Populate [Black Sun] Shut Up and Drive || BSS Populate of Celegia

[Velzari Tharn]

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE
SHUT UP AND DRIVE

​

Tatooine should have been pacified by now. At least, that’s what the High Republic believes.

Their banners fly over Mos Espa, their patrols march the alleys, and their senatorial decree claims the planet as a stable node of the Mara Corridor. But today—under the roaring suns and the cheers of a hundred thousand scumbags—the truth shows its teeth: Tatooine listens to the underworld, not the Republic.

The Boonta Eve Classic, oldest and deadliest of all podraces, has returned in full splendor. Hutts once controlled it; now it is the Black Sun Syndicate who reigns over the track, the bookkeepers, the sponsors, and the exchange of credits. Every cantina is filled with thick spice smoke and the allure of shady deals. Crime lords sit in private booths, one eye on the race while the other seeks opportunities. And in the grandest viewing box of all, draped in silks stolen from forgotten monarchies and guarded by mercenaries too cruel for warzones, sits the Underlord himself—Velzari Tharn.

OBJECTIVE 1:
BOONTA EVE CLASSIC

​

The Mos Espa Grand Arena vibrates like a living thing. Tens of thousands pack the stands—locals, offworlders, spice runners, dignitaries, gamblers, pilots, sabacc sharks—layered in an avalanche of noise. The stands are a riot of color and fury. Merchants peddle wares in a dozen languages and dialects. Children wave banners to support the new blood, while old-timers whisper the names of racers long dead. Local peacekeepers attempt to maintain civility, but everyone knows they have no real power here; syndicate lieutenants swagger openly, silently challenging their authority with glares and grins.

Below the layers of excitement and tension is the track itself. A blistering serpentine route carved through canyons, wreckage fields, and ancient Tusken sacred lands. Ion gates flicker dangerously—rigged by Black Sun technicians to “enhance the entertainment.” The starting line hums with raw repulsor energy, each pod growling like a caged beast.

From the announcer’s booth, a charming voice blares through loudspeakers. He’s speaking a rough cut of Huttese, but most can understand his words: “The race is about to begin! Place your final bets now!”

Spoiler: Podrace Dice Rules

• The Boonta Eve Classic (902) is a single-lap race consisting of four legs
• Each leg, roll 1d6
  • If you're using Discord dice, please link a screenshot of your roll (or use the dice bot in the BSS server!)
  • If you're using Chaos dice, no need to link; we will see it at the bottom of your post
• The results of your rolls will be added together. The winner will be the racer with the highest total number at the end of the race
  • If there is a tie, a tiebreaker lap will take place (four more rolls) to determine the winner
• CHEATING: A racer may CHEAT by paying 5,000 UCs to First Bank of Nar Shaddaa - this enables you to add +2 to your final total
• SABOTAGE: A racer may SABOTAGE another racer by paying 10,000 UCs to First Bank of Nar Shaddaa - this enables you to -2 from an opponent's final total
• GRAND PRIZE: The winner will receive 50,000 UCs and x1 custom podracer/speeder/speederbike submission of unique quality, to be made by BSS staff

Spoiler: Racetrack

Spoiler: Racer Placements

Racer	Leg 1	Leg 2	Leg 3	Leg 4	Final Total
Das
Eaton Waters
Jericho Dragr
Kivah
Kurt Korrado
Ronhar Tane

OBJECTIVE 2:
NO TAKESIES BACKSIES

​

Carved into the cliff face, glowing with soft golds and purples, are the private spectator booths. Velzari’s box is the apex roost—curtains of shimmering cloth, chilled air from specialized units, servers in black-and-purple veils. Few match the opulence of the Underlord’s amenities. Crime lords, monarchs in exile, fallen Jedi, debtors, and opportunists all gather to curry favor… or curtail his displeasure.

Among them, the Republic.

High Republic agents arrive quietly in the form of a small team of diplomatic envoys and a small escort of covert operatives. They come to Velzari’s box under a banner of temporary ceasefire. Their offer is simple: Vigo Mauve du Vain - for High Chancellor Kalantha. The chamber goes eerily quiet for just a heartbeat, but Velzari’s smile does not falter. The Black Sun had expected this, and prepared for it.

Mauve’s life was nearly taken before Republic agents ever touched her—Black Sun assassins had been dispatched to prevent her abduction, if only to keep the ransom stakes higher. Now that the Republic has brought her to the negotiation table, Velzari weighs his options with predatory patience. The Republic wants their Chancellor back, but Black Sun wants leverage—and they have far grander plans for Kalantha than a simple trade. With Mauve standing here in the flesh, a thought strikes the Underlord: rules are for republics, not syndicates.

OBJECTIVE 3:
BYOO

The Boonta Eve Classic is the galaxy’s perfect distraction. In the massive droves of spectators, the roar of engines muffle the fact that everyone has their own plots.

Spice brokers carve out new markets. Bounty hunters stalk their marks through crowded stands. Republic agents meet quietly in disreputable backrooms. Black Sun foot soldiers whisper threats over glasses of arda wine. Assassins drift through the crowds with poisons disguised as perfumes. Information dealers hack betting terminals to skim data. Force sensitives mask their presence behind waves of emotion from the crowd. Old enemies bump shoulders at the sabacc tables and settle feuds with blades.

Whatever has brought you here—greed, murder, love, espionage—this is your moment. The race absorbs all eyes. The crowd hides all sins.

Make your move.

 

[Velzari Tharn]

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE
NO TAKESIES BACKSIES​

​

Wisps of smoke from carababba cigarras filled the viewing box with a thin haze that smelled pleasantly herbal but burned one's nostrils with each breath. Chronic smokers like the Underlord and his entourage of syndicate big shots were immune to such discomforts, however. Velzari brought his cigarra to his lips and inhaled, filling his lungs with the aromatic carababba fumes before blowing them through his nose in twin streams.
The rest of the criminal underworld was afraid to work on Tatooine these days. In fact, the whole of the Mara Corridor felt empty compared to the years preceding Naboo's rise to dominance. Republic dominion over the region scared the small-time gangs away. Even the Hutt Cartel found itself suppressed by the new regime, but Black Sun?

Black Sun feared no one, be they an Emperor, a Queen, or an Interim Chancellor holding down the fort.

As such, business—much like life—went on. Tatooine survived and continues to live up to its name sake: a wretched hive of scum and villainy.
Velzari took in his company, which varied from Vigos and shadowy benefactors to lieutenants, loan sharks, and veteran enforcers. One of them stepped forward with a message to deliver.

"A Republic diplomatic team has arrived, Your Excellence," the Falleen informant said in Velzari's native tongue. "They wish to discuss... a trade. Vigo Mauve du Vain, for the High Chancellor."

A sharp smile spread across the Underlord's face.

"An interesting offer," Velzari said, his tone loaded with sarcasm. "Surely they did not bring darling little Mauve all the way to Tatooine?"

The Falleen informant nodded, smiling wryly.

"They will be quite disappointed then; Kalantha's pathetic body is still chained to the wall where I left her." A crude laugh escaped the Underlord. He shook his head in disbelief.

"What a costly mistake," he chided.

"Very well. Send for them, and be sure that Miss du Vain accompanies the diplomats. It will be quite nice to see her in the flesh."

Tags: Mauve du Vain | Quinn Varanin​

 

[Ralk Vos'arr]

Objective #2

Ralk's Medical Droid: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/FX-series_medical_assistant_droid/Legends

Velzari Tharn

The tall Falleen in one of the large viewing boxes was shadowed by a most unusual figure and a frosted-white, silver-limbed and black-trimmed FX-Series medical droid. The shorter humanoid's fist lightly rapped on the droid's dome-like head, and it obediently rolled away, retracting its silver arms into its slot-covered cylindrical body as it whirred off into the smoke-hazed shadows. The short figure seemed vastly out of place, stoic and calm as she - her boyish form, while slim, was feminine in its curves - took a single step forward, doing her best not to interrupt even as pale, ghostlike hands raised to fold her hood away from head. A shock of equally-white, phantasmal hair of the brightness of fresh snow cascaded in frazzled length down until it came to rest just above her shoulders; a flick of her hair and a folding of tapered, furred ears briefly left her species a mystery, until her head came to a stop naught but a moment later.

The Bothan that stood behind the imposing and tall Falleen crime lord could be mistaken for an ice sculpture, were it not for the loose, if snug black clothing that adorned her lithe, athletic form. Indeed, naught a single part of her was without that shock of unnaturally pale fur, as the girl in question was an albino, and further bore a trait that was rare even amongst albinos the Galaxy over: deep violet lit up and gave her eyes an ethereal, dreamlike quality.

The demure little Bothan took a moment to fiddled with a blaster pistol at her side, before, crossing her hands behind her back, she took a step forward, standing at attention behind the Falleen she had agreed to accompany as a guard, her figure reserved and polite, even as her strange eyes moved to and fro to between her boss and the informant, while she did her best not to succumb to the desire for a cigarra.

She mentally cursed the Advozse who had introduced her to those damn things... Even as she sighed softly.

I don't need one...

I don't need one...

I don't need one...

 

[Shinja Joka]

A purple-skinned Gungan strolled through the crowd of Mos Espa. Shinja Joka attracted looks here or there, but no more than a single passing glance. He was an odd spectacle for a Gungan, but that did not amount to much outside of Naboo. The Galaxy was full of peculiar people. He was glad of this.

The twin suns of Tatooine were quite harsh, but he honestly preferred this to the decades he spent trapped in the Nether. How long had it been? He wasn't too sure. Had to have been at least fifty years. Not that it meant anything to a being that did not age.

Shinja looked around. The air was rife with the vibes of the Underground. He knew, having once been part of it. A simple gang of pirates was all they had been, until Xivkar came along and turned them all into... Well, there was no point dwelling on the past. Xivkar was dead, along with the rest of the crew. Shinja had been the only survivor when that Mandalorian had overloaded the ship reactor, and he had ended up stranded in the Nether somehow. Until those Jedi showed up, providing him with a way out.

They seemed like decent folk. He had helped them out in exchange for freeing him. And he honestly wanted to atone for evil he had done in the past. Not for the piracy, but for the... monstrosities. Thankfully, he had found a way to dull the hunger, to feel normal again. He pulled out a pipe and some of his Balo Blend. Plenty of people smoking various substances, so nobody would think anything of it.

With the pipe lit, he took a long drag and looked toward the private spectator boxes. Gold and purple. Good colors. He wondered who those people were. Perhaps he could make connections and find some work. The Republic may be decent folk, but Shinja Joka had never fit in on Naboo, and fancy schmancy humans and nobles and such were definitely not his style.

 

[Jericho Dragr]

​

OBJECTIVE 1:
BOONTA EVE CLASSIC

Podracing would be another first for Jericho, among many. When he was built, he never could have imagined he would be able to do these kinds of things, to be like a real person instead of a machine. He had no idea what his life would have held if Sahan Dragr had not brought him into the Mandalorian clan, but Jericho was grateful. He had a home, and he had a family. What was left of it. Both were in shambles right now. This was why he was here. Seemed like a good opportunity to win some credits. It also let him put Sahan's podracer to good use. He had built it for a friend, a friend that was likely dead.

The pit droids pulled the golden racer out onto the track. He had a copy of the track saved in his memory banks, though he was not sure how much good that would do. He would have to face everything head on and learn on the fly. But he was Mandalorian, and he was learning to enjoy challenges like one.

He grinned with excitement. How many biots had ever been in this position? He was willing to bet he was the first.

​

 

[Finon Nalle]

Black Sun Syndicate
Objective 3: BYOO


​

Finon had come to this event with one intention and purpose, to steal anything of value off of anyone without prejudice. As he walked through the arena he pickpocketed and swiped just about anything shiny. Gold necklace? That's mine now. A silver watch? How did that get there? Nalle's pockets got heavier and heavier as he thieved away like no one was looking. Its a good day to be a thief. The cherry on top was when someone left their keys in their speeder. A blue M-68 landspeeder sat there, screaming Nalle's name saying "Take me". And Nalle gladly obliged as he turned the keys pressed the starter and sped off looking for a place to sell it.

 

[Raylin Fall]

​

​

Raylin knew that he didn't particularly scare Black Sun types. They didn't scare easily. But that wasn't because he thought most of them were fearless warriors- he thought most of them as stupid. Perhaps gifted in some aspects and intelligent in others, but he wondered their mindset. Money for murder, guns for hire. They had no real loyalty to each other. No real coalition, no real sense of patriotism or duty. Sure, those were pedantic terms, but they were also true. A unified sense of purpose guided troops. Money only motivated them.

And right now, he was walking into a room with people who only cared about getting more of it. And- their desire to get their prize back. He'd help kidnap her. Not that anyone on the Black Sun side knew that. It was why the Commando was picked for this. He was a demonstrated, reliable Operator.

He took a quick drink before he disembarked the craft. The helmet hid the smell. Couldn't shake here. Didn't want to show weakness. Sure, they weren't scared of him. But they should be at least scared of what he could do. Or at least, the reputation and current capability of the Republic Special Forces units. After all, they had infiltrated their territory, kidnapped one of their top members, and destroyed their top security assets.

Not to mention, having a man on the inside.

Raylin entered the room first, flanked by the other Operators. They came prepared. Armored, armed to the teeth, and obviously lethal. The Diplomatic choice was not Raylin's forte. Nor was it his desire. If he had his way, they'd keep pushing deep into their territory, and not capture HVTs. No, he'd prefer to blow up their money-making schemes, or kill enough of their Commanders to cause a problem. His suggestion about headless corpses and dry ice was shot down quickly... and he had to get a talking to by someone higher in rank and higher in psychology degrees.

He looked around, his right hand on the grip of his rifle, his left hand free. He didn't say anything. He had nothing to say. He however, flicked his eyes around his HUD. He marked them all for the security team- the other Black Sun members in the room. Target precedence, highest threat to lowest.

Mauve was quiet. She looked nervous. It must've been odd, one minute, to be in so control, then the next, subject to the whims of others. But there was reality:

Those that couldn't kill or enact violence, would always be subject to those that could. Raylin put his odds on that the Black Sun in the room had more influence, power, money, and people on their payroll.

The Republic in the room had more killers.

He felt safer with killers on his side than power.

 

[Kurt Korrado]

BOONTA EVE CLASSIC
DIRT TRACK DEMON​

Never seen a depressed Hutt before. Or so many of them. On the holy day, too. Kurt thought as he entered the garage. There was about to be another one when he got behind the wheel. As his rear hit the seat and he shifted to get himself comfortable, he realized he'd never thought he'd be here again. It had been 25 years since he'd been in the pod, 30 since he'd had any success. But retirement hadn't suited him for the last few years. The years of galactic galivanting, and stuff like this... he missed it. That was probably why he'd gotten into significant gambling debt to Hutt gangster, who was in turn indebted to a Black Sun Vigo. For the Hutt to kick up to the Sun he had to collect from Kurt, who needed to get the creds fast if he was going to continue enjoying a life where his knee caps weren't under threat.

And yet, despite the stress of the situation, the ol' cowboy was grinning from ear to ear, his hand flying across the controls like animal instinct reignited after years of hibernation. Lucky for Kurt, he'd had a miraculous call from an old associate whose podracer had just walked out on his contract over some political comments. A real Boonta Eve Classic.

Kurt took off his hat, pulling from inside a metal cigarette case held into it with a magnet. He opened it up and lit one. He looked across the garage at the Ugnaught, tipped his hat, then put it back on, and gave him a big thumbs up. The Ugnaught rolled his eyes. The garage door began to open to the blinding high noon light reflecting off the fine red sand of Mos Espa. The cheers of the crowd roared outside. For all intents and purposes, the old podracer was a complete unknown. He wasn't sure he'd had fans back in the day, in his short stint. Now he'd changed his name from Kirk to Kurt after dodging an insurance fiasco. He thought it rolled off the tongue better, but it didn't much to uphold his reputation. Oh well... he'd just have to give 'em a surprise.

The pod floated out of the garage smoothly, its engines humming, ready to roar as he pulled onto the starting line...

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
MOS ESPA, TATOOINE
OBJECTIVE I: BOONTA EVE CLASSIC

Ronhar was quite eager to get his revenge!

The last time he had participated in one of these Black Sun sponsored races, he had been cheated out of winning by both the participants of the race and the race organizers themselves. That was to be expected, of course, since everyone knew that Black Sun was filled with cowards and criminals who cared for little other than credits. Still, Ronhar hoped that this time would be different, thanks to the support of his patron, none other than the one and only Imperial Confederation!

Ronhar's previous performance in the Serolonis Riot 5000 had convinced the Confederation to further support him in his podracing career. Though he hadn't managed to win that race, the fact that he had obtained a top three performance despite the odds against him had shown the Confederation his potential, and they had decided to back him in the race today. Besides helping Ronhar establish himself as the galaxy's top Podracer, the Confederation hoped that the popular support garnered by Ronhar would correspondingly translate to support for the Confederation itself. It was crucial that Ronhar do well in this race, as a lot was currently riding on this.

To prepare, Ronhar had spent hours practicing back home on the planet's Podracing Circuit, doing his best to sharpen his skills in preparation for whatever Black Sun might throw at him. He had disassembled and reassembled Damien Dooku 's Podracer dozen of times to see if he could find the secret to the man's success, but came up with nothing each and every time. He had even wired a nominal fee of 15,000 underworld credits to the First Bank of Nar Shaddaa in order to ensure that any of his more unscrupulous actions would be overlooked during the race. As long as he didn't go to wild with his sabotage attempts, no one would really care what he did to secure his victory.

The final piece of the puzzle was, of course, Ronhar's custom TIE Podracer. He had tinkered with every system and subsystem that the vehicle had, and had fine tuned the Podracer to ensure that the vehicle gave the best performance that it possibly could. He had been very careful transporting it to the planet, as he had been paranoid about any rival sabotage attempts, but his final inspection of his vehicle revealed that everything was in working order-or at least appeared to be. Ronhar couldn't find anything wrong, but one could never be to sure...

Still, time was running out, and Ronhar needed to get on with the race. He lined his TIE Podracer up with the other contestants, his engines roaring to life as Ronhar waited for the starting signal. Once it went off, he would race his life depended on it, because when one found themselves in a Black Sun sponsored race, it surely did!

TAGS:
OPEN

 

[Das]

//:...mission-link-established...
//:...location=TATOOINE...
//:...objective=2.0...

​

Everyone in Das' circle told her to skip the Boonta Eve Classic—it's too dangerous, too public, too far from Denon. What if the Corpos noticed she wasn't on the job? What if she were sniped off her pod by a Tusken?

There were a lot of curveballs that could come her way, but Das personally found the act of transporting her pod from Denon to Tatooine to be the most challenging aspect of the whole ordeal. It was possibly tougher than the Boonta Eve itself. But after finding a reliable smuggler willing to dodge both Republic customs and pirate hotspots, it wasn't so bad. Especially now that she was surrounded by the roar of a thousand spectators in the stands above her. What Tatooine lacked in color—and air conditioning—it more than made up for with fanfare. Back on Denon, a street race would be crawling with CorpSec officers. Here, it was celebrated.

She waved, shyly at first but then with gusto.

Her eyes turned to look at the other racers. Some pods were nicer than others, and some were actually speeders. No one she knew, except...

"Kivah?"

Das couldn't believe it. She hadn't laid eyes on that Cathar since... Etti? No, after that. Bonadan, perhaps. It didn't matter. There were still a few minutes to burn before the race began, so she hopped up and out of her pod and trotted over to her old friend's ride. She rapped against the metal with her knuckles, her lips curled into a signature smirk.

"Hiya, Kivvy!" Das greeted. "It's been... well, a long time." Too long. With how fast things moved being a Zero, it was hard to notice the absence of something (or someone); seeing Kivah here reminded Das how much she missed her old shadowrunning partner.

"What, uh- what brings you to Tatooine? Besides the Boonta Eve, I mean." Awkward? Probably. Whatever. They'd certainly had stranger conversation starters.

Tags:
Eaton Waters | Kivah | Kurt Korrado | Jericho Dragr | Ronhar Tane​

 

[Reina Daival]

Location: Tattooine
Objective: BYOO


Tattooine. It had been an age since Reina had last visited the wretched planet. When she was still human. It hadn't gotten any better. The heat was still unbearable. The sand still got everywhere. But she had a bounty to enforce. Of course, she had an alternative wave of solving this bounty as she crouched down, comparing her datapad to the whimpering hooded figure in the corner.

"Burru N'Kek? That you?"

A series of Jawa chittering came from the creature as it continued to try and hide from the redhead in front of it. Reina raised an eyebrow, as she took a cloth from her pocket and wiped it down Whisperwind's blade, cleaning it of the blood of the others who had seemingly attempted to take the Jawa...Though now that she thought about it, perhaps they were trying to protect the little guy from people like her. Shame really. Though there was a bigger shame...

"I don't speak Jawa. Never cared to learn. And I doubt you can use Basic Sign Language. How about this? I ask you a question, you nod for yes, shake your head for no. Are you Burru N'Kek?"

The Jawa seemed to hesitate answering for a moment, looking behind Reina at the handful of corpses that laid across the alleyway. Blastershots marking the walls, alongside various bloodsprays painting over the wall.

"Hm? Oh. Don't worry 'bout them. They aren't in pain. You aren't going to be either, if you just answer my question."

A small smile came to her face at that, as she decided to use her Force-given talents. Letting her voice gently sneak its way into the Jawa's mind, using the Ersansyr talents to convince it that it was going to be alright. In the past, she held back from using it. It was similar to a Force Mind-Trick and Reina had never seen it as a Jedi-like skill...but she wasn't a Jedi anymore. And fortunately so, as the Jawa ended up nodding.

"Alright. Good. From the looks of it, some rich ol' bantha-herder put out a bounty on you for stealing some electronic junk from his farmstead. He wants you dead or alive...but fortunately for you, he's not getting you either way. I'm going to pay off your bounty. It's not too expensive. In exchange? You're coming off world. With me. I need a mechanic. A tinkerer. That's what you're good at right?"

There was another little series of chittering from the Jawa, before Reina squinted her eyes at the creature, resting her hand atop of Whisperwind's hilt. It seemed like Burru got the message however, as it stopped its chittering and gave a vigorous nod. Excellent.

"Then I'll head off to the nearest cantina. Pretty sure the nerf-head is in there. I'll pay off your bounty. You make your way to my ship. It's in the hanger bay. Make yourself at home in there. Just be careful, alright?"

With that, the Ersansyr reached forward to ruffle the Jawa's hood before she stood up straight and did exactly what she said she was going to. Make her way to the nearest cantina to pay off this bounty. Maybe it wouldn't be worth it...but at the end of the day? Reina was starting to feel lonely. Sure, she could buy a droid that would perhaps be more reliable than a living creature...but she hated droids. Plus, who knows. Maybe this could be the beginning of her getting a crew
​

 

[Eaton Waters]

Honestly, he preferred landspeeder racing, or honestly sail racing if he was in atmosphere. Sunjamming was great too, and of course his favored is blockade running and starfighter racing. But today? He was out on a pod race track. He didn’t have any fancy racer, just a pod he got second hand, he’d get himself a real one once he got a few of these under his belt.

Having a few droids, that he knew his sister had sent over, to help him, and a few layers of cloth with the inner layers soaked through with salt water to keep his skin from drying out. A scarf, also soaked through, wrapped around his face just under his goggles.

Maybe after this he’d see what kind of entertainment Mos Espa could provide someone with some winnings and a penchant for a few drinks in a nice location.

Well, planet not withholding. As he was pulled from the garage, he was grateful for the goggles, it was bright. He was not a fan of that.

But this was race day, he’d be fine once he got underway.

Das Jericho Dragr Kivah Kurt Korrado Ronhar Tane

 

[Kivah]

OBJECTIVE 1:
BOONTA EVE CLASSIC
Maia Racing Swoop | Udyr Biosuit

Sands blew across the starting line, swirling in little eddies along the ground before being picked up again by the next gust. Kivah watched them pile up against her boot. The black biosuit she preferred covered her from the neck down, matching the swoop she was seated against as she waited for the signal to get ready.

Tatooine was just another stop for her, a chance for some excitement, a chance for some credits, maybe some blood, certainly a whole lot of booze. Lately she'd been cutting it up across the Outer Rim, popping up, causing some trouble, fading into the shadows again. Nothing so dramatic as trying to test herself in the Force or as a Sith, but Kivah knew she'd eventually have to give her place in the galaxy and what she wanted some serious thought. But for now, she was mid-yawn and wondering if there was time to grab a bite before the race when someone called out to her. She blinked, recognizing the voice and the presence that went with it.

"Das, hey!" Grinning, Kivah swept the short girl up in a hug that wasn't quite bone breaking. "Ahh, I've missed you." She said, setting her friend back down. After that aborted run on Bonadan, there hadn't been much time for goodbyes. Kivah had lit ion thrusters and burned out of there as fast as her little dropship turned home could scoot. "Thought I could work on my tan," she laughed before shrugging, "Really just heard there was a to-do and well, you know me. How about yourself? Need some backup? Or...." Kivah looked Das over, taking in her outfit, "You racing too?"

Das​