Log:Jervo's World Cup - Sand Dunes

The First of the Jervo's World Cup Swoop Races

OOC Date: July 9, 2022
Location: Jervo's World - Sand Dune Arena
Participants: Mandl, Ejnar Celchu, Aconaa, Nyra Cthonall, Tamsin Cas, Fyrris Vochar, Xavier Harcourt, Nora Frayus, Galen Dawnstar, Kasia Ashkuri, Vorcassh, Hahtavi Kora, Borgol The Hutt, Aryn Cortess, Black Krrsantan And Reverberate as GM

Mandl *brushes* their nasolabial flaps, sputtering. "Ah, synthetic sand. So very... necessary." With a shrug as to the sacrifices one makes to taste glory, they affix their helmet firmly and signal readiness! Glory to the pit-crew! Glory to the spectators!

Leaving a typical looking R2 unit by the side lines, a Corellian Swoopsuit clad race makes his way toward a swoop that could only be described as janky and welded together in the most haphazard manner. He wore the helmet, obscuring his vision. The name across the back of his suit though was 'Night Screech' in a very prominent and flashy yellow against the black and dark green of his outfit. He hopped into the low seated swoop, two engines on each side. Oddly the cockpit was figured like that of an X-17 or some other type of air craft. It was painted all black with yellow trim, its sharp angular and swift despite the pockets of rust here and there, matching with his suit. The engine revved as he flipped several switches.

It's been a while since Aconaa's been on a swoop. The track being inside a space station was new to her and the Togruta was impressed with the fairly massive arenas that were available for the races. Making her way to the starting line with her swoop, Aconaa kicks her foot through the sandy track, hardly able to tell the difference between real and fake sand herself. She shrugs and pulls down her customized swoop suit helmet, readying herself for the race. "Let's do this!"

Nyra Cthonall has put her blue goggles down over her eyes already and seems to be inspecting her bright pink swoop bike dressed in her bright pink outfit to match. She gets up from a crouch and looks around the starting area, at the other racers nearby. As the music and lights dance through the arena, she smiles and says, "Totally awesome! Okay...ready...right..." she says to herself. She hops on her bikey bike and snatches her shredded hot pink gloves off the console, prepping the pre-drive checklist in her head. She squints at the rent-a-bike console thing and then flicks a couple of things to test a few things to make the bike come alive.

Doctor Tamsin Cas had found herself a free space in the stands, not so close to the medical area that she might be pulled in there, should something go awry, but not so far that if something did go awry, she would have to climb over the heads and on the backs of the spectators to get there. She wore her bag as usual, but the sight of it was obscured by the animated, holographic sign she had set in front of her feet advertising 'B'rot Salvage and Ores' alternating with 'Go Mandl!' You know the sort of thing. So flashy! Much sparkle!

"RACERS READY!"

The sands outside of the starting zone begin to pick up and become like a golden mist that swirls chaotically, filling with light that turns it hazy shades of green and red. Some of that particulate real, some fake. The winds are real enough, but the guide illuminators in the mess are clear as day to see. The Sullustain, Zaid Unpaarh, leans to glare at some of the others, goggles down over their massive eyes and cloth wrapped about their face. Engines revving.

"RACERS! SET!" Gutu's voice blares, the Gran practically shaking with excitement, Syooko Xic, an ungulate species, a Yarkora, offers a bit of gestural diplomacy in turn and the snivvian racer, Pashil, is kind enough to give a snort and spit before sinking down on his command couch. Confetti begins to rain down and the sandstorm intensifies.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the barrier drops with Gutu's call and the winds immediately begin to whip past threatening to be a flensing storm to the unprotected.

Mandl's start is rough. They can't seem to get the spark-igniter to engage. When they finally join the fray, or 'get with the program,' it is late and their start is... unimpressive, but Fortune loves a good come-from-behind tale, so whether their dismal beginning will have a dramatic turn at some point is yet untold! The night is young, maybe!

While the other racers might have blasted off ahead, jockeying for position or driving aggressively, The 'Night Screecher' started off with gaining speed. It might have caused him to fall behind in place, but he had the rest of the course to make it up. He speed up, kept his craft straight and flew in a normal pattern. Nothing fancy or crazy. A calm, cool, and collected pilot. Someone who flew well under pressure. The sleek design of his cockpit swoop was clearly no mistake, utilizing more of a pilots touch than that of someone who drove purely land vehicle.

When the signal's given to start, Aconaa revs her swoop's engine hard and flies off from the starting line. She was being pretty aggressive in her driving out the gate, looking for an early lead and then trying to position her swoop in front of other racers that might be looking to pass her. Her helmet helped keep the sand, fake and real, blowing around out of her eyes even as she got up to speed. Her eyes narrow and her focus shifts between the track ahead to glancing at other racers from the corner of her eyes to make note of any threatening her position.

Nyra Cthonall plants her hand strategically on the cycle throttle as the Swoop Bike engine loudly thumps and roars through the arena, like the others. She shifts on top of the bike, leaning forward a bit below the electro-glass deflector, listening closely as she hears the countdown, the readiness for the start of the race. She tightens her hands on the steering bars. She waits a moment as the dull cheers of the crowd echo around her and she's off with the barrier dropping.

The pink swoop bike surges forward, "Woo! Rock on!" she lets out loudly. She takes off down the middle of the straightaway, not making any tricky manuevers which might upset her start.

Tamsin, who turned as one of the hawkers came by to purchase a bottle of water, and waiting while the seller dug around for that hitherto never before purchased at a swoop race item, and by the time she turned back to the race, the racers were off, rhe pack already spreading out either by design or by fortune, and she settled into her seat, waving over the meat on sticks hawker as she watched the racers fair flashing away from the gate.

"See the best part is always the start. It's just for funsies, you know?" "No sir, I do not." "Seriously, you need to study more on this, C4" Fyrris sighs, eyes rolling skyward and his feet going up onto a stool while displays begin to engage around him to take a better view from multiple angles. Lower hands folding in his lap, "I think that the Sullustan really has the shot this year for the Jervo Cup. Watching and frowning when he sees his fathier near the rear of the pack, "Not a word." "None at all, sir." C4 comments, dome like head turning to and fro - though there seems to be a bit of sarcasm injected into their synthetic voice. "Never you worry."

Fyrris grunts and throws back his drink, finishing half of it in a go while muttering has begun in earnest.

Zai Umpaarh's swoop coughs with sudden sand choking the intakes, blowing out black smoke before he start out, chattering wild curses in his native tongue and shaking his fist to the over-the-shoulder gesture given by Pashil when the snivvian's bike creates a 'tunnel' in the sand from their passing - surging ahead and blazing a trail.

"Gentlebeings don't forget to check out the Pazaak and Tabac on Nar Shadaa for the best afterparty you can experience! Gambling, dancing, music and smokes! A den of delights to be found at the Pazaak and Tabac! Oh my oh my, look there - Mandl B'Rot, one of last Circuits top performers, having a rough go to begin the cup!" Syooko blazes past, buck teeth exposed and spitting at the Bith on their way into the storm.

The wind machines and the holograms make the madness of the storm feel real, mixed with the heat and the grit against flesh, suit, fur or scales. The race lane twisting around itself, threatening to make the competitors run into one another when they criss-cross their paths in the wheeling loops that pull them deeper into the sandstorm that the spectators can see through clearly, thanks to TECHNOLOGY!

Mandl finally gets going. (If you ask Syooko the spit was the magic ingredient. It probably lowers wind resistance.) That's a fair many words to say they go 'head down,' and get underway. At least the swoop's proven functional, and the pilot is doing his best!

Ejnar, clad in his tight black swoop suit showing off all he had to offer with the fancy yellow neon name of 'Night Screecher' written across the back, starts to really push his clearly modified X-17. Jockeying for position he speeds ahead and attempts to overtake those in front of him but not by pushing them off or somehow violently ending their participation. At least not yet.

His speeder, black as is natural for the X-17, also has a yellow trim to match his swoopsuit. But the coolest thing... because yeah this is cool, there are yellow neon runners along the bottom of the chaises reflecting against any surface the janky speeder flew against.

Aconaa zips past Zaid's sputtering swoop and tilts her swoop back, kicking up a cloud of sand behind her. She zips and weaves between the other racers while pushing her swoop as hard as she can, trying to startle some of the other riders a bit and throw them off their game by making as if she might smash into them only to just barely pull away at the last second, sending a spray of sand in their direction in passing.

Nyra Cthonall steadies her swoop bike in the middle of the straightaway and squints a bit as Aconaa zips past, kicking dust, sand and grim up into her face. She wipes her goggles off and peers down at her console for a second, maybe checking the damn speed on this thing. She takes the turn steadily and tries to figure out where that Aconaa went to, having lost sight of her completely after trying to pass someone else.

Nora Frayus settles into one of the seats towards the back of the stadium. She seems to be dressed in what might be an attempt at a disguise, with her pink hair pulled back into a little bun and wide, white-rimmed sunglasses perched atop her nose. It might even work, really, so long as one is unattuned to the comings and goings of Alderaanian nobility and the drama therein. She seems content to simply observe the race, dressed in a simple t-shirt and short ensemble that (though quite expensive) is simple enough to allow her to blend in with the crowd at large.

The real purpose of her being here is not, of course, the swoop race. This particular noblewoman has a soft spot for stadium concessions. A large, Jervo's World plastic cup sits on one side of her, and a massive bucket of spacy-pop brand popcorn in her lap. It's been dusted with her favorite blend of spices, yielding a cheesy, spicy, sweet abomination of flavors that could only taste good to someone with 18 year old tastebuds. IE, not fully developed.

She happily alternates between chowing down on the popcorn while also slurping from that commemorative plastic cup with cartoonishly loud -slurrrrrrrrrp- sounds.

Oh, and that hat?

A trucker cap. White and neon green trim. It's got a cartoon caricature of a rather rotund man wielding shockbox gloves. It says, in bold typeface, "YAN FAN".

Among the impervious and amalgamous throng of people, a black-haired man dressed in simple, spacer attire is enjoying a cig and watching the goings-on. Most of his expression is masked by the beard lining his jaw or shadowed under a heavy brow, but there is faint mirth in his brown eyes. It's nice to just get out and watching a race. Usually with the expectation someone is going to crash. Not that Xavier would wish such. Oh, no no. But the possibility certainly does add a bit of flavour to what otherwise amounts to watching drives takes the worst possible routes to their destination.

He has no conversational companion today. No one to share the idle to and fro. So he's been largely quiet and keeping to himself aside from a wry, smoky smile passed towards the older woman in front of him as she glares over her shoulder for the third time, coughing pointedly into her fist.

Galen heads into the Sand Dune Arena arriving late to watch the race but makes his way through the stands to find himself a seat running a finger up to adjust the collar of his tunic, "So much sand even if it's just for show it's going to get everywhere." He shudders just a bit in mock agony from it as he settles into his seat to watch the races.

Having claimed her water, one for now, and one for after, Tamsin settled back into her seat, adjusting her bag as she watched the next leg of the race. She did reach down, after tucking away that extra water, to adjust the display of her sign, tapping out a few commands, so that the sign now, in addition to advertising Mandl's more business endeavors, also said, 'Make them eat sand, Dr. B'rot!'

"Look at that shuffle and shift gentlebeings!! The Togruta has claimed the lead, look at Aconaa and Celchu putting Syooko further back!" The sandstorm thins as the racers progress, but new sounds begin to join the roar of wind and the amplified rasp of sand against sand. A lowing and bellowing of deep chested beasts and a shaking of the resolving horizon that those mounted on their swoops can see but not feel.

More bellowing and grunts come, great long haired beasts with curling horns erupting from the sand behind. Charging in a panic, Banthas. But in the Jervo's World racing arenas? More than likely repulsor rams concealed in holograms. "Gentlebeings, look at newcomer Cthonall at the head of those stampeding banthas! What is she going to do?!" Gutu Phul exclaims, hands up in the air and dancing side to side.

Zaid's hand lifts in a gesture for Aconaa that earns several audience gasps, jeers, and laughs that are only amplified when the sullustan is left further behind by the main pack. The banthas continue relentlessly, throwing their heads and some even tumble to be trampled by their fellows in the wake of the racers.

Mandl begins taking more risks, coming into their confidence just as a herd of rampaging... holo-banthas... ?! Are they real, are they simulated? Can that chance be taken? They cut, they dive, they attempt to make any available ground to avoid the bus-sized herd animals on the rampage!

Stampeding Bantha's? Not a problem. Ejnar was hyper focused as he flipped a couple switches and pushed power into his engines for even ore of a boost. His X-17 had been modified, while the cockpit was the same and made for a pilot, the rest of it had been sawed off to enable speeder capabilities. No more Aerodynamic parts. Though, it did allow the engines to push the vessel even faster while literally skidding on repulsolifts.

Celchu the NIGHT SCREECHER jumped off a ledge of a canyon to jump over the stampeding horde and push his way towards a higher place, if it was even possible. He turned his head about frantically, trying to determine where he was.

Blowing past the other racers, and reaching the edge of the sandstorm, Aconaa finally starts to relax a bit and eases off on her swoop a bit to give the engine a break. She glances back for a moment to see how far behind her the other racers are... and unfortunately almost misses the holo banthas on the track ahead of her! "KARKING SON OF A - " Whatever she was going to end that off with is cut off by the sound of her swoop revving hard to pop up off the floor of the arena, -narrowly- soaring over the top of the bantha she was about to slam into. She hits the track hard kicking up a small cloud of sand on the other side and chances a brief look back in disbelief.

Holographic or otherwise, she was not expecting banthas.

Nyra Cthonall zips around the first turn and looks wide-eyed at the huge Bantha creatures up ahead, kicking up sand and dirt behind them like a huge cloud. She smirks a bit as a few of the fakeass holo Banthas flicker and waver, and she has to tilt the bike slightly to avoid them, not experienced enough to know if flying right through them would be good or not. As she tilts the swoop bike, some fakeass electronic dust bounces off her deflector, but she seems to making good time catching up to the others, and she zips past the obstactle without much more trouble. She even catches sight of the speedy Aconaa lady slowing down, and she smiles, thinking up a witty sarcastic one-liner she might say to her.

Race time! Over the last few years Kasia has developed a soft spot for the races. She is wearing a pale blue outfit today, the same draped fabric as ever, this one with a hood that she wears up over her tidy, styled hair. She has a little bag that crinkles with movement clutched in one hand as she moves through stands to find an empty seat, and settle into it.

A vaguely familiar voice pokes at Xavier's ears and he turns his head this way and that to triangulate. He rises and casually makes his way to the end of his row, down a few steps, then into the line of seat. A fistful of spots later, he takes a seat next to Tamsin and raises a hand in lazy greeting. "Doctor. Long time no see. Though I figured you would be found at the ground level. Or are you off the clock?" He gestures towards the race as a while with his cig pinched between two fingers. "Exciting, mmm?" More a genuine question than a opinion.

A little late for the start maybe but a Mandalorian arrives to see what's going on at the races. That or he's a bounty hunter checking out the gathering to look for a bounty.

Hahtavi Kora starts making his way up through the aisles, wearing full armor and kit. No obvious weapons. Helmet on, the Mando's boots raise him slowly higher and higher up into the stands. His helmet turns this way and that slowly as though looking for someone.

Only once he's fairly high in the stands does he stop to look back and observe the race status. Who knows? Perhaps he's here to meet someone, or may run into someone he knows...

Tamsin, hearing Xavier's voice, moved out of instinct to push her sign out of the way, so that it could still advertise, but not end up cutting him off at the knees, "I am indeed off duty. But, depending on how this race turns out, and I am still taking odds on that, I may well end up volunteering my services to the arena's medical team." Tamsin allowed herself a moment to consider, "It is interesting to watch. But, I think watching sentients push themselves to the edge of their ability always is." A hand reached down, retrieving a flash from her medical bag, "For medicinal purposes."

Galen leans forward in his seat as the race continues on cheering at the different racers as they pass closer to his position in the stands. He does glance around some leaning back as the racers move onto other sections of the track and a crooked grin on his face.

Nora Frayus leans over and slurps from her Jervo's World cup. It's some ongodly sweet-and-sugary-and-fizzy concoction that she (her family) paid entirely too much for. The whole getup, really. There's a Jervo's world t-shirt in her designer purse, and that stupid hat she got from Shockboxing. If House Frayus goes broke, it will be because of their heir apparent's love of gaudy tourist junk. Another slurp, and then some crunching of SpacyPopcorn while she does a bit of peoplewatching.

Mid chew, she spies Kasia Ashkuri in the crowd. She doesn't yoo-hoo, but if the woman and her make fleeting eyecontact, she'll get a wave from Lady Frayus and a smile (if she isn't chewing popcorn).

The blood calls to race. The Ubese in the uniquely customized armor has the Urgency. The Urgency for Velocity. However, tonight limits him to simply observing rivals rather than competing against them. A Guardian Droid stays closely at heel, though clearly checking the surroundings. Meanwhile a small seeker droid stays at shoulder, peering over it. Occasionally it takes off on its repulsor lifts to sweep the area, as if scouting, before returning to settle on the shoulder again.

Of all the concessions to choose from, the angular helmet nods towards a flash of water. Credits are exhanged and a seat alongside a specific dias is finally obtained. A filter tube is slipped into the flask of water, allowing the suit to purify and draw it into internal tanks. It is during this time Vorcassh turns attention to other spectators, to observe a random selection individually with the angular tinted eyeshields.

The Holobanthas continue their wild rampage while the racers pull ahead, breaking away into a wide, flat, hardpan section of desert. The sands giving way to dry-mud ground, baked by the sun and cracked like glass into a wild and chaotic mosaic of dark lines against blonde grounds.

"EMPEROR'S BONES, LOOK. AT. THAT!" Gutu bellows from his floating stand Pashil still holding second while the leader position is lost to poor luck and near crashes. "EJNAR CELCHU, of the FAMED Celchu Family of Alderaan is making some moves and newcomer Cthonall is surging up from behind!"

No monsters, weather, or catastrophe for the moment; only the wide expanse of endless flatland bordered by the lane markers. Crisscrossing paths and a few slaloms to force the racers into doing more than going straight. But there's a shadow in the distance.

"GENTLEBEINGS! WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!"

Mandl's helmet, with the electronic interface substituted wholly for "a viewscreen" for efficiency, provides them no cue to stimulate trepidation or horror via 'mysterious things looming on a horizon.' If any such thing is reflected in their digital world, it is as-yet-ignored. Pedal extremity to the metallic pressure sensor, they forge onward bravely and-- yes, perhaps recklessly-- in light of their tepid start. Holographic dust swirling and curlicu-ing in their wake, they *thrum* and *zwoom* onward!

For his part Lord Borgol the Hott has decided to throw caution or perhaps decorum to the wind. While the Hutt Lord naturally maintains some manner of perimeter around himself and the clearing - or dais - which Lord Borgol has claimed to act as his throne-away-from-throne. A retinue of guards and murders forms a staggered chain around the Hutt Lord's chosen seat among the crowd and make an effort to keep those unbidden from approaching too closely.

One organic eye remains wide while he observes the swoop race affairs which are underway. Meanwhile the golden cybernetic eye fit within his left socket rolls aside to regard Vorcassh as the Hutt Lord rumbles out with a thunderous voice speaking Huttese to border on rivaling the most raucous of crowds, "Keep an eye on my driver," the Hutt Lord intones solemnly, "and be prepared to collect on her upcoming win." It is with that proclamation to Vorcassh the Ubese that Borgol the Hutt's attention drifts back to a nearby holo-monitor relaying the details of the race to the Hutt Lord's peepers.

5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Borgol the Hutt, "Keep an eye on my driver, and be prepared to collect on her upcoming win."

Ejnar couldn't hear the cheering of the crowd or the announcements. He was focused on one thing, staying head of those who were behind him. As he angled into the canyon, he knew there was a bit more narrow of a pass coming up that was somewhat of a shortcut. He opted for that rout, disappearing for a few long moments. Uncertainty was likely abound, before he emerged, somehow speeding along faster than before and kicking up dust trail longer and wider that some of the more lower powered craft out to race today. Either way, the craft and he seemed calm cool and collected.

Aconaa had been pushing her swoop pretty hard at this point, especially after that near-miss with the 'bantha', so for now she wasn't pushing it nearly as hard to give the the engine a bit of a break. She was keeping an eye out for any further obstacles on the track ahead as well. This 'safer' strategy - she was still moving fairly fast and aggressive - was causing her to fall behind a bit and she found herself glaring at the other swoop pilots as they passed by her.

Maybe he's NOT here to stun people and handcuff them, jetpacking between seating aisles like at the last race. Hahtavi starts walking again and it isn't long before the Mandalorian does indeed see some familiar faces. A detour is in order.

Out of the aisle and over towards tables and other seating, the Kora's vocoder augments his baritone, <"Doctor Cas, Xavier. Good evening."> Rather than asking if he may join them and taking a seat, the Kora stops and is content to stand. Watching the start of the race, also looking over the crowd all around him in this location.

The T-visor of his helmet eventually comes back around to Tamsin and Xavier. <"Been a while, Xavier. Did you give up on sneaking around people's property suspiciously?"> Mando's never going to let him live that down, is he?

The Kora's attention is then briefly arrested, noticing a certain Hutt Lord is in attendance. Behind his helmet's visor, Hahtavi frowns at never seeing a certain swoop racer he'd sponsoered ever showing up at these things.

Nyra Cthonall grins as she zips past a damn cactus and flies out onto the wide expanse of landscape in front of her. The cloud of dust dies away and the bike zooms forward like an arrow. She glances up a moment in wonder, looking at how vast the whole thing is in front of her, and she can narrow her eyes and finally spy those ahead of her. She zips past that one Aconaa lady and some others too! She taps on her console again and glances at the reading, even as the dirt and grim is flaked over the screen, but she can still make-out the RED and BLUE brightass bars flashing wildly as per the usual overdramatic swoop bike console read-out. The swoop bike picks up even more speed, perhaps more than Nyra thought, but she doesn't try hitting or slamming anything like some of the other wild entries into the race.

"Space and stars, this is like the stabilizer fields on Corellia. No one can hold position except for the blasted Snivvian." throwing his lower hands up while his upper hands take care not to splash his drink everywhere. Fyrris shakes his head and gives a longsuffering look to the butler droid who only shrugs.

"I'm not programmed for odds or gambling." "I know, I need to fix that." "My word. How inappropriate." "Some would say pulling your restraining bolt was inappropriate. But I like you better this way." "Sir I have no understanding of what to say next. But I feel gratitude is the most appropriate." "It's ok. Don't get mushy." "Of course sir." the droid shifts, shoulders moving and head a little higher at that.

"Medicinal purposes." Xavier cannot hide the amusement when he repeats that. Well, he /could/ hide his amusement. He just doesn't bother to. "We're in agreement. In terms of seeing people pushed to their limits. Nudged to the brink. Then to see where desperation takes them." Xavier is silent a moment so that he can take another drag from his cig and then blow the smoke out on his leisure. "For medicinal purposes."

Another voice breaks into their conversation and draws the man's dark attention to-- "Pardon? And you are?" He looks over the armour a moment, the helmet, the voice. Nothing really clicks until he sees the sigil and a wide, toothy smile spreads across his bearded face. "Ah, yes. One of Sumi's clan. What was it... Hahtavi, yes. Always a pleasure to see your sunny face." He says to his own reflection in the Mando's helmet. "As for my pasttimes, I can neither confirm nor deny. Though I can assure you that if I were, you wouldn't know."

Tamsin, handing off the flask, cracked the seal on her water as she watched the race, reaching down to turn up the LEDs on her sign, which was still displaying further encouragements and accolades in the Bith's favor. Hahtavi's familiar form loomed over her and Tamsin looked up and slightly back, as she heard the greeting, "Always good to see you, Hahtavi. Sit if you like. I think the benches have enough clearance for your jetpack." Well, either they did, or there would on less sittable seat on the row should the jetpack need to be ignited.

High Speed Low drag, at least that is the initial impression Vorcassh allows himself. He utilizes a combination of input from his bilateral PAC-20's, as well as a tiny internal screen within the helmet. Not to mention the big racers display, that one is the most useful thus far. The little seeker transmits a burst of binary direction to his wrist-comps and there is a nod of acknowledgment.

The helmet similar to that of an Arcona's turns to respectfully incline towards Borgol and his instruction. There is a burst of vocoder speech-scrambling translation. <"As you wish."> An upnod at the race displace and track. <"Appears to be in skillful company."> The Ubese goes back to observing the race, it's officials, and random spectators. Possibly looking for a datapad to slicer-prank, or simple curiosity.

Situated inside one of the penthouse suites to observe the track is a member of Alderaanian aristocracy who has held out an empty glass flute for a refill from an expensive vintage. "I dare say this label agrees with me; not that racing and wine ought be paired, but were there such a thing, I believe it should be this one.."

That posh voice belongs to the pale blonde named Aryn. A member of staff answers her silent request of refill and Aryn says, "My thanks, sir." Before the flute is brought back to glossy lips and tipped up for a dainty, delightful drink as her eyes settle on the screen conveying the race.

Kasia similarly doesn't attempt any yoohooesque greetings when she spies Nora in the crowd, but she does lift a hand to offer the young woman a small wave in return. Then she sets to work opening the very crinkly packaging, serenading those around her with a staticky crinkle-crinkle-crinkle until she manages to get the small bag of snacks open. Success! She ignores any side-eyes, and forges ahead on her snacking mission, taking the crispy cracker like treat and popping one into her mouth, eyes sweeping the crowd. Her gaze lingers on the Hutt present, lips pursing into a line before she averts her eyes and looks to the racers instead.

"It's a real fight for first place!" Gutu's massive hologram points, sausage fingers hovering over the heads of the top three ranks. Triple eyestocks bobbing around. "We're in the home stretch, Gentlebeings! They're almost to the finish line!" pyrotechnics, streamers and confetti begin bursting about, spraying glitter everywhere in the stands.

The hardpan turns into hilly scrub, sharp rises that force jumps to all but the most cautious of drivers. Womp rats and massive beetles scurry from the oncoming racers and the thin strip of cloud in the blazing azure sky melt away to a noon day illumination that erases shadows and spotlights each racer as they come.

"WHO WILL WIN THE FIRST OF FIVE!?"

A line draws itself in the air as the racers approach, gaudy checks that start black and white before swirling in a mix if rainbow colors.

"I CAN'T TAKE THE SUSPENSE!!"

The invitation is accepted. Hahtavi doesn't take off his helm here in the crowded stands amid thousands of aruetiise but he does take the seat Tamsin indicates. They can't see the smile behind his helmet's visor at Xavier's reply though the humor might seep through his vocoder. <"Don't be so sure that I wouldn't. Depends on where you are when you were doing it and who was paying me."> He chuckles, <"Nonetheless, your wit remains refreshing.">

a pause to observe the races as the swoops rip through a portion of the tracks - this one a desert scene. Always a good choice. <"Mandl's racing?"> Lot of others the Kora doesn't know.

After a moment, Hahtavi looks back to Tamsin, <"Rotworms have a match coming up. You will be there, Doctor?">

The presence of the Hutt Lord is noted by Nora Frayus as well, but noted subtly from behind a pair of rather expensive looking sunglasses. The wide, owl-eye kind with white rims that take up way too much of her face. She leans over and slurps from the Jervo's World commemorative glass with a thoughtful 'hmmmm' that causes warm, wet air to mix with the cool air wafting off the ice and fizzpop. Her gaze doesn't linger, however. Before long, she settles backwards in her seat and folds one leg neatly over the other. She absently grabs for her popcorn only to see that it's been nabbed by a Sullustan who is gleefully shoving it into his mouth.

"Hey!" she protests, and the man pulls his (her) bucket of popcorn away protectively.

Rai gives a bit of a look over the race track and there is a bit of pondering moment as she tries to figure out who is the fan favorite. Or who is the least liked. She wasn't really sure if she was going to bet on anyone. Maybe. She'd have to see!

"Taking the benefactor into account is key," Xavier nods sagely, turning his head to blow smoke over his shoulder. Directly into the face of the older woman who had been snarking at him before he had opted to change seats. Never a missed opportunity to rub /someone/ the wrong way. "I tend to not get mixed up in Mandalorian affairs. Mostly because the two paths rarely cross. Serendipitous, you would agree." Satisfied that he has thoroughly ruined someone's day when the woman barks a grump of irritation and storms off, Xavier snuffs what little remains of his cig under his boot. "You'd do good to have Doctor Cas on the sidelines to whatever venture you've got on the horizon. Though I'm afraid I don't know what a rotworm is." And he's wondering if he /wants/ to know.

Galen's attention is just completely riveted on the race his elbows on his knees as he's leaning forward again watching the racers zooooom past cheering on all of them with whoops and hollers as they pass by then a pat down on his clothes and a sigh, "Dang it left my water someplace."

Mandl pours on the fire, as tradition dictates, the last leg of these races is all about *gunning it* and see who has the skill, the fortitude and the fortune not to collide with a wall or withstand the aggressive maneuvers of their fellows! They're certainly giving it their all in these last moments!

The Ubese of the Mazijik Kajidic notices more royalty types have arrived. The seeker has continued to perform it's flit and return sequence at random during the event. Occasioanlly stopping just to provide some personal zoomed-in footage to Vorcassh when the racers get close. The Ubese finds his attention split.

The unique angular helmet turns up towards Borgol. <"Perhaps I will try that-"> There is a search for the word. <"Mingling. Thing. With your leave, Lord Borgol."> Vorcassh waits for the acknowledgement knowing it is coming in one form or another. Though he leaves the Guardian droid within the Hutt's security ring for now. Tamsin seems popular, as well as familiar. Her gathering gets joined by an armor-studden Ubese. The scrambled vocoder is engaged again, with a respectful nod. <"Doctor Cas."> The others in proximity also recieve nods of their own, polite, but slightly lesser.

Ejnar didn't plan for the next Mesa that was just beyond the one he exited as a shortcut. This one was covered in bored holes, like sand-worms had made a home out of it at one point. He had no choice but to go through.

The Night Screecher flies through the cramped tunnel, avoiding stalactites and stalagmites that have grown over the years since the sand-worm tunnels were abandoned (at least in the lore of this well crate holo world). He circles around the edge of the hole like a bullet through a rifled barrel before being shot out the other side and into clear desert. The finish line dead ahead.

Seeing the finish line ahead, Aconaa floors it -hard-, ready to pull out all the stops now. Aconaa's swoop was gunning hard and fast for the racers ahead of her, pushing her engine as hard as she could. A thick, black wisp of smoke was trailing from her swoop's engine. Her swoop would come up close to the other racers, leaning in hard toward them in an effort to throw them off balance, trying to make any openings she can to pull ahead of them and then stay there. She had fallen behind by a fair and was fighting hard to gain back that lost ground. Any swoops she managed to pass would be getting a cloud of sand kicked up in their direction just to try to keep things that way.

"He is. He placed very well in the last circuit, though he wasn't the points leader. I think he might be trying for that now." Tamsin, reaching into her back to retrieve her backup water, offered it, and, after a moment of rummaging, a collapsible straw to Hahtavi. Whether the mandalorian could make that work with his helm, she didn't know. "I have kept tabs on his progress from my clinic, but thought I might see him do his work in person this time. And yes, I'm still under contract, so I will be at all of the competitions, schedule allowing." And then, to Xavier, "It is the name of the melee combat team the Koras and their allies fight under in their circuit." There is a circuit for melee combat. It has Koras. Hearing a lament not far from her, Tamsin offered her second bottle in Galen's direction. "Opened, but unsampled." But her attention doesn't stay long on the man she's handing her second bottle of water, as another armored figure makes its way towards her. The good Doctor Cas does attract the most interesting sorts. "Vorcassh, so good to see you well." Or as well as one can look, fully encased in armor. Who knew what parts might be dropping of undercover? Truly one of life's greater mysteries.

Nyra Cthonall keeps her head down below the deflector and braces against the wind, some choppy air making it hard to keep at max speed the whole time. It may be that she can't raise her head the way she wants because of how fast she's going and how the wind whips against the swoop bike thing. She whaps the console every time the levels drop even slightly. The bike is pretty fast but that seems relative against those she can see ahead of her. She closes in as time tick ticks away, closer and closer, until she can hear them and see the dust kicking up behind them, so close to the finish.

"bo goba goba," Lord Borgol answers thoughtfully back at Vorcassh's own observation. The Hutt Lord's attention appears to be fixed on the viewscreen which displays snippets of interest from the race, along with the current standings. A low rumble of annoyance arises from Lord Borgol before his club-like left arm rises up to idly stroke a thick finger across his chin. Which in turn smears a liberal amount of slime and saliva across his onyx-and-sand toned hide. He waves that same moist titan of a hand dismissively without verbally acknowledging Vorcassh's desire to wander off and mingle with other beings. The Hutt Lord seems immersed in the viewscreen for the time being.

5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Borgol the Hutt, "Very skillful company,"

The Mandalorian turns his helmet back to Xavier, <"Rotworms are Sumi's team. We will be fighting the Boss Hogs, a Gamorean battle team on Onderon. You'd like it. A lot of blood, death, crowds cheering wildly. Like group gladiator games. Sometimes they throw in a Rancor to spice things up."> Might be a bit crude for Xavier's taste but who knows?

Vorcassh's arrival gains an upnod from the Kora bounty hunter. Ah, and then Tamsin is explaining to Xavier. Something comes through over his helmet's coms and Hahtavi sits still as he listens. He politely declines the water Doctor Cas offers to himself as he moves to stand, <"Hmmm, vor'e, but nayc. I need to resume my hunting. Swoop races are profitable for checking bounties. Enjoy the race."> The Mandalorian turns and resumes his prowling of the thousands in the swoop racing seating levels. So many faces for his helmet's sofware to double check against bounty records...

"Should have bet on the Alderaanian." "Yes, yes. I should have bet on the Alderaanian. Pilot family, what should I expect?" Fyrris looks back to C4 with a shrug and a twist of his expression before he throws back his drink and lifts his glass for yet -another- refill. "Notes for the future eh? Like insider trading, but legal." "Of course, sir."

The finish line is coming and the Codru is watching his profit estimates based on the bets made, the likely turnout at his bar and all of those other delicious little factors, rubbing his hands together now.

"Sir it makes me uncomfortable when you do that." "Good." "Good?" "Yes." "Goodness." C4 shakes its big dome head and refills his glass. Fyrris shrugs and smiles. He smiles a most Fyrrisy sort of smile. While a plan hatches. A plan of plans. 'Somehow' Fyrris thought, his greedy thought 'the money will be all mine. MINE. MINE!' and the Stooges down in Stoogeville were fully unaware of the plot, but if they knew they'd worry. Worry about Old Fyrris up on Fyrris Mountain. It's absolute truth that they'd worry a lot.

"IT'S CELCHU! FOLLOWED BY B'ROT AND ACONAA! WITH NEWCOER CTHONALL JUST BEHIND AND THE REST IN THE PLACES NO ONE EVER REMEMBERS"

Brutal, Gutu.

As the racers pass the line even more fireworks and pyrotechnics go off. The 'frictionless' surface of the raceway revealed with all seven at the center of the course once they've stopped, in the sun, with desert blooms popping up all around them, Bantha's slowly ambling past and a mixture of real as well as holographic dancers twirling and spinning out onto the fields. Streamer ribbons trailing behind them, shirt-cannons launching into the crowd.

Syooko and Pashil share snarling words while the Sullustan, Zaid shakes his fist at his approaching crew.

"GENTLEBEINGS! WE HAVE OUR FIRST RACE DONE, JOIN US NEXT TIME FOR RACE TWO OF FIVE OF THE JERVO'S WORLD CUP!!!" Gutu's platform raises above the holofields, disappearing from sight while excited music blazes through the arena.

Swoop racers are jamming it, people are packed in to scream and cheer on for their favorite racers, bookies are checking their bets they have now closed off this close to the end of the race. Food vendors are trying to get rid of the last of their wares before the exodus.

And there they go over the finish line! The crowd goes nuts! And in all the noise and chaos, who notices a huge black Wookiee that picks up a Bith that just insulted him. Krrsantan almost absent mindedly picks up the short alien and kind of tosses him out of the way, the Bith giving a shriek before falling into the crowd. The huge black haired Wookiee seers and comes the rest of the way out of a VIP suite.

"Lord Celchu appears to be the victor, your Grace," Comments Lars, who turns slightly from the viewscreen to lift his drink up and sip. The action and poise bleeds into the pretentious territory, but who is there to judge but the staff. "I would say her Ladyship, Winter, would be proud but I think she might frown upon such reckless .. ahh, pursuits. I daresay his Lord father would agree though." Aryn says, lightly clapping her gloved hands even though no one would hear it. "Perhaps," intones Lars, who turns back toward the screen to watch, his cape gently rustling.

Galen hmmms and glances over towards Tamsin and company with the offer of water and nods reaching over to accept the water, "I appreciate it!" He opens the water and takes a sniff before he takes a drink from it although as the race comes to a close he jumps to his feet applauding followed by an arm pump, "Well done!"

Rai gives a look around once people seem to have won. She gives a round of applause and then the old Mando rises from her seat and starts to head for the exit as she puts her helm back on. She had things to do and medical supplies to get back to Mandalore!

"I do believe that man works even more than I do," was Tamsin's sole comment as Hahtavi took his leave. "But, I imagine credits don't make themselves." With such a pronouncement, surely Senvere Cas' principles were showing in his adopted daughter. Tamsin did, on occassion, put her best muunish foot forward."It looks as though Dr. B'rot has done well for himself in the race, but I have no doubt he will pull ahead in the end. Bith are quite wily that way." She did not, however, shut down her sign, "And it looks as though the party is only just beginning."

Mandl settles for second, this time despite their best efforts. Ejnar is given a hearty congratulations, and they look ruefully up at Tamsin. A comical shrug. 'Ah well, I tried? Better luck next time?'

Ejnar really didn't notice he had won the first race. He passed the finish line and pulled the air brakes on what once was a fully aerodynamic and functioning X-17. It skidded to a stop just next to his R2 unit he had parted from just before the race started kicking up a ton of rocks and dust.

The cockpit opened and he was greeted almost immediately with the crowds in the stands cheering and shouting his name. He was stunned, helmeted head glancing around the stadium.

That was until He felt eyes on him. He looked down towards the prep and maintenance hangers and saw a woman dressed in white with ice blue eyes. A look of disappointment on her stone cold features. He white hair flowed in the the wind of the artificial desert.

Mom was not happy...

Nora Frayus reaches across her seat and wrestles the popcorn away from the Sullustan that stole it from her. When the man roars and bangs his hands loudly in protest at the Lady, he's met with a sudden whir of motion and the glint of polished steel. A parrying dagger now sits in Nora Frayus right hand, tip out towards the blustering alien. In her left hand, a handful of popcorn that she promptly pops into her mouth and begins to chew.

"Chuuuupoo, chupo... grogo donpo," the man says, laughing nervously before seating his butt back down in the chair. Nora rolls her eyes and turns her chin up towards where Princess Cortess and Ser Lars are spying down at the rabble. Can they see her? Probably not. Does she wave both hands in their direction (one with a knife, the other with popcorn)?

Darn tootin'.

"Yoohoooo! Your Graaaace!" she croons out. The Sullustan edges a little bit away as that knife swings back and forth in a wide arc.

Crossing the finish line, Aconaa's swoop finally starts to sputter and die as it comes to a stop. She had been pushing it pretty hard throughout the race and it would likely be the last race for that particular rental for a while. Letting out a sigh, Aconaa pops open some clips along her helmet to pop off the front of it and pull it off and shake out her lekku. Third place wasn't a bad finish at least, especially given the competition. She looks toward Mandl and Ejnar in particular. "You two certainly know how to handle a swoop," she comments to the two, then starts to make her way off the track, brushing off some bits of sand coating her suit as she headed off.

Several people back peddle to give the Wookiee room. Now the race is over, some in the crowd are staying put to socialize, others are getting up to depart and head for their ships or other entertainments.

Krrsantan starts moving through the crowd, people quick to get out of his way. Who knows what happened to that Bith. Santos rumbles to himself, "rwowoal /rwowoal/ grarrrl rwowoal rwarrl roarrl. rwowoal rwowoal." A deep, low chuckle, dark eyes sharp for what is going on around him.

Unlike other bounty hunters, Krrsantan isn't wearing any armor. Thick black hair covers him from head to foot and only metal bandoliers and a metal belt to clothe him with spiked pauldrons at each shoulder. Sharp pointed spikes stick out of his hairy hands over his knuckles. His black nose sniffs the air, sifting through the many various scents. Maybe the Wook is hungry as his big head turns towards a vendor selling spiced meats on a stick.

When the food vendor sees the Wookiee, the Twi'lek man looks a shade paler and tries to smile,Monkey Lizard on a stick! After race special! Two for only 100 credits! Santos peers down at the blue man and bares his sharp teeth. A hairy paw rummages in a large pouch and actually produces a few credits to the vendor's immense relief. Big smile and lots of praises for the Wookiee's choice, handing ... well it's a few more than two sticks of spicy meat.

Only problem is that Santos is so big that he's blocking the aisle. 5P-KR (3P0 Unit 9872) repeats after Black Krrsantan, "Now /that/ should be a sport. Bith Tossing."

Fortunately there is no parts loss to suit Tamsin's professional imagination. Though there is the occasional bout of tinnitus. The bounty huntr moved off while he was deep in his thoughts. The race has finished. He's pondering how the Hutt will take the loss. Vorcassh is willing to bet it's reasonably well. At least for now. His helmet shakes to bring him back to the full present and reality when the seeker settles on his shoulder once again. Another burst of binary from the creature direct to his coms. Another nod from the angular helmet, and attention fully returns to those present.

Standing now, with the race finishing, Fyrris looks to C4 with brow lifted, "Alright, the plan." "Plan?" "Yes. The plan." the codru's return gaining a tip of the head from the droid who looks skywards, "Oh come on. THE Plan!" "I don't follow." "I hate you right now." "Understood sir" "Look" Fyrris glares and tosses his glass over his shoulder to the shock and woe of his butler droid, "We need to get back to the ship, I'll have the details you can plug right into there." "For the plan." "YES. The plan! Space and STARS C4... Are you kriffing with me?!?" "How would you know if I was?"

The pair stare at each other for a time, a blank look on either face. One because of years spent honing his skills at the tables. One because it ... well it has no face. Really.