Public The Zenith Festival - Event on Spira

[Spacer NPCs]

The Zenith Festival on Spira was occurring now. Many of the resorts were full up, from the galaxy’s rich and famous, or the people who think they’re the galaxy’s rich and famous. One of the underdeveloped islands north of the, along the path of the Spira Regatta, was turned into a festival for all comers.

Corvettes and smaller vessels were landed, turned into a variety of impromptu structures from living areas, to restaurants, to trading posts and tech displays and garages. The center of the island had a number of stages where music from around the galaxy was being played all during the festival.

“Let’s go!” Called out a human Master of Ceremony wearing bright colors and sunglasses with an equally bright frame. “I’m Spyder and with my lovely co-MC Elly, we’re going to be leading your party here for the next several days.

“Your datapads should be turned to the Zenith Radio station so that while you’re around Spira, you can clue in to what is going on and never miss a step!” Continued Elly a blue Twi’lek with what appeared to be gold tattoos up and down her arms and lekku.

“As day one starts up, there is a show of some personally owned starfighters and airspeeders, racing is on-going, betting is encouraged. Each night we’ll be having a variety of acts from live music to synthetic deejays keeping the party going from sundown through the middle of the night!”

“And lets not forget the vendors and sponsors! We’ve got foods from all around the galaxy and so many designers showing their wares from the hottest clothing to the most fun tech! If you’re looking to take a tour of what’s provided, there are a few CR Corvettes landed to hold some of the bigger techs, with food tents all around!”

As people were walking, some from airspeeders that dropped them off from the resorts, others from personal shuttles or rented temporary living arrangements, airspeeders and starfighters were flying low and racing each other through cargo-transport rings.

“If you’re interested, please check in at the Raider Corvette, to sign up for racing! And most importantly… ENJOY Spira!”

Off the coast there were many vessels from wind-powered to engine powered, floating in the water with people diving off into the warm seas.

However, for those in the know, there were symbols on the sides of structures, definitely triggering anyone aware, of a Thieves or Spacers Cant, showing people where they should be going if they’re looking for more seedy purchases or discussions.

Welcome to Spira and the Zenith Festival. A Core celebration to open up the main summer season of Spira’s tourism, but also, and most importantly, to drive economics and crime forward. The world is yours.

 

[Eaton Waters]

Eaton was excited to be here. Spira was a gorgeous world, a bit too ritzy for his taste, but he was here all the same. Rumor was that there were people looking to have their products delivered from the Core to the Rim. He had no idea what he could end up transporting.

But more importantly for him? He had products to sell. Stolen goods, and forgeries of art and Republic chain codes. Making his way down the lines of starfighters off the main stage, the Blubreen was taking in the airspeeders and racing starfighters. Known in his own circle for racing A-Wings, this was home for him.

The blonde man walked past a purple A-Wing and noticed some of the drawings on one of the walls, small, but there, and pointing him towards the bright blue CR-90 that wasn’t so far off.

That was his destination.

 

[Zara Voss]

“The Gilded Ghost”

The Spiran sun hit polished transparisteel, chrome hull plating, jewels, and expensive lies with equal generosity. Daesha Kairn stepped from the hired luxury skimmer as if she had been expected by the entire marina. Perhaps, in some small self-important way, they had expected her.

Gold-strapped heels kissed the docking concourse without hurry, each measured step sending the translucent overskirt trailing behind her in a lazy shimmer while festival attendants hurried around race crews, sponsor delegates, and the procession of affluent spectators filtering toward the Zenith paddocks. Engines purred in the near distance. Somewhere overhead, a sleek interceptor screamed across the blue in a demonstration pass that drew applause from tourists too eager to be impressed.

Daesha did not look up. She was far more interested in the people who did not applaud. Amber eyes slid once across the registration terraces, over the clustered race financiers, over polished yacht representatives smiling too widely beside promotional holoboards, over the security personnel pretending this was merely a festival and not the largest concentration of unsecured credits on Spira's coast this week.

A smile touched her lips. How obliging. Her gloved fingers accepted a crystal flute from a passing attendant without breaking stride. The champagne was cold, overpriced, and therefore perfect. She took a sip as if testing the quality of the event itself before continuing deeper into the VIP corridor, datapad tucked lightly beneath one arm, lekku jewelry catching the light with each subtle turn of her head.

Daesha Kairn. Luxury broker. Sabacc darling. Buyer of absurdly expensive things for people with even more absurd disposable income. At least, that was who the invitation listed.

The invitation, unlike most things in the galaxy, had not thought to question her. A pair of sponsors paused to look her over. One recognized neither the woman nor the name, which was ideal. The other recognized only the confidence, which was better.

She offered them both the same languid smile one might give prospective business opportunities and neither man seemed able to decide whether he had just been appraised or invited. Excellent. Beyond the official fanfare, however, Zenith had already begun whispering in its second language.

Not Basic. Not Huttese. Need. Need wrapped in polished fabric and perfumed air. Need moving in the coded handoffs between private docking clerks. Need in the eyes of the men who watched cargo ramps instead of racers. Need in the subtle cant of conversation exchanged just beyond the hearing of respectable guests.

Daesha's smile deepened by a fraction. There it was. The real festival. The races, the yachts, the endless glasses of sparkling nonsense—those were simply decoration hung around the far more interesting truth that wherever wealth gathered in quantities this obscene, thieves, brokers, smugglers, counterfeiters, and scavengers gathered twice as fast.

Somewhere on Spira this week, fortunes would quietly change hands. Somewhere, expensive people would make stupid private requests. Somewhere, someone would need a discreet acquisition, a missing crate rerouted, a competitor embarrassed, a customs inquiry vanished, a starship broker who asked no impolite questions. And Daesha Kairn was nothing if not accommodating.

She drifted to the railing overlooking the marina and the race approach beyond, lifting her flute as if to toast the festival below while her eyes tracked the movement of bodies instead of vessels. Pilots with ego. Officials with access. Socialites with jewelry. Criminals with caution. Rich idiots with unattended wallets.

A productive morning already.

"Well," she murmured to no one at all, the words warm as honey and every bit as adhesive, "let us see who intends to lose something valuable first."

Daesha Kairn
• Location: VIP Paddock & Marina Concourse, Zenith Festival, Spira
• Objective: Identify profitable contacts, illicit opportunities, and wealthy fools
• Outfit: Arival Outfit
• Company: OPEN

 

[Corvo Anattolius]

There was a small camp set up overlooking the beach, an awning stretching from the roof of a Scamander repulsor IFV. Various cargo boxes and coolers lined the roof and a tarp covered the vehicle's gun. Not really hiding it very well, but sending the message that while it was there, it wasn't brought with the intent to be used. Corvo lounged in one of the camp chairs under the awning, watching as several of his crew played bolo-ball. The players seemed to be changing teams as the mood and banter took them, when they weren't trying to go for the most penalties, and were having a grand time.

Unlike them, Corvo was staying out of the sun. Years in space and his Echani heritage, even with the sunscreen he found the sun disagreeable. Instead he lounged in his board shorts and an open shirt, idly waiting for his XO Karda to finish with the grill while enjoying the breeze and the sound of the ocean under the layers of so many people enjoying the beach, their music, and the roar of passing engines. He'd been tempted to add his personal fighter to the line-up, but decided in favor of potentially finding work or networking his Argentum Company. Once lunch was over.

 

[Brakkus]

The Zenith Festival.

For one week, the usual rhythm of crashing waves and the calm serenity of Spira's island paradises gave way to something louder. Podracing engines screamed across the coastline. Music pulsed through crowded streets. Gambling tables overflowed with desperate players and easy credits.

Yachts lined the shores, stretching as far as the eye could see. Those less fortunate packed the beaches and the grandstands, shoulder to shoulder, all chasing the same fleeting high. Spirits were high. The air itself seemed alive with energy.

But not everyone had come for leisure.

Some were not here to indulge in vice or spectacle. Some had come for business. And with so many of the galaxy's wealthy and powerful gathered in one place, the Zenith Festival offered opportunity as much as entertainment.

Brakkus Ka'bo was one of them.

Head of the Ando Mining Collective, Brakkus was not a man who conducted important dealings in public view. This was not his usual environment, but what he sought could not be found in boardrooms or across polished negotiation tables. This was business best conducted quietly, away from the reach of the High Republic and its ever-watchful gaze.

Arrangements had already been made. Throughout the week, various high-level criminals and influential crime figures would meet with him. The festival itself served as perfect cover.

Naturally, Brakkus had not come unprotected.

Stationed throughout his private suite in the VIP paddock stood a number of EBX-series Super Commando Droids. Silent. Motionless. Built for efficiency and violence. Anyone foolish enough to cause trouble here would not last long.

And so Brakkus waited.

Seated in an overly expensive chair, in an overly expensive room, dressed in an overly expensive suit, he watched the races play out below. He had no real interest in podracing, but until his next guest arrived, it was the only distraction available.

Aside from the droids, only a single protocol unit kept him company.

Not that he needed it.

Tag: OPEN​

 

[Eaton Waters]

It was a great day, honestly. The thought of some work, but also the weather, the music, some melodic main-stage type electronic song blasting at one of the stages as Eaton could hear the sounds of repulsors and starfighter engines zooming overhead as he tucked himself between some containers, on his way to the CR-90. Sitting in the shadows of an event like this was always crime to be had. People had their needs, the cargo, the hits, the drives. And the adrenaline junkies that came to these events?

They could fulfill that, without the 'normals' being any wiser. Tucking under one of the awnings, Eaton nodded to a pair of Rodians, both wearing festival garb but definitely up to something else. They nodded back, in understanding and one tapped the side of what appeared to be just a cargo container.

The door opened and out stepped a Herglic.

"What can I do ya for, little aquatic?"

Eaton was not surprised that the Herglic, a pirate captain, had done his research.

"Just here for you to uphold your agreement. The Pelagic needs that engine if I’m going to keep running for you.” And winning races.

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Embers arrived at Zenith Festival still chasing the ghost of the last high. Not enough. Never enough. The spice had burned through her blood too fast somewhere between the rented shuttle and the festival docks, leaving behind that awful thinning place where the galaxy stopped being soft around the edges and started shouting again. Joy. Hunger. Envy. Lust. Fear. Credits changing hands. Engines screaming overhead. Music pounding from the stages. Thousands of emotions crashed over the island in bright, violent waves, each one slipping beneath her skin like it belonged there.

Embers hated that part. She loved it too. Her eyes flickered a restless, electric violet as she stepped out into the festival crowd, short blue figure swallowed and revealed again by passing racers, wealthy tourists, mechanics, smugglers, gamblers, influencers, pilots, and criminals pretending they were only one of the nicer things on that list. The sunlight made her cranial horns gleam beneath a dusting of metallic festival glitter someone had talked her into applying while she was still too blissed out to argue.

Her party attire was almost respectable from a distance. Almost. A cropped black shimmer-jacket hung open over a fitted top of molten copper synthsilk that caught the light every time she moved, cut high enough to bare a strip of toned blue midriff. The matching skirt was short, layered with translucent orange and smoke-gray panels that fluttered around her thighs like little tongues of flame. One side was secured with a chain belt made of mismatched engine washers, old credit chits, and two fake gemstones that were probably stolen. Knee-high boots of cracked black leather hugged her calves, each buckle painted a different neon color, while fingerless gloves left her blue knuckles exposed. Around her throat sat a narrow collar of tarnished silver with a tiny pilot’s charm dangling from it.

She looked like someone had dressed a starship mechanic for a criminal’s birthday party. Which, honestly, was close enough. A starfighter screamed low overhead, dragging cheers after it. Embers flinched, then grinned.

“Yeah,” she breathed, looking up with pupils blown wide and hungry. “I could beat that.” The thought stuck. Racing. Betting. Prize money. Sponsor money. Side money. Enough credits for fuel. Enough credits for spice. Enough spice to make the screaming quiet again.

Her gaze drifted toward the Raider Corvette where registration was supposed to be, then toward the quieter signs hidden in plain sight along the structures. Cant marks. Not for tourists. Not for honest people. Good. Honest people rarely paid well.

She moved through the crowd with uneven confidence, one hand brushing the blaster at her hip beneath the jacket, the other stealing a glowing drink from a passing tray without slowing down. The first sip tasted like fruit, static, and poor impulse control.

Perfect. Around her, the festival roared. Inside her skull, everyone roared louder. Need. Need. Need. Need. Embers smiled sharply.

“Alright,” she muttered, heading toward the shadowed route between vendor tents and parked ships. “Somebody here’s got work. Somebody here’s got credits. And somebody here is absolutely stupid enough to let me fly. Or just give me a load of spice.”

Embers

• Location: Zenith Festival, Spira
• Objective: Score something: a job, a ride, credits, spice…
• Outfit: Festival Attire
• Company: OPEN

 

[Eaton Waters]

He was a bit unsure what was going to happen, but when the Herglic merely laughed? Eaton was feeling better. The slap on the back quickly removed that feeling, but there was a gentleman’s agreement that his Niathal was going to be upgraded during the time here. That meant he had some time to get himself out and have some fun, have a few drinks, maybe solve someone’s loneliness. He didn’t want to linger in office of Delphos, especially not with the Karkarodon staring him down.

Making his way back out to the main stage where the music was that melodic bit he enjoyed. He backed himself out of where he was, looking for the Raider corvette and trying to get in for a bit of swoop racing. He had his bike with him, and the environment here? Not a bad thing.

What he wasn’t doing was paying attention, and the bermuda short-floral shirt wearing Blubreen backed up right into blue skinned Embers . Took him a moment to gather himself, not as long as most, but he was more racking his brain to figure out just what kind of species she was. That way he didn’t accidentally use some form of Twi’lek sign language and piss her off.

“Woops, my bad. Herglics this way.” He said, the Force giving him that small clue she may be in the same direction as he was. “You good?”

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Embers staggered half a step from the impact, drink sloshing cold across the back of her fingers before she caught herself with a boot heel scraping against polished stone. For a split second irritation flashed—then his emotions hit her. Not anger. Not drunken stupidity. Panic.

A very specific kind of panic, too, all jangling nerves and frantic mental backpedaling as the stranger seemed to convince himself he had just committed some catastrophic social offense against whatever species he thought she belonged to. Fear of insult. Fear of looking stupid. Fear that maybe she had some sacred cultural hand signal and he had just accidentally proposed marriage, declared war, or challenged her grandmother.

The wave of it struck Embers right behind the eyes. Gods. She almost laughed. Actually—she did laugh. A short, raspy little thing as she turned toward him, violet eyes a touch too bright and pupils still too wide from what the spice had left behind. She looked him over in a quick once-over: floral shirt, vacation confidence hanging by a thread, the distinct scent of someone trying very hard to be casual. Cute. In a doomed sort of way.

“Easy, sunshine,” she said, lifting one blue hand in surrender before he could continue mentally apologizing to every alien culture in the galaxy. “I’ll live.” She flashed him a grin that was crooked at one side.

The music from the nearby stage slammed through her skull. A cluster of tourists squealed with delight somewhere to her left. Someone nearby was losing too much money at cards and trying not to cry. A mechanic was furious at a stripped coupler three kiosks over. Every single feeling struck her at once like nails tapping the inside of her horns. Embers winced and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Though,” she muttered, dragging a breath through clenched teeth before peeking at him again, “if you happen to know where a girl can find something to dull the pounding in her head, I might name my firstborn after you.”

She lowered her hand and gave him a more openly amused look now, catching the lingering undercurrent in him—that uncertain curiosity, the trying to place what she was. Join the club. Embers had spent half her life getting stared at like an unsolved problem. Didn’t bother her anymore. Couldn’t be insulted over biology or culture when she wasn’t entirely sure what box she was supposed to fit in herself.

“And before you hurt yourself trying to figure it out,” she added with a small gesture toward her own face and horns, “I have no idea what I am either, so there’s basically no wrong answer.”

Her grin widened. “Now.” She tipped her head toward the festival lanes, toward the bars, vendors, and criminal opportunities hidden under all the glittering wealth.

“You look like a man either heading toward bad decisions or fast vehicles.” A beat. “I’m interested in both.”

Embers

• Location: Zenith Festival, Spira
• Objective: Score something: a job, a ride, credits, spice…
• Outfit: Festival Attire
• Company: Eaton Waters

 

[Corvo Anattolius]

A little later in the afternoon, once lunch had been cleaned up and the heat of the day had put a lull into the partying as sentients conserved themselves for later festivities, Corvo was found making his way through the VIP areas. Karda Vahl was at his side, and while the two of them had changed out of swim and lounge wear, they were still embracing the relaxed beach vibes.

The droids Brakkus had guarding his private suite checked Corvo and his XO over for weapons, and they each handed over their pistols. Being escorted in, Corvo gave their host a tight smile and a nod. "Mr. Ka'bo, I'm Captain Anattolius of Argentum," he didn't offer a hand over the table, not knowing if Aqualish shook, and it might have been awkward even if this one did. Instead, Corvo laid out a black business card bearing the silvered name and logo of Argentum Company with contact information on the reverse side. "I don't know if you're in the market for private security, but we're trying to get our name out. And the word is Ando Mining is aggressively expanding, it might be worth it to get some equally aggressive security out to protect your claims and act as a stumbling block for competitors." He was speaking specifics, but with the sort of doublespeak that made it clear he had no qualms about how competitors might be dealt with.

 

[Eaton Waters]

The vibe here definitely caused him to get lost in thought. And that idea that his ship was going to be given a better reactor, a better engine… He was all for that. Between his shuttle and his A-Wing, he was always after speed. Nowadays though, the A-Wing was more retired. And he was in the mood for some airspeeders.

A bit of pod-racing aligned.

Other species weren’t much for being crowded. Blubreens, a bit different. And well, communication within the galaxy was a challenge. Eaton did not want to start a fight out here. Not under the music and the lights, and the hedonistic feeling he was getting from the crowd.

With the nickname, he grinned and could be seen visibly relaxing.

“And dull the pounding? Love, this is a party, after all…” He laughed, and as he moved his hand, a credit rolled over a few fingers. “I’ll even get your next round. Talk over that while we see what you’re really hunting.”

Peering at her, that was an uncanny thing to say. The Force? Luck? Didn’t matter. He gave it a wave off. “If you’re not worried, I’m not either.” His voice still had a bit of a polished core-ward lilt to it, definitely leaning on his Chandrillan ancestry. Make him seem more upstanding.

It helped.

“Oh, i’m always somewhere between the two. You ride?” He nodded to one of the airspeeders as he lead her towards the nearest bar.

Embers

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Embers’ eyes tracked the credit rolling over Eaton’s fingers with immediate, instinctive interest. Not greed exactly. More like professional admiration. Now that was the sort of nervous habit that got people robbed.

The thought drifted through her head pleasantly before dissolving beneath another crashing wave of emotion from the festival crowd. Excitement. Drunken courage. Lust. Competition. Chemical bliss. Somewhere nearby someone was about to make a truly catastrophic financial decision and felt incredible about it.

Her temples throbbed. Still grinning faintly, Embers fell into step beside him toward the bar, boots clicking unevenly against the promenade while neon lights rippled across the translucent layers of her skirt.

“Mm.” She nodded once at his reminder. “Right. Party.” The word came out somewhere between amused and exhausted. “Problem is I need something stronger than a drink to cut through all the noise.” She gestured vaguely around them. The music. The engines overhead. The crowd pressing against itself in endless emotional static, that was the part that was the true problem.

“But if you’re buying, it’s a start.” That crooked grin returned.

She caught the way he relaxed more the longer she spoke to him, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders now that he was reasonably sure he hadn’t accidentally committed a diplomatic incident by bumping into her. Underneath it all she could feel the thrill humming in him too—speed, racing, machines, motion.

That part she understood perfectly. At his question, Embers looked toward the airspeeders lined further down the lane, engines gleaming beneath festival lighting. For the first time since they’d met, her expression sharpened into something truly focused. Hungry.

“Ride?” she echoed before laughing softly. “I pilot swoops, speeders, fighters, freighters…” A beat. “The faster the better.” The answer came without hesitation. Because speed made sense. Speed simplified things. When engines screamed loud enough and stars blurred hard enough, the galaxy stopped clawing at the inside of her head for a little while.

Her gaze lingered on a sleek racing craft hovering nearby, violet eyes reflecting its engine glow. “Sometimes going fast is the only thing that makes me narrow my focus enough to feel…” She searched briefly for the word. “Right.” The confession slipped out quieter than the rest.

Then the moment broke as Embers leaned lightly against his shoulder for half a second while weaving around a passing group of laughing tourists. “So.” Her grin returned in full force. “You just sightseeing, sunshine, or are we entering something stupid tonight?”

Embers

• Location: Zenith Festival, Spira
• Objective: Score something: a job, a ride, credits, spice…
• Outfit: Festival Attire
• Company: Eaton Waters

 

[Eaton Waters]

Putting the right use of credits into the right places was an important step to any business deal. It showed you knew to make money, sometimes you had to spend money. And really? Credits came and went, Eaton had need for them, sure, but he could, and did, always make more. As a festival go-er here, though, he wasn’t expecting any credits to be made from just one conversation with a random person.

Even if she did seem like the racing type. Was good for him.

He could have some fun, maybe make a bet or two, make some credits.

“Wouldn’t be inviting you if I wasn’t buying.” He laughed and directed her towards the bar. “I get that, thrill of the ride and speed. Some people like technical, but I prefer the speed runs.” Not much for anything with some other style, drift or showcase or otherwise.

“You got a swoop with you? Saw some for rent. I’m always down to get into something stupid. I know they’re always looking for bodies for some of their races.” He put some credits down and signaled to the bartender for attention.

Embers

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Embers watched the credits hit the bar with the kind of attention most people reserved for incoming blaster fire. Not tense. Not desperate. Just…aware.

Her grin shifted, something a little softer around the edges now, a little more playful as she leaned an elbow onto the bar beside him, letting her shoulder brush his just enough to be intentional. “Mm, generous and fast,” she murmured, voice dipping into something warmer as she tilted her head toward him. “Careful, sunshine. That’s a dangerous combination around me.”

The bartender hadn’t even made it over yet and already the noise in her head surged again—anticipation, impatience, the sharp little spikes of people wanting something now. Embers exhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself in the physical: the bar under her fingers, the hum of engines in the distance, the steady presence beside her.

Speed. Focus. Soon. His words about racing pulled her gaze back out toward the lanes again, where airspeeders drifted and revved under neon lights. Her lips curled slightly at his preference.

“Speed runs,” she echoed approvingly. “Yeah… less thinking. More feeling.” Exactly how she liked it.

At his question, she gave a small, almost regretful click of her tongue and shook her head, dark braids shifting against the shimmer of her jacket. “Didn’t bring a swoop.”

A beat. Then that grin came back, sharper now, more mischievous. “But that just means we get to go shopping.” She straightened off the bar slightly, nodding her chin toward the rows of rental stalls and half-questionable vendors lining the edge of the festival grounds.

“Let’s see if any of those rentals are remotely respectable…” Her eyes flicked back to him, bright with challenge and a hint of something teasing. “…or at least fast enough to be worth the risk.”

Another wave of emotion crashed through her—adrenaline from nearby racers, the electric hum of bets being placed, the intoxicating promise of velocity. This time, she didn’t fight it. She leaned into it.

“You’re right, though,” Embers added, voice dropping just a touch as she leaned closer again, close enough for him to hear her over the music. “They’re always looking for bodies.”

A flash of teeth. “Lucky for them, I’m very good at not dying.”

Embers

• Location: Zenith Festival, Spira
• Objective: Score something: a job, a ride, credits, spice…
• Outfit: Festival Attire
• Company: Eaton Waters

 

[Eaton Waters]

The credits weren’t meant to be a flex, just a show of common good, or whatever the believers of festivals like this called it. Love, good will, one with the universe, that sort of mental poodoo. The smooth talking thief was more than happy to let the world just be, for a few hours, but when Blue bumped him, he couldn’t help but relax a bit, and a smile found his features.

“Doesn’t sound like a bad thing then.” A glance in her direction, one that lingered. As the tender arrived, Eaton called for two shots, and then gave her the floor to order something in addition. But if he was going to be flying, he preferred to keep his head mostly clear.

“What do you have of your own? Sounds like its just not here.” He laughed as he looked out. “I’ve got mine, but if you’re going rental, I just might have to shop for a rental too.”

For him, racing was as much a part of him as the Force was to Jedi and Sith. Blame his Pamarthe upbringing. He took the shot and looked at her.

“Shall we?”

Embers

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

The shot hit her hand before the noise did. Embers didn’t hesitate—she tipped it back in one clean motion, barely tasting it beyond heat and burn before the glass clicked back down against the bar. It didn’t fix anything, not really, but it took the edge off just enough to make the chaos in her head blur instead of stab.

A start. Her tongue pressed briefly to the inside of her cheek as she exhaled, shoulders loosening a fraction before she turned her attention fully back to him. That lingering look didn’t go unnoticed. It rarely did. Her grin answered it without comment.

“Back home?” she echoed, rolling one shoulder lazily as if picturing it. “Laser Nine.” There was a flicker of something more grounded there—pride, maybe. “Heavily modified. Barely legal. Exactly how I like it.”

An understatement, if anything. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the distant race lanes again, like she could feel the absence of it more than notice it. The familiar hum. The way it responded like an extension of her own body.

Gods, she missed it. But the thought didn’t linger long. Because this—this was opportunity. And speed didn’t always need to be familiar to be good. Eaton’s question cut clean through the moment. Shall we?

Embers didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stepped in closer, her movement smooth and deliberate as she slipped her hand around his arm without hesitation, fingers hooking comfortably into place like she’d already decided this was happening the moment he’d put credits on the bar.

“Let’s see what this place has to offer,” she said, voice low and amused, eyes already tracking toward the rental stalls and the distant line of engines waiting to be pushed far past what they were meant to handle.

The crowd parted around them in waves of light and noise as she guided them forward—not away from the chaos, but deeper into it. Where the speed was. Where the risk lived. Where, for a little while, everything might go quiet again.

Embers

• Location: Zenith Festival, Spira
• Objective: Score something: a job, a ride, credits, spice…
• Outfit: Festival Attire
• Company: Eaton Waters

 

[Eaton Waters]

Eaton could already tell he liked this one. She had spunk and moved in a motion that he hadn’t seen much of lately. The galaxy seemed to move on sometimes, get more responsible. Not him though, he was a smooth criminal, but he also was a party boy. And that meant drinking. It meant spice. And it meant going fast.

Wheeling and dealing, he thought his sister called it.

“My sister hooked me up with one of those. She worked with Starchaser Enterprises before she got her big deal doing…” What did Brooke do now? Didn’t matter. “Whatever. ‘Course mine’s all modded to the Nine Hells now. Faster, and more agile.” A lot of weight cut off it. Starchaser Enterprises definitely was a Corellian company, after all.

“Yeah, lets.” He grinned as they made their way down. A few Laser Nines, some Eights and Sevens. No tens though. Not really a surprise. Some landspeeders and airspeeders.

“Airspeeder trip could be fun, but I think I’d rather take you on with swoops.” A devil-may-cry laugh and smirk.

Embers

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Embers’ fingers tightened just slightly around his arm as they moved through the rows of machines, her gaze dragging over each swoop with a practiced, almost intimate sort of scrutiny. Not admiration—assessment. Weight distribution. Engine housing. Mod potential. Weak points.

Her head still rang with the festival’s emotional noise, but here… here it started to thin. Not gone, never gone, but quieter beneath the hum of engines and the anticipation coiling low in her chest. Speed helped. His voice pulled her attention back, and the mention of a modified Laser Nine drew a sharp, approving look from her.

“Oh, is it now?” she said, tone slipping easily into something more playful, more pointed. “Careful, you keep talking like that and I might start thinking you can actually keep up.” There was a glint in her eye that said she very much doubted it. Or maybe hoped he could.

Her gaze flicked across the lineup—Sevens, Eights, a few Nines that looked like they’d been tuned just enough to be dangerous but not enough to be trusted. No Tens. Of course not. Not here. Shame. At his suggestion, she followed his look toward the airspeeders for half a heartbeat… then dismissed them entirely with a small tilt of her head. Too stable. Too safe. But maybe…If he proved himself they could even make an airspeeder ride dangerous.

His next words earned him a sharper grin. Embers stepped ahead of him just slightly now, releasing his arm only to turn and walk backward a step or two, forcing him to follow while she faced him fully. The lights caught in the copper shimmer of her top, her expression alive with challenge. “You’d rather take me on?” she echoed, voice low and teasing, one brow lifting.

A beat. Then she turned again, closing the distance to one of the rental swoops and running her hand along its frame, feeling the vibration of its idling engine. “Bold.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him, violet eyes bright and just a little wild. “I like bold.”

Another step, circling the swoop now like she was already claiming it. “Swoops it is, then.” Her voice carried easy confidence, but there was something underneath it—something sharper, more real. “Closer to the edge. Less room for mistakes.” Which meant less room for everything else, too. Less noise. Less chaos. More focus.

She tapped the side of the machine lightly, then looked back to him again, smile turning just a touch more wicked. “Just try not to embarrass yourself too badly, sunshine,” Embers added, stepping in closer again, her voice dropping as she passed near his shoulder. “I’d hate for my first race of the night to end too quickly.”

Embers

• Location: Zenith Festival, Spira
• Objective: Score something: a job, a ride, credits, spice…
• Outfit: Festival Attire
• Company: Eaton Waters

 

[Brakkus]

Fortunately, the silence imposed by his mechanical company did not last long. The first meeting of the afternoon had arrived.

Captain Anattolius, as the man had introduced himself.

From Brakkus' research, the Argentum occupied a lucrative corner of the galaxy's underworld. They called themselves privateers, operating within the countless grey areas between legality and criminality. It was a convenient distinction. As their influence had grown, so too had their reputation. They were capable, disciplined, and willing to undertake work that more respectable organizations preferred not to acknowledge.

The sort of people Ando Mining could find a use for.

Brakkus greeted the captain in his native tongue. To most beings, it sounded like little more than a series of guttural bleats and unpleasant growls. Moments later, his protocol droid rendered the words into polished Galactic Basic.

"Well met, Captain Anattolius. Please, have a seat. Both of you."

A large, furred hand gestured toward the sofa opposite him. It was a far more comfortable arrangement than the conference tables and boardrooms Brakkus usually conducted business from. Then again, very little about this meeting belonged in a boardroom.

"Your offer of security interests me," the droid continued in its flat, emotionless voice. "As you noted, Ando Mining has been expanding. Much of that expansion has taken place in regions where regulation is... less consistent."

That was one way of putting it.

Far from High Republic auditors. Far from environmental inspectors, compliance boards, and senators eager to score political points. The Republic had made it abundantly clear what it thought of companies like Ando Mining. Brakkus had no intention of placing future profits beneath their microscope.

"But such opportunities carry their own risks," he continued. "I suspect you are intimately familiar with them."

The atmosphere shifted ever so slightly. Not enough to be impolite, but enough to remind everyone present that this was not a social call.

Brakkus leaned back into the expensive furniture, studying the captain with the same measured patience he might reserve for a prospective mining claim.

"But before we discuss business..."

He motioned toward the bar stocked with enough liquor to bankrupt a small colony.

"Would either of you care for a drink? The festival's organizers have spared no expense, and it would be a shame to let their generosity go unappreciated."

Corvo Anattolius
[OOC: Sorry for the delay, the weather was making my laptop want to explode.] ​

 

[Eaton Waters]

Leading through the line up of rental and personally owned speeders and swoops really made Eaton almost homesick. Pamarthe was a world of racers, typically watercraft, but so many of his homeworlders made their life by moving off the seas and into other vessels. His family was included in that. His father met his Chandrillan mother and she funded his transportation service. It took a while for Eaton to realize it wasn’t always honest and sometimes it was gunrunning and spice running. Not a bad way to make money, but it definitely gave him more focus to join that type of life.

Hence his garage of project vessels.

“Trust me, been raised to race. Half of the fun is not letting everyone know it.” He definitely preferred to have a style his own, one that showed him as more a rich Chandrillan than some seaspray trained Pamarthe pilot. His sister was the opposite, she just looked Chandrillan, but definitely acted more rural, what with her witch tricks.

As she stepped forward, Eaton was getting the full view of her, and was doing his best to focus on her face and not way the light was hitting her. “Definitely would.” A quick wink, but he was doing his best to remember she was competition, if they got to racing.

“Swoops, then, can get us a pair of Laser Nines. Stock, so its definitely on the razors edge of who can handle it. And believe you me, I can handle mine.”

Embers