The woman nods as she reaches for a datapad with a slight humph. "Ok, well the entrance fee is five hundred credits per racer, and you will need to fill these out to qualify. Also, the new imperial racing legislation means that they can carry out random in depth checks on any racing team, and the licence can be revoked at any time if they find a breach in the rules". Since the imperials had taken over, the landscape of the racing world had changed. Rule enforcement was more stringent, gone were the days of favours, bending the rules 'because everyone was' and the back room dealings. There were many racers who believed this was worse, but some approved of the imperials changes.

There is a ripple of laughter from the nikto and a couple of the others (presumably with him judging by the similar attire). "Aw come on, don't be like that!" The nikto sneers. "Can't you take a joke?"

Gritting her teeth, Zara does not turn back around, does not rise to the bait. Manager, sponsors maybe... race is coming up fast... can’t frek this up...

Then she stops and turns. “Sure, I can take a joke, pal. Didn’t come here to appreciate your keen wit, though.”

Zara puts her hands in her front pockets, which serves the dual purpose of making clear she is not reaching for the blaster on her hip- but at the same time, allows her to slip her brass knuckles on.

Again there is a faint ripple of chuckling as the day drinkers seem to enjoy the rise they've gotten out of the racer. The nikto sits back down and gestures vaguely to the pair with a half filled glass. "So you've just come here to snoop out some competition for the race? Well if that's all you came for I can tell you that I'm racing. I can also tell you that if you're thinking of taking me on, well, you're going to be real disappointing". Gesturing to Yoomnuff he continues, "what about the fur ball? Is he racing or just here for his looks?"

Keeping his mouth shut for the most part, Yoomnuff decided to let his partner do most of the talking, figuring she had better experience with talking with other racers. However, Chynn seemed set on bringing him into it and after taking a swig of his beer he chimed in. "My apologies for not introducing myself! I am Yoomnuff and yes, me and my compatriot are here to learn about our competition. If you could be so kind as to point us in the direction of some proper racers of a competing skill level we would be most grateful." Yoomnuff's modulator spouted, getting across the ball of fur's point.

The swoop ganger sputters a little in indignation as he listens to Yoomnuff. "Y-, wh-, I am the competition you flaming furball! What, do you think this get up is just for show?" The gangster shoots back out of his seat and takes a few steps forward. "Just who do you two think you are anyway?"

“I’m Zara,” Zara introduces herself, intervening by stepping between the two.

“And don’t mind my friend here. Voice modulator has a mind of its own. He’s also been known to rip people’s arms off when they engage in threatening behavior, so ya might want to simmer down. Much better for us to just sit down and play some cards, yeah?”

The last bit is delivered in a lower voice, so as not to call the vain swoopster out in front of his entourage.

Taking Zara's hint, Yoomnuff decided to back peddle a bit. "My apologies. My words are not always my own." the Gigorian said, putting his beer on the table and staring up at the racer.

After a little grinding of teeth, the nikto finally plonks himself back down into his seat. "If you want to lose your credits, sure. Buy in is thirty credits". He leans back in his chair with a smirk. "If you two think you got what it takes, then take a seat".

Zara smiles and takes the offered seat, putting the credits on the table. “You shouldn’t grind your teeth like that. Deal me in, and we’ll just see who loses their credits.”

"I will just be watching the game. Games of chance are not an activity I enjoy partaking in." Yoomnuff explained, not wanting to further ruin his reputation or credit count by gambling with the other racers. If that meant he had to move to the bar he would do so though he'd prefer to not leave his new friend at the mercy of the supposed swoop gangers.

Unfortunately for Zara, the game does not go in her favour. It is clear that the experience of the locals far outweighs her own when it comes to sabbac, and it isn't helped by the fact that there's more than a likely chance that they are cheating here and there. Often is also seems as if they are working together to target her, ensuring she loses that hand. Still, after the first few hands of the game the tension in the air quickly loosens, and the drink begins to flow again.

The nikto look across the table to Zara and Yoomnuff and laughs loudly as he displays another winning hand. "I did warn you you'd lose your money lady. I hope you ride better than you bet, because if not you may be looking for a new career". The others laugh along, but it feels more light-hearted than before.

If you cheat as well on a swoop as you do at sabacc, you might just have a shot. Zara rolls her shoulders in an easy shrug and slides the credits across the table.

”I’ve tried other careers, but none would have me. Guess if I can’t bet for shiz, I’ll just have to win my credits in the saddle. Good luck to you, gentlemen. You’re going to need it.”

With that, Zara rises and departs, knowing she can’t risk blowing any more credits gambling. It was worth a shot. Hope this new manager can at least match me, to get me in the race. “C’mon Yoomi. Let’s blow this icicle stand.”

The swoop ganger leers at the pair as they leave, shouting out to them as they reach the door. "We'll see little lady, I'm not yet convinced you two aren't all talk yet. Don't be late to the slope!" With that the pair eject themselves back onto the street of the crime riddled area. Unfortunately the investigation hadn't gone so well, but they had at least acquired a name and a face for the competition. That made at least three total now that they knew of.

Taking the last swig of his beer, Yoomnuff picked himself up from the table, gave a slight nod to the others and a "my thanks for the company." before following Zara out of the bar. "My apologies for not assisting with the recon better. I tend to mince my words in more formal settings." Yoomnuff admitted somewhat sheepishly.

It had taken a little while, but with a couple of hours of filing out data, and talking with the lady at the desk, Darren had finally finished getting them there license for a cheaper price thanks to some old trikes. "Thank you for your time." And not causing any trouble or questions about the paperwork. He handed over the credits and left the building.

The day eventually draws to an end, but it has been eventful, and productive to say the least. The team is looking as ready as it ever has coming into a race season. They have a license, riders, bikes, mechanics and even a manager (unlike the previous swindlers they had from previous seasons). The downhill race was going to be memorable if nothing else.

When the day of the race comes around, it is a cold morning, with faint mist hanging in the air. The grass is damp to the touch, and the streets are quiet. It's an early gathering for the crew, as the journey to the course is a fair distance away by truck. A watery sun rises behind the clouds as they make their journey.

They can see the site for the race course rise up in the distance, a large grassy hill dominated by a logging woodland that stretches from top to bottom. A number of thing brown lines can be seen running down the length of the hill as various logging tracks and other pathways have been cleared. Following a winding road up the side of the hill, the eventually reach a large open clearing where a number of speeders, bikes and trucks had parked and had begun to unload equipment.

A small number were the race teams themselves, but there was also press trucks here and there, and a lot of spectators turning out to watch the event. Groups of them could be seen trekking down the hill to try and find good spots to watch the racers tearing down the course. A starting arch had been set up already, an what looked like an commissar droid was inspecting it to make sure it met the appropriate checks.

As Zara and Crydil make their way down the course, they quickly find them selves on a slippery track going down a steep descent. The first section was made of large and angular rocks, still damp with the mist of the morning. The open area quickly descended into a narrow section of woodlands. The track was narrow but it was a straight run down the hillside. Moving deeper into the woods the track begins to quickly veer from side to side with sharp bends and sudden rises and sharp drop offs. Although they were riding hover vehicles, the trackway was well worn from walking and sections of the course that had been dug to make the artificial sections. When the course did eventually break free of the woodlands, it was near the bottom of the hill. Now running through what looked like a farmers field, this part of the course took a great sweeping arc into the final section. That final section was identical to the vast majority of down hill races, a series of jump sections that lead into the finish line.

The finishing area was a large circle surrounded by crash barriers to keep the audience safe. Already there were trucks selling food, people milling about ready to see the racers coming in, and most importantly, the hot seat. The hot seat was where the current fastest racer had to sit while they watched the others come in. It was simultaneously an honour and a real stress inducer. The large overexaggerated throne had space surrounding it for the race crew as well.

These two weren't the only ones scouting the course, a number of other individuals could be seen slipping and sliding down the wet grass as they examine the burms, drop-offs and straights. Most were wearing crew jackets or simple outdoor where, but here and there a person in race fatigues could be spotted. However, as they made their back up the hill, Zara felt as if, someone was watching her.

Meanwhile, back at the top of the hill, more and more activity could be seen as other teams arrive. The commissar droids were checking the bikes as they move between the trucks, and a bleary eyed twi'lek was sat behind a folding table taking the entry fees. Even a news crew had just pulled in. Being one of the first races of the year, it was an exciting (if low level) event for many.

“Kry, buddy,” Zara voices into her racing suit’s comlink, on their team’s channel. “Got company in the woods. Count three coming up the hill toward me. Might need some backup.”

Zara plays it cool, for the moment, paying the skulkers in the trees no mind. Don’t think they know they’ve been spotted.. not sure who they are, or even if they’re after me..?

The Tall bury Cerean walked up behind his friend and team mate spotting the aforementioned company as she spoke to him over the communicator, " I got your back if this goes south, but let's try and not get disqualified for a fight." He said as he slipped on the brass knuckles he carried in his pocket for Emergencies.

As the pair in the woods see the figures advancing, there is a moment when the isolation of the woods sinks in. Both had most likely spent the majority of their time in their city, the wilderness of Corellia was something of an alien environment. As the strangers tramp up the hill towards the pair they can be seen wearing thick coats and boots to stave off the cold. With hand crammed into their pockets a human man with slick brown hair hanging a little longer than his eyes offers the pair an affable nod. The group draws level with the others, parting to move around them as they continue up the hill.

“How’s it goin’, fellas?” Zara offers a nod in return, thinking she may have misjudged the situation, but still wary.

"Goin' just fine" one of them grunts before lunging in Zara's direction. Reaching into his coat he grabs a long stretch of metal pipe. The others follow suit, grabbing knuckle dusters and knives before charging the racers. Krydill spots another pair of thugs slipping and sliding down the damp slope of the hill towards them, weapons on hand. "Welcome to the circuit!" One of them shouts. "You'll wish your joke of a team had stayed in the casual events!"

Zara is caught off guard, but ready for trouble- the recent gang run-ins had made her wary. She draws her pistol and points it at the nearest man’s chest. “Not sure what you’re getting paid, but this pistol will put a hole in you the size of a tooka.”

It is an exaggeration, but the Coronet Arms Dueling Pistol is indeed a deadly weapon. Usually sold in pairs, she had picked hers up at a pawn shop. She mainly carried it as a deterrent, for people on Corellia were familiar with them, and understood the dire consequences of being on the receiving end of one.

Zara smiles, adrenaline pumping. “No one is going to stop me from racing today.”

The sudden pull of a weapon by Zara causes the thugs to stop their sudden advance on the pair. Still gripping their weapons tightly, the criminals glance at each other nervously, unsure about what to do. One of them steps forwards, the one who had nodded to them. The burly figure looks for a long while at Zara's gun before looking back up with a fiendish smile. "That's a mighty fine gun you have there, little miss. Looks like an antique to me, and I know those old things are only good for one or two shots before you reload. We ain't looking to kill you, but there's no way you're starting this race".

“I’m not lookin’ t’kill you, either. But I will. And it will only take one shot. If I don’t make it on the circuit, I’ll be running from the law anyway. Frekkit. I’ll little miss you into the kriffing ground.” Zara kocks the charging mechanism, peculiar to old dueling pistols, with an audible click.