Public The Zenith Festival - Event on Spira

[Corvo Anattolius]

Brakkus

Corvo and Karda took the offered seats on the opposite sofa, the Echani sitting upright and somehow appearing proper even with his arm casually draped over the back cushions. He nodded as their host mentioned the risks of unregulated regions. Indeed he was familiar, those same regions were where his Amarrnth often hunted, and where he was offering to privateer on Brakkus's behalf. The risks of which, he often was to others.

"Drinks! Yes," He agreed to the offer, raising a finger towards one of the attendant droids. "Corellian Sunrise and...?" Her pointed the finger at Karda.
"Zeltron Passion." Was her cool answer, ordering a drink made from tart fruit juices and white tequila. An opposite to his own sweet cocktail.

Waiting on the drinks, Corvo leaned back into the sofa cushions. "I must admit, the boys and I have been enjoying the festival air, cooking out, games on the beach. It's been a wonderful opportunity to relax off the ship." Not something often afforded to those who chose to live in space. Though he was considering making it a more regular occurrence, there were countless tropical worlds or those with tropical bands and other pleasant environs.

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Eaton's confidence earned a low, appreciative hum from Embers. Not because of the words. Plenty of pilots talked big. It was the feeling underneath them. No bluff. No desperate need to impress. Just certainty. The sort that usually came from either genuine skill or repeated head trauma. She hadn't decided which one he was yet.

“Raised to race, huh?” she said as they wandered deeper into the rental line. “That explains a lot.”

Her grin widened. “Most people spend five minutes talking about themselves before I figure out they have a death wish.” A glance sideways. “You managed it in two.”

The emotional static around them surged and ebbed like surf. Excitement. Competition. Anticipation. The closer they got to the racing section of the festival, the more those emotions began to harmonize into something she could actually tolerate.

Everyone here wanted the same thing. Speed. Victory. The rush. Simple. Manageable. Her eyes caught him trying—and mostly failing—to keep his attention focused above her shoulders. That earned him a distinctly amused smile. She didn't call him on it. Not directly.

Instead she stepped around one of the rental swoops and dragged her fingertips along the polished hull, giving him a moment to appreciate the view before glancing back over her shoulder. “You know,” she mused innocently, “for someone claiming to hide how good he is, you're remarkably eager to tell me how good you are.”

A wink. “Starting to think you're trying to impress me, sunshine.” The Laser Nine in front of her wasn't terrible. Stock. Clean. Probably maintained by somebody who actually cared whether customers survived. A disappointing standard, really.

Then Eaton mentioned handling his. That got a laugh. A real one. Warm and bright. “Oh, I believe you.”

She stepped closer again, invading his space with the easy confidence of somebody who had never learned the concept of personal boundaries and saw no reason to start now. “Question is...” Her violet eyes locked onto his. “Can you handle mine?”

The pause lingered just long enough to be dangerous. Then she broke into a grin before he could decide whether she meant the swoop race or something else entirely. Which, admittedly, she wasn't sure about either. “Let's get the Nines.”

Her gaze drifted toward the registration area. Toward the racers. Toward the promise of velocity. The noise in her head was already fading. “And after I beat you...” she added casually, starting toward the rental desk. “You can buy me another drink and tell me all about how it was actually part of your strategy.”

Her smile flashed over one shoulder. “I hear confident men are very creative when they lose.”

Embers

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

 

[Eaton Waters]

Confidence or overconfidence? Eaton was the type to make people trust him so he could make a quick credit, but with this one? He didn’t think it was that. He was actually here to get a job, and engine parts for his ship, and he already did that. So? Now it was a bit more of enjoying the Zenith Festival and all it had to offer. The Blubreen was also more than excited to see that he found someone else who was about the racing.

Laughing at her, Eaton shrugged. “Sometimes us from Pamarthe need to show off and beat any expectations!” A wink as he said that. There was an energy about the two now, and it was actually exciting for Eaton. This woman was more than met the eye, of someone who looked a bit lost, there was some depth that he just couldn’t explain.

“And I’m sure I’ll shock you on all that I can handle.” The man pulled out a cred chip from his pocket as they approached the booth. To the Mon Calamari staffer behind the desk, Eaton tossed the chip and requested a pair of stock Nines fully fueled and ready.

“Of course. We’ll have them on pad 4, give us 15 minutes to finish the prep and inspection. And for you to sign the waivers.”

Always waivers. Eaton had a few fake identities that he used, but here, he wasn’t really doing anything too illegal, so he was using his own name. Handing the datapad over to Embers.

“Ah, so you’re a fan of the long game too?”

Embers

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Embers watched the cred chip arc through the air and land with practiced ease. Again with the credits. Again with the confidence. And again she found herself smiling. Maybe it was the lingering spice Maybe it was the racing. Maybe it was simply that Eaton was proving far more entertaining than most people she'd bumped into at festivals.

The Mon Cal's mention of waivers earned a groan from her. “Every good time eventually runs into paperwork.” She accepted the datapad from Eaton and glanced over the liability release with all the attention of someone absolutely not intending to read it. Her signature appeared in a quick flourish. There. Officially warned. Officially ignored.

Handing it back, she caught the name he'd used. Interesting. Not that she commented on it. Yet.

His question drew her gaze upward again, violet eyes catching the festival lights. “The long game?” A slow smile spread across her face. “Depends what we're talking about.”

She stepped a little closer while the rental attendants disappeared toward Pad Four. The emotional noise of the festival still swirled around her, but anticipation was beginning to dominate everything else now. Racers preparing. Spectators placing bets. Mechanics making last-minute adjustments. It all tasted like electricity.

“Racing?” she continued. “Absolutely.”

A finger tapped lightly against his chest.

“Anyone can sprint ahead for a minute.”

Tap.

“The trick is knowing when to push.”

Tap.

“When to hold back.”

Tap.

“And when someone's about to make a mistake.” Her grin sharpened. “Then you make them pay for it.” The words carried enough double meaning to leave entirely in his lap.

She glanced toward Pad Four where attendants were beginning to move equipment around. Fifteen minutes. Just enough time to build anticipation. Not enough time to lose interest. A perfect amount.

“Though if we're not talking about racing...” Her gaze slid back to him. Lingering. Playful. Dangerous. “I suppose I appreciate a little anticipation.”

A beat. “Makes the payoff sweeter.” Then she laughed and broke eye contact before the moment could settle too deeply. “Besides, sunshine, if I took everything fast I'd run out of bad decisions before midnight.”

Her attention shifted toward the track beyond the rental area, engines already whining in the distance. The sound alone made her pulse quicken. For the first time since arriving at the festival, the pounding in her head felt manageable. Focused. Like all the noise was narrowing into a single point. Velocity.

She drew a breath and smiled. “Tell me something, Eaton.” The use of his actual name rolled surprisingly easily off her tongue. “When was the last time you lost a race?” The question wasn't mocking. It was hungry.

Because if he said never, she would enjoy proving him wrong. And if he said recently, she would enjoy trying anyway.

Embers

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

 

[Eaton Waters]

Tossing a side glance over at Embers as she said something about a good time and paperwork. “Only if you do it wrong, besides, its what, a signature here? Not even anything besides ‘you break it you buy it.’” The Blubreen laughed. “Besides, didn’t you have a waiver to sign before coming to Zenith?” Or was that just him buying tickets through the legal routes. He didn’t want to bring up too much suspicion while he was here to get his ship repaired and upgraded. That was almost a legal deal, not how he got the parts, but that was another thing all together.

The man always thought racers forget where their roots were, in powering up ships and speeders to slip past policing units and get the spice and other vices to where they needed to go. His father showed him how to do that, on some of the less-than-legal supply and delivery trips he took with the old man.

That was before he had gotten his own ship.

As Embers approached, and tapped him on the chest, he just kept a simple, albeit maybe silly grin on his face, blue eyes making and holding contact with hers. “Yeah, well you can’t give all the secrets away on the race field.” Same for life, but he didn’t need to explain the dual meaning.

“And a sweeter payoff is always what we aim for, isn’t it?” A laugh as they made their way to the Pad Four. Time to add some spark into this conversation, and make sure they were both having fun.

“I mean, sometimes you have to repeat bad decisions, to see just how bad they really are.” As they looked at the course, he was feeling the way the Force tingled with the energy, the focus, the drive… everything they needed.

“And me? Lose? Oh, it happens on occasion. Not something I like doing.” A grin.

Embers

 

[Embers]

“Wrecker of Quiet Nights”

Embers barked out a laugh at his attempt to dismiss the paperwork. A genuine one. The kind that made her shoulders shake slightly. “That's exactly what somebody who likes paperwork would say.”

She pointed at him accusingly. “One signature becomes two signatures. Two become six. Next thing you know you're filling out forms to prove you filled out the previous forms.” The expression on her face suggested she considered this one of civilization's greatest failures. Though his mention of a waiver for Zenith itself did make her pause.

A beat. Then she shrugged. “Maybe.” Another beat. “I don't actually remember getting here.”

Which sounded far worse than she intended. Then again, it was also true. The spice haze that had carried her into the festival had left a number of gaps she wasn't particularly interested in investigating.

As they continued toward Pad Four, she listened to him talk about repeating bad decisions. That earned another laugh. “Some call that the definition of crazy.” Her grin widened. “Then again, I've been called crazy from time to time.”

Only from time to time. Certainly not constantly. And definitely not by every authority figure she'd ever met. The two rented Laser Nines were waiting when they reached the pad. Sleek. Stock. Hungry.

The sight of them immediately pulled at something inside her chest. Engines. Speed. Freedom. The noise in her head narrowed again. Not gone. Never gone. But quieter. Manageable.

As they approached the swoops, Embers brushed her shoulder lightly against Eaton's. Not accidental. Not entirely deliberate either. Just enough contact to let him know she was still enjoying herself. “You know,” she said, looking over one of the machines appreciatively, “I actually respect that answer.”

Her gaze shifted back to him. “Most racers spend half their lives pretending they've never been beaten.” A small shrug. “Rare being who actually enjoys losing.”

Then her smile sharpened. Because while she respected honesty—She enjoyed competition more. Her fingers ran along the handlebar of the nearest Laser Nine.

“Speaking of losing...” Violet eyes flicked toward him. Dangerously playful. “Do you want a personal wager on this race?”

The question hung between them. Festival lights reflected across the polished hulls. The distant roar of another race echoed across the grounds. Embers tilted her head slightly. “Before you suggest credits...”

She spread her hands. Empty. “I will remind you I don't actually have any at the moment.” There wasn't even the slightest embarrassment in the admission. If anything she seemed amused by it.

“Temporary condition.” A grin. “But if you've got another idea, sunshine, I'm listening.” And judging by the look she gave him, she was very interested to hear what kind of wager a charming racer with more confidence than caution might propose.

Embers

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