Log:Jervo's World Cup - RACE 5!

Race 5 of the Jervo's World Cup at the Star Crisos Arena

OOC Date: January 7, 2023
Location: Jervo's World
Participants: Ejnar Celchu, Mandl, Aconaa, Tamsin Cas, Vorcassh, Sumi Kora, Colo Nell, Qutha Buvu Pah, Pilha Aino, Rieve Selki, Thahn Kelro, Galen Dawnstar, Valeska Kora, Fennec Shand and Reverberate as GM

"LADIES"

The vast zero-g sphere of the Star Crisis course is suddenly alight with the shimmering radiance of fireworks, centering on a shielded sphere at the dead center. The great hunks of space rock deflected from it by repulsor tech housing a throne that would make a hutt blush. Droids with holobroadcast equipment putting s massive display of GUTU PHLU! THE GRAN MAJOR DOMO OF RACING for all the see. Seated upon his regal place with a small crown worn askew atop his head.

"AND"

From a docking port just below one of the stands that orbit the arena comes a platform, shielded much like Gutu's own, where the competitors and their swoops are carried, their own path headed towards the center point of the Star Crisis raceway to where the Major Domo's is rising up from.

"GENTLEBEINGS!"

Lights blaze and swirl around, bathing everyone technicolor and causing the glitter in the shielded stands to burst into fiery life. Dancers of many species weaving through the crowds, hanging on some, twirling around others and joining into a winding, spiraling, line at the edge of the deflector shields.

"TODAY... We find our Jervo's Cup CHAMPION! Who will win THE RACE!? Who will have amassed enough score points to win THE CUP!?" spots focus now on the racers, "BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE PAZAAK AND TABAC! NEZWUMP'S MEAT LUMPS AND ARKANIAN MICRO, BUILDING A -BETTER- YOU!" the lights around the racers starting to spin at a dizzying speed before all drops to a single, bright, white light centering on them all.

"RACERS! START! YOUR! ENGINES!!!"

From the middle of the starting platform a hatch opens and the distinct, throaty warble of massive chevron shaped engines can be heard. The crowd roaring in sudden excitement and fanfare music blares throughout the stands.

"AND WELCOME YOUR GUEST! CHAMPION OF THE BOONTA EVE... [ANSI(#FF875F,SEBULBA)!!!

Ejnar Celchu was focused, the Shadowbird Racer, a sleek swoop designed by Lady Vega Celchu swayed a bit as he swung his leg over it and seated himself upon the dark leather cushion. He leaned forwards, the neon yellow of his all black swoop suit on full display. The swoop it's self was colored in the markings of House Celchu of Alderaan. Greens, Purples, and Blacks like the Shadowbird it was named after.

That tight swoopsuit of his had purple and green trim to mash with the 'Night Screecher' written across his back, of course his anonymity forfeited in the first race after his mother and the Princess showed up in support of his daring antics. He twisted the throttle, revving the engine. Then put down the blast shield of the helmet and looks across to the other racers. It was going to be an interesting night.

Aconaa's last race had left her pink swoop bike in need of some repairs, to say the least, so it was sitting this last race out in favor of her Aratech 'Skybreeze' Speederbike instead. It matched her blue swoopsuit better anyway. Moving her swoop up to the starting line the Togruta takes in the sight of the track that laid before them for the championship race, a colorful and spacey raceway that simultaneously seemed both less and more over the top than previous tracks. Having artificial lava lakes and oceans was a bit hard to top afterall, but this one was certainly more flamboyant in its own ways.

With the call given for the racers to start their engines, Aconaa mounts her swoop and starts up her swoop. The engine of the ancient blue bike roars to life and Aconaa revs it up a few times before turning her attention to the 'guest' for the race and raising an eyebrow. "Now there's a name I've not heard in some time," the Togruta mumbles to herself.

Mandl has, perhaps, gone 'back to basics.' Gone is their bulky, computer-assisted juggernaut suit. In its place is their classic singlet with sensor-studded helm, and as a cape they brandish the flag of their corporate shipping venture, "B'rot Salvage and Ores." Lifting their arms in a stadium-wide salute, they march proudly to their non-descript, no-frills swoop. Climbing astride, they remain crouched in readiness! Not a moment wasted!

"...and that's why I stacked half the bets on Sebulba while ensuring a properly diverse spread amongst the other racers based on the swoopermetric scores using a proper regression analysis based on..." Colo rambles to his companions as they find seats amidst the hustle and bustle. He's ensured they have seats, of course, because the Boonta Championship? He's been scraping a living out of these races for months now, so has let himself have a little treat with a proper eyes-front view towards the massive bank of holoscreens showing the racers and their sleek craft starting up with nary a hint of visible grease 'tween them. No, that seems to have been smuggled into the Corellian's hair which glistens and shines, perfectly coiffed in the ambient glow of seemingly-endless fireworks. 

As he nudges Valeska and Rieve onwards, his attention is drawn to something other than many for once. "Val, did you try the meat lumps yet?" He queries, perfectly innocently, though with a conspiratorial glance to the Hapan gent. "Rieve could go on for hours about 'em."

Though the good doctor had missed the last race, she had clearly thought better of missing the final, and so, Tamsin sat in one of the rows closest to the track, an LED display in front of her legs, bottles of water stashed about her person. As the race was only beginning, the display only touted an advertisement for B'rot Salvage and Ores. Surely something more interesting would find its way to the display as the race truly got underway. One of the bottles of water was retrieved, the seal cracked, and the liquid sipped. A hand reached down, rummaging in the front of her pack for a bottle of something ferociously green. All was well.

Sumi Kora stands at the concession holding up the line while trying to determine what it is she's in the mood for. "Come on, lady, you had the whole time to decide when you were in line!" One calls out, and he wasn't wrong. Sumi just tucked back her hair, pinning it behind her ear and shrugged. "Just one of those meatstick things on a bun. I want a hearty bun at that, not one of those dreks that comes apart at the center and spills everything on my hand. That's the worst."

The local currency was set on the counter in trade, appeasing the crowd behind her that seemed to collectively sigh, 'FINALLY'.

Choosing a seat with enough space out of the way is always a challenge. Vorcassh taps at his left wrist mounted PAC-20 to check the seating charts... borrowed from the local mainframe to make a selection. Third row, close enough to enjoy the sounds, without the dust and a slight advantage of view. Settling in to his chosen aisle seat along the right, there's a gesture at his Guardian Droid to take a seat. Climbing up over the top of the highly customized angular helmet of the Ubese armor is a curious ID10 drone. There is a burble of binary which draws a nod. The helmets built in vocoder translater crackles <"Correct. I would much rather be in the race. This will have to do.">

Leaning into the lights when they strike, Qutha is thoroughly entrenched in his seat with a massive stadium glass of booze and a giant bucket of pop-crunch. He's not sure when he became such a race fan, but it's addictive... as is the food. Crunching happily and being leaned into by a Zeltron who is dead set on explaining to him the fine history of Swoop Racing.

The Zelosian, meanwhile seems intent on eating while the pink skinned sentient jaws his ear off - likely his enthusiasm for the sport being enhanced by the empathic field that the other species exudes.

"Yes... Reckon. Verra interestin'... O'rsized engines." pointing with his chin, "Wouldn' wanna be daown there m'self, tell you whut."

A slim, dark haired figure enters and picks her way along the stand. Pilha Aino has availed herself of the bars outside the stand, and carries a Corellian lager. She ambles through the rows of seats and ends up at her seat, few down from Tamsin. She passes the blonde doctor, smiling faintly at the doctor as she passes. "Evenin', Tamsin," she says as she passes in an accent that's a mix of Nar Shaddaa and Corellian, and then plonks herself down. She sips her beer, waiting for the race to begin.

Brother Bizz has come to Jervo's World for another outing with orphans in tow, including Miriala the little green Mirialan, Blelaila the Twi'lek girl, M'nevvus and Su'nil the Zabrak twins, Lemmy the human boy in his Grav Force 2 Tryshyn ELITE gravball shoes, little Padmini in a cardboard Mandalorian helmet, and little Shimsa with her stick and tattered scavenger costume. They make their way to some moderately-priced seats as Bizz lectures, "Now do you see the asteroids children? Yes, do you remember the formulae for universal gravitation? Force EQUALS gravitational constant times mass of object 1 times mass of object 2 over arrr squared. But we must add in the repulsor interference as well here..." The wiggly children start chanting for SNACKS SNACKS SNACKS and so Bizz leaves them with some poor soul(s) to harass and finds the concession.

Entering with both the valiant Valeska and the courageous Colo, is one regal Rieve. A silky Selki. The blue-haired Hapan is clad rather simply in flowing robes of Hapan design, a muted blue in colour that is nothing as bright as the blue of his hair, nor indeed his eyes. Every step accompanied by the gentle swish and flow of those very robes, his hands tucked into the opposing sleeves to keep them snug and warm as he basks in an idle embrace of himself. Every step graceful, the gait of a dancer drifting down the various steps and moving to lay claim to the relevant seat, as herded by Colo, with a flourish of hands slipping free of billowing sleeves to sweep the robe beneath him as he settles.

"I did not follow a single word of how you 'spread your bets' yet it did sound impressive. Sebulba you say?" Those very delightfully accented words flowing easily and swiftly as Rieve casts his eye to Colo and grins a delightfully gap-toothed grin. Though soon there's a warm tilt of his head and his own perfectly silky locks tumble artfully, unbound as the Hapan's blue hair is, and a smirk is soon offered to Valeska. "I would heartily recommend the meat lumps, I'm mostly positive that they are in no way sentient and quite tasty."

Valeska is walking between Colo who is chittering about numbers and making her head hurt and Rieve who is so gussied up, it's like being in a peacock's entourage. Dressed in full Mandalorian armor save for the helmet clipped to her hip, she stands out like a sore thumb between the well-coiffed men. As supportive as she would like to be for her husband and his incredible grasp of odds and ratios and so many numbers, her hazel eyes are glazed over and ears perked desperate for any word she understands amongst it all. "Meat lumps?"

Meat. Lumps. There's two words she knows! Not two that are often smashed together like that but this is a woman who often eats from the dingy convenience stores of gruddy spaceports. "Does it come on a stick?" So hopeful and full of wonder. Never once does she ask what's in the meat lumps. She found out long ago it's better one doesn't know.

As they take their seats, she glances to the blue-haired Hapan with them, raising a brow. "You're a conoisseur of meat lumps, Rieve? Don't you dine on only tiny fish eggs and over-salted fish and drek?" When it comes to cuisine, Valeska has an accent that begs for crawfish and gumbo. Meat lumps might have to suffice. Though the 'no way sentient' claim does cause her hesitation. "Was there reason to think they were?"

"No," says a shaded figure, glancing sidelong to a hovering, wing-like droid. "Of course it'll work. This isn't even the first time we've tried it," she says, pausing for a moment in thought, before she rolls her shoulders. "Sounds like something's starting," Fennec says, stepping into the light and offering a quick glance around them. Her hands slip into the sleek spacer jacket she acquired from somewhere. Dutifully, the droid followed after her, seemingly watching.

"TODAY!!! We separate the Champion from the RACERS! Today we shall see GLORY!!" grav-well generators within the racing area shift, causing the asteroids floating gently starting to move of seemingly their own accord. The lights spiral again with camera droids moving around the Zero-G zone.

Sebulba's vehicle slides into place, giving a sleezy grin for Syooko Xic, the Yarkora and ignoring gestures from the snivvian, Pashil and the sullustan Zaid Umpaarh. His rumbling engines growling and the starting line flashes to red.

"GET READY!"

Sparkle-Cannons erupt, sending glitter into the zero-g zone where micro-gravity disturbances make it turn into swirling rings and roiling clouds to catch the light and spray the illumination in all directions. The ungulot face of Syooko bunching up before her buck teeth are exposed and a line of foamy spittle is shot at Mandl.

"GET SET!"

The line goes yellow and flames erupt all around the perimeter. Part of the dish holding the swoops suddenly disconnects and begins to slide forward, pace increasing. More droids emerge and seem to start building raceways by glowing markers on their round bodies. "I hope all you swoopers remembered to have directional thrusters tuned up before tonight!" Gutu's voice having excited, but genuine, concern before the line goes green and similar colored fireworks erupt.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Lord Celchu shouldn't have been surprised. Yet, when the fireworks erupted he hesitated. Past memories, not good ones, of being shot down going up against a resurgent Star Destroyer years ago just after the destruction of Hosnian Prime. The sparking circuitry and instrument panels. Luckily there was no whine from a droid as the Headhunter he was flying didn't have a socket for an astromech. He had to rely on himself and his own whits to punch out into the deep dark cold of space. Then the years in a First Order Prison camp.

When the other racers took off, the Shadowbird racer remained. That was until the sounds of the crowd and engines roaring past him centered Ejnar on reality again. He twisted his wrist back and the swoops zooted forwards, the high whine of the engines echoing through the track as he attempted to place himself ahead of others.

Not one to be distracted by flashy lighting or fireworks, Aconaa revs her engines up in time with the green light being given to go and gets her swoop off to a flying start. With this being the championship race there was no point in holding back, even if her old swoop probably wasn't going to appreciate how hard she was pushing the throttle. Her bright blue swoop bike flies past the starting line and down the colorful neon lines of the holo-projected road.

Mandl perhaps took a bit of that spit to the face. Possibly it's been too long since they swooped last. When the racer doing post-traumatic dissociating leaps out ahead of you, you're probably gathering too much wool! Getting so enormous a head back into 'the game' presents a challenge, but one they're equipped for! Surely so ignominous a start is merely part of a grand strategic game of multi-dimensional dejarik! We... can hope.

Thahn wanders in, not sure what to expect. He had heard it was going to be quite the spectical. It was a large crowd to be sure. He starts making his way through, trying to see if there were any familiar faces here.

Brother Bizz returns after some time with a massive two-tiered munchie tray. It has fried griddle scones with Kashyyykian honey, grappaberry smoothies, a tray of white-and-blue cube marshmallows in the Bespin City style, a fruity rainbow berry galette, some saltwater Tepasi Taffy, a silver package of blue macaron cookies, fried Endorian tip-yip drumsticks with gurreck gravy for dipping, and an entire plate of fritzle fries with Sernpidalian mayo-ketchup. In addition there is a 'flight' of rancor-teeth-shaped cups in a small tray with various beers, including Vinta Harvest Ale., Endorian honey mead, fermented fungus ale, sweet Mandalorian black ale, and Corellian Spiced Ale. Since it is the last race of the season, he splurged. For the children.

Upon arriving back at his seat the orphan children attack his snackie tray(s) like ravenous animals, getting their hands sticky like kids do. "Easy! Easy! We don't want to behave like a pack of wild jakobeasts."

"Sebulba!" Colo clarifies to Rieve. It doesn't seem to matter that neither of his fetching companions processed the intensity of his mathematics. The important thing is they're here and likely the reason he's grinning. "Quite tasty," He echoes the Hapan's review. 5/5 trustworthiness on display here. "Sticks are optional. Think they threw 'em in a bucket for us last time, though it was all something of a blur. Had a good hit o' alco to make sure I could see the race crooked."

Colo promptly shushes for just a moment as he flanks Valeska's armored self and plants his shebs in his seat. Any other time, he might patiently wait for one or both of them to find a seat, but with the flash of light, the gambler's caught up in the pomp and whine and dazzle of the race's beginning.

"Always good to see you, Pilha," Tamsin offered as the other woman stepped past her to take a sheet. In almost perfect time, as the fireworks went off, Tamsin reached down to activate the controls of her LED sign, the more normal advertisement for Mandl's actual business switching to a randomized series of cheers as he went about his actual business. Did it matter that his first start in the final was not the sleek and powerful leap away from the starting blocks that he was known for? Indeed not. One did not bet against a horse at the start of a race.

"Now what's gonna be ha-ah... hey." the zeltron is just... invading his space now. The pink mank's skin tone setting of the floral man's own faint green undertones while he edges away.

"But it's loud, and you gotta hear this!"

Qutha sighs, trying to watch while he is made the target of the ongoing chatter. The power of the engines. The old mans anywhere within Expansion Region and all the way to the Core worlds. But he just wants to see the race... eat his pop-kernals and drink his grain alcohol. The little things in life.

"Verra interestin'... yes." an inward sigh, eyes closing as if to say 'there is peace.'

Meanwhile his ear is chewed relentlessly

Sumi finds her seat, it's in an awful place. Cheap. She settles, her snack cradled with both hands and guided toward her mouth in an attempt to not get the sauce on her cheek, chin. The effort only served to bunch much of the sauce up, though and her hand got dirty anyway. She had voiced it to be a concern earlier, but the napkin that was employed to wipe away the evidence was enough to absolve her of this inconvenience. "LET'S GOOOOO!" She heckles from way up, mouth full.

"Oh nothing that need concern your discerning palate. They are a delightful food. For the masses." Rieve murmurs as he leans in towards Valeska to play up slightly to his noble heritage. Though that gap-toothed grin soon broadens as he exhales a fond breath for the foods so mentioned by Valeska. "Oh if only, those days are far behind. Why I can only dream of stuffed delicacies and various tiny little eggs that require a specific spoon, while liquor of the finest kind rotates about the table in a very specific direction." Rieve places a hand against his chest and shakes his head forlorn, shaking loose more tumbling blue locks. "I am a meat lump person now." Fallen on hard times!

Yet with Colo's clarification, Rieve looks about Valeska and leans in to offer his own attempt. "Sebulba?" He asks. The very word sounding oh so fluid from Rieve's lips, that Hapan accent adding a certain gravitas, a grace to that very name, though it is so unnecessary given how smooth that racer is. "Se-bul-bah?" He asks again for further clarification. "Sebulba!" He nods, sweeping his hair back. Happy with his attempt. Sebulba. "Sebulba." One final attempt offered as he lets rip a hearty cheer and a oooooh at the fireworks.

Pilha whoops as the racers set off and raises her beer, thoroughly enjoying herself. Jostled by a wookie taking a seat in the row behind her, she turns around with her green eyes narrowed to remonstrate, but sees Thahn Kelro. The woman raises her left tattooed hand vaguely, fingers crooked, in a greeting to the familiar smuggler. Hey there.

Time is takn to look over each racer one at a time. Professional curiosity at play with a healthy mix of speed obsession. Some of the set-ups do spark a twinge of jealousy. But not one stands out alone. At the fireworks erupting, the tinted lenses of the helmet darken further. To his left the Guardian droid protests with mechanical artificial <"BARK. BARK."> Vorcassh's helmet tilts to one side. <"Do not start. Spoiled beast."> There is a much softer <"RUH"> of huffing protest, but the droid falls silent once more to go on watch.

Racers are off and it draws attention once again. Especially Syooko Bun spitting at Mandl. To the 1d10 Droid. <"Remind me to replay the last race later."> There is time to watch the crowd now and at least once face two rows ahead become visible as Tamsin speaks to another. The Ubese rises and makes his way down the aisle to bother the doctor, the droids following. The scrambled tones from the vocoder manage to impart a semblance of a mildly-pleasant greeting. <"Doctor">

It's all razzle dazzle and Valeska is here for it. She steals the seat in between Colo and Rieve, kicking up her feet on the back of the chair in front of her thinking it is empty. When a small, wrinkled head slooooowly creeps up over the edge a moment later, Valeska is staring down the angry black eyes of an offended Sullustan. Undeterred, the woman shrugs lazily. "What? It's not like you're using it, yeah?"

This results in a a string of angry Sullustan being flung back from low-hanging jowels, a small fist shaking then gesturing in a clear motion of 'get off.' Going as far as to grab her boot and try to /shove/ it off.

"Hey!" She kicks her foot free of the grasp and hits the back of the chair with her heel. "Ain't you ever heard of sharing? Some of us need leg room, yeah? You wouldn't know anything about that."

A second Sullustan pops up from the seat next to the first and now both of them are griping and carrying on. Something something Mandalorian something something. For all her time she spent around the rowdy little pilots when she was young, Val didn't pick up a lick of their languague. Ah, but she's fluent in pissed off.

"Fine! Fine, geez." She plants both feet on the ground and crosses her arms over her chest. Just in time for the race to start, satisfying the Sullustans who just want to have a good time. She sighs grumpily. "Thought it was empty," is grumbled to her companions.

"For everyone!" Colo agrees, though he's not sure with what he's agreeing. Rieve said something when the engines began to roar and he's just there to lend credence to whatever the nobleman is selling. When he peeps back to Valeska, he can't help but flash a shameless grin, definitely catching Rieve's boasting. "I can confirm, he is definitely a meat lumper." The double-entendres fire off quick and hot tonight, though are salved with a firm hand slithering into Val's own before too long.

The only thing else that takes his mind off the race is that boisterous confrontation with the Sullustans. Colo keeps his eyes poised between the pair of 'em and his partner, both uncertain as to which side he should intervene on and whether to intervene at all. Mercifully, matters are, er, handled. He squeezes her hand a little more tightly in supportive reassurance, though one could be forgiven for assuming he's just trying to keep her reined in.

Unfortunately for Valeska, it means he has her digits trapped and so hoists them quick and up into the air in a double-pump. "Sebulba!" The cheer of the Hapan is joined without hesitation. "Sebulba!" He doubles-down, with an insistent look to his two companions in an effort to keep them out of further trouble.

Brother Bizz has a few fritzle fries and the small cup of fermented fungus ale while relaxing, watching the race. Two of his orphans start arguing after one of them produces a hot sauce bottle and puts it on her tip-yip drumstick. "REAL Mandalorians only like SPICY food," says little Padmini in the cardboard Mandalorian helmet. "No, that isn't true," says Shimsa with her tattered scavenger costume. "Yeah-huh!" "Nuh-uh!" Bizz the ugnaught ignores the spiciness argument or doesn't hear it. Pretty soon a fried Endorian tip-yip drumstick is thrown. It misses its intended target and hits VALESKA KORA somewhere.

The bottom disk that separated continues to speed, rushing out and banking to one side. It's speed tantalizingly just more than the fastest of the swoops below.

"WHO WILL CLAIM THE CUP!?" a panel opens in that speeding disc and from within it rises a cup. Such a cup! Platinum and gold! Etched in silver, gemmed with rubies, sapphires, emeralds... and is that a Corusca gem!?

IS THAT CUP CARVED OUT OF A SINGLE KRAYT DRAGON PEARL!?

"THERE. THEY. GO!"

Flash vents from Sebulba's engines go off, causing Pashil and Zaid to swerve out of the way, throwing their hands up to protect their faces and the former of the pair slamming on their vertical thrusters to shoot skyward and then go into a spin when one of the asteroids gravity pulls knocks her out of control.

The Mighty Dug surges forth and the crowd roars as the racers take to the 'tracks' of the madcap course that helix spiral and bank around themselves. But it's at the second turn of the whirly-gig that Gutu's voice exclaims, "OH NO! A METEOR SHOWER!" lowering the shaders from his eyes and grinning into the holocams.

One of the asteroids detonates, violently, flaming rock raining down on the course with three paths opening. Two getting closer, but relatively safe and the centerline track going straight through.

"THAT'S AS HOT AS THE NEW FLAVOR FROM NEZWUMP'S! SPICY SULLUSTAN SIZZLE! TRY IT TODAY!"

Ejnar is still shaken by the loud thunder of the fireworks from the starting line. He hadn't had any trouble in the last few races. Though as he looked around while cornering the asteroids in their way, it's very clear why. This whole arena resembled space. A Star-field. It was closer to his trauma than the other environments and so more triggering. He took a deep breath and leaned further into the swoop.

That didn't help, especially when one of those asteroids exploded and bits of debris fell upon the Alderaanian. This caused him to slow some, weaving in and out of the pieces and almost hitting a few. As he cleared the obstacles, he looked over the immediate damage. A few dings and scratches. Nothing his wife the Gremlin Lady Celchu couldn't handle after the race.

Aconaa looks up to see the asteroid exploding, raining down chunks over the track ahead and, without a moment's hesitation, drives straight down the track that was at the center of the debris field. As debris rains down around her Aconaa's swoop swerves left and right around the track, dodging and weaving through the rain of debris and not once touching the brakes. Some close calls pelt her and her bike with small bits of dirt and debris, but she was pretty securely avoiding the larger and more threatening chunks of rock.

Mandl appears to have mostly shaken off their ignominous start, and doesn't (yet) risk the most treacherous road. Building momentum with instinctive skill and dozen of races of experience, they might indeed be psyching themselves up for eventual displays that would make OSHA inspectors vomit with rage-- soon-- !

Another sip of water, and a free hand to wave off the barkers selling bets across the stands, as Tamsin watched the racers flashing away and along the course. The sign did not diminish in colour, through the movement of both the racers and the people moving through the stands would make it impossible for the person for whom Tamsin was cheering to read it. One would imagine, but...The Bithness was a gentlebeing of surprising multi-tasking ability. As the ubese came into her view, Tamsin lifted a hand, shading her eyes from the spot lights flashing across the track, "Vorcassh. I didn't know you were a fan of the races."

Oh Sullustans! Adorable! Rieve beams at the poor folks as they are first troubled by Mandalorian feet, then Mandalorian diplomacy, and then finally the matter is quite resolved as those errant feet settle back upon the floor. The Hapan male for his part knew not a single word uttered, but he would guess some weren't all that complimentary. Oh! Colo's pumping of the air with both his own hands and Valeska's has Rieve stand up and let rip a cheer for the mighty Sebulba! "Sedulba!" Oh. Horror. Rieve glances to Colo, he wouldn't have noticed. And then to Valeska. Nah. He's good. He chants once more to cover his tracks, a warm and deliciously purred, "SEBULBA!". And then down he settles with a whumpf into his chair! Aaaah bliss! The fireworks! The roar of the crowd! It's all a delight for the Hapan.

Valeska is still stewing a little, bristling in a momentary petulant pout for losing her foot rest. The squeeze to her hand offered by Colo quells a bit of the unwarranted ire in her eyes and she even starts to feel a bit of embarrassment for getting so quickly riled up. "I'm still on edge from... you know." She glances to Rieve in particular, realizing he would have no idea what she was talking about. "Recently found out my long-lost brother died before I could find him. Hit kinda hard, yeah? But that's no reason to take it out on--"

And Endorian tip-yip drumstick flies through the air and smacks right against the back of her pauldron. It plings off the durasteel armor, leaving a sickly sweet and spicy smear of grease on the crimson paint then slides down to flop on the ground behind her chair.

Whatever reason and sense Valeska was coming back to flies out of the proverbial window as her nostrils flare and her brows nit tight together. "OKAY!" Gloved hand slam onto her arm rests and she bolts up, spinning around to find the face of who DARES to hock meatstuffs in her direction! She finds the guilty parties in the faces of a... pair of orphans. Well, that certainly makes her deflate a little.

But ho. Who should be sitting nearby paying attention to them as much as a neglectful parent on their datapad? "Bizz!" She leans over the seat, snatches the drumstick, and waves it in his direction. "I believe this belongs to your little... wards."

She is missing out on the chants for Sedulb

Thahn finds a lively group of people and slides up to the bar near them. He takes a moment to glance at the race standings, and notes that the first place was currently held by a Dug named Sebulba. The name seemed familiar but he could not place it. He glances at the group shouting the Dug's name and asks, "I take it the Dug is the favorite for the race?" there is a slight smirk on his face.

"And then... THEN the circuits invented Pod Racing! To bypass the bans, but all that ended up was fighter engines strapped to chariots! Can you believe it?! CHARIOTS!"

"Fas'natin'..." more pop-kernals go down his gullet and then a gulp of the engine cleaner he calls a drink, giving it a long look as if to say 'I wish this got me drunk'. But no such glory for Qutha, until the explosion that lifts his head and blessedly silences the zeltron for just... one glorious second.

"Oh bother..."

An 'erk' face forming at the danger that portends.

"LET'S GO, SEBULBA! WOO!" Sumi yells from her random spot. It's likely her voice is lost in the crowd, though! She has since finished her small meal and is in the process of wiping away the evidence. Thankfully, it's not all over the place.

<"BARK"> From the guardian droid at the racers on the screen doing their lap. Another at Tamsin for good measure. <"I'm going to reprogram you. Again."> The angular helmet shakes at the would-be antics of the droid. Eye lenses once again sweeping the crowd and then the racers positions on the update boards. At the announcers promotional blast about the Sullustian Sizzle, Vorcassh cannot help himself. <"Are they made from real Sullustians?"> Distractions.

The Ubese was asked a question by an associate, and surprisingly there is a little excitement to the nodding. The vocoder translates <"I like speed."> A battered armored datapad is drawn from a thigh holster and tapping brings up a picture for Tamsin. A cargo bay of a WTK-854... and a Mobquet in overhaul. <"A work in progress. I prefer swoops. My homeworld, one does not walk more than necessary. I have my eye out for something faster and something else flashier."> The datapad is slipped away, and a gauntleted hand gestures at the track. <"Sebulba. Have not seen him race in some time. Unique opportunity. Not sure if I would wager credits though.">

Brother Bizz sprays a little bit of Vinta Harvest Ale. as he cheers for Ejnar Celchu. "GO ALDRAAN!" When Valeska Kora presents him with a drumstick he plaintively offers up the offal box for her to drop it into. "So sorry! Shimsa and Padmini were having a debate over the spiciness of the Mando'ade diet. But as I told them, so the song goes, a pint of ale, a pint of blood! You know the rest. Aren't you going to apologize, girls?" Padmini removes her cardboard Mandalorian helmet and she and Shimsa says in unison: "We're sorry." But do they mean it?

Colo's tongue runs away with him at times. Spicy Sullustan Sizzle? "No, I think I won't," He murmurs to himself at the announcement. A moment later, a worse crime occurs: "Se-bulb-a!" Colo corrects Rieve with a soft hiss, though the sharp daggers he eyes towards the Hapan's direction are merely for show. Their collapsible nature is displayed all of a second later when he leans back to laugh, albeit with far less relish upon hearing Valeska again. The Corellian's expression turns downward in no time, concern and sympathy taking hold on instinct. He leans into the armored woman a moment later, pressing some share of his weight upon her to make some semblance of compressive therapy. 

He might well have done more but for the intervention of a drumstick whizzing by and making a connection--and a smear--on Valeska's armored leg. Only then his hand releases her to do her worst, either by bashing orphans about or accosting their guardian. Colo tries his best to sink low into his seat and disappear into paying mind to the blue-haired Hapan near him. "Rieve, we should swap outfits next time we go out like this. Keep 'em guessing."

"Why did you decide not to race? So far as I know, all of the races have been open to anyone willing to pay the buyin for a position at the starting blocks." Another sip of her water, as Tamsin readjusted the dazzle of the sign she was supporting with her shins, "As for Sebulba, I am still curious how he managed to move without the use of a cane or a repulsor craft. He's well beyond the normal aging of his species." Trust a doctor to know that sort of useless medical trivia.

"We'll visit a stylist, get those locks of yours dyed blue." Rieve offers to Colo as if indeed to aid the nature of their future duplicity! "I do believe you'll look quite stylish..." Yet Valeska's anger and outburst is caught, and Rieve reaches across with his baggy sleeve to dab away any such spicy adornment to Valeska's armour, all the while damaging his wonderful Hapan fashion. Yet there is no price upon aiding a dear friend, and even as he turns to regard the orphans, there's a smile offered to each. That and he sticks his tongue out at them oh so merrily, before sitting back within his chair and grinning across at Colo. "Sebulba." He nods, having warded those fake daggers just so.

Bizz is one that plays dirty. Leveraging orphans at full power to completely diffuse her righteous and misguided anger. One is wearing a cardboard Mandalorian helmet, for Maker's sake! Valeska's glares are directed fully at the Ugnaught, but when they go to the pair of young girls, it softens with a defeated sigh.

"S'fine. Waste of a drumstick though, yeah?" She drops it back onto the floor for the droids to clean up later. "And if you want to know how spicy a Mandalorian likes their food, get Bizz to take you to the Meltdown on Nar Shaddaa. Those noodle bowls provide a lot of the fire we need." She has a soft spot for kids, damnit. Especially little orphaned ones with a penchant for arguing. Reminds her of herself. Especially the one in her little cardboard helmet. "You might have the fire already, yeah?"

She'll leave it at that for now, turning back to sit down and shut up so others can enjoy the race. "Sorry." A genuine if short apology to her two companions. "What did I miss?"

"I hope you all bet on SEBULBA!" the joyous cry of Gutu Phlu rises over the din as the venerable and still capable dug racer continued to lean into turns and weave through debris on his direct line approach towards the escaping 'landing zone' and the Cup that rested so tantalizingly upon it.

The yokora and sullustan exchange glances and foul looks as they make their runs, the spamel-head alien banking off while Zaid keeps her pace behind those moving down the dangerous center lane, dipsying -and- doodling between the flaming stones that threaten horrible, horrible consequences should they hit.

'I'll be a little disappointed' from a spouse levels of consequence, really.

"LADIES AND GENTLEBEINGS! Does someone owe you money? Did someone shoot your PA!? Is the justice system a laughable curtain of red tape bogged down in the bureaucracy of the elite doing as they please while you scrape to keep in the lines? REGISTER YOUR ISSUE WITH THE BOUNTY HUNTERS GUILD! Don't let justice slip away! Send a Bounty Hunter. Then Justice will be coming, and hell will be coming with it!"

Past the meteorites the weaving path goes directly into the intersecting paths of asteroids orbiting one another, orbiting grav-well generators and some of those weaker circuits pulling one massive stone from its current group into another - some quite literal. The cracking thunder of impacting space rock filling the arena with the noise as well as fragments of various size for the racers to move between.

The Cup's expeditious flight persists, droid-brains navigating it expertly through the field of detritus, teasing its would be claimants.

Everything is a bit hazy to Ejnar as they round the next section of the course. Yet, something seems to focus him once more. Perhaps his wife over the comms of his swoopsuit helmet. Or maybe it was the cheer of the crowd, if it could even be heard from where he was.

Whatever it was, the Combat Pilot and Fighter Ace pressed the boosters on the swoop and it rocketed forwards, looping and skipping off the obstacles in a delicate and well maneuvered fashion a prodigy of House Celchu could only be capable of. He was his Father's son, or his Mothers son. Both. Boy had some good genes running through him.

More space rocks, this time multiple orbitting the track and bouncing off each other creating yet more obstacles to dodge and weave around. Once again, Aconaa aims her swoop down the harder path with more debris for the Togruta racer to dodge between. She was still very much unwilling to hit the brakes or slow down at all even for a second, something which would come back to bite her as one of those asteroids crosses her path. Had she slowed down just a little, it would have passed in front of her. Instead, she was swerving hard to the right, trying to avoid it and scraping along the rock instead. Grunting from the impact, Aconaa's swoop was knocked off to the side and narrowly avoiding collision with another rock as a result. She gets knocked around a bit more before finally regaining control over her swoop, driver and bike now both battered and sporting some new dents.

Mandl's miscalculations are many, today, but so too are close shaves and demonstrations of the racer's reflex! Whether their lack of eyelids in this instance is a help or hindrance, none may say, but certainly having a spare brain for epileptic seizures while the second one handles business is a fantastic backup plan!

There is a glance towards the small enclave of Mandalorians, flashy enough to draw attention from the Ubese. Attention is returned first to the race, and next to Tamsin's question. <"I missed too many. Would not feel like a proper challenge. I will go fast another time."> There is a finger that shakes in agreement at the Doctor's statement. <"Likely it is Sebulba the Forth or some such. Family handown of the name and racing gear."> There is a pause and a remorseless shrug. <"I admit Dugs essentially look all alike to me.">

"Blue? Mh. Not sure if Valeska will enjoy that. She likes it dark," He explains with a prominent drag of his nails through his perfect, ebon hair by way of showing off. In the wake of it, though, he -does- make eyes at Rieve's hue and the fabric the stylish Hapan wears. There's another compliment coming, but it dies on the way to Valeska seating herself again.

He takes her hand up once more, but the pump he gives it is sedate this time. The ad of the bounty hunters drowns out his thoughts just a beat before he pipes up again. "Missed Sebulba roaring to the lead again. Think we're gonna be eating more than meat lumps in the coming weeks, doll," He joyously informs her, though shifts gears a beat later with a playful grin. "We were talking fashion tips. Rieve thinks I'd like good in blue. Maybe he should dye his hair my color, then, just to keep it even?"

"Perhaps that's so. Given the sort of thing that was written about him, I can see him wanting the name to live on, even if he did not." Tamsin, tucking her water away, glanced at the status of the race before she continued. "I honestly know only as much as I need to know to tend to their medical needs. There are far too many species in the galaxy to learn everything there is to know about their cultural mores unless they become regular patients. And I see dugs only rarely in my practice. As for not racing, well, isn't every race a challenge in and of itself?"

'Doll' gets a look from Val: a scolding without words. She lets it slide because Colo is clearly in a good mood, and she's already soured the occasion too much for her liking. So beyond the warning glance, it rolls over her like the sauce of a tip-yip drumstick off a Mando's back. "What? You saying the leftover rice bowls from Pakko's isn't to your liking? Maybe you should talk to the owner of that dive, yeah?"

She looks up to the screens, catching up on the heart-pounding action of the race and letting the danger and violence of the spectacle siphon some of her own boiling blood from her. Plus there is talk of-- "Blue hair?" She looks between Rieve to Colo then back again. A few times. "Hrm. I dunno. I mean, don't get me wrong, you make it work, Rieve. But not sure I could live with blue hair. He'd have to dye the beard I'm trying to convince him to grow, too, and that's just weird, yeah?"

Galen's not late. Wizards are neither late nor are they ever early because they arrive precisely on time... Or at least that's what the ex-scout would like to believe however he ended up going the long way around to get to the system and is scurrying into the audience area travel cup of some sort beverage in one hand and some sort of finger food that he's not asking questions about in the other as he looks for an open place to sit and watch the race.

"I have to say that though Sebulba shows a certain panache, the glorious Togruta does look particularly swift! Why there's a certain grace upon that machine." Rieve offers airily to both Valeska and Colo, at least until Valeska mentions that Colo is destined for a beard. That in itself has Rieve tear his gaze from the race and peer about Valeska somewhat theatrically to regard a Colo. "A beard!" Oh there's a nod. A hearty seal of approval from the Hapan as he leans back and gives Valeska a grin. "Convince him harder." A nod offered, a noble command issued. All is well with the world. This is how it used to be!

Yet, where's the Togruta gone?! Rieve looks back to the race and squints briefly before glancing to one of the helpful boards that displays the race. "Ah, there she is! Come on now! You can do it, down with Sebulba!" The plaintive cry rings out! Huzzah the Togruta! Boo the Sebulba!

Valeska holds no power over Colo here. It's his prime element--a roaring arena, fireworks, bad food, terrible booze, and a handsome Hapan nearby. Colo's impervious to all save for the quips she tosses back. "I might have to have a word with that cad. D'you know, he denies his wife -and- his fashion advisor the growth of a beard?" Colo offers back, even takes on a mock, grave expression with a shake of his head and a somber demeanor for all of a couple of seconds. "The shame. Perhaps with some convincing..." He trails off, but a wink shot Rieve's way.

And then a hiss. "We are -cheering- for Sebulba! I have piles of credits on him, Rieve!" Colo whines and nudges at Valeska in hopes of winning favor. "Can you get him to stop betraying me so easily? I'll grow a mustache."

<"No mask though."> There is a beat before he explains. <"Some story from long ago. Gear and mask handed down with the name. Faux racing immortality."> From the next vendor he orders simply water. It's immediately connected to his Raider armor to start drawing and filtering to onboard storage. <"They are. However. I have a demanding employer."> The vocoder's tone shifts, and the scrambler pauses for him to imitate Borgol <"That is not the Speed I pay you for. Ho. Ho. Ho.">

It was not an unkindly imitation. His helmet reverts back to scrambling his tones in translation. <"However, I'm in between loads, so I have time to watch and can leave if needed."> The helmet turns to fully focus on the Firrerreo. <"Yourself? Are you a fan of the races? Or is this a study of Mechanism of Injury?">

A look to Thahn nearby and Qutha gives a 'save yourself' look, eyes flicking rapidly towards the Zeltron who is still jawing his ear off... Until he shoves his kernel tub into his pink hands, the movement having the causality to get the jabberbox to fill his gob with a handful for a blessed moment where,

"WOAH!!" the asteroids collide and the zelosian is fortunate his drink is in its holder when his hands go up and he is hooting at the skill display of the racers weaving through or around.

There might even be a yee-haw.

Valeska crosses her arms. "A mustache? I'm sorry, you have mistaken this for a negotiation. One you have bumbled into quite unarmed. A mustasche. No. I will take a well-groomed beard as short as you please. A goatee... /maybe./ But a beard will give you the most leverage. I'm sure Hadrix has some tips on how to manage one if that is your concern."

She is now in cahoots with Rieve, sensing a weakness in Colo's homefield advantage. "C'mon, Ejnar! You fancy-pants lord of the races!" Besides, her income is high enough to afford the good noodles and whatever they can't buy, she'll hunt it. Easy as. She gives a daring sideeye to Colo and a playful nudge to Rieve with her elbow. "C'mon, Mandl! You can do it!

The race was getting interesting and Sebulba did not disappoint. Death defying! Sumi claps with appreciation for the show all of them were putting on, then cheers for her choice, again, to win. "Sebulba! Sebulba! He always wins!" The declaration earned a few glares, but it did little to hinder Sumi's enthusiasm over the race. Clap, clap, clap!

"Ah yes. They do have a way of demanding your time, even when you've given them all that they've paid for. A hazard of that type of business." Tamsin, rather than sounding put out by the imitation, spoke, instead, as though she completely understood the situation. Given that she worked on the moon, for herself and under contract, there was likely more than just sympathy in that. "I am not much of a fan of racing, nor the betting and debauchery that goes with it. And while I might say it was to do with medical exploration, I'm actually here to support a friend." Yes, Tamsin had a friend. One. That the sign that was still flashing touted the bith's strength and cheered him on, it was clear she meant, of the handful of racers, Dr. B'rot.

Space rock is hurled and the racers pass through, lights follow the racers thanks to high-speed droids utilizing magnetic beams to latch themselves to the swoops burning through the course. Little explosions of metal and plastoid marking where some had not made it through the field when trying to pursue the racers, to limn them in light and broadcast their expressions onto holo-displays.

A flashy move by Zaid among the stones sends a shower of sharp stones for Sebulba, clattering off of his swoop and some even drawing a gash along the sides of his muzzle, earning an "E CHU TA!" from the dug as he swerves and looses paint to the side of one of the larger stones, the gesture given by Pashil blurred out on the holo-displays! SUCH CHEEK!

The racing course banks around in a hairpin that loops directly towards a singular, massive, asteroid that has drifted to the center of the raceway, grav-generators having kept its area relatively clear but the pathway intent on keeping the swoopers close to the one hundred meter ball of pitted and crater covered stone, forcing them to circle it over and over.

"GET READY, GENTLEBEINGS!"

At the round of the latest curve, over the yawning pit of a crater, a massive wormlike head emerges. Jaw gaping wide with teeth like boulders filling it, its gray-white body lurching to try and snap up the offending craft so full of delicious minerals for the silicone based life-form to consume. Still so young, but titantic in the face of it.

With his wits back about him finally, the course narrows and the Alderaanian lord has to kick at some of the others who get a bit to close to his bike. <<"Hey, watch it!">> He warns, least they incur the wrath of Lord Celchu, son of Winter Celchu and see just exactly what else he's a prodigy in.

He's able to gain some more space though as the track starts to circle around and around. He leans into the turn, and forwards onto the swoop. His eyes widen at the sight of the worm. Taking a deep breath, he presses the booster button once more, jumping away from the beast and back onto the track avoiding the sharp lamprey like teeth.

Aconaa really seemed intent on pushing her luck tonight. As the course winds around the asteroid and that giant worm emerges, the Togruta actually aims her bike to just narrowly miss the creature. Unfortunately, this time she wouldn't be pulling off any fancy dodging maneuvers as she bit off more than she could chew. And the worm bit off just enough. Specifically, it takes a chunk out of the rear of her bike, sending the remainder of the swoop and its driver careening across the track with Aconaa getting thrown off it entirely and left to float in the void. There was little more she could do at this point than stare back at where the remains of her swoop laid on the track and swear to herself. Not even finishing a race was going to be a first for her, and now she'd have -two- difficult repair jobs to deal with.

Mandl's helm muffles their dialogue, perhaps thankfully. It's clear they recognize the species of the-- obstacle-- being a miner who cut their 'metaphorical teeth' (... do Bith have teeth? Is it a radula?) on deep-space rigs. Seizing their moment, if anyone were dedicated enough to understand Bithese, they might know Dr. B'rot mutters: "Smile, you son of a--" *and disappears around the worm,* emerging in a shower of smoke and sparks after that heartbeat's moment!

The roar of the swoops catches Colo's eyes more, for once, than Valeska or Rieve can dare to hope for. He squints at the holoscreens in hopes of finding that his main man, Sebulba, is out to a crushing lead. Alas, Ejnar, Aconaa--well, almost--and others seem to be holding their own, leaving his fellows to betray him still further. The gambler hoists a pout onto his unbearded features and even makes to 'cross' his arms, though the one holding Valeska's palm stays right where it is in her clutches. 

"I am -not- growing a b--!" He starts to protest, but doesn't quite make it before Rieve's latest betrayal melds with Valeska's in a pincer-punishment. His pretendy-pout ends soon enough. The race itself? That commands his gaze again.

"Nooooooo!" Rieve throws up his hands as Aconaa gets booped by a space brick. "Oh cruel world! Why that Sebulba has a lot to answer for, perhaps the next rock will send him spinning off into space?" Oh now that question is directed at Colo. Oh ho ho ho! Though there is quite the worried glance cast Aconaa-wards, though the Togruta seems hale and hearty. Alive. Alive is good! Rieve sends forth another hollar lost amidst the crowds and the roar that erupts from each and all every now and again.

"At least she's in good health! Shame about her swoop thing." Oh there can be little resistance to such a pout! For Colo's focus also ensures Rieve's own as he stands to watch the race, offering a faint, barely audible little, "Sebulba...", beneath his breath. Sebulba, Sebulba, Sebulba.

The more Colo says no, the more he dooms himself to ultimately giving her exactly what she wants. It may not be this year. May not even be in the next few years. But ths wayward gambler found himself married to the Mando. He will certainly find himself sporting a fine manicured strip of facial hair and likely attaining a desired brand of beard oil. Some day, some day.

Training has taught her discipline in some areas -- yes, discipline. She's not always starting fights with Sullustans or scolding Ugnaughts and their orphans. And Valeska is fully capable to play the long game. "Okay, babe. No beard, yeah? You win." Easy. Suspiciously easy, in fact. But she's content to stretch her legs out as much as she is able, crosses her ankles, and leans back to watch the race with the ghost of a smirk on her face.

Well, until someone nearly meets their own maker in a crash. "Yeesh. And they say my job is insane."

An exogorth.

"Oh dear."

"OH WOW!!!" the Zeltron shouts in his ear, spraying him with chewed snacky foods and earning a sigh from Qutha who slumps back in his seat to begin wiping off his face.

"Please."

"I KNOW! Did you know they're SENTIENT!?"

The Zelosian could cry, it won't end. He's being tested. This is a test. A brutal and cruel test that the Pilgrims of Jedha said that he would one day experience, due to his time spent in study there. Due to his time taken learning of their beliefs and practicing with them to better understand. The mantra that the Guardians of The Whills said for inner peace, "I'm one wit t'Force, en t'Force is wit' me..." murmuring it under his breath and watching the racers newest hazard play out.

Only to cringe and close one eye, looking partly away when Aconaa and the sullustan driver are dismounted, nearly dismounted to death even.

"That -Sebulba- is about to make my month go back into the black!" Colo aggressively points out to Rieve, perhaps even with a slightly rude finger-pointing straight at the Hapan's too-pretty face. He waggles it at the blue-haired gent and then screws it towards his partner-in-beardly-crime the next moment. "No beard!" He announces, then seems to realize that she's given up. The scowl he sports in the next moment is predictable and his skepticism senses are tingling what good. Still, he accepts the temporary victory with a soft nod and side-eye at Valeska. "Good. Right. I win."

And maybe he'll even keep winning? Colo's eyes scan out towards the...massive worm. That's uh. "Hm. Do you think that's where they source the meat lumps?"

<"I am forced to admit, at least this one is Fair. Relatively speaking."> There is a faint shrug and Vorcassh finally settles fully into his seat. A foot is placed up on the rail ahead of the seating. The container drained he has the Guardian go take it to dispose of. A quick sip of water from within. <"Just good business with that one, though yes, demanding."> There is a nod for the Doctors reasons for being present. <"You do not like speed? It can bring about a. Ah. Rush, I think the term would be."> Case in point poor Aconaa manages to not die, Mandl manages to not become an insect on a windscreen. <"Nice manuever. All instinct, that.">

"Some of them can be. Though I find that it also depends on their current mood. Even the most...diplomatic can be brought to anger, especially if a business arrangement has fallen through." Truer words were never spoken, "I have never had much taste for speed, as a form of activity. I make use of ships and speeders for their ability to convey me from one place to another. I find that I have enough challenges in the medical field, and I am not willing to risk my body for a few moments thrill. My hands, my mind, my ability to operate all trump any desire to feel the need for speed."

That is indeed some worm. The wormiest worm that ever wormed. As a Hapan and thus as one of those singularly skilled people who walk without rythym in a stylish manner, he seems to ponder Colo's question with some measure of thought. "That would explain the wriggling." The sentence likely ensuring that Valeska has little intent on trying meat lumps ever, but then she would truly be missing out. The worm is eyed for a few moments more and Rieve concludes that he is glad the worm is over yonder. As to the fate of Colo's smooth chin and cheeky-cheeks, he's certainly not ready to place a wager as yet as to who has won. It could go either way. It would be sheer folly(cles) to bet on either as yet.

Those who dare... find themselves floating through zero-gravity with retrieval droids on their way. The Sullustan, Zaid's big blinky eyes turned towards Aconaa. Her own swoop crushed between the teeth of the gargantuan space-slug that is already reversing its direction back to the darkness of its den, chewing steadily.

"OH! AND I THOUGHT WE'D HAVE OUR FIRST JERVO'S CUP FATALITIES IN TEN YEARS! AMAZING!" the crowd surges at the announcement and at displays showing the two de-swooped racers floating gently towards the safety nets wielded by droids weaving through debris, trying to minimize how much time the pair are exposed to potential danger.

"SPACE. ALIVE. That -was- CLOSE!!" his gigantic holographic form pointing at the head of the pack, "But here they come folks! It's the final stretch and do WE have some fun waiting for YOU" turning in a pirouette where he stands, arms splayed wide at the end. Holographic images begin to resolve, so detailed that they look real, if only shrunk so that the swoops are the same size as the starfighters that have begun their dogfight. Were there droids moving there just before? Are the laser blasts simulated?

A burn along the side of Sebulba's port engine, spraying sparks, showing that nothing could be further from the truth. "GENTLEBEINGS! VICTORY IS CLOSE, BUT FIRST THEY MUST PASS THE GAUNTLET!!" dancing where he stands, fists thrusting outward repeatedly, "Brought to you by Bazermazin's Wudd Fudge presents our racers with navigating... THE BATTLE OF ENDOR!"

And lo there looms the Death Star II, turning slowly, its primary cannon lighting up and vaporizing the Alliance medical frigate... then both TIEs and Rebel fighters dive to chase the swoopers who have only one last path to take to the platform, waiting on the other side. The Trophy.

Ejnar found his groove, easily winding through the marked track at seeming ease, passing those who wipe out or who are even still in the race until he find himself on the heels of Sebulba. Lord Celchu wasn't going to tempt fate. He was aware of the dug's skill and reputation. He was going to stay clear from a cheater. Cheaters almost cost him placing in the race back on Nar Shadda and a dump like the y'toub system was exactly the kind of place this Dug would hang out.

As the second death star loomed, Ejnar was taken slightly by surprise. As the Fighters angle in on him, he can't help but smirk. This was his element, and it showed as he jerked and jived towards the finish line, avoiding the chasing fighters with experienced ease.

Mandl counted on sheer persistence, having made it mostly intact this far through a mixture of guile and grit, perhaps now only racing themselves! (Not literally, as they are but the last among the first, but... spiritually, yes.) With a mostly-intact bike trailing sparks and not a little smoke, they cut a singular silhouette at from the rear! Victory-- is-- inevitable!

Bizz pops a white-and-blue cube marshmallow in his mouth while glued to the view screen. "Alderaan is getting close behind Sebulba! Lookit him go! Oh no, a Death Star!" He guzzles down one of the Rancor-tooth-shaped beers from his decorative flight - this time the Endorian honey mead. His orphan children are gnawing the last of the fried griddle scones with Kashyyykian honey.

The Battle of Endor...

What a thing to recreate. What a thing to have to fly a ship through. The dizzying display of fighters and capital ships wrapping around the racers a thing to behold. And the blast by the Death Star causes him to shrink back for a moment, several breaths. A long drink is taken, though his mouth feels dry.

He heard the stories, but wasn't even born then. If this is accurate. Well.

Even the Zeltron has shut up, slaw jawed and wide eyed. The pair staring at the races in dumb struck awe for the audacity of such an obstacle to put before the racers. Qutha can only gulp. No words.

"The wriggling...you think the -segments- are what they slice off?" Colo wonders at Rieve, suddenly adorning his handsome, hair-free features with a look of concern. "Do you think that's sustainable?" This time, his words are less horrified and suddenly seem as if he's working over a business matter.

The only thing keeping his mind from profiting off kidnapping the giant worm is a sudden rush of holos displaying a dazzling historical event. "Can -that- be hijacked? I need to get in touch with their holoartist..."

<"Each are unique in their temperment."> Vorcassh agrees on the topic of Hutts. When it switches back to speed, the helmet tilts to the side briefly considering how to make the point. <"On my homeworld, one needed to get through irradiated areas rapidly at times. The speed addiction was a result."> He taps the side of his helmet. <"Ultimate test of this, really. One has to try to calculate on the fly, speed, direction, yaw, pitch."> A gesture at the screen showing the 2nd Death Star looming for the racers. <"And obstacles. Hrm. Sebulba seems to live up to the legend."> Another beat. <"Your friend is still ali-erm, racing on. Always a chance"> He nearly had said alive.

"That I would agree with. Not all are as terrible as they are painted. But...to be fair, a good number of them are terrible." Tamsin reached down, as she spied the race, literally, to the finish, doublechecking that the green juice was still intact and untainted, "My own homeworld was not at all like that. I spent most of my childhood walking the beaches near my home when I was not studying or being taught discipline." The difference, well, that was not so unusual. "Indeed, Dr. B'rot is still alive. he is incredibly resilient, for a Bith."

The wriggling. Rieve turns his blue gaze from that endless wriggling. Oh to ponder the source of those meat lumps is indeed something that Rieve has little stomach for, for he even rests a pale hand against his stomach as if to settle that noble belly. Though his diet mostly consists of cheap noodles given his falling on 'hard times', or as Rieve describes it: Escape!

"I think it would kill the worm eventually... and oh, history." Rieve did not expect ewoks and the like to be bouncing about the main screen. Rieve shudders faintly. Ugly little furballs. Ugh.

"SEBULBA! BRING IT IN!" Sumi screams, standing up and dropping the trash she had put in her lap. Both hands go up, oriented into fists, to shake at the air in triumph. "WOOOO!" Had Sumi bet everything on Sebulba? No, she had a gambling problem from long ago...

"THEY'RE THROUGH! THEY'RE THROUGH!" the Death Star hanging in space over the finishing saucer rotates, blazing one of its shots past Celchu's swoop, the Dug just ahead, hurling insults over his shoulder at the Alderaanian.

And for those who speak Dug it is in -very- poor taste.

Extremely.

Even Gutu Phlu blanches at what the mic pickups from the camera droids bring to his ears. But that is a momentary discomfort that is washed away in a typhoon of excitement when he starts waving his hands in the air, "THEY'RE THROUGH! THEY'RE THROUGH! AND THERE GOES THE MILLENIUM FALCON!" the saucer shaped craft and X-Wing behind it bursting from the superstructure of the battle station that erupts in their wake, showering the racers in glowing pyrotechnics both real and simulated.

"THE CUP BELONGS TO SEBULBA!"

The crowd beginning a rolling pump of their fists with a mixed "Ooh! Ahh! Ooh! Ahh!" for the racing Dug

"BUT RIGHT BEHIND HIM IS EJNAR CELCHU! CLAIMING SECOND PLACE AND... JUDGES?!" a tally counter begins to scroll over the heads of each of the racers displayed by their circuit stats. The other racers pass the finish line to a further flamboyant display of fireworks and laser lights that begin writing names in the air.

"OUR CIRCUIT COURT WINNERS ARE DECIDED AS WELL!" Gutu's broad sweep points to the display boards, "Ladies and Gentlebeings. Scoring on racing points - while Sebulba took the trophy this year, our Jervo's Cup champion is EJNAR CELCHU!!" the crowd erupts in sections, "Second place for the circuit, ACONAA!!!" rolling togrutta like trilling bursting up from others, "AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, THE BEING OF TWO MINDS! MANDL B'ROT TAKES THIRD PLACE IN THE CUP CIRCUIT!" At the mentioning of circuit winners, the recovery droids bring Aconaa to stand upon the victory disk.

Fanfare blazes through speakers, streamers fill the air and while Sebulba holds his precious trophy cup aloft in victory, focus goes to the other three.

"GENTLEBEINGS! CHEER ON YOUR CHAMPIONS AND BE READY FOR THE NEXT CIRCUIT TO BEGIN, SOON!"

Ejnar steps off his swoop after bringing it to a stop. He was elated, wobbling a bit from all the adrenaline rushing through his head. He reaches out to the bike to steady himself, regaining his sense of being after a second. He had won, at least in the over all sense. Moving away from the swoop, he moves to the victory disk and takes his place near the dug. There's a glance to the dug, before the Cup Champion trophy is brought out. Whatever it may look like even if it's just one of those big cardboard checks. Ejnar would hold it up and shout at the top of his lungs. <<"For Alderaan, For The New Republic, and For the rightful heir to the Throne Princess Cortess!">>

He'll probably get booed. Likely opinion: Spoiled rich noble.

The results of the flight coming in, Fennec glances sidelong to the hovering wingdroid. "That's why nobody bets against Sebulba," she states thoughtfully, before scanning the other, nearer onlookers. "Comon. Lets see if we have a package to deliver to the man. There was enough there to put a bantha to bed," she states, plainly. "Whose that second placer?" She muses a moment, curiously, to the droid's lack of information.

The (formerly) noble Hapan rises to his feet and applauds the victors, Sebulba included. Cheers erupt for Aconaa and Ejnar, their valiant efforts raucously applauded. Likewise Mandl and the others, a roar of warm and delightfully accented cheer given over to those thrill-seeking drivers who wield such wild vehicles on such whirling courses of which death and destruction are a possibility. Oh the Hapan applauds wildly! And hoots hollaringly. What a show! What a spectacle!

Colo's over the moon about the victor in the race. Sure, Ejnar's got his well-earned spot at the top of the heap for the season and the trophy is handed to the rightful party, but the -race-? That's what the Corellian bet on ahead of everything else. Valeska and Rieve will undoubtedly see the credits floating in his eyes, the effervescent relaxation set on his face, and the warm, happy grin that beats all the sounds and sights around him for dominance over his attentions.

The mood is certainly why he opens a minor concession. "Small beard."

The race completes and Qutha is on his feet, cheering, his liquor gone, his kernals all over and the bucket on the head of the Zeltron just soaking up all of the excitement vibes washing all around him.

It's loud, but it's not. It's that final release when things conclude and all is, mostly, well. The Zelosian is not absent to the sensation that the end of these things bring.

"Ah... tha's why I became a fan." basking in the thrill and almost unmitigated good feels all around him now. While others are leaping and cheering, he goes quiet with his eyes closed, basking in the warming that is moving around and through him. Breathing it in like one does the air in a garden at full bloom.

Valeska is used to her credits coming from a lot more work than Colo's current win is coming. However, the rush he's feeling right now? That's his kill, his prize. Valeska leans into him with a proud grin. "Well done, Mister Numbers. Maybe some time you can try again to teach me just what it all means, yeah? Maybe over a fine dinner on Taris? I could use a bit of a vacation, but after we finish up some unfinished business, yeah?"

The concession of a beard sparks the grin a bit wider. Wearing him down. He'll be full lumberjack before their first kid is out of diapers yet. She shares this vict

The race had left Aconaa feeling battered and bruised, and now had two expensive swoops that were probably going to be out of comission for -quite- a while, but she had survived at least and, to her surprise, was brought up to the victory disk to take the second place spot. "Well. Guess consistency counts for something in the end," The togruta says with a chuckle. She turns to the other two racers on the disk, nodding to each of them in turn. "Been good racing with you, think I'm due for a vacation after this though. Enjoy your fancy cup, Ejnar."

"Well, I suppose a finish is a finish. And there is always the next circuit." Tamsin slipped away her water bottle, and then the collection of bottles that she had tucked in and around herself, the better to avoid the over-priced hawkers in the stands. It was the principle of the thing. "I will have to excuse myself, Vorcassh. I need to make certain that none of the racers have injuries that need tending to. And at least one is surely in need of this. I'm certain I'll see you again on the moon." Tamsin rose, offering a polite gesture to the Ubese, before she began to make her way down through the stands to the racing floor.

An Aurodium model of a classic early days Swoop on a plinth is presented to Ejnar once all are set on the victory circle. Medallions of blazing silver and bronzium about Aconaa and Mandl's necks. Pathways for the racers to return to regular territory extending, or for fans to charge the field, while Gutu Phlu turns a circle about his platform.

"And that CONCLUDES our races! Thank you gentlebeings for viewing! And thanks to our racers for their spectacular displays!"

And so ends... THE JERVO'S WORLD SWOOP RACING CUP!