Log:The Five Sabers - Orbital Sprints

The Five Sabers - Orbital Sprints

OOC Date: February 15, 2017
Location: Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Eebua Gnuda, Sar Yavok, Rake, Kadi, Rheisa Dirleel, Meep, Tarion Tavers, Sapphira Tavers, Morth Biddemgulp, Nyla Forr, Jehni'va Cihn, Maeve Zavir

Datunda the 29th finds Nar Shaddaa in the midst of a raging storm. Acidic rain pelts the deckplates of Lord Eebua's Starport and thunder rolls angrily far above the sky. The floating spectator stands have been outfitted with atmospheric protection canopies that stretch out in a pink energy field above, stopping the rain well above spectator heads(like an umbrella) and ensuring that any who have come to watch the second stage of the Five Sabers can do so in comfort.

High above Lord Eebua's Starport, The starting line of the race can be scene in the same place as in the first stage, two buoys hovering in open air with an energy beam stretching between them. Far out ahead, floating rings can be seen sloping up and away from the ground and out of sight as they lead out of atmosphere. Any spacers coming into port can confirm that they had seen similar rings being put into place all around Nar Shaddaa in even intervals.

"Welcome, Citizens of Nar Shaddaa and visitors from all across the universe!" the practiced voice of Mynark Sabosen calls out over the PA system once again. "Travelers from near and far have gathered here today at the beautiful starport of Lord Eebua Gnuda to watch the second stage of THE FIVE SABERS!!" Mynark pauses to allow time for the deafening cheers to roar forward, relishing in the enthusiasm of the crowd that has shown up in the downpour to watch. "Everyone, please turn your eyes skyward and cheer on your favorite ship before it embarks on this Orbital Sprint!" He pauses and goes through a long list of introductions for those ships involved as they move forward toward the starting line. He lists the ships by the order that they are in the points standings, starting with the Hotbox, followed by the Parallax which get the loudest cheers given the tight race they had with each other before.

"I still hate that guy." Jehni'va Cihn drawls. The thrill of racing is amazing: seeing their faces shining down from every damn screen, projector, or whatever other newfangled space technology this hooligan moon has, however, has gotten a bit old. This tentative pseudo-celebrity status doesn't suit everyone, and Jehn even less so as she snaps her goggles down over her eyes and double checks the restraint on Crona's harness. "Hangin' in there, Ny?" She questions of her copilot, turning to flash her a grin. The pilot reaches behind her to squeeze the other woman's knee, stomach twisting into a hard knot as introductions are bellowed out far below them. The Hotbox hangs in place, her pilot's hands clenching and unclenching around the controls, outfitted with fingerless gloves.

Nyla squints her eyes as the dude that Jehn hates announces their names and the ship name. "Weird," she murmurs and scrubs at an eye before giving Jehn a thumbs up and grinning at the pilot seated in front of her. "Let's do this again, yeah?" Nyla strums out happily and nestles back, pulling herself into a good position to keep an eye on the computers in front of her. "Get ready Pick!" she calls without looking back. The R2 unit chirps in reply.

Polishing off a bottle of Corellian Reserve, Sar chunk it into the back of the ship to clatter and roll along the ship's floor. He wipes at his mouth and stifles a burp, patting his chest. He sniffs a bit and looks back at the BB unit that's rolled over to collect the bottle, "You ready, lil guy? I'm gonna let you do all the work, alright?"

Morth is strapped into the pilot's chair of the Parallax, the straps checked and then double checked in nervous fashion as the young Mon Cal wipes his sweaty hands off on his flight jacket and then grips the flight yokes once more. Large ice blue eyes flick left and right, marking the various other ships sliding into position at the starting line. "Alright," he mutters nervously to Tarion and Kadi. "Let's see if we can't do a little better with it this time. I will try and do better," he says, regret obvious in his voice for his letting them fall behind in the first race. Despite his nervousness, as the Parallax is called out, Morth lifts his eyes toward the camera marking a view inside the cockpit and aims a wave.

In the copilot seat of the Parallax, a young, attractive smirking man smirks out at the cameras, running his fingers photogenically through his short hair and cracking a dimpled smile. It's Tarion Tavers, and while he may be one of the most obnoxious men alive in person, up onscreen he looks kind of charming. "Alright Fishman, let's do this thing," he murmurs to the Mon Cal in the pilot's chair of the Firespray, crossing his fingers that the weird little guy can pull through for him and win him a part of that 400k purse. "Four hundred thousand," he chants quietly to himself as he assists with preparations, glancing back over his shoulder toward the engineering station where Kadi Suuryet is set up. "Hold on tight, Sirrup, it's gonna be a wild ride," he warns with a broad, mischievous grin.

Kadi's at the computer tech station, and she glances up at the call, also waving when she thinks it's her turn. She hears the comment from TT and has to laugh. "I swear, you are calling me sweet, Tavers," she mutters under her breath, not even thinking about whether the cameras and microphones will catch her words. A breath and then her own mischievous glance. "Promises, promises," she retorts. "Morth, you just do the best you can and have fun, right?" Yeah, apparently someone isn't so worried about the money, go figure.

SPECTATOR - "'Hotbox', eh?" grunts a squat, wispy-haired spectator named Qo as he clambers up into the stands with no small degree of effort. He's all of four feet'n'some'change tall and built a bit like a barrel. "Lessee if they're good as you say this go 'round." Up he climbs, tailed closely by a taller, leaner shadow - one that's likely going to block some views as she navigates along with her trussed-up montrals.

"Yes," Rheisa answers her Meerian escort and waits patiently while he swipes some crumbs off a narrow vacancy. Her eyes squint with silent prayer at the fleeting footage of Jehni's face on the holotron. But then it's replaced by others and - Tavers. She looks away. "You want bet?" Ooooh. Seems the Togruta's feeling cheeky now, following her successful bartering over greasy food whereas Qo, the chronic bargain hunter, had to pay full price. Her best, disarming smile can't save her then as he glowers over his shoulder and up, motioning impatiently for her to sit her ass down. So she does, wedged flush between sweaty Qo and some race enthusiast on her other side. A headtail's just bound for pain at some point, she fears. At least the soon-to-be sweltering body heat will warm them up from the mad race through the rain. One hand snakes up to peel back the soaked shawl from her horns and disentangle from headdress.

<Spectator> Enjoying the atmospheric protection (umbrella) over the stands as much as the view that the floating stands actually offer, Mae is seated so that she has a good look at the race course for the second stage of the race itself. She cheers as the enthusiasm of the crowd is infectious, eyeing the ships in this leg of the race and trying to identify which one is which by sight alone.

True to form for the first stage, as the appointed moment of launch draws nigh two signal droids fly into position before the line of roaring ships in place at the starting line. Beginning at the top light which flashes a bright yellow, the lights begin to flash into life as they stack down the face of the droid and culminate in a bright emerald glare accompanied by a roaring loud horn. As one, engines roar into life as the ships surge from the starting line and shoot forward, the head from exhaust manifolds routed down to blast across the faces of those in the seating areas below and blasting a spray of rain water beneath the environmental canopy with a gust of hot air!

Mynark Sabosen's voice is roaring along with the engines over the P.A., "And they're off, ladies and gentlemen! The second round of the Five Sabers is officially under way!" Holoscreens and individual datapads flare into life, tracking the race as a whole while the smaller individual datapads are present and able to be manipulated to track certain ships and view points from the individual vessels.

"You got it, boss." Jehn smirks, fiddling with her goggle controls and bringing the holographic projection of their surroundings into sharper focus - the storm rages around them, a constant, tumultuous shuddering that rattles uselessly against their armored hull, but the HWK has the advantage in crap visibility. Several switches later and the engines are purring hungrily, hot and ready and sending a tremble through the ship as the Hotbox strains at the metaphorical reigns. "Putting all our power to engines, but you and Pick have full control of the shields and everything else. If you think we're in trouble, divert away." Her grip tightens anxiously at the throttle, waiting to burst forward.... And then they do! Jehni'va throws her weight against the throttle and the Hotbox surges forward, her nose tucked just behind the Parallax. "That asshole is /not/ beating us." She growls, stealing a glance out the side viewport at the Freedom Cry.

(SPECTATOR)"All right," Qo can't help but to take the bait. "Your ship wins this round, I'll put in a free day's work for ya at the Muse. If uh..." beady eyes scan the screens for a suitable target. There! The gentleman belching on camera, all confident with his lot in life, captures his attention. That's his kinda pal, right there. "Big Deal beats'em across the finish, you take the three kids for a night."

"Fine," Rheisa consents then releases a yip of excitement as the crafts rip ahead into the atmosphere.

Nyla Forr snuggles down into her chair and tugs her seat harness one more time. "Shields an' diversion," she repeats quickly. Her eyes squint slightly as she runs through numbers that flash up on the small screens. "Pickle, watch you-know-who's ship, okay!" Nyla calls behind her and braces herself for the race.

The Freedom Cry, having had its fair share of troubles in the last contest launches right along with the rest of the ships, the old Rebellion hardware not showing its age one bit. For now, the swing-wings are neatly tucked away, giving the dropship the look of a flying angry brick. "I ever tell you 'bout the time I porked that Defel broad, Kicker?"

Morth nods his head to Tarion and to Kadi, knowing that it will be up to him alone as they launch off of the starting line. His suction cuppy hands grip the flight yokes and release nervously as the signal droids fly in and he exhales slowly, bracing himself for the break-neck launch. "Get ready," he says to himself, but on camera it /might/ come across as if he were cautioning his teammates. As the light flashes emerald, Morth twists the throttle and shoves the yoke forward, firing the Parallax off of the line and roaring toward that first hoop. "Well!?" he calls frantically to Tarion, knowing that he will be keeping an eye on their position, if good for nothing else.

"That's better!" Tarion yells back, already starting to jimmy with the switches to endanger all their lives for the sake of more speed. "Just keep the pedal down!"

(Spectator) Tracking the path of a ship that gives the phrase 'flying brick' a bad name, Mae reaches for the popcorn that she is holding and tosses a piece into the air to catch. She shakes her head a little seeing where the ships are, in the race line up, and chuckles a little hearing the betting going on. Or maybe it's wagering.

SPECTATOR - Sapphira Tavers is here too. Yes, another Tavers. Hold your breath. But she's not flying, or shouting at people like that other one is. No, she's in the stands, covered from the rain by the large canopy provided by the organizers. While there are large screens in front of her, she has a datapad held in her lap. She's sipping a fun-looking cocktail in a plastic cup, swirling colors of orange and blue, as she watches. This particular Tavers has red hair, left to trail down her back, and wears a sleeveless jumper dress over leggings and clean, stylish boots. She dresses up for an evening out, it seems! Even if that evening out means she's sitting alone.

(SPECTATOR) Rheisa wads up the weather-repelling wrap into a ball in her lap, then takes a large bite of questionable meat-on-a-stick to cheer around. Fingers unoccupied with holding food are worrying some beads between them that dangle from her montrals. "HotBOX!" and particles of minced meat go spraying, born on droplets of mythologically venemous saliva.

Meep is here, kinda. The little Teek is doing his usual wandering rounds, scoping out the snacks and the drinks and the other tasty bits. As the race gets going, the crowd goes wild and the teek goes hunting for any spilled bits of snacky foods.

As the ships race upward and through the first hoop the Parallax, Hot Box, and Freedom Cry are so tight that they are almost too wide to zip through the hoop without taking it out. The Parallax has the edge for now and is leading the ascent that has turned quite steep as string of ships dive into the thunderclouds above. Lightning flashes dangerously and thunder rolls with enough force to shake the ships in the time it takes them to climb through the storm clouds and break through into the clear sky above and then rocket through the atmosphere. As the ships break into the blackness of space, they will note that the rings have been positioned in such a way that they are dangerously close to the atmosphere, a severe enough mistake meaning that they could bounce off of the atmosphere and skip off course.

And then they are hurtling violently into space. The Hotbox charges wildly forward, held in line with the other racers and straining to gain that early lead from the Parallax. "How are we looking, babe?" Jehn fusses at the controls, flitting a fraction more juice into the wing engines, burning hard and scraping some more maneuverability loose in this tightly packed gallop into the cloud cover. Blinking behind those hologoggles at the scanned projection of the course, Jehn shivers against the crackle of lightning. "Pick, you seeing anything?" She banks hard, bringing the HWK twisting up and toward the next ring. "Be that way. Taking the hard way!" Still trying to wrestle the lead from the Parallax as they skim dangerously close to the atmosphere, the Hotbox zooms onwards!

(SPECTATOR) Qo squinches an eye closed as his friend shares more'n he'd prefer of her meal. Wipes it off with the back of a hand. "I see livin' th'high life hasn't changed yeh." A raspy chuckle heaves from his chest and he deals a good-natured slap to her left shoulder. Rheisa squwaks malcontent in response, the sudden jarring of beefy hand causing her bite to misalign and she catches her tongue between fangs. Her next cough puts a red tinge to that saliva and she sputters, clapping a hand to mouth in pain.

Pickle is distracted by... something. Whatever. Nyla frowns, bending over the computer readouts and snarling. "Pickle! I swear I'll replace your zapper with a vacuum hose!" The threat comes with a grunt as Nyla pulls controls over to manual. "We're /fine/. I'm taking over for a minute while Pickle drools over some BB unit or something." Damn droids.

"So, there I am, wearin' nothing but what the Force blessed me with, sprintin' through the Rodian woods," Sar explains, sliding the throttle further forward. "Anyway, her dad gave me the money later and, truth be told, it was a fairly successful prom, aside from the part about the planetary defenses all going off." There's a look to the control board and he flips a switch. "Fuck me, loudspeakers were on. Probably wasn't loud enough for anybody to hear all that, though, so we're in the clear."

Morth nods his head distractedly toward Tarion as he forces the ship to swivel around through the storm clouds and then to even out as quick as he can to head toward that next ring. The twist and turns the young Mon Cal puts the Parallax through is violent, and if the others are not strapped in it will be one hell of a bumpy ride, but they have the lead by a sliver and Morth is going to try desperately to not let that slip away. "Alright, everyone start looking for anything we can use to our advantage! Anything!" There it is, that high pitched note to his excited voice.

"Keep it up, keep it up," Tarion exults quietly, flipping a few more switches and crossing his fingers that Kadi won't notice what he's up to. "Four hundred thousand. Four hundred thousand. Four hundred thousand." The bounty hunter is fixed on the prize, single-minded in his quest for MONEY. "Are we allowed to use ship's weapons yet?" he asks curiously, innocently even.

Kadi is strapped in, and was before Tarion's warning. She is quicker this time to catch what Tarion is doing, but doesn't comment. Instead she concentrates on the path ahead, and her fingers fly over the touch screen, as she totally ignores the conversation. There is an intent look on her face, at least until it's broken by a smile as she forwards the projected path and information to Morth and the nav coms. Only then does she say, "Tavers, don't push that one any further or you'll send us askew."

Rake, flying his Helix light interceptor, the Sithspit, seemed to be doing better in this heat than he did in the first, but he still wasn't in the lead. The Shistavanen scout had high hopes for the next segment of the race, just hoping he made it through this one.

The trip around Nar Shaddaa is not quite as harrowing as it was racing through the skyscraper canyon and racing through the undercity. Wide open space is the field of battle with only superior flying tactics to set the ships apart. Beneath them, the expanse of Nar Shaddaa stretches out as far as they can see. Like Coruscant, most of what can be seen of the moon from space is not biological but man made, an endless city circling the entire moon. The racing ships are making quick progress around the moon, and nerves are starting to set in, evidenced by the fact the racer right in front of Rake swings right and rams into another trying to pass him by.

(SPECTATOR) From the stands, a whole new level of cheering and jeering rises up as the first ship-on-ship violence takes place. Rheisa's too busy lamenting her wounded tongue to take note and drops her food in the process. Insult to injury. Qo's busy trying to figure out what sudden ailment has befallen his former charge, but does catch a glimpse of his random pick-to-win falling further behind and growls irritably.

Well, that just doesn't seem safe. "What's going on behind us?" Jehn asks Nyla, catching the blip of violence on the sensors but only giving periphery attention to it. She twists the ship away from its close hug with the atmosphere with a snarl, knuckles white at the throttle. "And hold on." Switches flip and then she slams a knuckle into another control, rewarding them with a roar as they surge forward hard, barrel rolling and pulling up alongside the Parallax.

SPECTATOR - Sapphira's head shoots upward so she can look up at the larger screen when the spectators start to cheer. She sees the clash of ships, but neither are the Parallax. So relaxed is she by that realization that her shoulders slump slightly, allowing her to twist her head down again to the screen that she has tracking that particular ship. She sips her cocktail deep, and watches. "Move it, move it," she whispers encouragement to her ship of choice.

Nyla Forr twists in her seat, leaning towards the viewport just in time to catch the ships bouncing back after the incident. "Two ships collided," she reports with a scowl. Her voice is uncertain. "Maybe it was an accident?" Nyla turns back, looking a little shaky as she works the computer diagnostics. "Pull ahead, Jehn. C'mon. Someone is gonna smear us along the side of a building if we get caught in that group back there."

SPECTATOR - Meep has found himself a bag of popcorn, waddling through the crowd till he finds Sapphira. Without a word, he plops down next to her, resting the bag in his lap before munching. It's sticky and covered in butter so he makes a mess of it with his fur, chewing noisily as he glances up at the screen every so often.

Rake was catching up, it seemed. The last route he'd taken having shaved off a few valuable seconds. Of course, his droids are beeping at him, the two astromechs in the cockpit alerting him to the dangers of the ship he was coming up on that seemed content on ramming other vessels in its path. "Yeah, I see him," Rake says.

"Kicker, keep an eye on that asshole. Make sure he don't try nothin' funny with Rake on his ass," Sar says, watching the cameras on his dash. He sucks his teeth and has to throttle down, "Engines are near to overheatin'. Son of a bitch."

Morth catches sight of something that threatens to distract him from his frenzied flying as he loops through ring after ring as the Parallax zips along. He is forcing the ship to give him all its got, but as the Hotbox barrel rolls and comes up alongside them, Morth turns googly eyes to the side to peer through the viewport at them. He shakes his head and looks back forward, his teeth bared in desperate concentration as he calls out, "Is there any more for it to give? I need more power!”

"Catty says if I give it anymore we'll tip," Tarion replies to the Fishman, flipping switches and staring furiously at the small screen on the dash before him. "We can't tip, this thing is barely aerodynamic as it is. She's meant to be fast enough to get you within blasting range, not to race, alright? That's what's going to make our victory that much more dramatic," he adds, with a smirk. "Just keep the pedal down, that Hotbox is gonna start smoking any minute."

SPECTATOR - Sapphira glances at the movement beside her and smiles softly when she sees Meep. It's a fond smile, and she moves to drape a fond arm over the little teek. "They'll be alright," she assures the creature, who likely doesn't know who she's talking about but nor is he likely to care. Still, she allows the datapad to slide closer to Meep so he can watch, if he desires.

Kadi continues to keep on the computer, first getting that info plotted and the quickest path through sent to nav, Tavers and Morth. And then she says, "I might be able to get a little more for you, if Tavers is okay with me playing with things. Just can't be both of us or we will totally tip and that will probably have us losing ship parts at the worst possible time." Because there is a good time to lose such things as wings and sensors? Okay, nobody said the engineering nerd was always practical right?

Back on Lord Eebua's Starport, the main focus holodisplays have almost all shifted to view the pilot that has began crashing into other ships as they try to pass him. It is a fat gammorean that is squished into his ship's cockpit, as the cockpit feed reveals and he is laughing. A piggy little grunt snorts loudly over the PA speakers as he swerves sideways and knocks a smaller ship spinning sideways off course, eliciting groans from the crowd below.

Out in front, the racers can tell they are over halfway through the race, trackers for the ship course fed through to their system computers revealing that they are well into the second leg and the race is nearer to its end than its beginning!

SPECTATOR - Meep indeed hardly gives a hoot about who is winning what race, all attention is on popcorn and getting it into his mouth. He gobbles down a few more handfuls, lifting up the bag and tipping it back to get the last few morsels, chewing open-mouthed and loudly. Wiping his little hands with the bag, he sets it aside before leaning against Sapphira's thigh to get a better look at the screen. Sitting up slightly, he presses his nose juuust at the bottom edge of the screen, following the tiny little objects as they flit about on the screen, reaching with a curious hand to tap against it, as if trying to pick the ship up off the screen.

Another ring. "It's Nar." Jehn replies. "Or, you know. Nar-Space or whatev- we're still in the vicinity of-" She waves a hand distractedly, tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration. "Whatever, fuck it. Everyone is an asshole, be ready on the shields." Open space looms outside the viewports, scattered with the chaos of their mad-dash and the ensuing dirty-play that is plaguing the contenders behind them. They're turning with the curvature of the moon, and Jehn channels power between the wing and fin engines, playing the shifts in direction and keeping them burning at full heat. "I'm going to need to baby the hell out of her when this is over." The pilot laments, voice tight and drawn with the stress of the tie as she leans harder against her controls. On the floor of the cockpit, all strapped in and way too calm for the race mommies really shouldn't have brought her on, Crona the Anooba takes a nap. "Okay, it's time to break ahead, baby." She's talking to the ship - sorry, Nyla. "C'mon, /c'mon/!" She whines. She can see them losing space inch by inch and isn't happy about it. Mamas gonna need one helluva joint and a bubble bath after this.

Nyla Forr is gripping her close by holds and attempting to work her station. "I'm putting shields up, but... should I divert the power?" She can hear the ruckus of the race behind her and frowns. "On second thought, just keep going!" Sweat beads at her brow as she grins her teeth and concentrates. "You can do this, Jehni'va."

Watching the nutjob ahead of him, Rake makes a decision to take action. It wouldn't earn him any points, but it might save some lives. Keying up his ship's weapons, he locks on and unleashes a barrage of ion cannon fire at the ramming ship. It cost him several seconds, and it would likely be a penalty in points by the judges for using weapons, but the Shistavanen scout wasn't about to let some crazed pilot jeopardize the lives of others when he had an opportunity to try and do something about it. He wouldn't be winning this race, not by a long shot, but he'd at least try to finish it with a clean conscience. The sleek Helix was more fighter than freighter, and it's ion canons packed a pretty hefty punch, hopefully enough to disable the opposing ship that was tormenting other racers.

Sar Yavok jams the throttle forward once more and keeps an eye on his screen. A grin creases his lips as he begins slipping away from the overly-aggressive pilot. "Still mad that I let you talk me into bringing this hunk of junk over the 775." Watching the rear feed, Sar flips a few switches and keys into Rake comms, "Good shit."

(SPECTATOR) "Looks like we both might be outta luck," Qo grunts, watching the screens closely. Rheisa finally looks up again, the coppery taste of blood thick in her mouth. "Uhn thno..." she whines, watching the Parallax and Hotbox jockey for those few precious meters of lead.

"If they try to do that kriffing pudu to us, they'll regret it," Tarion points out to the Mon Cal, patting the control panel affectionately. "Parallax, she's built like a tank. She /is/ a tank. With guns. A lot of guns." The hunter grins broadly, wishing down in his soul that the weapons could be brought into play, and now that Rake is shooting he's starting to get a little antsy in the trigger finger. "Keep it full speed ahead and don't sweat- /can/ you sweat? Whatever, just keep going fast.”

Kadi just grins quietly at the comments from the peanut gallery - aka Tavers. "Alright, don't panic, Morth. Hang in there! You can do it." She goes quiet at that point, concentrating yet again. "This race is crazy," she notes, her gaze on the rear view feed when she has a moment. "Who the heck was that anyway, I wonder?" The question is not one she expects an answer to, nope, so she goes back to the computers and keeping up with course dangers and the best path to take. "Racing tanks. There's got to be a joke in there somewhere."

SPECTATOR - Sapphira smiles down at Meep as he taps the screen. The arm around him begins to scratch a nice warm spot right where Meep's furry shoulder meets his furry neck, quickly moving two fingers in a scritch-scritch-scritch gesture. The ion cannon being fired on the larger screen causes Sapphira to jump in her skin again and she lifts her eyes up. Not Parallax. She looks back to the smaller screen. "Go, Morth," the Tavers woman whispers. "Go, go, go."

The video feed down on Nar Shaddaa is fixed on the Gamorrean bully as he swings dangerously left to right, aggressively trying to ward anyone from being able to pass him. As such, it is still fixed upon him when the ion cannon fire flies up behind him and collides with the back of his ship. Disabled is a generous word, the ship's engines suddenly going quiet and the force sending the bully skipping off of the atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa once, twice, thrice, before digging in as it slips back into atmosphere and disappears from view. No engines and reentering gravity is not a good recipe.

Up ahead, far out in front the lead racers can see the last few rings before the angle shifts downward and back through the atmosphere. For now, you simply have to make it there which is proving to be more dangerous as the race goes on!

SPECTATOR - Meep was perfectly happy to watch the screen... but then he feels scritches in that spot. Those eyes roll up and he sort of goes all limp, his tongue rolling out of the corner of his mouth as he slumps against Sapphira. His face smooshes against her leg as he goes full loaf, rolling over onto his back a little and just sprawling out all lazy-like.

"Fuck it, no keep everything on en- woah!" Jehn isn't so oblivious that she doesn't catch fire behind them on her screens. "Well, that takes care of that, I guess." There is a tense, nervous laugh as the pilot flicks her gaze through the specs flashing through those goggles. "How close are we?" She continues to babble at her copilot as she tucks them closer to the Parallax, drifting low on them in case they're getting any ideas from Bumpy McGee back there - she's in the same mindset as Morth, so they're all just safe and paranoid here. Though she finds herself lamenting - and not for the first time - that her moral compass were a little more skewed. They pull back in line with the Parallax, Jehn's breath caught in her throat as they come screaming toward the final stretch - engines working overtime.

Sar Yavok does a sick spin! "Shit!" Sar shouts, having bumped the yoke as he leaned over to grab his JABBA BURGER cup. He re-aligns the ship and snatches the now-flying cup out of mid-air without spilling a drop. He drinks down a long sip from the straw and keeps on truckin'.

Nyla Forr is leaning forward, growling at the computer and trying to work at it while a screeching R2 unit in the her ear. "I /get/ it, but I can handle it!" she chatters at the droid who replies something back. Nyla rolls her eyes. "That's mean. Don't say things like that about Jehn." The short human rolls her shoulders and tosses a look to the pilot. "Do it to it, Captain."

Rake watched his shots connect, and then watched as the ship went off his sensors. "Damn, I hope that doesn't end up killing some spectators," he mutters, but he had a race to fly in. Taking a deep breath, he bears down in an attempt to make up for lost time and ground. As he does a quick calculation for the route, he angles and maxes the throttle to full, kicking the ship towards along the course. Keying up his mic, "That you, Yavok? Nice ship, hope your up to date on your shots." Of course, Sar was doing better than Rake was at least.

Morth is indeed sweating, a thin film of moisture evident across his wide brow. He shakes his head helplessly as racers begin to open fire behind them and a ship goes ripping lifelessly through the atmosphere. And then there comes the Hotbox creeping closer to them and it is all beginning to mount up on the poor teen. He is just too young to deal with all of this pressure and can't do anything but begin a high pitched whine that stretches on as the Hotbox comes up and pulls even with them again.

"I said not to sweat!" Tarion hisses at the fishman, dialing it up to eleven. "And don't hit anything, we'll be blown away." Sorry Kadi. "Can you do anything more back there? I don't know what else to do, I've only had it a few weeks!"

"C'mon, Morth, breathe!" Kadi encourages. "You /can/ do it." Hey, she can try, she can always try, right? She's too far away from the pilot to do anything more than that. She eyes what Tavers did, able to tell from her own systems, and rolls her eyes. "You want to try something like this," she mutters, as her fingers fly across the screen, adjusting for Tavers' idea of a good time, and pushing more energy to the engines. As much as she dares... which is actually more than one might expect from the well adjusted and rather normal engineer.

The ships are drawing near to the finish, as evidenced by the sudden shift in alignment of the course marking rings into a steep dive as well as the computer systems that begin to ding to alert of the approaching last burst to the finish. Ahead, or rather below, the course is a seep dive that rockets straight down through Nar Shaddaa's grimy atmosphere and through the raging storm to burst from the rumbling grey storm into the view of Lord Eebua's Starport far below. The suicide dive continues until only a few hundred feet from the tip of Eebua's Grand Hotel to zip across the finish line and pull out into a flat and steady end.

SPECTATOR - Sapphrira scratches harder, more firmly and faster on Meep as her energy rises. "Go, go, go!" she whispers with some urgency as she watches the ships moving toward the finish. "They need to win this one," Sapphira tells Meep, as though Meep is listening or cares. But Sapphira's eyes are locked on the screen before her. "Go, you damnable peice of shit. Go!"

SPECTATOR - Meep is enjoying scritches, just rolling about and spinning on his back to make sure those fingers get to where they need to go. He is soon lying flat on his belly, sprawled out, head canted to the side so Sapphira is scratching his back. His eyes are closed, tongue hanging out as he pants gently, there could be a freshly made pizza three feet away and he wouldn't care at this point.

"Okay, I'm unlocking the wings." Jehn warns, and the ship gives a little shudder as she releases the gimballing systems. "Hold on!" They may have garnered some some extra maneuverability, but it just isn't enough, and Jehn swears wildly as Morth pulls ahead. "Dammit!" She punches at the console as she pulls them to an eventual stop, crossing the finish line in second place.

Sar Yavok pulls back on the lever that releases the swing-wings and triples the width of his ship, allowing greater manueverability in atmospheric conditions. Sadly, the ground lost in the middle of the competition means that he only walks away from this one with third place.

The Sithspit was flying in fast, way too fast as Rake was trying to make up time. Warning klaxons start flaring up and suddenly the controls quit responding as the pair of astromechs in the cockpit wrench control of the ship, engaging the maneuvering thrusters and reversing the main engines to full. He didn't crash, but the Shistavanen wasn't going to make a clean run across the finish line until he convinced the droids that there was no more danger.

Morth's eyes widen dramatically as the Parallax moves toward that vertical drop, worrying about both continuing to zip through the rings and not collide with the Hotbox as they come in close to his ship. Moving the flight yokes forward, he sends the firespray into a steep dive as they bust through the atmosphere wide open. Zip... zip... zip go the rings as they plunge toward the starport below. They are neck and neck, and it Morth starts to yell as the tower looms closer and closer and then.... they did it! The Parallax pulls ahead by what had to be inches and he abruptly pulls up on the controls to pull back into flat flight and zoom away across the spectator stands.

Thundering past the crowd below, Tarion lets out a whoop, turning to give Morth a high-five, but then he remembers that the Mon Cal has the weirdest hands ever seen and he just jerks his hand back down, opting instead for "Great flying, Fishman!" With the race finished, he starts changing the controls back over to his console to take her down for the CELEBRATING.

Kadi keeps a very close eye on the engines, as the indicator creeps closer to that danger mark. Closer. Closer. Morth starts the dive and the Parallax is on the home stretch - Kadi pushes it up just a hair more so that the needle edges even closer towards the threshold of disaster. And once the finish line is reached, Kadi's own hands are at work easing up the pressure on the engines, so that Tavers can figure out his own changes. She is concentrating enough that it takes her a few moments to process what Taver said. "Wait, what? Did we win?"

SPECTATOR - When the Parallax finally wins, Sapphira sighs in relief, bending at the waist to lay her torso across the prone Meep. "Thank the stars," she says softly to the little creature, and then she starts to laugh. Sitting up, she looks down at the little creature. "There'll be parties tonight, Meep," she promises him. "Lots to eat and drink." Because that seems to be what Meep lives for.

SPECTATOR - Meep perks a little, food and drink? Those ears perk up as he sits up. "Mmmmmmmmm..." he grumps, clambering atop Sapphira's leg and sitting. He rubs his belly a little at the thought, looking about, frowning as he doesn't see any parties or snacks anywhere nearby. He does resist the urge to go looking for snacks right away, saving himself for later.

(SPECTATOR)Qo's right. Rheisa is not getting his free labor at the Muse, nor do he and Veela get a night to themselves. The Parallax pulls ahead by an inch and leaves her with her mouth ajar. In dismay. Alas, Tavers and his crew flew the better flight this round. She'll give credit where it's due. Just not happily. Hungrily, tho. Her belly rumbles, reminding her that her food is now on the floor and has been trampled underfoot. "Leth go!" she tugs on Qo's arm, wanting to get a head start on the crowd to greet the racers.