Private The Art of Driving | Invite

[Reima Vitalis]

NAR SHADDAA - NEW VERTICA
KOWLOON INVITATIONAL - VIP LOUNGE
2140 HOURS LOCAL TIME
​

do you believe in love at first sight? do you believe in fate?
i believe the good things only come to those who wait.

Reima VItalis hated the Smuggler's Moon. Nar Shaddaa was a cesspit, and no amount of chrome or neon or gilding or parvenus slinging their new money could change that.

She didn't like to think of it as snobbery.

The moon was disgusting. Even if it wasn't the purview of the Hutts who were, themselves, quite revolting, the moon was polluted to hell and back. Its cities were stacked on top of one another, and she could only imagine how lax the code enforcement standards were here, on the planet where a palmful of credits could buy any manner of iniquity from drugs to murder to flesh. It was a wonder the whole place didn't collapse. She supposed it was only a matter of time.

So what, a reasonable person may ask, was Reima doing on Nar Shaddaa if she was so repulsed by the very idea of it?

The simple answer was: the Kowloon Invitational. The race was the fifth and final race in the qualifying rounds for the next big race that Reima had her eyes on: the Krondstadt Cup. It was odd to have such formal, even grandiose-sounding names for what was really a loosely organized sport. It was loosely organized because strictly speaking it was highly illegal. Podracing outside of the narrow bands allowed on certain worlds was outlawed because of how deadly it was for both participants and spectators. It was a strange little underground world, she reflected as she emerged from the speeder at the entrance to the casino where the pre-race VIP party was being held. The league was full of big personalities and bigger rivalries, each willing to see their competitors perish in flames on the track, but each loyal to a fault when off it. No one would rat out another racer, not when it would damage the entire sport.

So despite her high profile name, it was one of the few places that Reima felt truly anonymous. If questioned, no one at the races would have ever heard of her, let alone seen her.

Reima gave her name at the door and was ushered to the lounge overlooking the casino floor. Private tables had been set up on one side of the large space. Other parts of the room were marked out for dancing to the music that beat down from unseen speakers, for drinking and for talking. She didn't quite understand the reason for these pre-race parties, except perhaps that there was a hope by some that their competitors might be too hungover to perform adequately at the race. She remembered hearing of one such occurrence at a street podrace in Cloud CIty, which had resulted in the arrest of a racer and the impoundment of the twi'lek's podracer.

Reima wouldn't be tempted to overindulge. She had to place in this race or the Krondstadt Cup was out of her reach for the year. If she was outraced that was one thing -- even Lady Reima Vitalis was not so conceited as to think herself the end-all in the world of humanoid podracing -- but damned if she was going to let it happen because of something within her control. She ordered herself a caffeinated soft drink from the bar and leaned against the bar while waiting for it to be prepared. She cast her gaze around the room, looking for familiar faces. Most of the people here she had raced against before, although she wasn't sure many of them knew it. Publicly, she was the financier behind her team's podracer. They were expensive to purchase and maintain, so it was plausible that she was the money behind the operation, which entitled her to attend these parties and mingle with the hoi polloi of the racing world in expensive cocktail dresses. She wondered how many of them suspected that it was her in the helmet and racing leathers.

They probably did. Most of them weren't stupid. Most of them probably had the good sense to realize why she remained anonymous. It would have been a bad look for the daughter of the First Order's Supreme Leader to be caught in violation of the law. She accepted her drink and left a decent tip before turning to give the room a more intent look. Aside from Reima, two dozen racers had qualified for the race, but the population was easily over two hundred. Financiers, hangers on, past winners fancying themselves racing legends, and those wealthy enough to be connected to the race were here in addition to the racers themselves. That didn't include the mechanics and others on the racing teams who didn't make it to the VIP area.

The scent of t'bacc smoke gave the air a sweet smell, but underneath it, it was still Nar Shaddaa. The sooner she got off this rock, Reima thought as she sipped her drink, the better.

​

 

[Osric Blackford]

Reima Vitalis

Joran felt more alive than ever before.

Nar Shaddaa was the place to be and then some. Sure, it smelled bad and it seemed that most denizens had no idea what a 'shower' meant, but there was a distinct atmosphere to it all. Freedom. Yeah, that was how the dirt, mud and rot felt like. Freedom away from restrictive parents, tight academy schedules and the absolutely endless recitations of Imperial Code.

No, instead Joran sat at the bar, one leg crossed over another with a martini in hand. Sipping lazily and watching the dancers put up a show. Some kind of cirque du Soleil.

Fancy.

That was when he noticed her. Vitalis. They were at the Academy together, but ran in different circles for the most part. He had heard she would be here too... but that little tidbit only inspired skepticism in him. What was the daughter of the Supreme Leader doing here? Well, there was only one way to truly find out, wasn't there?

He ordered two more drinks - a refill for himself and whatever Reima was having, before slipping into the seat next to her.

"Ma'am, are you sure you are at the right address?" Joran drawled lazily as he placed the glass next to her. "Dosuun is quite some lightyears away, you know, I could give you some directions if need be."

It was easier to relax now though.

At least there was one peer among the crowd, which made things feel a bit more casual. Instead of the vibe Joran had been experiencing most of the night. Which was ramping dread that the young noble boy was way over his head.

 

[Reima Vitalis]

we've got to plan the journey: eliminate all mistakes
take the scenic route. it's called the art of driving

Reima half-turned when she sensed someone approaching. The young man approaching looked familiar but she couldn't quite place him at first. But he apparently knew her or at least knew enough about her. She decided to play along. "Nobody summers on Dosuun," she said derisively before lifting her original drink to her lips for another sip. "Especially not these days."

"No, I summer in Southport usually," she went on, letting her eyes sweep the room once more as she tried to think of from where she knew the man opposite her. "It's much more civilized. But alas, it had to be Herevan this year." She suppressed the shiver that came to her mind when she thought of her family estate. George and Major Judicar were still missing. Reima doubted she would ever go back, not when people were disappearing left, right and center. Instead, she mentally surveyed the database of her acquaintances of the boy's age range to see who he might be. Finally, it clicked and she returned her attention to him. Jordan... something. No, not Jordan, but something close. Everi, she seemed to recall, was his surname. .

"What are you doing all the way out here, Everi?" she asked before draining her glass. She set it to one side before wrapping a hand around the one Joran had brought over. "This doesn't seem like your crowd at all." The truth was Reima didn't know a lot about Everi or his crowd, but as they attended the same exclusive boarding school, it was likely that they had similar crowds and this was certainly not the crowd with which one would usually associate Reima Vitalis.

"Does your family invest in racers, or do you just enjoy a bit of a flutter?"

Osric Blackford​

 

[Osric Blackford]

Reima Vitalis

For a brief moment Joran wondered if she even knew his name.

Sure, they had chatted briefly a few times and had to cooperate on a project once or twice, but that was the way school worked. They didn't habitate the same spheres besides that. Different friends, different circles altogether. The daughter of the Grand Moff was in a higher strata than him. Oh, his family was nobility alright and had ties with the Order legions. In fact, his father had been part of the original First Order, but that only went so far.

"My family? Oh, they'd have a fright, if they knew I was here." Joran responded with a chuckle as he leaned back and relaxed. It would have been awkward if she hadn't known his name, but know he could relax a little at least.

"No, I am here to race. I won a few smaller ones across the Outer Rim - Terminus and thereabout, so I figured it was time to get serious."

And there was nothing more serious than the Nar Shaddaa tracks.

People here could make or break their fortunes. And their lives for that matter. The track itself was infamously dangerous. No regulations whatsoever and teetering at the brink of ruin. But that was the way the Hutts liked it. Danger all around, which only raised the excitement. If one or two racers didn't die on the tracks it was a slow day.

"You? Sponsoring a racer yourself or what?"

No, Joran definitely didn't consider the fact that she might be racing herself.

 

[Reima Vitalis]

you're quite precocious; i know which buttons should be pressed
let's go out driving; i'll wait until you've passed your test

Dark eyebrows furrowed. Joran Everi, a podracer? She had never heard anything so absurd. "You're a racer?" Reima demanded, sounding more incredulous than she thought was probably polite, but she couldn't help it. She hadn't been able to get to Terminus for the race, but had heard it had been a real barn-burner.

He asked her about her presence there. Reima's lips turned up at the edges, her dark eyes enigmatic. She remained silent for a few moments as she reached into her handbag and drew a platinum cigarette case, from which she drew a thin Tapani cigarette. "You might say," she said, diplomatically skirting the question. It wasn't a lie, per se, given that she was financing the team that maintained her podracer. She took a small lighter from her handbag and lit her cigarette, then placed the slender cigarette between ruby lips before offering both the case and the lighter to Everi. "Cigarette?"

"I really hesitate to call Nar Shaddaa serious," Reima said, the disdain evident in her voice. She cast a dubious gaze around, exhaling silvery smoke, which she waved away from her face leisurely. "It reeks of new money -- aside from the fact that it just reeks. Everything gold-plated, as if that's a sign of luxury. I think it's a sign that whoever owns this pile has more money than sense. What is it about the nouveau riche that makes them spray precious metals on everything? It's -- gaudy."

This was snobbery on full display and it didn't occur to Reima to care whether Joran fell into that category. Perhaps she was insulting him without realizing it. The way she saw it, if he was one of the people she was discussing, a little honesty would help to correct him, and if he wasn't, he should have the good sense to agree with her.

"Which pod is yours?" she asked after a moment, turning to the holographic display that was cycling through the pods that would race the next day. She touched the controls, maneuvering through the pods. "I wonder if I've seen it before"

Osric Blackford​