One year after the end of the republic and the rise of the new galactic empire, and the galaxy was in a rapid and sometimes violent state of change. The traitor jedi had been wiped from the face of the galaxy, and the smear of corruption that ran through the republic had been wiped clean with the new galactic order. Or at least, that what the propaganda said. Some peoples minds are not so easily twisted though, but to many these things are irrelevant. To the everyday folks of the galaxy, it was business as usual, they either had too many problems to worry about already, or did not care for the greater machinations going on around them. To some people, life in this galaxy can be broken down to the simplest of things, food, shelter, financial stability, speed.

Corellia would survive this shift in the galaxy, it always survived. It has lived through empires, monarchies and republics before, it will live through this latest addition to the stage. Currently governed by the corporate authority, Corellia extends it influence to the entire sector, under the 'guidance' of Moff Fliry Vorru of course. Despite being a core world though, Corellia is one of the only ones to avoid total subjugation from the empire, but at a cost of garrisons and star destroyers keeping a close eye on the populace.

Corellia has had a long history with ships and speed, the Corellian Engineering Corporation is one of the most prestigious produces of ships and speeders through the galaxy. The people of this beautiful world share that love of vehicles and speed. They have a reputation through the whole galaxy as mavericks, scoundrels and masterful pilots. In fact the most prestigious racers for generations have come from this very sector, and there are many more who plan to follow that grand tradition.

Tyrena is a beautiful city, the tousit capital of the world with hotels, resorts and plazas in every direction that you looked. Huge bridges span over the Auric river to pull the two halves of the city together, and no less than a million citizens make their way through the city on whatever business or holiday they have. It was a truly wonderful place to live, if you could afford it. The 'north-east' is not such a place. Few dare travel hear unless they have to. It is a place of thugs, gangesters and swoop gangs raging through he streets.

Maybe fifteen minutes walk west of the north-east sector was a small, bustling garage made popular with locals as a place to repair their speeders or swoops, or just a place to hang around friendly faces. Today though it was empty, in fact almost evety place of work was empty. Why? Well because it's race day of course. A bar a little way down the road from the garage was packed to the point that people were spilling out onto the pavement . Those that could not get in the door were peering in through the window to try and get a glimpse at the holo-screens that had been set up near the bar.

It was the final race of the Three Crown Cup, arguably the biggest race of the whole year, and this year it was being hosted on Corellia. Not only that, Corellia had not one, but three favourites on the line of this race. Tauren Rato, a devilishly handsome corellian human who was one of the most popular and influential racers of the day. Young and rapidly moving through the ranks of international racers he had won the crowds with his charm and tight piloting skills.

Reech 'Run 'em off' Scorso. A veteran of the Three Crown Cup, and a winner six years in a row. A gruff and grizzled Duros native to Corellia, he had made his name by preferring to crash out than give the racing line to anyone else. Unlike much of the competition he barley speaks to the cameras, he was only there to race, and to win, and he does it well.

Sufi Keetar. She was one of the only women to race the interplanetary circuit, and had done more for the sport than most could claim. It was thanks to her and her skills that women could race professionally in the sector. Always the underdog, she never disappointed with a ferocious performance of determination and nerves so steeled they'd make a fighter ace blush. She also had the highest arrest record for punch ups on the track with other pilots. The crowd loved her and no mistake.

The three correlians had a lot of competition this year though. Trusk the dug from malastare, Filtor the xexto from where he was from, Reshit the former fighter imperial test pilot, they were all here, and here to win. This promised to be a race to remember.

There was still some time before the race kicked off, but everyone had gathered early to jostle for the best seats wherever they went to watch. Those who couldn't find a place were resigned to watching at home as the entire planet drew to a standstill, waiting for the flag.

Hal had himself wedged in a back booth of the bar. He couldn't see the holo-screen very well from this vantage but his thin form was not built for bullying to a better position. His thin form was exaggerated by the over-sized coat that he wore. His pale skin shown brightly in contrast to his sunken eyes and he too looked at anticipation at the upcoming race. He had always been enamored by the races and the racers. They were larger then life personalities and their lives were amazing in his dark eyes. He had at one point briefly tried racing but he did not have the reflexes for it. A couple crashed speeders one landing him in the hospital in which he practiced as an intern had shown Harold the truth of that. He looked around briefly to the crowd. Their admiration of the racers obvious. He might never be a racer himself but he could hopefully be a part of a racing team. Living vicariously through a companion was the second best drug he could get. He looked back to the holo-screen with excitement. "Come on Trusk" he whispered "You are built for this..."

Zara scans the crowded bar for familiar faces, but the place is packed, the excitement tangible. She had arrived early, to secure a seat with a view, and by now it was impossible to see any late arrivals to the scene. Did Anais stand me up, or is she just unable to push her way through? No matter.. She hears a familiar voice.

"Doc! Get your skinny *** up here! Even if you are rooting for Trusk!" It was good to see him enthused about something other than his next fix. The guy had his issues, but had come through for her with some much needed patching-up and physical therapy, after her latest crash. "Pass him up here, boys- he's with me!"

The young woman's age was hard to judge. Twenty-something. Leather pants, black Sex Blasters tee, racer's boots- about as dressed up as she got. She might be typically described as brooding, but after a few drinks she was feeling almost sociable. Boisterous, even..

As Sufi's visage fills the holoscreen, Zara lets out a wild whoop! "Get it, girl! You've got this!"

Hal wrung his hands as he tended to do when he was nervous or anxious as the race grew ever more near starting. He startled at the familiar voice yelling out the din of pre-race chatter. The typical Corellian bravado shown through the woman's voice. Hal shook his head and started moving towards the bar following the drivers direction. She had more skill than even most Corellians but like most speed freaks sometimes they take extreme risks with disastrous results. Though she survived her last crash due to his quick work her speeder hadn't. It didn't take her long to find a new ride but she was starting to get a rep as an expensive driver to back financially. That is why this new race team gave her another chance to race and he had been roped in as well for potential medical issues as were common on the dangerous swoop races.

"Let me guess, you are rooting based on a shared gender." he said as he finally squeezed up next to her. "And that one" he says pointing to Sufi "lets her emotions get the better of her. Gotta be dialed in to win on the interplanetary level."

Hal set down his mostly untouched beer on the bar. He wasn't a fan of alcohol but he'd be tossed out if he didn't buy something. He felt uncomfortable at the close quarters of so many people stuffed in such a small space but as the race neared that melted away as the anticipation of the race built to a fever pitch.

Lei Mie wakes up besides some guy she hooked up with the night before. Getting up quietly, so as not to disturb him, she pulls on her "catsuit", boots, jacket and gunbelt, tucks her gloves into her helmet and tucking it under her arm, before leaving and heading downstairs to the bar and sliding up behind Harold.

"Race starting, cutie?" she asks. "Let's see," she adds, looking at the main three competitors. "He looks yummy," she comments, licking her lips seductively as her eyes fixate on Tauren Rato. "I'll root for him."

"Gender? Sort of.. More a shared penchant for punching the kriffing karkheads who try to disrespect women racers.. Even the ones like Lei Mie, here." Zara rolls her eyes toward their newly arrived teammate, throwing her a wink. The Zeltron never seemed to have any trouble weaving her way sinuously through any crowd.

"Sufi will have her head in the game, when the flags go up."

Lei Mie made her usual entrance. Even with the excitement of the race about to start most peoples attention was captured by the red skinned racer in the skin tight suit that left little to the imagination. Hal nodded at her as he sidled up to him and Zara. Hal nervously eyed the room. With the amount of attention being drawn their way it wouldn't be surprising to have another racer with a grudge or a jilted ex-lover among the crowd here.

"Yeah it should be starting soon." He said to the newly arrived red lady. He tore his eyes away from Zara and back to the holo-vid. A thought crossed his mind and he processed it a bit before speaking up again. "How would you ladies like to make this a bit more interesting?" he asked motioning up to the race.

Hal was never much for gambling but he needed something to distract him.

Zh'on stepped from the bright sunlight into the bar, framed for a moment by the light before continuing inside. His exotic looks and height drew the eye as he flashed a quick smile to the crowd, almost unconsciously accepting the attention he seemed to draw. He moved through the crowd without undue jostling of the other patrons seeming to shift through the crowd like some aquatic beast cutting effortly through the water. The one occasion where he did jostle another patron was quickly diffused with a smile and a an offer of a drink as soon as he made it to the bar.

Seeing the others from the Garage Zh'on started making his way towards them, his body language showing perfect comfort as he worked through the crowd. "Hal, Ladies, good to see you here. I see they are still showing the preliminaries, any updates on the contestants? I don't supposed they have all accepted the inevitable and conceded to Sufi yet? As focused as she is, I don't see her losing."

As he talks Zh'on also directs the bartender to serperson he jostled on the way in.

19 hours ago, Jawa4thewin said:

Lei Mie made her usual entrance. Even with the excitement of the race about to start most peoples attention was captured by the red skinned racer in the skin tight suit that left little to the imagination. Hal nodded at her as he sidled up to him and Zara. Hal nervously eyed the room. With the amount of attention being drawn their way it wouldn't be surprising to have another racer with a grudge or a jilted ex-lover among the crowd here.

"Yeah it should be starting soon." He said to the newly arrived red lady. He tore his eyes away from Zara and back to the holo-vid. A thought crossed his mind and he processed it a bit before speaking up again. "How would you ladies like to make this a bit more interesting?" he asked motioning up to the race.

Hal was never much for gambling but he needed something to distract him.

"What do you have in mind?" Lei Mie crooned seductively while slowly running her finger down his chest.

"Ohferfrekksake.. Do try to keep your kitty in the catsuit, at least long enough for us to watch the race?"

"Heya, Zh'on." For a woman generally unfazed by the charms of men.. even Zara could not help but recognize the Falleen's undeniable presence. "And yes! Sufi's got this one!" Tearing her attention away from him is harder than it should have been, but she manages to turn back to Hal.

"Sure, Doc. Friendly wager, no odds? What're you thinking?"

Hal reactively jerks back from Lei Mie's touch but due to the tight quarters just ends up jostling Zara. "Sorry about that." he says to Zara before turning back to Lei Mie. "I was thinking credits but am open to other more inventive wagers."

Hal returns he gaze to Zara. "I am thinking one hundred credits aught to make it interesting enough. I have the Dug placing higher then your lady driver."

Hal glances over and nods at the exotic and strange Zh'on. "Just about to start. You want in on the betting action?"

Zara takes it in stride, as Hal crashes into her. "Oi! You wanna dance, then?" she kids. She can tell the poor guy's uncomfortable, and not in the way Lei Mie usually makes men uncomfortable.

A hundred credits is enough to make things interesting, alright.. especially if I lose... Frekkit.. I'll be flush when I place this week, and an extra hundred right now would be shiny!

"You won't be getting anything more inventive from me.. One hundred credits. You're on!" She clasps his hand in a quick, firm shake, sealing the deal.

Hal chuckled at Zara's ease of taking everything in stride. He shook her hand returning the firm grip with a smile on his sallow features. "Good Luck" he says. Withdrawing his hand he adjusted his oversized coat and looked back up to the screen. Seeing the bartender eyeing his barely touched drink he sighs and picks up the mug draining half of it before setting it down.

"A round for my team." he says to the bartender. "I am going to be a hundred credits richer very soon." he finishes with a wry smile.

"Thanks, but you've Dug your own grave, there. I'll be buying drinks with your credits after the race, too!"

Zara finishes her beer and accepts the fresh round with a smile. She scans the room once more for familiar faces. "If the others are coming, they'd best hurry."

No sooner than the words leave her lips, she spies Cormil and waves. Dude lives in those coveralls..

Zh'on flashes a smile that is surprisingly bright against the green scales of his face and gives Hal a nod. "One hundred credits you say? Are you truly that certain of your Trusk? Very well friend Hal, a bet. But if I win I buy us all dinner to celebrate, yes?"

In the background the purr of the engines and the sound of the crowd makes for a curiously invigorating and comforting sound, much like the the smell of grease and hot metal in the garage on a good day becomes comforting. "This will be a good race win or lose, but I hope Scorso reins himself in a bit this time. I would just as soon see no broken bones this time."

36 minutes ago, vandarl said:

Zh'on flashes a smile that is surprisingly bright against the green scales of his face and gives Hal a nod. "One hundred credits you say? Are you truly that certain of your Trusk? Very well friend Hal, a bet. But if I win I buy us all dinner to celebrate, yes?"

In the background the purr of the engines and the sound of the crowd makes for a curiously invigorating and comforting sound, much like the the smell of grease and hot metal in the garage on a good day becomes comforting. "This will be a good race win or lose, but I hope Scorso reins himself in a bit this time. I would just as soon see no broken bones this time."

"I am willing to bet Trusk places higher then Sufi. What are the terms of your proposed bet?" Hal asks. "You betting on Scorso to win or are you wishing to place a separate bet on Sufi like the lovely yet misguided Zara here." he says with a half smile and glance towards the lady he already had a bet with.

Cormil wanders in with his overalls still stained with some kind of oil or solvent, " Hey Zara! Sorry, I'm late. Darn flux compressor wouldn't, well, compress." Cormil looks around at the gathered punters and then back to Zara, saying, "Sufi? Really? I mean, the gal can fly , but Rato has the best swoop in the race. Sufi can't match that. If anyone's going to dethrone Run-em-Off, it's Tauren, no question."

For the first time, Zara really questions her confidence in Sufi. Cormil knows all the racers' swoops, their mods and capabilities.. Zara shrugs.

"You can swoon over Tauren's swoop all you want, the way the rest do over his pretty face. But he's not hungry for this win, the way Sufi is. I think she's gonna surprise you guys."

A passing Dug would give Zara a somewhat saddened look as he hears the name of his people used in a pun. No comments are made though as he continues, there are more important things going on.

'Oh, it's already starting!' the commentator shout from the projector. Of course he wasn't talking about the race, he was talking about the violence in the pits. It seems that one of the racers had made an unappreciated comment to Sufi, and was sprawled against their swoop with blood spurting down their face. The replay shows the female racer hurling her helmet with tremendous force at the other racer, and was currently being torn away from the racers pit crew by one of her engineers.

This was happening during an interview with Rato who, as usual was dedicating the race to all of his adoring fans. Other than a few other interviews with other racers, managers and such, most of the footage was of the teams getting their swoops ready. There was all sorts of different shapes and styles present on the tarmac. First in line was the shockingly high tech obsidian model that Reshit's imperial funded crew brought. There was the close domed variant of Scorso, the bright red and squat swoop of Trusk and so many more in between. Even for those not interested in the race, the pit crews and their state of the art machinery was a true sight to behold.

Finally the time came. With injuries patched up and final tweaks made to the speeders, the racers took to the road. There was about twenty racers in total, all of them from the far reaches of the galaxy. Reshit has managed to take first spot on the grid thanks to a objectively precise qualifier run. The Corellians were scattered about between the second and sixth line with the rest of the racers bringing up the rear.

'Alright everyone, the race is about to begin!' The cantina fell silent as the patrons watched with bated breath. The lights began to change, and then, finally, green! With a ferocious roar the sputtering engines sprung into life as the racers tore away from the line. The final race of the Three Crown Cups was finally away, history would be made today.

Dammit. Zara catches the passing Dug's expression, and reaches out to catch his attention. "Hey!" She makes eye contact.

"Look.. I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. My name is Zara. Let me buy you a drink?" Gonna ruin my bad reputation..

Harold's eyes were glued to the screen. There was something about racing that brought him alive. The world around drained away as he became fixated on the screen. From the scrap leading up to the start of the race he was entranced. He didn't even register what minor altercation seemed to be brewing in the bar between his garage mate and another bar patron.

A young mid-twenty Cerean with an athletic build and jet black hair makes his way into the garage, rushing to get there before the race had begun. Krydil was late because he had lost track of time in the workshop, he had been fixing an air speeder whose engine was making a funny banging noise on startup.

Upon entering he looks for the gang and sits next to Zara. “ Did I miss anything, I’ve been busy today. Ornery engine didn’t want to get fixed still isn’t fixed really. ” He says his eyes transfixed on the screen.

13 hours ago, Edgehawk said:

"You can swoon over Tauren's swoop all you want, the way the rest do over his pretty face. But he's not hungry for this win, the way Sufi is. I think she's gonna surprise you guys."

"You can say that, but..." Cormil catches himself saying before he realizes that Zara is paying attention to the Dug. Doesn't matter, he thinks to himself, if Run-em-Off pulls his usual tricks, Sufi doesn't have a chance.

"Muddafrakken scumrat sonsa-nerf hurting shizz for brains no good losers! Losers I say, yousa no good punk! Why I oudda beat you with your own shoes! Get oudda'ere before I lose my **** tempa!"

The grumbling continues but the yelling subsides. You can here his footsteps get to the entrance and pause.

"Y'all bedda be in heres, cause if I walk in here and I'm left holden my frakken choobies I'm gonna show all y'all a bad day!

Hey shouts this as he bursts into the room.

"Frell you looking at?!"

He growls at a patron whose eye catches Vic's glare.

Vic scans the room, his frown turns into a smile as he be see the group.

"Eh muddafrakkers, we just sitting 'round today? Eh? No frakkn work? Buncho lazy good fo nuthin sonsa-banthas! Yous must best just swimming in cash, why don't have but ya pal Vic a frakken beer. Working so hard tryna gets yousall some frakken work. Whiles youses just lounging likes you a bunch 9f frelling Starz! Big frakken timers!"

Vic is a bit over a meter in height, he looks like he hits the weights but it's the swagger that's intimating. He saunters over to the group like he's got a Herglic's chance of getting robbed.

He's got a predator's eyes and his fluffy fur hides the anger that constantly simmers inside.

He's wearing a pair of baggy corporate security slacks, ironed and hemmed with a thick cuff. A white ribbed tank top, with a blazer thrown over his shoulder, covers his broad shoulders and pot belly. A few dangling chains, dog tags and a name badge hide in his fur.

He tips his brimmed hat and removes his solar shades.

"So big timerz, what the frak is the plan today? You just gonna eyefrak someone else's speeders like you want it to have yous frelling babies you frelling frakken perverts, or we gonna get in their and make some **** credits?"