Immaculate
Sophelia's blonde hair was tightly plaited, bound up against her head and concealed beneath her biker's helmet. All her clothing was black and indistinguishable down to her boots. There was nothing to give away who she really was. She'd done underground racing enough times on Tapani to know how to keep her secrets. From her family. From her friends. It was certainly an activity that would be highly frowned upon a noble doing. Probably worse for a jedi. One she was sure her father would ban her from if he was still alive. Perhaps her brother would also ban her from it. But it was the one thing she needed. The one way she knew how to release all that pent up tension from working the clinics, from her studies at the Sanctuary, from what happened on Jakku. From everything that happened on Tapani and the flight from the Sith Covenant.
She felt more at home on her swoopbike than almost any other place. And even though these were new streets to her. A new place. She felt at home wrapped up in the midnight of Theed. The underbelly of Theed. From above, Theed was everything the holos promised—polished marble, golden lights reflecting across quiet canals, the palace standing watch over a world that seemed untouched by the rest of the galaxy.
Below?
That was where the real city lived. Repulsor engines whined beneath ancient stone bridges. Music bled from hidden clubs carved into forgotten aqueducts. Bookies barked odds over the din while mechanics made last-second adjustments with hydrospanners clenched between their teeth. The smell of ozone, burnt coolant, and cheap spice hung thick in the humid night air. A line of swoops waited at the mouth of an abandoned transit tunnel, their engines rumbling like predators eager to be unleashed.
Credits changed hands.
Names didn't.
Soph turned her helmeted head left, then right, sizing up her competition for the night. Bright blue eyes hidden beneath the face mask of her helmet. Her swoop purred beneath her, ready to be let loose. She knew every vibration in the frame, every hitch in the engine, every second it took the throttle to answer. Her gloved hand gave the throttle a teasing twist, the engine answering with a sharp growl.
A promoter climbed atop a rusting cargo crate, floodlights snapping to life overhead. "Midnight Run!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the tunnel. "Three laps through the undercity. No blasters. No explosives. Everything else..." A grin spread beneath his visor. "...is fair game."
She felt more at home on her swoopbike than almost any other place. And even though these were new streets to her. A new place. She felt at home wrapped up in the midnight of Theed. The underbelly of Theed. From above, Theed was everything the holos promised—polished marble, golden lights reflecting across quiet canals, the palace standing watch over a world that seemed untouched by the rest of the galaxy.
Below?
That was where the real city lived. Repulsor engines whined beneath ancient stone bridges. Music bled from hidden clubs carved into forgotten aqueducts. Bookies barked odds over the din while mechanics made last-second adjustments with hydrospanners clenched between their teeth. The smell of ozone, burnt coolant, and cheap spice hung thick in the humid night air. A line of swoops waited at the mouth of an abandoned transit tunnel, their engines rumbling like predators eager to be unleashed.
Credits changed hands.
Names didn't.
Soph turned her helmeted head left, then right, sizing up her competition for the night. Bright blue eyes hidden beneath the face mask of her helmet. Her swoop purred beneath her, ready to be let loose. She knew every vibration in the frame, every hitch in the engine, every second it took the throttle to answer. Her gloved hand gave the throttle a teasing twist, the engine answering with a sharp growl.
A promoter climbed atop a rusting cargo crate, floodlights snapping to life overhead. "Midnight Run!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the tunnel. "Three laps through the undercity. No blasters. No explosives. Everything else..." A grin spread beneath his visor. "...is fair game."
