and taps over shoulder, roughly where the feather might be, were it attached to her own self. A thumbs-up says she approves. Because who doesn't like green?

No time for camaraderie though, because the countdown has begun! All are opponents, now.

A thin breath exhales through Muri's pursed lips as she settles forward into her starting lean and knees bounce lightly with anticipation. The announcer's voice slowly fades, the crowd's shouts and screams muddle together into an easily-ignored droooone of background noise, and Muri's eyes lock forward on the narrow cut of evergreens awaiting whiplash from their brutal bursts of thrusters.

ONE!

It's full throttle from the get-go and the Ikas-Adno Nightfalcon rockets hotly in David's wake. The raspy whisper of lush greenery being parted and/or cut through like butter is too soft a sound and too immediately behind her to register in Muri's ears over the eager hum of engine. Initially, it appears that she might be drafting Ironside, but when he tips left, she tips right not long thereafter, deviating from his wake to dodge the same obstacle - a trunk too thick to be batted easily aside.

Somewhere in the front row of stands near that starting line, a mini Muri is going ballistic with whoops and shouts, carelessly spilling snacks on her neighbor.

Nerys, already waiting at the line, revved the engine a moment before the horn sounded to begin the race. And then she was off. She paid no attention to the drivers who were moving with her. It was, for now, a simple case of point the swoop in the direction she wanted to go and accelerate. That...was probably not the wisest course, but neither was participating in this swoop race. But, this was Nerys Greystorm, who never took 'wise' into account when she did anything. She was off, trailing the binary squeal of a delighted Bitty in her wake. As one of the other racers swooped in (haha, see what I did there?) next to her, it forced Nerys to course correct, sending her into a cluster of leafless branches that tugged and pulled at her sleeve as she navigated her way out of them.

With the race about to start, the Nautolan Mandalorian turns his black-pool eyes forward, and the grin slips from his lips as determination chases the nerves of crowd-work from his mind. Despite all the noises, a serene sort of peace comes over the Nautolan as everything falls away. While the Nautolan sees a great deal with those large, reflective eyes, his focus dials in to the path ahead, looking quickly over the course and setting his sights on the thickest route. Right up the middle. That's the pilot's way - charge forward.

A shooter's hand works the throttle, and the moment 'GO' is called, his hand turns the throttle wide open. The action on the throttle is a little loose, though; Zelo should have drilled with his own equipment a little more. He also should have tightened up that throttle's action. But next time... That comes after this race. The Nautolan speeds as fast as he can coax the new swoop to go, tendrils - and feather - trailing in the air behind him as he leans forward onto the swoop.

Lifting his glass and watching with the same lacksadasical grin, Fyrris nods to himself and the droid behind him, "Good investment."

"Is it sir?"

"Of course it is." motioning around, "All this advertising? Live and during the race display? I'm getting so much air-time without having to pay additional air-time fees to Holonet."

"Astute decision, sir."

"Of course it is!" Fyrris looks over his shoulder, "I'm not daft!" squinting at the droid and holding out his drink for a refill, sniffing. "Don't be such a twadillider." snorting again, shaking his head, and of course drinking when it's refilled.

The crowd is immediately on their feet when the racers set out. Dust and grass fan-tailing out behind the massed engines thrust. Holo-display cams utilizing micro-tractors to latch onto the various pilots while they hurtle through the trees or hovering by trunks and branches to give views of swoops fast approaching and screaming past.

Shots of the faces of competitors on display, views from the front ends of their swoops, at the repulsor wells and even over their shoulders to give frantic views of the hectic race at hand. It only draws more excitement from the mass of sentience, bets go back and forth. Fizzyglug flows like a carbonated river of future, potential, insulin deficiency disorders requiring extensive, curative, medical treatment.

And lets not forget the scent of roasting snacks! Snacks for days.

"It looks like Gaggi Flynn is having trouble!" cameras showing the poor Sneevel dragging whole branches in his wake and looking like he's been through the middle of a bar fight.

"But the racers are past and their nearing the first real obstacle, a 'parting gift' of the Empire before they were ejected from Lothal!" for the racers they see a nightmare of twisted industrial machinery; bushy leaved vines and loth cats visible among the arches formed from their destruction. "The ORE MINER RUINS!!!" Gutu exclaims excitedly "Where Imperial ore movers last worked before the Alliance's work to oust them drove the Imperial Engineering Corps to set off thermal-denial charges, providing us the vista that is being reclaimed by the Hruduuduu Vines! Fragrant, but aurally intoxicating plants! HOLD YOUR BREATH RACERS!!!"

Spires of twisted metal, deep arches of mining towers having bent over from extreme heat years ago, jagged thrusting spikes that threaten impalement or deep laceration... and Loth Cats...

David accelerates into the durasteel wasteland, scaring the loth-cats patrolling the borders as his engine runs loudly past them. He raises a scarf from under his spacer jacket, using it to cover his mouth and nose. Because that's how you're supposed to wear a mask in a way that protects your airways. He turns his head for a second to look behind him to see if anyone had followed him, and when he turns back, a Loth-cat is lounging on his swoop bike, lazing around between the fins like an organic hood ornament. "Don't make any sudden moves.." David urges the creature, his eyes back on the road ahead.

If she weren't busy pelting along some 300+ kph right now, Muri would most definitely stop to smell the Hruduuduu, take a nap amid its leafy embrace, and possibly never wake up again. Well, till the Loth cats chewed their way through her suit, anyhow. That'll sober anyone up. Fortunately for Muri's pocketbook and the Loth cats, she kicks the bike's altitude up a couple meters at the last moment and performs a hasty little barrel roll to shake off whatever bits aren't immediately severed by her plow-through and disuade any feline friends from getting too close for comfort.

It's a maneuver that costs her fractions of milliseconds in speed, when evening out, little sway to left and right. The botany-loving explorer is keen to put this portion of the race behind her, but maintaining stability is kept a priority. For now.

As Nerys maneuvered to make her way through the vines, because why? Did we not *just* have this conversation about 'wise' Nerys? She soon found herself tangled in the vines as she attempted to navigate her way through, the movement of the swoop breaking the skin on the vines, releasing the fragrant sap which streaked the arms of her suit. What did not streak her suit, was the Loth cat that lunged at her head, attempting to bury its claws in her helmet. She twisted just in time, more luck than foreknowledge, and the smol droids arms snapped out, trying to catch the Loth cat on the way by. Grabby hands, alas, were not grabby enough to capture the feline before it tumbled back into the brush. No pet for you, smol droid! Soon enough, the team of droid and droid were back in the clear and making their way back onto the main course. Was it a bit of a wibble wobble? Yes it was. Nevermind that! Race on!

Bobbing and weaving through trees? No problem! Zelo instinctively follows the flow of the natural forest, but it's the next section that threatens to stymie the Nautolan with an overabundance of choices. Varying routes, each with their own challenges. Conservative routes that add a great deal of distances, spikey hazards... But there's a simpler passage here that just weaves between some vines. That seems the obvious choice, and Zelo barrels right in. Not only does he not have a scarf, he doesn't really know that one would be useful.

Breathing normally, the Hruduuduu works quickly and the midnight-colored patterns and whorls on his cobalt skin begin to cascade a glow of colors in alternating blue, white, red, green, blue, white... Much like what he's seeing, as the landscape around him turns into a glorious cascade of... Ocean. The route of his bike turns into a sandbar. Dipping to the side to keep on the sand, Zelo narrowly ducks a flying fish (or loth cat). A very narrow sandbar, threatened by an oncoming tidal wave that chases his swoop and threatens to throw him under the waves to tumble and break himself. Weaving along the winding path of the sandbar that only he can see, it looks like the Bespin swoop is swinging out of control, going to-and-fro and even pulling a very SHARP crazy-Ivanek maneuver at full speed before zooming ahead. This sandbar is pretty crazy, with its blue and purple sand!

"Oh! Loth cats! I have one of those!" Fyrris would squee if he wasn't drinking right now. Mr. Bibbles home on the ship. He could be here now! Being a pest. An adorable pest, but lovable all the same. Alas. But with the racers moving through the ruins it's enough to distract him away from those thoughts. Puffing his cigarra and grabbing a handful of nibblies from a bowl to munch. So many hands. So many uses.

Pherra sits on the edge of her seat, literally. She grips its edge and leans forward, hazel eyes wide with astonishment. What a race! So many cats! She brings her beer to her lips with her free hand, in a mechanical motion. Without much controlled thought, she takes a sip, eyes glued to the monitors.

Vhe sets to sipping from her fizzyglug and has to keep from suddenly choking on it when she sees the troubles the racers are having. Making a face, her nose wrinkling she glances at the others in the stands with her. People cheering for various racers and waving little flags. It causes her to get to her feet as she calls out even if the racer in question can not hear her. "GO ON ZELO! Get back in there!" She nearly lifts the fizzyglug up but stops herself lest she spill on herself or someone else.

Her other hand belatedly goes up into the air as a smile spreads across her features. "You can do it!" A little more restrained this time.

Pulse pounding! Spectacle! The excitement could likely be heard all the way to most settlements within kilometers of the gorge. The very ground vibrating - driving Loth Wolves away and gaining the attention of even more of the felines. A veritable army of big headed, club tailed, cats all looking to see what all the fuss is about, maybe cute-face themselves a selection of delicious treats. Maybe some will claim people to move in with. Whether the people they select want them to, or not. Because it is not the people who decide; it is the loth cats.

"SEBULBA IS PULLING UP THE RANKS!!" the announcement goes out, "Wonder what Ironside said, but it looks like he might be having some trouble from the aging champion! But look at all those people with Loth Cats attached to them! And enough vine to make a spice-head jealous for what they must be experiencing right now!" the gorge twists in shallow curves of former mining territory that had devastated pristine valley.

"But here's hoping those racers can make it through the Waste-Rock-Rapids!" A widening of the valley floor once may have stood as a contained pasture that would have held a lowlands field, or maybe even a small water source. Instead now it is a serious of steep, pyramid like, hillocks of shattered stone and gravel. Reclaimed in parts by lichen, mosses and even grasses growing in the piled soil around the rocks.

"Famous now for the slides and soil hollows known to 'fool' repulsor systems! Waste-Rock-Rapids has the highest, currently, casualty rate in the circuit! Will we enjoy some fantastic crashes and injuries as we pass this point?!" The answering roar of the crowd seems to imply that wish is likely.

David can't hide his amazement at the Loth-cat hanging on, literally just chilling on his bike like that, even as he rolls into the gorge. Pah, holes in the road. These might fool another, but not a seasoned driver/pilot like David. Expertly, he maneuvers his swoop bike around the holes, recognizing them for what they are from some distance away. Must be all the practice he gets in the blackness of space. He glances to his side, only to notice Sebulba -right- there, up to some kind of nefarious deed. Probably. It's Sebulba after all. It matters very little in the long run, the potholes creating enough separation to let David see any vent flashing coming from a mile away.

"THAT'S MY AUNTY!" the Muri look-alike screams over the neighboring screams when the hovering vidscreens feature Netep's upsidedown-rightsideup-upsidedown-weeble-wobble-stubborn-jawed face(It's barely visible through the faint tint of faceshield and gentle glow of HUD). Fists pump as she hops up and down. Somebody's already fed this kid too much fizzypop, but she attempts to flag down a passing vendor for more. She might have succeeded, had a larger, firmer hand not enclosed 'lightly' around her wrist and lowered it to her side. The tall, ash-blonde man in a tailored suit and severe haircut has appeared behind her after pushing his way through the crowd. Something gets said into her ear, none too sweetly, while a sideyed glare is cast upon that already changing screen.

They can't all be Muri fans.

Same holds true for the upcoming terrain. Muri is going through the danger zone, but she's backing off the throttle. It mightn't be the natural hazards she's leery of, so much as the form of Sebulba that goes cutting by to cozy up to Ironside. That just spells disaster waiting to happen, so she veers far to the right in attempts to put a little buffer between. Of COURSE she'd come across one of those soil hollows in the process, and her augmented reality detects the anomaly too late for her to do much to avoid the bumpy ride that's about to go down.

"S'all right," Muri grits through clenched teeth as soothingly as she can muster to the bucking bike as altitude takes a brief hit. And another. "S'just like ridin' that mechanical ner---ffffshhhITE!" Doesn't matter how she bobs or weaves, Muri's committed to this hellaceous struggle through the remainder of this section. "G'damn mine..."

The conversation that was going on behind the scenes, within the private comm between Nerys and her back-clinger was almost as exciting as the race, the binary flowing quick and nimble. 'But I wanted a cat! Go back, go back!' 'You go back, you have repulsors don't you?' 'It's not the same! Snatch and grab! Snatch and grab!' 'Maybe later!' 'I don't like you anymore!' 'You liked me before?'

Back in the real world, Nerys, having swooped clear of the vines, was, clearly, determined to make up speed and placement on the course, and she soon had the bike headed right for the heart of the gorge, stone and debris kicking up as the exhaust from the engines repulsors scoured out the potholes they were driving over, prompting those same smol droid hands, which had, alas, not caught themselves a loth cat, to curve over Bitty's single eye to avoid the rising storm of flying flecks. 'My eye! My eye!' 'It'll buff out.'

Still barreling down this concourse of sandbars, Zelo is in a race of his own, cascading glows spilling across his skin as he makes his way at breakneck speed through the course, oblivious to the actual layout ahead. Weaving to and fro, black-pool eyes somehow widen as the sandbars begin to fall away and he is riding... Not a swoop, but a skimmer? As the chop of the waves begins to grow, he orients and reorients again to shoot UP the face of each wave.

To those not hallucinating, the maybe-maniac Nautolan pilot is actually slaloming up and through each pothole, catching the lip of each and reorienting the swoop to repulse off the rising edge of the next one in a hopfrog fashion. Seeing another pilot nearby, Zelo calls out. "LOOK OUT FOR THE WAVE!" Glancing behind, the ocean is gone, the sandbars are gone... And so is the tidal wave. The hallucinatory dust is fast-acting, and fast-fleeting. Looking over to the other swoop, he calls out again. "Er... Nevermind!" Throttle up, shooting forward, the Nautolan wonders where all these potholes came from. He lifts his brake-hand to wave at one of the drones and - by extension - the audience beyond. Big dopey grin on his face. And then the throttle opens more and he leaves the drone behind.

Puff-pop and nibblies are crammed down Fyrris's mouth as the race proceeds, practically bouncing in his seat while he checks the monitors in the readout for the Tabac and Pazaak. Full scale broadcast, the dancing girls, and guys, in full swing - and the liquor is flowing. "Look that this, we've already made back what we spent in sponsoring. Good day I'd say. Worth the cost." toasting the displays casually and leaning back in his seat again. Money. The ultimate reward.

The redhead lifts her mug to take another sip, only to find it empty. Oh. well. She hardly notices. Instead, Pherra sets the cup down, eyes still fixed on the screens. The female Mandalorian looks over her armored shoulder to briefly glance at the other fans. Hazel eyes land briefly on a little girl, cheering on her Aunt. Pherra grins broadly, cheering on the little girl's aunty as well.

The cry of 'That's my Auntie!' reaches Vhe's ears as she settles back to watch and sip her fizzyglug. Lots of sugar is now coalescing in her veins as she burns off a little bit of an initial buzz.

Looking down the way at the other spectator she tries to pick out anyone of familiarity and finds none at present. Large galaxy, one race, not likely to happen. She keeps to her feet however as those around her have done the same and it creates a barrier for her view. "COME ON ZELO!" As he regains his footing as it were she beams.

Some of the hillocks quite literally burst in points from overpressure by repulsors passing over hollows in the rock and soil. Geysers of loose pack dirt and budding vegetation that erupt in the wake of the racers, a wild display of earthen fireworks that absolutely consumes poor Otho'oku; the ranat's swoop suddenly thrust upwards before another blast of rocks sends the poor furry sentient spinning and flying from the controls of his vehicle.

"OH MY OH ME!" Gutu Phluu cries excitedly as cameras tractor-hooked to Otho's bike and to him as well, follow the tumbling flight that results in a long slide across grass and gravel, tearing apart swooper-clothing on the way. "OTHO'OKU IS OUT OF THE RACE! LOOKS LIKE HE'S GOING TO BE SPENDING SOME TIME IN BACTA TODAY!!" medics in a speeder already moving out to pick up the battered racer who lays very still, but still breathing.

The valley narrows again, pockets of Spine Trees thrusting out of the long grasses. Its the ground that seems to be rippling though. Like a thin membrane beneath the soil is moving.

Because it is.

"We're almost there ladies and gentlemen!" though not on the last stretch just yet, "An unfortunate reminder of the uncaring Empire despoiling a natural wonder. The poet Holshef described this stretch of the gorge, named for his writing as Cadmium Falls was known for the leafy 'waterfall' vines that wove through the forest. Now the Spine Trees denote little pockets of stability among pits of cisterns formed by industrial run-off, collecting into what has been re-dubbed Death-Ripple Run!" footage plays showing a swoop bike disturbing an area of the stretch, sending caustic acid that bursts into flames horrifically melting vehicle and rider in one of the prior year 'high-light' segments.

"Will we have another Moj Hundarri, ladies and gentlemen?!"

Oh gods, we hope so.

"In for a credit.." David starts, almost sounding resigned. He's not talking to himself, there's a loth-cat still on his swoop. Although, now that the critter is well and truly out of its comfort zone it's holding on to the bars with both front paws, bird-like as they are. "Sorry about this.." David tells his passenger as he chooses the path of most resistance and steers his bike into the acid traps. His eyes and mouth protected by the goggles and scarf, he chances a glance behind him to see the acid spray up in the swoop bike's wake. "At least I'm not Sebulba.." he mutters, turning back and focusing on getting out of this stretch with his clothes intact.

Muri makes up just a little bit of ground after steadying out her ride following those 'potholes', which serves to maintain her current position, nothing more. Normally, Muri is comfortable being middle-of-the-pack, but the unstable ground ahead, this 'death-ripple run', does NOT reward those who run in the middle of the pack. It's particularily brutal to those who lag behind, because the more stress the fragile skin of earth (cooled, encrusted chemical) is disturbed, the more volatile spew is likely to occur.

Muri did not know the unfortunate Moj Hundarri, but the announcer referencing his/her name is all she needs to know. Moj was probably a badass...and probably died. Horribly. Muri does not lust after fame so badly as to not heed /some/ warning signs. She does her best to maintain some lateral distance between self, Dave, and Sebulba's paths while treading that treacherous line of insanity all the same.

Viewable for 4.2 seconds on the vidscreens, Muri's lips are moving without sound. Mumbling to self. Her violently yellow eyes are without blinking. A nervous sheen coats her skin behind that visor. It isn't prayers that'll get her through to the other end alive, of course. It's one part critical thinking, two parts luck o'the draw. With utmost focus, her seemingly effortless and weightless glide along tracks a serpentine course over the rippling segment to spread her repulsor's force as evenly as possible. Chain reactions are already occuring from the lead racers' violent streak through the worst of the worst and /that/ means that a doom gyser errupts some forty meters ahead and to her left. Is it maths, calculation and foresight, or sheer luck that sees her swerving gently in a rightward curve in the fractions of a second after it blows and she passes it by? If caustic traces have scored her paintjob, she won't know until after the race.

Nerys, who was still trying to make up speed, decided, clearly, that the only way was through, and she revved the swoop's engines, diving into the course, Bitty's fingers only marginally separating so that the smol droid could see what was, well, going past. That was the problem with being on Nerys' back, she had no idea what her steed was actually driving into. Slashing acid, caustic spews flames, was that an arm bone? 'I don't want to die!' 'We can rebuild you, we have the technology.' 'I never liked you!' 'I know.' Onward they flew, Nerys doing her level best not to get caught in fire and flame.

The potholes behind, his mind still wondering about the disappearing sandbars, Zelo looks ahead to the rippling ground. It's straightforward, isn't it? If you just... Go fast enough, you can skim it. If you're skimming it... All the wake goes behind you. Maybe a... A tiny splash? It can't be that bad, right? It's probably fine. Just like the sandbars... Well... The Nautolan is still half in the ocean, but his swoop's engine revs higher and he barrels right down the middle. He just needs...

More speed than he has, in the end. For a while, it worked. The wake kicked up. The swoop propelled forward. It was going so well. And then one snag. One little snag and the JR-4's front goes straight down at the very end of Death-Ripple Run. Acid splashes up, taking part of the front end and eating one of the stabilizers immediately. The gout of acid also shoots up the right side of the swoop, covering the Mandalorian's arm and immediately eating through the orange-yellow-slashed fabric to cobalt skin beneath. As the sizzling is chased by a roar of pain almost too big for the pilot making it, a fuel-line is cut as the swoop goes end-over-end and a few drops of dense fuel splash onto the Nautolan's back and promptly catch fire from the trail of burning exhaust and flames following the momentum of the accident.

And then... Even worse... A high-velocity pebble, kicked up by Sebulba's engine-wake (or maybe thrown by the wicked Dug), plinks him right in the sternum. And the audience is pretty sure that was on PURPOSE! The swoop continues its disastrous head-over-tail barrel roll, and the Nautolan tumbles in the distance behind it before coming to a very still halt. While the tumble has extinguished the fire on his still-smoking back, the acid continues to eat away at his right arm.

GASP! Shock!

Spilled Drink

Quick! Re-fill it droid person! This is exciting!!! Fyrris is bouncing in his seat and all four arms are moving wildly about. Well for a second, then it's all three while the fourth is holding his glass out to be filled.

"Look at that! LOOK AT THAT!"

"Horrific sir."

"And it'll have ALL sorts of bets going wild at the bar! We're rich."

"We?"

"Ok! I'm rich!" Fyrris concedes while regaining composure.

"And Miss Atrel?"

"She doesn't approve of gambling... if I don't tell her I was gambling she won't check the banking records and I won't get injected." the codru notes, looking about suspiciously.

Everything is fine. All is well. Even if several of the racers she is unfamiliar with are thrown out of the running. That is until she watches on the screen as the familiar swoop finds its own end, watching without detail as to the extent of damage when Zelo finally tumbles out of the race and remains still. There are those still cheering for their chosen racers while some gasp, Vhe very much among them.

Her eyes widen and she steps forward quickly to take up a position as she stares at the screen searching for an update. The fizzyglug is dropped, the ability to focus on syrupy sweet beverages has been lost.

For a moment her gaze goes distant and the hand once at her side flexes, fingers moving as she tries to seek something as a firm thin line of worry passes over her lips.

Pherra takes a moment to glance around the audience once more, offering her ready smile. However, the race steals her attention. First, there is the Loth-cat gripping the front of the over racer. As the driver shifts them into the treacherous acid pits, Pherra leans forward. "But what about the cat?"

And then there is the wreck. She jumps to her feet and gasps like many of the other audience. While some cheer at the excitement, others exclaim worry. She is in the latter category. As she starts to sit back down, she notices Vhe, her worry a bit more palpable than some of the others. The female Mandalorian starts moving towards her.

The cat riding with David is scream-purring as only a cat can. Claws digging into the saddle and one of Ironside's inner thighs, another classic feline trait. Where will claws hurt most? Well there's a particularly poor place for claws to penetrate; but that's being assaulted with a club tail. Thankfully (?!?). But the little, giant headed, cat is still there!

Sebulba weaves through the acid spray that is the lead wake and even engages some blast-vents on the fore of the bike that channel it around while he keeps on the Naboo's six, tenaciously showing that despite his age he's still got it, clearly. Look at he added insult to injury on the Mandalorian racer!

Gaggi Flynn? Not so lucky as a churning bubble beneath the surface bursts directly beneath the sneevel's swoop - blasting them skyward; their bike practically disintegrating and spinning on its stabilizer fins before the power cells blow and it slams down into another concealed pool of muck, glowing cherry hot as it sinks.

The Sneevel's circumstances are far worse. Hair melted away and skin running like candle wax, the short creature is shrieking as he claws at soil before his flesh bursts into flames. Howls of pain and terror becoming reedy gurglings as his tongue and eyes melt and at last one of his hands lays on solid ground. Severed from the arm, the last visible part of the body sinking below the surface with the acid and heat melting through skin and bone; severing the appendage like a morbid grave marker.

"OH MY!" most of the crowd goes crazy. A crash! Worse than at Jervo's World! THERE'S BEEN A MORTALITY AT THE RACES!!! "Dear oh DEAR! Ladies and Gentlemen! We've lost one of our racers and so a slot opens up for a prior qualifier run-up to take the place of Gaggi Flynn! What a harrowing turn into the final pass of the Gorge Run!"

The slope of the valley walls growing more shallow, opening up to a wider swath where the remains of both Alliance and Imperial combat vehicles are visible. Slowly becoming overgrown with creeping vines, moss and grasses growing up over mounded soil and that collecting in crevices from the wind. An AT-AT stands, stubbornly, where it had died - the head/cockpit of the great war machine a blasted out wreck; a skeletal bloom of rotting cables and curling durasteel.

"An obstacle course of debris! Is that a clump of dirt? Or will it be a jagged fang of old metal! We're nearing the finish line here, ladies and gentlebeings!!"

Leaving the acid fields behind him, David takes a moment to shoo the loth-cat back to its proper position away from the controls, to the fins where it had been the whole time. "It's just like Crait.." David mutters as he rides at speed into the battlefield. He's no stranger to the sights, and it's actually a benefit to his state of mind that the wrecks here are not filled with people he'd fought alongside. Mmm, PTSD. His swoop, not trailing a cloud of red dust behind it this time around, zooms between the AT-AT's legs, David sparing a single look up at its underbelly as he passes. And then he sees the head. What's left of it, anyway, and his attention is immediately pulled back to dodging the bits that had falled down, such as a mostly-intact side cannon.

Oh the death-o-vison of the Sneevel. That's gross. That is. Urp. Urf. Urmflem...

Fyrris looks away with two hands over his mouth, eyes squeezing shut and handing off his cigarra and drink to the droid so he can properly cover his mouth and keep all those snacks down. Absolutely terrible to see. So what does a brave Codru do in a time of crisis such as this? That he sponsored? That has attached him to horrific death?

In the name of entertainment?

He sinks down where he can't see the highlight reel by accident and resumes drinking. Alcohol - nature's reset button.

Also delicious.

"Farnarple, man..."

"SIR!!"

"What?"

"Such language."

"Splitz a bifthwhipple, B-22" a digital gasp answering that last bit.

"We're done here," the buzzkill fatherfigure of miniMuri's life watches as somehow the slow-festering bane of his existance makes it through the acidic wavepool seemingly unscathed but another racer eats it head-on. Another another, even worse. Unsure of how gorey a closeup the hover cams might seek to capture, he jerks his daughter around and holds her attention on HIM rather than screens, by her chin.

"But she might win! Last time she--"

"YOU CAN'T BET ON LUCK!" the exasperrated, disgusted, mildly distressed man sprays a thin mist of sweat and spittle over the girl's head and trades hands to guide her by the back of her neck ahead of him, through the crowd. Away. Inches at a time. "I DONT CARE WHAT YOUR MOTH--"

"..." The girl screws up her nose, mouth, pouting with perplexed expression as she scuffs along. "Mum doesn't gamble.." she twists around to see what it is that her father's seen that's caused him to fumble his speech - in more ways than she realizes.

The problem? Gravity. Muri's almost survived her second race in a circuit she's entered for shavs and grins, but this final pass through gorge may prove to be her undoing, as benign as it is. She spies an opening between the legs of AT-AT. She spies and opening, she's done the math, she can make it! She ca--erp-ugh-BOP-whoop! Newsflash: there was more than just dirt clods that her stabilizer fins skimmed over just now and NOW she's got a tangle of cables creating drag from the right fin. Also, it's been cocked askew by fractions of a degree, which means she's gotta compensate with a biiiit of a leeeeeeeeeeean ok ok no problem, right? Still on track to skirt under this AT-AT. And she is commited to it, even as a side panel, weakened by decades of wind and weather snaps whatever last filaments of metal were holding it in place and goes SLAMMING down like a corroded guillotine.

As viewed from the OTHER side of that deadly display of gravity, there is no Muri-shaped dent hammered into the thing, but there IS a Muri-shaped Muri vaulting up and over the top, threading the narrow gap between it and the belly of the beast above. It was a kneejerk reflex. UP! UP! UP! and over and while the whole kerfluffle has cost her some time, she's kept more or less on course and, more importantly, she is ALIVE.

Not that this escape from certain death appears to have appeased Mr Kaleb Virim any. If anything, he seems more peeved, probably due to the way his girl's eyes are LIGHTING UP. "Go. Now." And they do, suffering enthusiastic sprays of food and beverage all the way.

The ground is still and peaceful here... Just outside the acid ripples. Something in the distance is sizzling. As the Nautolan's nictitating lids open again, he realizes... It's his arm. Well, that explains that. The lids move to close again when a voice calls out in his head.

'Get up, please. Help is coming. I am coming..somehow. Zelo?!'

That voice... That voice pulls him back. While the racers have all left him behind, his swoop damaged too much to take to the finish line... Or... Maybe? The Nautolan starts to press up on both arms, and another bark of pain sends him to the ground, right arm screaming internally to his externally. Trying again with just his left, Zelo manages to - miraculously - regain his feet. He looks at the remains of the swoop and sees... Far too much damage to salvage. With a shrug, the Nautolan looks to the side of the gorge, making his way toward the wall with a weak wave to the drone so the audience will know that the racer's spirit remains intact. Black-pool eyes scan the ground, making certain that every step is solid before it's taken. He has no need to repeat what just happened in low-speed. In the distance, he sees a medical speeder heading in his direction.

Were they in the straightaway yet? Was there a straightaway Apparently not on this course. But, she had started, and she was going to finish. And so, into the debris fields. Keen eyes as she was, was it possible for Nerys to both watch the course and mark the places she'd like to go back to t spelunk for treasure...juuuust possibly. In and out, this way, that way, zig and zag, Nerys swept along the ground, dodging and weaving through the fields of one great weapons of battle. Bitty? Bitty was still screaming, and very *definitely* hiding her eye.

Vhe looks distressed as she sees another racer's life end and there is a shred of guilt as she waits for some sort of response from the nautolan. Swallowing heavily, she smooths a hand against the edge of her tunic when the droid's finally catch him standing. Relief washes over her as she sees him moving at the very least but the damage is rather hard to tell as others cheer upon seeing him rise.

That is when her eyes shift, moving away from the screen and just in time to see Pherra approaching her. It takes her a moment to realize that is what is occuring - or so she thinks. Without even considering why she speaks up, "Where is the medical area? I need to get down there now." There is that strange sense of helplessness that washes over her and slowly it takes hold upon her features. "I have to get there."

Pherra has her back to the view screens, but the reactions of the audience are enough to tell her thing have gone for someone. She glances over her shoulder and regrets it in an instant as the screens broadcast the acidic melty death.

Returning her attention to the woman in green, Pherra can only shake her head at Vhe. "I don't know, but, I can help you find them if you like?" She gestures a gauntleted hand towards the exit out of the stands.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Here they come!" fireworks explode in a wild riot of color and light arching over the final stretch following the obstacle course. A hard-pack stretch of bare earth with a checkered bar-line marking the finishing point where the last blazes of pyrotechnics and holo-lights will explode into celebratory life.

"Only three racers left! David Ironside out front. Netep Muri barely holding onto second place and Nerys Greystorm weaving around the competition and surviving to take up the final position in todays race!!!" holo-displays of each racer in standing pose during pre-race, or post from Jervo's world. Sebulba? Where did he go?

The dug's swoop is at the end of a skid-trail churned into the ground, the aging alien sitting next to it with his hood and goggles off, cursing and muttering while looking at the hunk of fallen pipe that had speared his primary repulsor array and resulted in the crash of his racer.

And he had been doing so well too, up until that point.

"A second place victory day keeps Netep Muri as circuit leader, but Ironside's win puts him directly beneath her and Greystorm has entered the top four!! It is a fantastic, and dire, day for racing gentlebeings! Please give worthwhile applause for your competitors today! Brilliantly done!"

The crowd, likewise, goes berserk. Confetti tubes blasting, holo-light displayers throwing light-shows into the sky and displays of names or faces of preferred racers.

As David comes into the final stretch, he knows he's won already. His speeder passes by the stands, hand raised up off the handlebars to wave at the adoring fans. "Sebulba who?!" he calls out after lowering his scarf away from his face. He grins and immediately after passing the finish line, pulls off to the side to check on the loth-cat he'd picked up early in the race.

Muri's heart thuds extra beats amid the regular, adrenaline kicking her heartrate so high it's having hiccups! Even after she's blurred under the shower of colorful sparks, Muri is slow to....slow. It just hasn't sunk in, maybe, that the trial is OVER. Not until someone's pit crew is screaming and running and OH NO OH NO!

The Nightfalcon is wrest into a sharp turn, screaming up a cloud of dust and debris and flinging that hitch-hiked web of cables clear of her dinged stabilizer.

Hopefully, onlookers will make the assumption that she's just done a bit of showboating and hadn't blanked/accidentally ALMOST creamed a handful of workers. Just...just bein' a cocky pilot, eh? Yup. That's all...

Trembling from head to toe, Muri keeps her head down and works to peel her fingers off their handholds while her face behind the visor streaks with sweat and tears. And laughter. Definitely some nervous/elated laughter. The casualties of the race haven't pinged to her radar yet, so absorbed in the moment is she, and after slithering off the back of her speeder bike, she staggers a few steps toward the stands, halts, stares awkwardly around, hands still clenched in half-claw formation.

Where is she? "VIBHA!?" Netep shouts after snapping the visor up, head on the swivel.

"VIBHA!" a man in the crowd shouts with anger, drowned out by the uproarious mob of racer watchers. Smaller than most beings cheering around in that pulsating crowd, 'Vibha' pops out somewhere near her original viewing place and hops the barricade to sprint toward her aunt, grin spread from ear to ear. The younger version tackles the older and Muri gets knocked on her ass by the jubilant leap.

Maybe sometime tonight she'll be allowed to come up for air/clue in to the final results, but for now, there's just shrill tween shrieking in her face.

Now that it seemed as if there was, finally, some respite from the disaster that was this course, Nerys actually had time to check on the status of the other racers. Even Bitty peeked out from between her fingers, looking this way and that. Nerys, of course, kept up her speed, the smol droid's perusal of the remaining field churning away in her ear. 'Give me a status on the medical services.' Bitty murmured to herself, bits and pieces of sounds which were not quite words, as Nerys gave the engine one final rev of power, charging down the final straightaway towards the finish line. She'd settle for last. She was still alive. Although, once the smol droid got her blaster back, all bets were off.

Vhe gives Pherra a knowign nod. "I will be glad of any help. Surely it has to be on the lower levels to facilitate..." She raises her voice to be heard over the roar of the crowd. The death and injuries are not sitting well with her and carefully the deep hood of the earthen green robe is pulled up over the wild hair, filling the space beneath.

"Thank you...now we need to look." Because there is a desperate need to reach it before Zelo does. She glances towards the race track below and then begins to make her way down the steps, trying to search for the station and hopefully with Pherra's help one or both will spot it so she can make a direct approach.

Pherra eases around to stand beside Vhe. She doesn't touch the other woman, but there is that physical sense of extending comfort, without the actual contact. "Well, let's just try this way" She suggests as they head out of the stands, and hopefully towards the med tents, or whatever passes for something similar.

Getting to the injured might be easy enough - with volunteer slots opening on medical speeders for anyone who says (and maybe shows) basic first aid knowledge. But the area around the stands at the finish line are absolute pandemonium. Holos being taken, sports reporters talking into cameras or shoving microphones towards racers before being pushed back by security.

Only a single death so far - not a bad record for the swoop circuits. Last year there had been a handful by now. So either the raceways have grown more sedate or the racers have grown in skill.

"Gentlebeings! Gutu Phluu here for Swoop Circuit Racing! Thank you for your attendance - don't forget to attend the Shim Productions Afterparty here on Lothal and on Nar Shaddaa at the Pazaak and Tabac! Tune in next race for more hair-raising excitement and thrills unlike anywhere else in the GALAXY!!!"