Populate N-1 Racing League | Race 1 | Mon Gazza | Populate of Secundus Ando

[Gavin Restur]

TAGS: Aurelian Veruna , Seris Travin-Avaron
​

There was a slight squint from the man as Aurelian Veruna turned. Slowly. Stiffened jaw, something behind the eyes. Annoyance? Boredom? Given the man's "expertise" in reading body language, he was able to pick up almost immediately that maybe calling out to a King is an informal manner isn't the best idea. Well, it was formal, since 'mister' is used in formal contexts, but not formal enough for someone of noble status...man, royalty talk is confusing. And if Aurelian was focusing on his eyes enough, he likely could see such deductions being made.

"...W-"

["You have orchestrated something remarkably ambitious here."]

Admittedly, he did give a slight flinch at the random voice coming off from the side. Glancing over, to look at Seris Travin-Avaron . Watching and listening as she spoke.

["And you, are operating on either exceptional confidence or exceptional necessity. Possibly both. That combination tends to produce interesting results."]

He tilted his head, at that. Exceptional confidence, or exceptional necessity. Which one was it? Hm. Downing the contents of the shot-glass in hand, before setting the glass down on an empty table. "I suppose 'both' is the best way to put it. Though, perhaps a slight bit more a show of confidence." With a cheeky smile showing on his face.

["Seris Avaron, I am here as an observer, a sponsor of stability, and, on occasion, as someone who asks questions that make powerful people uncomfortable."]

"Ah. Gavin Restur, nice to meet-..." He was already in the midst of sticking his hand out for a handshake, like you're greeting the mechanic who's about to work on your ship. But fortunately, he remembers: this is a formal environment. And even if Seris had a more casual tone and manner of speaking, Aurelian is definitely someone who takes priority in that.

The hand that was extending for a shake, smoothly slides up and away. Instead, his hand went up towards his hat, giving a slight tip of the brim to the two of them. "...a pleasure to make the...acquaintance of both yourself, and of....His....-Highness..!" Yes. That is what you call a king. It was very obvious that he was now going to (try and) speak in a more, "formal" tone.

["Are you two together? This one, was just about to make an offer of service, it seems. I find myself curious what he believes he can offer the King of Naboo."]

Looking back towards Aurelian. "Oh- no, I ain't have a clue on who she is." Dropping the formal manner of speaking almost as quickly as he started it, but it would show itself up here and there later in the conversation. "But! You are correct in the fact that I do have a service to offer." Clearing his throat, as he prepared to give his spiel. "I'll try and not take up too much of your time, as I know you are a busy man." Busy doing...king, things.

"So. I used to be a bounty hunter and mercenary for the Galactic Alliance. Chasing after bad guys, fighting on fields of battle...all of that good stuff. But, as I'm sure the both of y'all are aware, the Alliance don't exactly exist no more. And I decided to go into hidin' for a while, since them Imperials weren't exactly happy with my status of still being alive." As he spoke, he was pretty expressive in his hand gestures.

"Now that the whole mess of that is over, I came to the realization that, I'm sort of out of a job now, due to the fact that the governing body in the galaxy that used to employ my contractual services, is currently in a state of...nonexistence. So, I come with the...humble request, that I may find new contractual employment in bounty hunting and mercenary work, with The High Republic."

He stopped speaking for a moment, to reach into his satchel. Taking out a datapad, and flicking it on. "And in case you are curious as to the nature of my skillset in both bounty hunting and on the field of battle, I have a list here of my confirmed bounties, confirmed kills, and bounties I've accepted in the past." The datapad was extended outwards, for either of them to take.

On the datapad was a decently extensive list of names, with some notes next to the names. The confirmed bounties ranged from the average thug, to some decently dangerous and notorious criminals and warlords, as well as some low-level Sith. The confirmed kills were mostly common grunts, with an officer sprinkled in here and there. The bounties he had accepted were the likes of more notorious criminals and Dark Side users, including some bounties posted by The High Republic itself.

 

[Osira Perris]

[/CENTER]

OSIRA PERRIS

ROGUE THREE
The Ascent Gate vanished beneath her and the world tipped vertical.

Osira rolled the N-1 nose-up and felt Mon Gazza try to drag her back down, gravity tugging at the frame as the city peeled away in layers of light and shadow. The refinery sprawl collapsed into depth below, pylons rising ahead like a forest of steel giants, each one traced with climbing navigation beacons that marked the route into thinning sky.

A digital placement board zoomed passed, showing symbols and names.

She smiled and she ignored it.

The engines changed song as the air thinned—tightening, sharpening. Osira eased the throttle a breath lower, letting the N-1 climb instead of claw. The starfighter answered immediately, stable and eager, settling into a clean ascent that felt more like gliding than force.

Then the traffic began.

Cargo carriers loomed ahead, massive silhouettes crawling upward along their assigned lanes, bellies heavy with containers and refinery output. They were never meant to share airspace with racers, but Mon Gazza didn’t stop working just because someone wanted a spectacle.

A hauler drifted across the edge of the racing corridor, its wake rolling outward in dirty, turbulent waves. Another climbed just above it, offset badly, leaving only a narrowing, shifting gap between hull and pylon.

Most pilots would have pulled wide.

Osira slipped between them.

She rolled the N-1 ninety degrees, skimming along the carrier’s flank, close enough to read hull markings streaked with industrial grime. Turbulence slammed into her from both sides, the carrier’s wake on one, crosswinds from the pylons on the other; but she flowed through it, making constant corrections, never fighting the air, never letting the engines surge.

A traffic drone wandered into the corridor without warning, its beacon flaring bright as it corrected too late.

Osira dipped under it, inverted for half a heartbeat, then snapped back upright, climbing through the drone’s fading wake like it had been planned. The move cost her nothing. No lost momentum. No spike in engine temperature.

Wind shear hit again, harder this time, shoving her toward the nearest pylon with vicious intent.

Warnings chirped.

She rode it.

Let the N-1 slide just long enough to bleed lateral force, then rolled back into the climb, engines humming instead of screaming. One racer ahead corrected too aggressively, their engines flaring white-hot as they tried to compensate.

Osira sailed past them while they struggled.

The traffic thinned as altitude climbed, carriers dropping away beneath her like slow, lumbering beasts tied to the planet by necessity. The air grew cleaner as well as colder. The roar of Mon Gazza faded into a distant echo behind her.

Her engines were warm. They were happy, untouched by the panic around them.

Osira pushed a fraction harder now, threading between beacon lights and pylons with practiced ease, carrying speed others had bled away fighting the climb. It was just like passing between star destroyers in front of a Death Star, except less lasers.

This was why she raced.

Not just to go fast; but to move through chaos as if it were music only she could hear.

And as the Vertical Ascent gave way to widening sky and the course finally began to open, Osira Perris carried her momentum upward, perfectly balanced, already hunting the next mistake ahead of her.

​

DIALOGUE GUIDE
"Speech." // <<Comms>> // <MESSAGES> // Thoughts

ROGUE SQUADRON

​

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris did not rush to fill the space after Gavin finished speaking.

She allowed the datapad to remain where it was for the moment, her attention shifting first, as it should, to the man beside her. A slight inclination of her head acknowledged Aurelian's presence and authority before anything else.

"Your Majesty," she said calmly, her tone respectful and composed, "no. We do not yet know one another. We arrived here separately."

Her gaze moved then to Gavin, thoughtful rather than appraising, curious rather than critical.

"Mr. Restur," she continued evenly, "you have been forthright about who you are and where you come from. That is not something many people manage in rooms like this."

She gestured lightly toward the datapad, still leaving it in his hands.

"Experience earned in unstable times often carries both skill and scars," she said quietly. "It is not my place to weigh either. That decision rests with His Majesty."

Her eyes returned briefly to Aurelian, reinforcing the point without dramatizing it.

"I will say only this," Seris added, her voice gentle but sincere. "Those who have survived conflict and still choose to seek lawful purpose deserve to be heard with care."

Then, to Gavin again, without presumption.

"Whatever follows," she said, "I hope you understand that this is not a room where honesty is punished."

She fell silent after that, hands relaxed around her glass, posture open and composed, making no attempt to steer the outcome further.

Her role was not to decide. It was to witness, to support, and to ensure the conversation remained grounded in respect. And she did exactly that.

Gavin Restur Aurelian Veruna