High-Speed Spelunkers

[Zippy Zabelle]

Concordia​

Moon of Mandalore​

A limp body, that of Greten Go'Wan, lay reclined in the seat of her VK swoop bike, arms and legs flopped lazily over each side. A datapad lay between her legs on the blue leather seat, the screen bright. One eye open, she looks down at the glowing invitation:

Under the Radar// For SWOOPERS in Mando space!​

Bring Bikes – Bring Skill – Bring BIG Rancor Balls​

First Place Gets PRIZE// All tenders get Patched –​

That's right, so bring your jumpies!!! C00RDS R​

attached// Cya on Concordia fam – D011i <3​

The cargo-hold of the Pelagian Duplex quaked as the pirate ship entered the Concordian Atmosphere. Greten shifted in a lifeless manner with the vibrations – preserving all of her energy for the race, in a somewhat... unorthodox manner.

The heavy assault ship carrying the rider hit another air-pocket, sending her datapad clacking to the floor. A howl from the intercom blasted from above –

“Rag'ruh hur-er aahg!” Yayak, the ship's Shistavanen pilot shouted.

“I ain't no baby,” Greten mumbled. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her braids swooshing as she did. She felt her stomach could really go for some blue milky, though.

Only the nicest kind of pirates drop one of theirs' off for a swoop race every so often. It was during a slow period for them, and right close to home – Mandalore. Well, home for Greten, that is. Neither Yayak, nor the dozen Hassk copilots/crew cared to show their hairy faces there. Still, Greten, or “Zippy” as most everyone called her, could earn the brigands a shiny credit once in a two-moons. Even without the promise for victory, there certainly was a guarantee for excitement. The invitation she received sure-as-hutta reeked of ill preparation.

From inside the cargo hold, Zippy could feel the Rooor'Grrr touch down like jai'galaar on a treetop. Yayak may blast his way through the clouds, but the old wolf knew how to land – that's for sure. The loading dock opened, pluming with steam, and the pale light of the scorched satellite, Concordia, slowly illuminated the nearly-empty hold. Zippy's Azure VK, “Nefarious”, lifted her off the hold's floor, and inched down the ramp.

“Yeeeeesh,” she flipped down her blue headset visor – it wasn't easy going straight from dark real space to the white, barren scape of Concordia; “I ain't gonna see nothin' nowhere here.”

They had landed at the bottom of a large beskar mining pit, where several other ships had parked, and a small gathering of individuals – perhaps ten or so – were setting up for the race. White ash turned to blackened poisonsand, then bleeding into maroon ore-dust, beneath Zippy's bike as she hovered over toward the small cluster of riders and enthusiasts. A couple caught her eye, and some she thought she'd seen before – had she? Her attention was quickly sucked away, however, by something intimidating.

The mouth of a former mando-underworld beskar mine, gaping. Broken life support cords and desh paneling hung like broken teeth over a dark, perhaps unending subterranean stomach. It left much to the imagination, a mixture of joy and fear curling inside the manic swooper's heart.

The bike powered down, and Greten sat off the side of the saddle. It seemed the announcer , "Dolli", a Czerialan girl with pink circles on her cheeks, was waiting for all the racers to arrive. She sat atop a large cylinder covered in fabric, allowing her a broad view of the contestants whose faces and bikes she could match to names on her datapad.

 

[Bullwark]

The Black Resolve dropped out of hyperspace above the ancient and war-torn moon of Concordia. In the ship's cockpit, Bullwark took a moment to admire the view before touching the sublight controls. He'd made a lot of money on that moon in the past. Never felt more guilty pulling off a fair deal. The inhabitants of the rock were warriors, not merchants. They knew beskar could stop lightsabers, but they didn't know it sold for 400 an ounce in Abregado Rae. He had to chuckle to himself as he pushed forward on the joystick and started a landing pattern. 99-to-1 this was going to be a good trip.
A landing pad had already been reserved for him. It was a wide pad with no obstacles nearby, conducive for Bullwark's meager piloting skills. The freighter set down heavily, several meters off center. The boarding ramp lowered and Bullwark stepped out, dressed in vivid white trousers and vest, a red tailed jacket, and a small but obnoxious hat. He approached the deck officer and tipped him heavily before leaving the landing area and beating a straight path to the club.
Familiar faces and easy marks all around. The well-dressed vaathkree was in his element. He tipped the hostess a sum greater than her week's earnings, and continued to tip every staffer that came in his vicinity. He was guided to a table close to the main viewing window that looked out over a town that had been built inside a mining pit. He ordered a double-thick well-done nerf steak and a pitcher of jawa juice, and reclined into his soft bench seat to admire the scenery.
"Make any sudden move and you're dead, di'kut." A voice came from behind. "Stand up slowly and turn around."
Defiantly, the stone-skinned man took a long drought from his pitcher before standing up. He put up his hands and slowly turned around. He smiled as Talon Vizsla, an old acquaintance feigned firing his finger-pistol before 'holstering' it. Their right hands met and were shaken firmly.
"Tal!" Bullwark exclaimed. "I was wondering when you'd come find me here! Sit down. I'll order you a steak."
"Expecting me, eh?" Talon sat down opposite Bullwark. "So, you heard I lost hard on that kyber crystal deal you set me up with."
"Hey, I warned you that it was speculative and contained... exotic hazards." Bullwark waved his hand dismissively. "I never talk down my clients, but I would have expected a savvy man like you to know not to buy in when I'm not myself."
"You said you would have if your assets weren't tied up elsewhere." Talon said.
"And I just might have. Guess we'll never know. Worst speculation in the galaxy, my friend; what might have been."
"And that, gentlemen, is a platitude a Vizsla can live by." A miraluka in a three-piece suit said as he approached the table with a pretty red twi-lek hanging on his arm. "Funny seeing you back so soon, Bully."
"Angor Webb, let me shake your hand." Bullwark half-rose from his booth to shake the newcomer's hand. "And what's your name, miss?"
"Arool." She held out her hand for the vaathkree to kiss. "Roma Arool."
"If that isn't the prettiest name in the sector." Bullwark sat back down. He waved for a passing waitress, a trio of credits between his fingers. "Bring another chair, won't you?"
"What brings you to my corner of the galaxy, Bully?" Talon asked.
"What, no pleasantries? The waitress hasn't brought out my meal yet. You three haven't even ordered!" Bullwark protested, drawing no more than a raised eyebrow from Talon. "Fine. I'm here to meet with both of you, as fortune would have it...."
"As it always does for you." Angor said.
"...I'm here looking to buy beskar." Bullwark locked eyes with Angor, then shifted his gaze to Talon. "Enough to require a shipping flotilla."
"My iron's spoken for for the next three months." Angor said.
"And you think I don't know that?" Bullwark barked a laugh. "The kid who set you up with that deal works under one of my firms. You know me better than to think I came here to throw noodles at a wall. This is why I didn't want to skip the pleasantries. You three order your meals and we'll talk once the Umbarran sake starts making its rounds."
At that moment, the waitress appeared, eyes bright with expectation of another generous tip. She placed the seat she had fetched next to the table, allowing Talon to seat himself. Next, the waitress whipped out her datapad and started taking orders from the mandalorian, the miraluka, and the twi'lek. Bullwark's eyes wandered to the window where he saw a gathering of swoop bikes and pilots.
"What's going on down there?" He asked after the waitress left the table.
"Oh, that is Angor's gift to me." Roma purred.
"Oh?" Bullwark turned a raised brow to Angor.
"A little event I helped put together." Angor said. "My sweet here was a swoop pilot herself not long ago. She's been growing restless on this rusty rock, so I decided to support a few others who wanted to bring the sport here. Not a major prize. Just enough to get some good talent to come down for a competitive event."
Bullwark got up from the table and approached the window, peering down at the racers. "I don;t suppose you're above a little insider betting?" Bullwark spoke in a slightly lower volume.
"Of course not." Angor said. "My financial stakes have no effect on the riders' performances. I have no qualms."
"Then I'll name you a winner right now." Bullwark said. "All or nothing, and seven-to-one."
"Careful, Angor." Talon crooned.
"It's just a game, Talon." Angor said. "Name your rider, Bullwark."
"The blue one." Bullwark said.
"What is their name?" Angor asked.
"I'll figure that out later." Bullwark said. "For now, my bet is with the blue one on the right."
"I will wager twenty-three thousand credits, in honor of my darling's old racing number." Angor said.
"Are we just going to game, gentlemen, or are we going to deal?" Talon rolled his eyes as Bullwark reclaimed his booth seat.
"Everything's a deal, Talon. To which are you referring?"
Fifteen minutes later, the vaathkree businessman was standing on the tarmac inspecting the blue swoop. He spied the pilot and beckoned for her attention.
"Tell me you can win this thing."

[member="Zippy Zabelle"]

 

[Sakoda Dathu]

Having recently shaken off the rigors that was a raging hangover after copious amounts of drinking in the casino of Mandalore, the revelry that came with clinking pints with her fellow warriors, learning more about the origins of her people... even though she'd forgotten more than half of it by the time she'd woken up. She only recalled that it was a topic that was discussed, the specifics had been drowned out of course. She thanked her ancestors that she hadn't made a fool of herself, case in point her ancestors were probably proud that she was able to drink as much as she had that night, one heck of a rager she thought to herself.

Splashing water on her face once again, she'd just about suited up to disembark from her vessel, the Dathu Stormbreaker, to take part in a nice little swoop race. She'd spent the better part of the day, daytime being relative when it came to space travel, eating and training and detoxifying what was left of the alcohol in her body, she was grateful that this swoop race event hadn't been taking place the very morning after her visit to the casino or she may very well have been able to use projectile vomit as a weapon against her fellow racers, that'd certainly prove effective she mused but that'd also require not wearing a helmet and that was just asking for a fatality.

With a rolling of her shoulders, she ensured her beskad blades were nestled at her hips and she deposited her blaster in the groove of her swoop bike within easy reach of its pilot, not that she planned to use it at all during the race, more there as a precaution in case one of her opponents started racing exceptionally dirty. At that point she'd find herself wrestling with the decision on whether or not to shoot the racer or just their bike, she resigned herself to putting off any preemptive blaster-related decisions until the occasion hopefully never arose. With a cursory look out the viewing port window, she only found more resolve in her decision to stash a blaster given the "rugged" look of her opponents, some of them she half expected to be stashing a rifle somewhere or maybe even have them built into their damn bike.

"You're in charge until I come back Cujo" she called out to her canine construct who gave a synthesized bark in response shortly before she hit the button by the cargo bay door with her palm, the ramp lowering down with a mild clang as it hit the ground. After sliding her helmet on over her head she gave it a twist until she heard the click and the hiss indicating it was secure before she hopped atop of the swoop bike and primed it, whistling out of the cargo bay at a slow speed before making her way to the congregation of fellow racers. Her swoop bike had a few personal touches on it to make it more "her", the chassis was a rustic gray with even darker gray lightning bolt decals along the side, the whole of it looked weather-beaten but otherwise it was in exceptional condition underneath which is what truly mattered.

She didn't have any "race gear" as she'd simply made do with her custom made mandalorian armour to which, frankly, she saw no reason to feel was unsuitable for such a deadly, high speed sport. The white and off-gray sheen of the plates of her personal armour were quite contrasting to that of the swoop bike she rode in on though the joints, a dark, regal purple did compliment the pairing nicely, at least in her opinion. She slowed down to a stop and parked her swoop bike, coiling one leg up and over the saddle so that she could lazily be seated with both legs on one side as she "inspected the competition" from behind the relative safety of her helmet's obscuring visor, some of them looked like they had been at this swoop thing for a long while, others seemed a bit more nervous though whether that was due to nerves about the race, the opponents, or both she couldn't figure. She craned her head to the right and looked up at the lolly gaggers up above, the ones enjoying the view while sipping beverages and munching entrees, she had to figure there was a lot of credits being exchanged up there.

She turned her attention back to her immediate area, there were plenty of racers that were inspecting her just as she did unto them, it was largely guess work from both sides so she decided to just keep her head down for now and review the "brief" that had led her to this little event. She was curious what the prize was, she told herself she'd just have to focus so that she lived long enough to find out what it was, let alone lay claim to it...



Zippy Zabelle [member="Bullwark"]

 

[Zippy Zabelle]

The Uvenan smokes had already begun to amplify Greten's nervous habits. Hands trembling, foot tapping, and humming. It was one hell of a buzz on top of her already anticipatory state. She was afraid of not being able to tell the announcer her name when they came around with the patches – speaking of which:

A pair of small, pinkish hands pinned the race patch against the bicep of Greten's gray former-police jumper. By now it was vandalised with race patches of all different colors and designs.

“That's right – you must be Zippy,” said Dolli, “Congratulations on winning the Telos Lower-Planetary.”

“Hey thanks! Ooh –” Zippy heard a gravelly voice from behind, and she turned over her shoulder.

A large, super-spiffy Vaathkree stood casting an unsettling gaze shadowed beneath a rocky brow – he had asked if she could win the race. She immediately felt embarrassed at the thought of such presumptions, and threw a thumb at her chest as if to ask, 'who me?'. However, before those words could leave her mouth, she heard the announcer's instead.

“Anyone sitting down here on a bike is here to have fun, a race between races. Sure, we throw something in the pot to get 'em all out here. But there's no need to go letting on the pressure. Ain't that right Zippy?”

The announcer slapped the quick-seal patch into place, dusted her hands together, and wandered off to the next rider; leaving Zippy with the Vaathkree.

“If by win, you mean survive, mista rock man –” Zippy looked over at the dingy mine entrance and blew smoke, before turning back to the alien, “I would like to think so.”

She gave kind of a 'sorry' look to him. Truth was, there looked to be a lot of tough game here, and the bet was as good as any to who might actually win. She flipped up her blue visor, spying the true shade of pink on the racer that'd rolled up behind her. That sure was a lot of heavy armor for a swoop race. She also spied a green Nikto on the opposite side of the group wearing light armor – probably one of the neo-vulkars. She'd have to watch out for that one, they weren't known for playing nice. Zippy looked down at her arm, checking out the new patch on her left arm. It was in the shape of a black creature's head with its mouth open. Between a set of sharp teeth it read in silvery, scary letters, “THROAT”.

Once the announcer was done making the rounds, she stomped back on top of her covered cylinder, stood tall, and gave a loud whistle to gather the riders' attention. She explained simply that there was only one rule: Make it out of the cavern's opposite entrance – or exit, as it were. The mine was old, so the schematics were long gone, which meant no one knew what was in there, or how to get out. Of course, no one came here under the pretense of safety, but hopefully it wouldn't be as bad as it sounded. Greten wondered if they'd even made sure you could make it out the other side. Of course, not that it mattered now.

Zippy turned in her seat to face forward, and began stepping on either side of her boxy bike, hovering along toward the start line. She stashed her box of smokes into a pouch on her police belt, between her blaster and her Vandorian skinner - a couple of small, and hopefully unnecessary utilities. At least, they only ever usually came into play before and after the races.

Now, they were only a few minutes until start.

Tags: [member="Bullwark"] [member="Sakoda Dathu"]

 

[Bullwark]

"Well, I wish you the very best of luck." Bullwark tipped his hat to the racer. "Find me up there when it's all over." He pointed a stone finger at the window he had reserved a table behind. "i'll buy you a nerf steak."
He then turned and went back up to the restaurant. The meals had just been brought out for all four of the diners. He sat down behind his steak and took a moment to smell the rich aroma floating up from it. If there was one thing Mandalorians were good it, it was making art out of dead things. His admiration was cut short, however, as he felt eyes burning into his forehead. He looked around. Talon had leaned back from the table, arms folded in the same way they had been back when he had managed to undercut the sale of some prototype power cells from a deal Bullwark had made a year prior. Angor and Roma were sitting bolt upright, eyes locked on Bullwark. There was only one question to be asked.
"What?" Bullwark asked.
"Talon is in on the bet." Angor said. Bullwark looked at the mandalorian and raised an eyebrow.
"Coming at you from a side-wind, my friend." Talon smiled. "I mean, you seriously didn't wonder at the coincidence that both of us were here at this restaurant at the same time? Ang and I already had a deal in the works for that beskar you seem to want. That said, I'm willing to let you work your deal... if your racer beats mine."
"Beats yours?"
"Mm-hmm. My bet's on the Mando'ade rider down there. The one with the grey bike. Your racer beats her, I'll let you buy the beskar off Angor and I'll ship it for free."
"And if your racer beats mine? I mean, not that she will, but hypothetically."
Talon leaned forward. "You give me the trans-hyperspace frequencies of all the other shipping contractors you use for your deals." He leaned back again. "We may as well make it traditional, too. I'll put fifty-thousand credits down, one-to-one."
"Okay, Talon, what's really going on here? You've never been the kind to play games."
"I learn just as fast as anyone in this galaxy, Bully. You talk a fast game but I've got the jump on you this time. Fact is, you don't understand the value of beskar."
"Two hundred an ounce." Bullwark gave the selling price on the next planet over, neglecting to mention some of the more desperate core worlds.
"Exactly my point. You have no idea of the value I'm talking about. Long-and-short of it is, there's a growing number of my people, my vod, who got up this crazy idea that Mandalorian iron should used by Mandalorians. I agree with them. So, I'm giving you fair odds this one last time to take a shipment out. But after this, I don't expect to see you around here again."
Bullwark closed his eyes and was silent for a few moments. He then opened his eyes, picked up his utensils, and began cutting his steak. "Well alright. You're on, my warrior friend."

[member="Sakoda Dathu"] [member="Zippy Zabelle"]