Jorus Merrill
is mek bote
The desolate world of Pergitor packed its civilization, such as it was, into sealed domes. Life inside ranged from Mos Eisley to Nar Shaddaa with a stopoff at Ord Mantell along the way. One such dome held a locally famous shockboxing arena, and the Underground had pulled a string or two.
The function was just about private -- you couldn't advertise an interplanetary resistance movement's internal sporting events, after all -- but a few non-Undergrounders were present. Friends, old business associates, the usual. No disaster would result if they saw people's faces. No consternation would result when they got a whiff of how the Underground had fun.
The shockboxing arena held a dozen conductive cages with padded floors, each surrounded by standing room and raised tiers of seating. Brilliant neon holograms and pale spotlights made the arena a riot of colour. Trusted vendors hawked refreshments of every description. Humans were a minority here, and the recently washed even more so. A few of these people were fresh off the Castameer evacuation, still daubed in engine grease and blaster char.
The two-headed announcer kept up a running commentary in both Basic and rubbery, boisterous Huttese -- for each one of the matches. How he did it was a matter of some speculation. Strong in the Force, perhaps. "And none of this Jedi funny business, unga bunga!"
Jorus ate popcorn. He'd done more than his share of shockboxing over the years, but today he was quite content to let the folks get to it without him.
The function was just about private -- you couldn't advertise an interplanetary resistance movement's internal sporting events, after all -- but a few non-Undergrounders were present. Friends, old business associates, the usual. No disaster would result if they saw people's faces. No consternation would result when they got a whiff of how the Underground had fun.
The shockboxing arena held a dozen conductive cages with padded floors, each surrounded by standing room and raised tiers of seating. Brilliant neon holograms and pale spotlights made the arena a riot of colour. Trusted vendors hawked refreshments of every description. Humans were a minority here, and the recently washed even more so. A few of these people were fresh off the Castameer evacuation, still daubed in engine grease and blaster char.
The two-headed announcer kept up a running commentary in both Basic and rubbery, boisterous Huttese -- for each one of the matches. How he did it was a matter of some speculation. Strong in the Force, perhaps. "And none of this Jedi funny business, unga bunga!"

Jorus ate popcorn. He'd done more than his share of shockboxing over the years, but today he was quite content to let the folks get to it without him.
***
HUTTWEIGHT
[member="Rekali the Hutt"] vs [member="Julius Sedaire"]
[member="Jericho"] vs [member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]
MIDWEIGHT
[member="Bryce Bantam"] vs [member="Matthew Robinson"] and [member="Aeshi Tillian"]
[member="Kaili Talith"] vs [member="Fable Merrill"]
NUNAWEIGHT
[member="Kytra Odran"] vs [member="Lily Hex-Volsh"]
[member="3X744"] vs [member="Lok Munin"]