Log:Jervo's World Cup - Splish Splash Bash

The Third of the Jervo's World Cup Swoop Races

OOC Date: October 1, 2022
Location: Jervo's World - Water World Arena
Participants: Ejnar Celchu, Mandl, Aconaa, Tamsin Cas, Vega, Aryn Cortess, Nora Frayus, Qutha Buvu Pah, Domino, Tarq Najjic, Bizz Bliptettjupp, Galen Dawnstar, Xavier Harcourt, and Reverberate as GM

"LADIES!" the miles of hand crafted beaches ringing the grandiose, simulated, ocean of the Water World arena is bathed in multi-hued 'sunlight' generated from lights built into the dome above the raceway. Clouds generated by atmospheric machines tumble across a sky of tea green that fades pearlescent.

"AND" a platform with swoops and racers lifts from the 'depths' of the sea, protected by deflector dome, to full view at the center of the arena. The shields dropping and pyrotechnic tubes spewing flame and sparks into the sky around the edge of the circular plate with Gutu Phlu: The Major Domo of RACING rising on a platform of his own that separates and rises 'skyward'.

"GENTLEBEINGS!!" holographic fightercraft roar overhead with trailers of rainbow colored smoke in their wake, tracing looping paisleys in the air "WELCOME TO THE THIRD OF THE JERVO'S WORLD CUP RACES!!" more fireworks and streamers erupt illuminate the crowds and rain long streamers down onto them. "WE'LL BE SEEING THE MIDWAY POINT OF OUR CHAMPIONSHIP, BROUGHT TO YOU BY JERVO'S WORLD AND THE PAZAAK AND SABACC!" platform turning and fanfare blaring.

"RACERS! TO YOUR SWOOPS!"

Lord Lieutenant Ejnar Celchu of New Alderaan had ditched the janky old cobbled together swoop he had been riding and instead was now making his way towards a very sleek machine painted in bright oceanic and tropical colors. He still wore that skin tight (very tight... too tight) Swoop Suit, helmet under arm, and the front zipper undone just a bit to show off just the right amount of chest hair. He ran a hand through his hair, wet still from the dip he had taken in the water not too long ago. Then he threw a leg over the seat and turned the machine on. To roared to life, repulsors causing a bit of haze underneath as the swoop hovered. He shook his hair, droplets of water falling off before putting his helmet on. He reved the engine and leaned forwards, the neon yellow text on the back of his swoop still reading NIGHT SCREACHER.

Mandl, readied like a sprinter, pumps arms and legs! Go-go-go! Their frictionless suit offends the eye as the mystery of their gender beguiles the senses! (... stupid sexy Mandls!) Dr. B'rot hops into their vehicle on cue, shedding perspiration onto lesser intellects!

Aconaa had brought a new swoop to today's race, a brightly painted blue speederbike of Aratech make. By chance the color was somewhat fitting for today's racing environment consisting of a simulated ocean track. Wearing a Corellian swoopsuit that had been painted in shades of blue to match the bike, the Togruta looks out over the track through her helmet's visor, furrowing her brow a bit as she wondered what hidden simulated hazards lay in wait on this world. "Credits on there being a sea monster," she mumbles to herself as she hops onto her bike to prepare for the race.

As she had done previously, in past races for this circuit, Tamsin settled again, having found a place on one of the spectator's bleachers, more away from the sand, simulated and otherwise, than others, but certainly not in the VIP area, with bag in lap, bottles of water tucked around her, and in front of her legs, an LED illuminated and animated board which, currently, read, 'Show them the error of their ways, Dr. B'rot!' (Yes, it was a small sign, the scrolling text was hard to read, okay? But it was the thought that counted.)

Vega's not in her robes, because when you're supposed to be lowkey that doesn't work out. She's dressed in her Nar Shaddaa gear today and given the pants are synth leather that helps with the amount of water that might end up on her. Hopefully she won't have to deal with that. "Looks like all systems are good. You shouldn't drop out of the air and plunge into the water and drown before we can get you out." she tells the racer she'd been working with, she follows it up with a bright smile and then she's going back over systems and things. Because she didn't really want anyone to drown accidentally! She gives a thumbs up to the other mechanics as they are making final checks and there's a few quiet good lucks to the other racers before she skitters over to a safe spot.

Aryn Cortess is settled in one of the special suites watching the race. It's not that she's overly fond of the sport, but the chance to get away from everything and be in the presence of friends proved an added benefit to having a ever evolving topic to discuss. Aryn has taken a comfortable seat with an ideal vantage, and has her choice of wine to drink. She selects one with a lazy gesture and accepts the glass once it's poured. "My thanks. Let us see of Lord Ejnar might pull off another victory-- For Alderaan.." She toasts, lifting her glass!

Nora Frayus, along with a small number of armed guards, is lead towards one of the private, secure private viewing rooms housing various members of Alderaanian royalty and wealthy benefactors. It is especially busy today, as there have been recent rumors that Princess Cortess herself might be making an appearance. She is, as some might tell you, a fan of the races. And it would seem that, at least today, that rumor is true!

Countess Frayus is let in through the secure door, and those who accompanied her turn to take up post just outside. She's dressed in what was, at one point, a rather elegant ballroom gown. It's still quite beautiful, really, but several blaster-fire scorch marks mar the surface of her chest.

It's the very outfit she was wearing on the night of her parents' murder.

A small smile is given to those who turn to look at her, but she doesn't hold many a gaze for long. She simply maneuvers towards an empty seat, snagging a glass of wine as she goes. When it's time to toast, Nora Frayus lifts her glass and says, dry and flat:

"For Alderaan."

A foldout chair, neck pillow, gigantic carnival world wheelbarrow of pop munch and an equally large duraplast cup of water set before him, Qutha is comfortable and settled in to the spectacle today, waving off a snack barker trying to sell him a bodypillow worth of Fairy-Floss with a polite, "No, sorry. I'm flyin'" before he is with his attention back on the sudden riot of explosions, colors, and screaming announcer.

By gum it's gonna be a hootnanny here, that's for sure.

Pop munch is pushed into his mouth and the orchardist rests back, waiting for the show to begin.

Brother Bizz is waddling down to the beach seating in his holy robe with a DUD BOLT themed beach towel. He is followed by a gaggle of orphan children including Miriala the little green Mirialan, Blelaila the Twi'lek, little Padmini in a cardboard Mandalorian helmet, and Shimsa with her stick and tattered scavenger costume. He has a massive snack tray for the aquatic-themed race consisting of a dollop of fermented Porthomer eel roe with fungus crackers, a Yobshrimp cocktail, raw oysters with Balmorran vinegar, deep-fried coin-crabs with Iskalonian tartar sauce, and a large commemorative mug of Mon Calamari seaweed mash that is distinctly black in color. The squealing children put down their towels and so does Bizz and they all sit. For now.

Galen makes his way into the Water World Arena's stands because he's not silly enough to even partially believe he could be out there racing and instead is here to just watch since it is a ton of fun... He's carefully managing a throw away tray of finger foods in one hand and a cup of something in the other as he heads towards an open seat he'd spotted and settles down in the crowds hopefully not near rowdy fans.

Domino is settled at the beach under an umbrella on a lounge chair with a cooler beside her. Oversized sunglasses and shoes which are ENTIRELY impractical for the beach adorn her feet. She sups something through a straw and scans the beachshore for familiar faces.

Equine faced Syooko Xic settles upon her swoop, exposing bucked front teeth in a leer towards other racers before her cheeks puff and a stream of saliva is fired off in their general direction. A grunt is given by Pashii to Vega's assurances, mouth twisting up in a frown then engaging in engine checks.

"GENTLEBEINGS, WE'RE GOING TO SEE A WILD WHIRLPOOL OF ACTION TODAY AT THE SPLISH SPLASH BASH! A WHIRLING SPIRAL THAT WILL BRING ONE OF OUR RACERS CLOSER TO THE JERVO'S WORLD CUP!" holographic jellyfish begin to float to the surface of the very real waters, forming into racelane paths leading from the platform, complete with pulsing silver invertebrates creating a checkered starting line.

"RACERS START YOUR ENGINES!!!" simulations make the bright sun march across the sky in a too smooth timelapse, complete with wind machines scudding the clouds to the virtual horizon, stars of a million colours filling the synthesized sky and bright moons arch to their zenith, casting spotlights on the racers and the now midnight waters.

"RACERS READY!" all lights but the moons, their spotlights, the stars and the jellyfish go out, plunging all into a world of waves crashing mixing with the crowds cheers.

"READY!" the 'exit' of the central platform bursts into color, a convoluted extreme of gold and yellow hues before it blazes dayglo green with Gutu's shriek of,

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The brightness of the moons becoming so that the crowds are illuminated once again and shafts of pinks and blues swirl all around.

As soon as the first guttural 'G' echoed through the arena, Ejnar cranked back on the throttle as far as he could. This sent his swoop rocketing forward, the engine roaring. So fast and reckless that is ducked water out from underneath where the repulsors kept it above ground and spit that water out in a torrent of splashing waves behind him. He leaned forwards, taking a different tactic that last time. No long feeling out the opponents he had come accustom to.

Mandl, doubtless aware of their most-skilled competitors, too wastes little time with niceties and pace cars-- they plan to dominate! Surging forward, they make their wake a dangerous place to exist, cutting savagely (and some might say recklessly) across anyone who dares approach them!

Aconaa starts up her swoop's engines and revs it loudly as the announcer calls out the build up to the start of the race proper. The sight of the glowing jellyfish rising up to form the outline of the race track gets an amused look from the Togruta under her helmet. Credit to the course's designer, it was a pretty neat effect. As the final signal to start is called out the Togruta leans forward on her bike, gripping the handlebars hard. The blue swoop zips across the starting line onto the track at the word go, skimming close to the surface of the water leaving a trail of spray in her wake and moving aggressively in an effort to get in front of the other drivers and stay there.

It's the First Sword, Lars Syrush, who kneels by Countess Frayus' chair to speak in a low tone so as to not draw attention. "It is good to see you with your health, Your Ladyship, though perhaps the Countess would like something more to wear? It is an Alderaanian gathering, we are prepared for such.." Lars speaks in good spirit, lacking any judgment because he understood grief, and part of him suspected this was the result of that. The knight offers his gloved hand, content to lead her away temporarily to find something less battle marked for wear.

Aryn Cortess remains unaware, sipping her wine and watching the race line up as the command to go is given!

Vega gives a cheer as the racers get off the starting line with no deaths happening. Always a good time. The mechanic watches for a few moments before she finds herself a seat and then settles in to watch who pulls out in front. The white haired woman seems to be making sure that if anyone needs anything fixed that they aren't going to have to deal with too much water damage on top of regular repairs.

One of the bottles of water is retrieved, as Tamsin settled in to watch the show. Perhaps someone mentioned to the woman that her sign, while well-intentioned, was rather difficult to parse, and so, adjustments were made. And so, a few taps of the small keyboard which was attached to the bck of the sign changed to, "All hail The Bithness!" There WAS only one racing, surely that was ID enough, yes?

When the lights go out, Qutha remains laid out in his chair - if frozen and clenched so that he might inhale his seat. Sort of.

Not with his face.

Everything a stark reality of nothing save the spotlights on the racers. Some of the closer jellyfish race markers. No adjusting vision. No stars. Darkness and the spears of light. Then Gutu is saying go, light returns and Qutha Pah is allowed a moment to breath, sinking into his seat and signaling or a treat barker.

"One scream-popper packet, please." a little sugar won't be too bad for him.

He has the droid for autopilot, after all. And then they're off going in wild displays that gets a brief "WOOOO!" from the rustic.

Nora's eyes drift down to Lars Syrush when he approaches. The muscles of her slender neck tense enough to tip her skull to the side, icy blue irises locking on those of the First Sword. They hold there for a moment and, in those moments just past, until the motion of his hand for her own draws them away. They don't linger there, though. Instead, they wander down her torso, where her fingers hook into once-charred burns that mar the gown's otherwise pristine fabric. It looks as if the garment had been washed enough to get the scorch out, though the damage still remains.

"I quite like it, Ser Lars. We are so fond of scars, are we not? The skin beneath did not seem so keen as to gift me with such, but, like a scar, these holes bear the weight of memory," Nora murmurs. Her hand lifts up to push his away, and she turns to look back out towards the viewports ahead. Too proud and too angry, it seems, to appreciate the kindness of the gesture. Instead, she hides her face behind that glass of wine.

"You may go."

Bizz is attacked by his orphans as they snap up the Yobshrimp and gnaw them down to tails. Fungus crackers and deep-fried coin-crabs go next. Blelaila the Twi'lek and Miriala the little green Mirialan cheer for ACONAA, liking her because she is a Togruta. Padmini cheers for MANDL, while Shimsa cheers for EJNAR CELCHU. Bizz just slurps a raw oyster with Balmorran vinegar then washes it down with his fishy beer.

Dodging the sand and late, Tarq Najjic has made no concessions to the controlled, humid climate and the sand. His shoes? Platform heels. His outfit? An impractical avante garde Coruscanti deconstructed robe in purple and white. All 'deconstructed' really means in this case is that instead of continuous flow, there are lots of smaller loops here and there, and it tucks in closely at his waist.

The loops themselves bear different colors, though not nearly so many as Bizz is caring for and eating and drinking, respectively.

He walks along the beach and eventually the stands, waving at Domino with his fingertips, giving Qutha a smile and a pat on the shoulder. None of the seats look particularly comfortable. Not down here, anyway... He glances up towards the private booths before his attention finally lands on the racers shooting off at high velocity.

Belatedly, he cups his hands around his mouth and calls, "WOO!" to the detriment of nearby ears.

Lars nods his head, weathering the rejection of his kindness with a charming expression. "I respect the Countess' reasons. If we are to bear our scars this day, her Ladyship shall not be alone in doing so.." The knight opens his own stylish shirt, not to the point of being inappropriate, but enough that the countless scars from Rist blades could be seen plainly. When the Countess Nora dismissed him, he bowed his head in deference and took the seat near her, saying only, "As her Ladyship commands.."

"GO CELCHU!" Aryn says loudly in the suite with no hope of the racing Lord to hear her. Still the reaction causes a number of other wealthy and noble attendants to chuckle and laugh, before all were clapping and chattering about the race.

As soon as the racers have finished the first long turn of the spiral path the jellyfish markers begin to split out into differing paths beneath the waves. The Sullustan, Zaid, getting caught up in a curling turn of cold waters and a spray from the leading swoop making them sputter and splutter and possibly even splooter, waving a hand before their face and being made to endure the jeering of others now leaving them at the back of the pack.

It's only fortunate that she sees the massive wave rising up before the other racers, created by gravity generators, turning the first 'straightaway' into a treacherous climb that risks being tumbled into the waters below.

"RACERS, DON'T FORGET THE NEXT TIME YOU'RE ON NAR SHADDAA - AFTER HITTING THE CLUBS, DON'T FORGET TO GET YOURSELF A HEAPING HELPING OF NEZWUMP'S MEAT LUMPS! ONLY CHUMPS SNUB THE LUMPS!"

Lighting within the waves turns the growing wave into a crystal prism, rays of prismatically split light twisting into the synthetic sky and over the crowds to bathe the arena like a dream. The lights beneath the waves make to follow the racers with colors complimentary to their swoops and outfits.

"LOOK AT THAT! THE SEICHE WALL THAT HAS COME TO CHALLENGE OUR RACERS!!"

A wave. A big wave. See, one could make their swoop more akin to pilot like that of a fighter craft. At least, that's the way Ejnar had set up his controls. However, while claims of being underwater were similar to being in space were common, unfortunately it was not the case here. Water was thick and hard to move through. There was a resistance to it. He had meant to climb up the wave, knowing he might slow down in the process. However, he sneezed, rather loudly. (Someone must be talking about him) And slammed right into the wave. He had to hold on for dear life as the rip current sent him every which way. Until, eventually he popped out the other side. Wet as a dog and probably just as far back in place as if he had taken the safe route. "Yeesh..."

Mandl is of a species rumored to breathe something like frogs, inhaling normally but exhaling through their skin! They suck in an enormous (for a Bith) breath, pushing their uni-lung to its efficiency limit, and dive after every other racer who decided "YES ONE WALL OF SOLID WATER PLEASE" was a responsible decision to make? Anything for those points-- that rush-- the sweet smell of engine grease and cheap brass-plated tin trophies!

Seeing that wave rising up in front of them on what was easily the shortest path, Aconaa took the briefest of moments to consider her options. Moving at the high speeds of a swoop bike on the race course like that, there really wasn't much time to think things through anyway. So she barrels on straight ahead. Leaning forward, head down in an effort to give herself as 'aerodynamic' a profile as possible, her swoop flies down the path straight toward that advancing wall of water... and smashes right on through it, coming out the other side like a bullet with a spray of water all around her. She lifts her head once she's through the wave so she could once again focus on the track ahead of them for the next surprise it might have in store for them.

Nora remains staring at the screen in front of her until her vision begins to cloud when Lars opens his own shirt. Her jaw works behind that glass, lips obscured by the red wine within, but Lars can likely see her expression shift subtly despite it. It isn't until the man departs that Nora turns to look at him, eyes roaming from the top of his head to where his legs carry him away. Her lips part and she opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead, she simply closes her mouth and turns to look back towards the viewscreen, fingers still absently picking at the holes in her gown.

Whatever words she wanted to say are swallowed down with another drink of wine. Princess Cortess' cheers and the subsequent chuckles don't draw Nora's eyes in her direction, but they do cause her jaw to clench.

Galen starts to work on his food and sip on his drink as he watches the race he also takes the time to look over the crowd as well noticing a few familiar faces out there as well however he just kinda throws a question out to whomever is nearby, "Who's the favorite to win? Haven't really been payin attention to the swoop circuit this season."

Vega's keeping track of the damage to some of the swoops and there's already a game plan going for how to handle repairs. That is unless they crash into a wall or get rocked apart from a wave. Which could still happen. The Echani gives a look over her screen and then out to the other mechanics, "Might get out of here pretty quick if they keep racing like this." she muses to them.

As others saw the two nobles in quiet pride, showing their scars, other Alderaanians began to do the same to show respect for Nora's loss, and present a sense of solidarity. Scars abound, intrigue abound, within minutes the entire suite is doing the same. If Nora were to look at the others, she'd find them looking back, offering slow nods of recognition and heartfelt expressions. House Frayus suffered a terrible blow, but it didn't mean that she had to suffer it all alone. When whispered words reach Aryn, she rises from her seat and joins her childhood friend, sitting beside her. She offers no words for comfort, just presence and the chance to sit unashamed to watch Ejnar do his best to represent Alderaan!

That's a big wall of water.

That is also a phenomenal light show. Watching a beam of yellow and green light passing over his legs, almost missing the racers themselves charging through the waters... quite literally. "Willickars." pop munch being munched and water being sipped, Qutha's eyes are wide at the sight of the racers in action out there.

"Oh bother..."

Racers slam into the waters, disappear and then burst from the other side and the Zelosian is on his feet, arms in the air, cheering like some university boy at a Wack-A-Ball Sportsfield game! He might as well have his face painted like a duotone harlequin, with a big stupid jackwagon wig on and hooting like a Duffleowlberborr.

He might even rip off his shirt and swing it around himself at this rate. Dig in plant lovers.

Nora Frayus' eyes do, at some point, wander away from the screen that she's been staring. As she looks from Alderaanian to Alderaanian, each showing their support and solidarity, she can feel a stinging begin to lift up in her eyes. A salty taste crawls up the back of her throat, sticking to her tongue, and when Aryn Cortess rises and approaches, Nora turns to look away. She swallows down a rather large gulp of wine and lets the heat escape her throat with a heavy exhale. "Your Grace," she says, without turning to look at the woman. The phrase is punctuated by a clink of her glass against the counter in front of her, as well as the swish of fabric as she rises to stand.

"You will excuse me. I should think a bit of fresh air would be nice. You know how I adore the smell of..." she pauses a moment, and looks out towards the charming landscape that is Jervo World's SCREAM TUBES.

"...Amusement parks."

With that, Nora Frayus politely dips her head and lifts the skirt of her gown. When she releases it, the fabric swishes back towards her legs, and the freshly-corronated Countess excuses herself from the private booth.

The guards out front protest, insisting they follow her, but Nora Frayus waves them off dismissively. "I will be fine. And let us not forget it was our guards who drove steel into my mother, hmmh? Perhaps this is for the best."

Tarq misinterprets Tamsin as waving at /him/ and returns it with his hand held high up. The loops of fabric and metal jangle together a bit. Then with a sideways glance at a door into the VIP area, he takes a few short steps - and disappears from outside view.

Within, he is the very image of an Important Person - maximum self-absorption. The sentry outside the most promising door - he looks at the name next to the entry - 'Alderaan & Assorted.' Assorted isn't much to deal with, so he tells the doorman,

"Tarq Najjic is expected by Princess Cortess-" He barely finishes his half-lie before the door opens and someone else is there. "Oh - hello! So good to see you-" He pauses for only a moment before adding, "Nora! Was just coming up-" He looks at her eyes. She doesn't look like she's really going to support him in his infiltration. "Mmm. Will be back," he tells sentry.

He follows Nora away. Surely this interaction will encourage the illusion of his belonging, but what he's actually here to say is "What is proper way to tell Alderaanian noble that - she looks like hell? Tarq Najjic asks for friend." Then he notices the blaster burns showing through her burned dress.

Wasn't everyone doing that in there? Must be the newest fashion. He shifts around the folds of his robe until his midriff is bare, where there is a very thin, red scar. Whatever cut him, he received expert, prompt treatment.

He offers a chocolate bar, unopened, from his robes. Are there internal pockets in there? "Here, is universal solution to problems."

Three make it through the wall of water, one of them only by the proverbial skin of their teeth. The jellyfish lights dragged out with them, spiraling in binary helix around and stretching out behind the three lead swoops. The crowd going absolutely insane for the spectacle. Barely a butt in seats and arms in the air with the rise of their cries.

Behind them only two of the other racers are now hurtling down the slope of saltwater, having crested the wave and now skiing down it with their repulsors shrieking and engines blaring. Fantails of spray in their wake and the wall arching after them. Threatening to collapse... No it's not threatening.

"OH MY, GENTLEBEINGS! WHAT'S HAPPENING NOW?!"

The outer corners of the wave begin to tumble inward like the top edges of a sheet of paper collapsing down onto itself. A narrowing corridor being made by the wave's edges reaching for the surface and threatening to sweep the racers beneath in the growing maelstrom. Foam is cast to the air, spray creates a misting fog and even the scream of swoop engines starts to fade beneath the new raucous thundering that is surrounding them in what is becoming a collapsing tunnel of water.

Far behind them, though, Zaid bursts suddenly from the water, flailing and coughing with her swoop rising up on emergency inflating floats. "POODOO!"

Ejnar looked from one side to the other, the helmet's hud sending him warnings as the wave turned into a collapsing tunnel. He throttled hard again, almost breaking the mechanism as he attempted to outpace the collapsing tubes. He turns his head around again. He's not moving fast enough. It was time for quick thinking, or crazy thinking, or no thinking. Don't think, just feel it. That's what this kind of sport was all about. That's what Dogfighting and flying was all about. Ejnar let go and turned his swoop, looping around the tube and using its momentum to help carry him out until he was on the top side of the crashing wave. He looked to his side and saw Mandl there, raised a hand to him with his thumb and pink out.

Gnarly Waves Dude.

Mandl *chants.* "This one's for Nerys. I am untouchable. No bacta tank can contain my ego. HONORARY GREY-STOOO-OOORM!* Likely none of this is, uh, 'heard,' unless in-helmet comms are a thing. They probably aren't, in case racial slurs and bawdy words in-- just-- every language are kosher. (Think of the cheeldren.) That is all, at unnecessary length, to say that Mandl cartwheels their bike across the inside of the wave, skipping like a stone, loop-de-looping along with anyone *else* who decided that death was for _amateurs,_ AND THIS WAS NOT AMATEUR HOUR.

With that wall of water surrounding them like a collapsing tunnel, Aconaa decided this might be a good opportunity to try to throw off some of the other drivers and send them splashing down into the water. So she was driving aggressively, pushing toward, them, trying to run them into the wall of water itself. She didn't -quite- account for the idea that some of those drivers might try to go out of the tunnel and ride on top instead. That threw off her plans just a bit, leaving just the two drivers lagging the furthest behind in the race. But she could at least leave those ones eating the spray from her swoop as it shot through the collapsing tunnel toward the other end.

No sooner does Nora Frayus exit the front door that she is accosted by none other than the beloved rapscallion Tarq Najjic. She seems less than thrilled by it. His first greeting is cut off by a glare of icy eyes and a lift of her skirt away from her feet while she walks. Her hope of evading him entirely is cut short when he soon trails her away from the VIP seating area and towards her favorite spacypop-corn vendor that she may (or may not) have been meandering towards. Perhaps these are the fresh airs she's searching for.

She doesn't acknowledge the man beside her as he speaks. It isn't until he stops, digs into his pocket, and pulls out a chocolate bar that Countess Frayus slows her pace. She drops her skirt and turns to face him, eyes on his own for a moment or two, and then down to the bar that he presents in offering.

"Chocolate?" she asks, flatly. "Like I am some sort of commoner child?"

Nora snatches it out of his hand regardless, and uses her teeth to pull off one of the gloves covering her arms. She swallows and looks up towards the man across from her, and then back down to the gown.

"I wish people would stop telling me I look like Hell. Do you know how exhausting it is to hear? Over and over and over?"

Bizz keeps sipping his Mon Calamari seaweed mash. Meanwhile his orphans have gotten bored and skitter away, splashing him with sand that gets on his robe and all over his DUD BOLT beach towel. The children go squealing over to Aryn Cortess to harass her while chatting. "I like ACONAA because she's got headtails like ME," says Blelaila the Twi'lek. "I like EJNAR CHELCHOO because he's DASHING," says little Padmini. "I like MANDL because Biths are GOOD AT MATH," says little Shimsa. The orphans then run near PRINCESS ARYN CORTESS, no doubt making her security nervous.

Although there was no physical acknowledgement of the wave from the spangled man, Tamsin's head did nod, only briefly, though it might have been to anyone close to her, as her attention returned to the race. Just in time to see Mandl exiting the wave in a spiral of flash and circumstance. A hand reached down to the sign, which now began to flash, "Go Bith or Go Home!"

People are riding on top of the wave now and Qutha is still about it. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, his pop munch and drink forgotten in the adrenaline of the ludicrous danger that these people put themselves in for the sake of credits and some gran shouting hysterically about them.

Normlly not the type to do something to draw attention to himself, but it happens with some of those other attendees in proximity.

The Zelosian's shirt is off and he's whirling it around his head like a flag. The excitement is too much.

Who knows how this will come back on him in the future.

Crashing down into itself behind the racers, underlit by lights powerful enough to spear up from the waters, the wave becomes a great hump in the water to lift them up and seemingly hurl them forward on the momentum built by the magnitude of simulated ocean swelling behind them. The lights intensify and begin pulsing and the waves with them, turning into rolling humps and bumps that force slaloms and leaping bounds for the racers.

Only four remain, with the yarkora Syooko picking up the rear of the pack, doing her best to get through the waves towards the promise of safety set before them.

"GENTLEBEINGS! WE HAVE A NECK AND NECK RUN FOR FIRST PLACE! OH! MY! STARS!"

Rogue waves kick up from either side of the course, tumbling down ahead and behind the racers. Forcing weaving paths or the risk of being smashed between. The simulated moons above flaring into more and more pinwheeling colours and keeping each racer spotlighted in the pandemonium of the waters.

No sea monster, but maybe the sea IS the monster.

You're not going to win them all and this is certainly true for even the son of Winter and Tycho Celchu. Ejnar hits the choppy waves with reckless abandon, attempting to Jockey for position in an aggressive fashion. With Mandl and Aconaa ahead of him, he needed to make up ground and being cautious wasn't going to allow for that. From out of nowhere a larger wave comes up and swallows him whole. As it crashes down, nothing surfaces for a while. A moment later through, the wrecked swoop and Ejnar's body bob up from the water's surface. The helmet comes off and he looks around. After a moment he starts to swim back towards shore. Rising from the water, he flops his feet through the water and sand until he's on the beach. There, waiting for him is a buxom blond in a red bikini. "Are you okay, Ejnar?" "Yeah I'm fine... luck ran out." He responds a bit dejected. She hands him an ice cold bottle of brew, hand going to his back. "There's two more you know and you already got two in the pocket." He looks over towards the Box seats where Aryn is, "Yeah... we'll try again next race." He raises the beer to his lips and drinks. Time to sit down and review some footage because that's what you do when you loose.

Mandl isn't, let it be said, someone who can push forever regardless of the odds. To have made such a test of skill requires a certain amount of "blind luck," and Dr. B'rot is not one who depends on luck to carry them through life's every tsunami and undertow. Careful, patient preparation and relentless drilling teach them to depend on skill, not the feckless whim of Lady Fortune, so they go less enthusastically than some. But they don't wipe out, either!

Bumpy, choppy waters as waves kicked up from in front and behind almost seemed easy compared to what they had been through up until that point. Aconaa's swoop zig zags back and forth over the rough waters, trying to avoid behind caught under any of those waves while still pushing toward the other drivers with the intent of sending them into a wave instead. Unfortunately that plan backfires and it's Aconaa's swoop that goes smashing through a wave for the second time this race, only this time it's very much unplanned and catches the Togruta off guard for a moment. She runs her engines hard though and manages to push through the other side. The whole turn of events had thrown her off balance though and now she was struggling to dodge the remaining waves as she continued to push forward, barely avoiding some and even narrowly clipping through the odd wave. Her swoop was brand new going into this race but it was certainly being put through hell.

"Gets old, yes. Have you tried- oh, wow." Tarq leans out for a slightly better view off one of the screens. "Swoop racing turns all to fools and madmen. Is that even-" He raises his hand like one of the swoops balancing precariously on the edge of the wave. He pauses, staring. "Tarq Najjic begins to suspect this is faked. Is that even possible? Ooh. Maybe not faked-" There they go...

He returns to himself, and also to Nora. "Have you tried /not/ wearing unmended battle-damaged clothes? Always get weird looks when doing that, too. Unless in Nar Shaddaa undercity. People maybe have only one outfit there."

He waves at the spacypop-corn vendor. "Bet can make you feel better before you finish bag. Solve problems." Utter, complete, misplaced confidence.

Nora's eyes glass over when Tarq Najjic's attention wanders away. She takes the time to break off a piece of that chocolate bar and slip it between her teeth, slowly chewing on it until her molars help the heat of her mouth melt it atop her tongue. It's sweet. Bitter. Creamy all at once. It actually does help, if only for a moment. When the topic returns to her dress, Nora's eyes narrow. Her jaw works, and all of the muscles in her slender neck work together to swallow it down.

"On Alderaan, we wear our scars with pride. They are... memories. Triumph or failure," Nora says. She fingers at one of the holes in her dress, lifting it from her chest before dropping it back down. "This is the gown I wore the night my mother and father were assassinated, but my body was not so kind as to gift me with a scar of my own to remember the evening by. You should wear yours with pride," Nora says, and gestures to the spot where Tarq revealed his own to her previously. She pauses, and lets that dress drop away from her fingertips.

"I am going to wear it at every function. Every ball, every council. Because I refuse to forget how powerless I felt in that moment, and in the weeks since it past."

She pauses again, right hand sliding down to run across the knife's edge that's belted to her thigh beneath the fabric of her skirt.

"The only thing that will solve my problems is a dagger in their killer's throat," she says. She drops the chocolate at his feet and slides her hand back into her glove. A motion is given to her guards and she turns to leave. Didn't get her spaceypop-corn after all. Not when dramatic exits are warranted.

"Thanks for the chocolate. It was shavit."

The Alderaanian box is cheering for Lord Celchu! Aryn is waving a mini-Alderaan flag as many have exited the suite to show the pilot their support. Clapping, cheering, and yelling, but the sound is lost on the rest of the crowd! "Woooo! Good showing!"

Vega's still grouped up with the other mechanics and things as the race starts to close out. The white haired woman gives a look over things and then claps for those that raced, "Well, there's always next race." she comments on something. Maybe someone else to win. She hops down from where she is and awaits to see who needs help with what exactly.

Rather than mingling with a pit crew or obnoxiously blowing smoke in some bystander's face, Xavier has kept himself under the radar. Not even a signature cig -- cignature, if you will -- between his lips, he lingers somewhere in the crowd watching in stoic silence. There is a concentration to him; a pondering in his eyes that proves he hasn't been paying any attention at all to the race or those around him.

He has a defensive stance: arms crossed over his chest and brows pinched together to force a crease between them. Normally one to delight in the mish-mashed crowd and the threat of a terrible crash, Xavier is withdrawl into his own head. What he hears within? Who knows. Who cares. It's certainly not at loud as the crowd screaming around him and perhaps that is why he is here at all.

Hands to either side of his head when the racers are bounding and tumbling through the waters. The light show and the whirlwind of emotions all around Qutha with the crowds is nigh overwhelming and he cannot help but feel himself buoyed up on the currents of it to be dragged along in the rip-tide that they create around him.

Someone in the crowd has his shirt, whether they want it or not, and now there is a rangy rustic in work pants, boots and a belt that may as well be a toolbelt with all of the equipment loops and pouches hung from it. Sand kicked up around him in a lopsided spiral from his own dancing with a wookiee, the pair holding hands and leap spinning and howling to the sky.

The green hued man even getting a head rub for his enthusiasm, jumping into the wookiee's arms for a proper hug.

Clearly, there were a few of the racers who ****ed around with the water course and found out. But that was the triumph and the tragedy of the swoop racing circuit, or so Tamsin was told. Don't anyone actually ask her anything about swoop racing. She knew nothing, save that the Bith was racing, and if one like Tamsin //had// friends, the Bith counted in that rare number. So, Go Bith or Go Home, indeed. Though it was not all celebration, as the reports of wipeouts came in, and Tamsin looked away from the course long enough to check in with the air station in case a doctor was needed.

The pushing line of the racers cuts an arrowhead that expands further and further behind them, swallowed by the seas that suddenly ease when the pulses begin flaring into checker patterns beneath the waters and holo-flags burst into existence on a stretch of beach kept clear for the racers.

"THIS IS IT! THE FINAL STRETCH! IT'S ALL COMING TO THIS GENTLES!"

Pyrotechnics. Streamers. Confetti. Confusingly wild holo-light shows kaleidoscoping over the crowds that build in frantic intensity that becomes a hypnotic fog. It throbs like a heartbeat and it lends to a sensation that the sound systems of the arena are creating a heart beat. Something deep in the framework of the arena that shakes the bones and makes breath feel short.

"BE READY FOR IT!"

The lights of the arena drop again, plunging the microcosm into midnight darkness for more of those heavy beats when dawn breaks on the horizon, just behind the visible finish line. The seas washed gold and the spotlights disappearing, letting the synthetic morning be the racer's illumination.

Mandl's resolve breaks, but they avoid a crash only just. Fishtail, riding someone's wake, it is a less-than-ideal finish-- Fortune usually has the last laugh, no?!

Coming out of that heavy wave action, Aconaa lets out a sigh of relief as she finally has a chance to steady herself and regain her composure. But now that they were in the final stretch, with no obstacles but the other two remaining racers, Aconaa floors it hard. The front of her swoop lifts up and the back leaves a trail of spray behind her for the other remaining drivers happened to end up there.

As the racers came into the final stretch, the last two that Tamsin had watched (it wasn't Just Mandl, only Mostly Mandl) battling to see who would come out on top, Tamsin set the led sign to just offer a dazzling lightshow, made all the more brilliant, and yes, possibly annoying by the sheer darkness of the stadium. Thankfully, she was not so close to the track that it was likely to bother either the racers or the pit crews who were working on wrecked and ravaged, or soon to be swoops.

Tarq Najjic knows when he's being told off, and he opens his mouth, perhaps to respond to the mouthy Countess in kind. But he doesn't, instead closing it again and listening, eyebrows lowered as she talks scars - and her family - and vengeance - and his chocolate being terrible. He says nothing, not that she waited for a response in the first place.

He glances down at the chocolate. It's not really his problem. He didn't throw it down. And wouldn't it funny if all the well-dressed notables accidentally stepped on it on their way out, as they surely would on this path?

He lets out a long, quiet sigh, pulls a few napkins from the popcorn stand, and carefully picks up the chocolate bar, dropping it in a trash receptacle. Despite his care, some of it gets on his finger anyway, and the napkin can do only so much to remove what is already melted. He glares at his finger, wraps two more napkins around it like an anti-chocolate bandage, and gets out of the way of the spacypop-corn stall's line, so that he can watch-

The Climactic Conclusion! Truly they have raced until the break of dawn, even if it required special effects to achieve.

And Tarq actually knows one of those three. He watches in the sudden darkness.

The crowd is screaming again, but this might be the first time he's heard it. A blink and Xavier looks up at the screens to the race. Right... right, he went to the races. Why? Isn't that the million credit question? Xavier pats himself here and there across his chest. Rummaging around in his jacket, he is clearly a man on a quest. This ends with him empty handed. Empty handed?!

He stares at his palm in disbelief. When did he run out of cigs? How? It makes no sense. Usually he would conjuse them from thin air like the galaxy's most toxic magic trick. Yet here he is without anyting to satiate his oral fixation /and/ being forced to breathe in the body order of the Shist next to him. A finger and thumb pinch tbe bridge of his nose in irritation.

He could really go for an explosion right now.

Galen has totally been paying attention to the race and wasn't distracted by the pretty waves... But he's now focused on the finish of the race because that and the crashes are the best parts anyways... And such an epic finish it was he's up on his feet hand pumping in the air... And food flying everywhere, "Oh sorry!" He's tucking the now empty disposable food tray back on his seat as he looks around slightly sheepishly but then goes back to the water watching!

With the race coming to a conclusion, the party in the Alderaanian suite was moving elsewhere. Guards, wealthy, and nobles alike moved on with fancy glasses in hand, and staff following after to help cater. Aryn is among the group, walking casually whilst escorted by a tall knight, Lars Syrush. With her hands clasped at the small of her back, she afforded herself some poise in the otherwise rambunctious crowd of drunk well-to-dos all talking about Ejnar and the next race. Some spoke of new sponsors, or a new swoop to help his odds, while others said it was only a matter of lady luck!

Held aloft by a wookiee, spinning and dancing about until that darkness takes them. Breath held, clinging to one another, Qutha gives a bit of a squeak the moment before the sunrise breaks and then he is cheering with the wookie who is bouncing him like a baby in their arms. Hands on the wook's cheeks and shaking their head,

"WHY DON'T I COME TO THESE MORE?!"

The wookiee's response is laughter and a series of growling grunts that probably mean "I have no idea, you fool!" or something like that. But Qutha is set down and the pair are dance jumping in circles again. Like children before winter fete presents.

Dawn becomes morning with the crossing of the finish line that puts the crowd to howling excitement. Cups, food tubs, party favors, flags. It's all going into the air like weird hats at a graduation ceremony.

"GENTLEBEINGS!" Gutu Phlu, the Gran Major Domo of RACING himself, atop his flying platform, his face projected on screen after screen looks absolutely floored. Mouth hanging open, arms stuck out and caught in the air. His three lensed shaders slide down his nose exposing his eyes that are as shocked as his expression.

Sand blends into the mist of water kicked up by overpowered engines and the storm of it washes over the racers that come to finish out the last of their run today at Jervo's world.

"DO YOU BELIEVE IT?!" the roar of the crowd surges. Deafening. Shaking the very bulkheads of the station. "I DON'T BELIEVE IT!!"

The dust cloud settles and a holographic recreation plays over and over at the finish line. Two swoops fighting for dominance all the way to the very end. The rising holographic sun hanging to bathe both in golden light, leaving only one racer cast in MOCKING darkness. A revelation being chiseled into the great stone tablets of racing history. Fixed in permanence in the annals of antiquity. It is undeniable that,

"WE HAVE HAD OUR FIRST TIE IN DECADES, GENTLES! ACONAA AND MANDL HAVE BOTH TAKEN FIRST PLACE!!!"

And then the real madness begins. Rivers of champaign and celebratory favors coming in a deluge.

As for Ejnar, despite his epic wipe out just before the last round, sits with his one Pyretta Blaze (The blond in the swim suit), on one of the more secluded beaches in the Water World Arena. Reclined in a beach chair, sunglasses on. He watches the end of the race. "Huh..." He intones as he takes another sip of beer. "A tie... I didn't know there could be a tie." Another sip of beer. Pyretta, sitting in the chair next to him reaches over and scratches the back of his wet hair. "Of course there can... So what do you want to do now?" "Get dry... then head out to Azzameen. I think Aaron said she had a job for us."

Vega might be in the mechanics little area, but she is keeping track of the crowd when she's not watching the race. When she sees Galen shoot up and sending his food flying there's a moment taken to make sure she doesn't laugh. The woman then turns her eyes back over others that she might know and makes sure they aren't assaulting people with food. She gives a chuckle and then turns back to watch the end of the race from where she's standing. "Oh wow, ties seems to be in this week." she muses to that.

Mandl had given up, lost in their head, as the news booms over the loudspeaker. They raise their arms, surprised and sheepishly triumphant!

By the time she had crossed the finish line, Aconaa was feeling exhausted. Keeping control of a high speed hoverbike as it plowed through/narrowly missed waves wasn't exactly easy. Still, after all that and with only three racers remaining, she was quite surprised to find herself crossing at the -exact- same time as Mandl, completely neck and neck. When she comes to a stop she takes in a deep breath as she takes off her helmet. "You are a hard Bith to put down," she mumbles to the other racer, a small smirk on her lips. Hopping off her swoop, she takes a moment to look it over. After just one race, it was looking pretty battered. She'd be needing to get it tuned up for the next one for sure.

Mandl nods. "You did very well," they add. "... only advice would be 'race the worst bike you can find. If it is too nice or too antique, persons will credit it for your success.' Make them unable to doubt your skill and experience, no?"

The race over and the crowds going wild, Qutha and his new friend begin to make their way for one of the exits before it gets even more wild. The race is over, the racers need to be allotted their chance for peace and relaxation.

And he needs to buy a new shirt... Because he threw his.

Most embarrassed now he scoots, clumping along with his boots and using the wookie for cover!