Post by lion on Jul 25, 2016 20:24:55 GMT -5
Name:
Sayar Kal'ir
Race:
Bothan
Age:
17
Birthplace:
Kothlis
Allegiance:
Galactic Republic
Status:
Citizen
Rank:
Professional Speeder Pilot
Height/Weight:
5'2", 116 lbs
Appearance:
(Art by Acaciathorn on Deviantart, commissioned by me.)
Sayar wears his age on his sleeve; there's no thinking for a single second that he's anything less than a teenager upon laying eyes on him. He's on the shorter side, standing no taller than an average human male's shoulders in height, but there's definitely no space to call him tiny or scrawny; a steady died and rigorous regiment of exercise keeps him fit and fairly strong for his size. Rather than a bodybuilder or strongman's physique, Sayar instead stands more like a sprinter; lean and devoid of packed muscle, but nevertheless firm and defined.
Short, blonde hair tops his head, almost blending in with the thin, wheat-yellow coat of fur lining his frame as consistent with Bothans; kept meticulously groomed and brushed as one would expect for someone constantly under scrutiny and potential media attention. Two tapered ears top his head narrow down sound and give him a feline quality to his face, the right of which usually adorned with three copper-and-gold earrings for aesthetics. A short, stubby muzzle juts from his face, terminating in a felid nose and, usually, a smug little grin filled with well-cleaned teeth.
Sayar prefers to dress casually when not adorning the multiple-layers of protective clothing required of a racing driver, or a suit appropriate for those infrequent higher-society meetings. Shorts and shirts tend to be the favourite, but depending on the weather, Sayar isn't above rugging up and admitting defeat to the cold.
Personality:
If there's any one word to sum Sayar up, it's confidence. Confidence in his abilities, confidence in his demeanour and confidence to go after what he wants without too much fear in the way of failure; the stereotypical 'I'm invincible' mindset of a teenager. Success hasn't gone to the boy's head to the level of arrogance or conceited behaviour, but there's no denying he's perfectly at home in the spotlight, in some cases even actively seeking it out. He's not so desperate as to demand attention, but he isn't exactly going to shove that holocam out of his face, and hey, if the conversation just so happens to go about how awesome he is, well, it'd just be rude not to talk, right?
Perennially playful and always up for a laugh, Sayar's an optimist and tries to see the funny in all things, reserving a more quiet demeanour when matters become more serious. He likes to play jokes, and he's happy when everyone else around him is as well; he's the guy in a group of friends always pushing to go out somewhere or catch the new holofilms, and whilst he has a work ethic enough to know when play time is over, he'll still try to find at least something amusing in the most tedious situations. Case in point, as he is still underage, oftentimes he has a chaperone assigned to him for public appearances involving alcohol, or party functions on the more 'loose' worlds; Sayar has no problem putting on the teasing to get a rise out of them.
It's hard to get Sayar grouchy, but it can happen. Whilst he tries to be patient, dealing with a persistent problem can frustrate him, and it's usually vented in a colourful litany of Bothese cursing and a hand running through his hair. He's not prone to outburst, though; he's not the sort to throw his datapad across the room because it froze, but he is the sort to start talking to it for the same reason. Most of this is kept, however, behind closed doors; Sayar is very aware of himself in the public eye and, whilst he loves attention on himself, knows the difference between good press and bad press....Or at least, is told the difference.
Ships/Vehicles: Aratech AR-0
Equipment:
(Out and About):
Personal Datapad.
Credit Tab.
Driving/On the Track:
Protective Bodysuit.
Crash Helmet.
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength -
Average
Agility -
Above Average
Intelligence -
Average
Charisma -
Above Average
Combat Training: None
Other Training:
Landspeeder Driving: Expert
Media Training: Adept
Biography:
So you wanna know about me, huh? Geez, where to start. Well, I'm from Kothlis; not quite as well as Bothawui proper but the weather's so much nicer there. My folks, Birun and Kosit, married young and had me not soon after the marriage. Dad was an assistant litigator for the council back on Bothawui and mum, well, she was actually a customs agent at the spaceport on Kothlis; that's how they met! Dad jokes that it was love at first random screening; maybe mum planted something in his bags as an excuse to say hi. Of course, that's not true, but mum never really denies it...
Getting sidetracked! So, they hit it off well and, after the stuff that you do to get a kid, out I come. Dad's family wanted us all to be on Bothawui, y'know, the more 'proper' place to raise a kid but mum, well, she was (and still is, mind!) stubborn as a reek and refused to move. There was some tension; you don't want to know what two Bothan clan-families can be like when they don't see eye to eye, but eventually mum won out and we stayed on Kothlis. I don't know how she did it; I rekkon she threatened to give dad a full-on cavity search the next time he came back from Bothawui and that might've sealed the deal. I do know there was a lot of travel back and forth between home and Bothawui, though; so many aunts and uncles I saw as little kid that I know only because we've got holos of them holding me as a little cub.
So, they have me but they both keep working their jobs as they need to; we had credits enough to live decently well but any extra helped out for the nicer things in life. Going out to holoflicks, the occasional trip to Bothawui or some of the nicer beaches on Kothlis; mum and dad would do that and I got stuck with my cousins at my uncle and aunts' places. Suppose you can afford some extra luxuries in life when you've got a free and readily available babysitter, right?
Gotta say, though, I don't think I would've ended up in the same place if they didn't; every time I went over, my uncle loved watching the repulsorsports; old uncle Jakys always tinkered with this classic swoop he had, but I think he just loved all things that went fast, loud. Every time the races were on the holoprojector, we all had to be quiet as he watched and, well, curious me at the time couldn't help but wonder what he was watching. My cousins would all avoid that room and be off playing Limmie or tag, and there I'd be sitting on the floor watching, practically nagging now and then about what was going on! Poor guy; I must have been such a pain in his ass back then. Still, credit to him, Uncle Jackys answered and explained to me, in as best a way you can explain to a four year old, what racing was about. That would be where the bug bit, I think.
'Course, wasn't long before I kept asking to visit and watch races; and hey, like my folks were gonna say 'No, how dare you spend time with your extended family.', you know? With each one I think I began to understand it a little more, like why they were driving the way they were, what an overtaking move was, what the flags were and what the colours meant, though of course, when you're young you're just seeing things going fast and making cool sounds. The whine of those old-style repulsors was awesome; you know the ones I'm talking about, right? neeoowwwwwrrr!
Anyway, fast forward a couple years and there's eight year old me sitting in the seat of an old, rickety hanno speeder cart on Kothlis, way out in the sticks somewhere on some absolutely awful little track. I'd nagged and nagged my folks to go and, for my eighth birthday and after about the thousandth time asking, I think they finally relented and made some time to take me to a track. I remember it like it was yesterday, too; you don't forget your first time in control of something. I remember this grizzly, old bastard of a Bothan, grey fur and overalls covered in what I hope was engine grease coming over and explaining to me, in no real defined terms and in a voice that stank, how the cart worked; right pedal to go, left pedal to stop. This thing was barely floating, we're talking no gears whatsoever (thankfully!), pretty much one step off of an old combustion engine puttering away, and me in this stuffy old helmet grinning from ear to ear and barely understanding a word of what this guy was saying.
As you can imagine, little eight year old me hoofed it. Subtlety with a pedal, nah, I remember putting my right foot down and nearly screaming with joy and fear as the cart leaped forward. I gripped the wheel so tightly I think I might've ripped it loose were I any stronger back then, but man was it exciting; what a rush, I was finally driving just like all those famous speeders Uncle Jakys talked about...
For all of about two seconds until I, in my excitement, didn't notice the first turn and went careening off into the far barrier, pretty much full on. No turn whatsoever; I was so giddy I forgot to turn! Good thing those old little carts didn't go real fast, so it was just a startling little smack against the frame; they'd lined the barriers with so much rubber that had scuffed away over the years. Almost instantly, old man grease is on me like a shot, 'you gotta turn the wheel, kid! Try again!' and grabs the back of the cart, and with the strength I swear of a ronto, pulls me off the barrier and sets the cart pointing the right way. I dunno if he was angry, trying not to laugh, or just outright surprised but I couldn't help but find it all so much fun.
I think the nervousness took off after a couple of really careful laps and I started to get a feel for things; how to ease off the pedal slightly as I entered the corner, then apply it again coming out. Where best to position things to hit the corner apex and come out flying again, the basic sort of stuff. Not to over-throttle or anything like that, started getting out of the barriers less and less and keeping the cart floating above the paved bit, rather than the rubbery and dirty bits. Started setting some okay times, then some pretty decent times; by the end of the time my folks booked, I was pretty comfortable with the track; I didn't want to get out of the cart at first!
Course, now that I'd had a taste of it, you can bet I was hungry for more. Every now and again in the next few months I got to go again; sometimes I was good, sometimes not, but there was a general sense of improvement. Not to stellar levels, but enough that the old guy running the track suggested to my mum one day that maybe she should consider looking at the option of me trying out for a racing league, or at least looking at a school as an out-of-education hobby. Some kids had Limmie, some kids had hologames, some had computers and droids; wasn't like racing carts wasn't an alternative to that, and there definitely were options out there. Said he could see some sort of talent in there that could come out; maybe that's what persuaded ma to suggest the idea to dad. Wasn't like I was exactly Mr. Popular at school at the time; I was a pretty quiet kid and I didn't really have any hobbies at the time, either. I did stuff, sure, but nothing rock solid, you know?
So yeah, that's how I got started racing. Pretty basic, stock standard sort of stuff; I'm sure you've heard the story before from all the drivers; pretty much one of the only ways to get into the job. Anyway, so it goes that I manage to luck up a few good places early on and get some decent points in my first season; I didn't exactly get anywhere near the top but enough to separate myself from the lower sections of the table. Gotta say, I think it surprised my folks, too; went from a pretty basic if off-the-normal hobby to a practical job in about a year or so. Deep down I think they were hesitant to let me keep going but, well, I'm sure me beaming ear to ear was enough to win the argument.
So anyway, fast forward a couple years and, granted I'm still in school, I'm fairly regularly having to leave Kothlis to compete in outer-system race events; some of the lower-tier professional leagues; I won back to back titles from nine to eleven and that was enough to get the nod up. That's how I met with the guys from Aratech, actually; they had a development team in the lower grade leagues to help train drivers they hope to pull up to the top, y'know, so they can pay 'em less than hiring on a proper professional from another high team. 'Course, I myself couldn't sign the contract; I had to get my dad to review and sign on my behalf because, well, y'know; law's still the law.
So there's me finally getting a drive for Aratech; as you know from there I moved up the ranks pretty consistently, moving from hanno carts to speeders, got a couple more good seasons under my belt and kept momentum going upward. Lots more outer-system trips meant Aratech had to make sure I was still meeting my education requirements, and well, family kinda became a bit harder to keep in contact with. Sure, I kept making sure mum and dad could come to the track, but work was work and sometimes it just wasn't doable. I mean, they did have to still cover a lot; Aratech paid decently well but c'mon, I was still a kid at the time. This sport isn't cheap; if nothing else, that's the take-home. They sacrificed a hell of a lot for me to have a shot.
Fast forward another couple seasons and well, here I am; up from the minor leagues and into the big time. It's my first season for Aratech proper, but with the signing bonus I received I was finally able to pay back so much of the creds my folks outlaid for me to get here. Ma was practically in tears when she found out she wouldn't have had to work so much to keep our home payments covered; dad was a bit more reserved but I know he was just as elated. Course, it means I've got a lot of pressure on me; dunno how many millions tune in but you kinda feel like everyone in the galaxy's watching you when you get into the speeder and line up on the grid.
Wouldn't trade it away, though.
Roleplay Sample:
"So, any interesting stories so far with Aratech?"
It was hard not to grin, hard not to chuckle just a little as memory flushed back. The Chandrilan woman with the datapad in her hand and the holocamera over her shoulder seemed to match the mirthful expression for a moment, but it moreso for politeness than any sort of inside knowledge. Maybe it was the studio looking for a good sound-byte or simply personal curiosity, but it was far too tempting to tell the story than simply let it dwell within his own head.
The Bothan leaned forward, a spark of mischief in his amber-hued eyes, as if sharing a great secret rather than an anecdote.
"Yeah, actually. Last month, in the off season, the team got a request from the offices of one of the Senators, I won't say who but they know who they are." Sayar started, his grin only growing wider, showing his youthful age by the second as golden fur rippled in excitement. It was hard not to choke on his own amusement, though the melody in his voice shifted ever so slightly higher for a moment as the cords in his throat momentarily tightened.
"Turns out they were a fan of the races and, well, they wanted to see if there was any way they could, y'know, leverage a go in one of our cars. A bucket-list sort of thing, I think he said; he was willing to pay whatever costs he had to.
"As you know, off-season's mostly development for us, so it's not like it was really hampering the schedule so much, and well, goodwill is goodwill. So the team says, 'yeah, sure, come by; we'll organise the whole thing'. 'Course, the good Senator's overjoyed; he gets picked up from his own office, if you can believe that, about a week later and ferried along to our testing track."
The Bothan stopped momentarily; his eyes watching carefully the ever-growing expression of anticipation across the Chandrilan's face as she, seemingly, hung upon every word. Letting a few seconds go by, disguising the cheap suspense-building moment to take the glass of water just out of frame of the camera, Sayar mulled on how to best word the next part of the story; it was a little cruel if said the wrong way, after all. Leaning his head back and letting the cooled water slide down his mouth for a few gulps, the boy set the glass aside, giving a friendly little smile in gratitude as the vessel was taken back.
"Anyway, we had pretty much gotten most of the day's work done when the Senator arrived, all prim and proper as you'd expect, when we're decided which of us gets to take him for a few laps. I think Hon-ur wanted to take him at first, but the engineers wanted to talk to her about the car and make some of the more technical decisions with her input, so it got dropped to me. Isn't all bad being the number-2 driver, you know.
"Of course, the poor Senator probably would've wanted Hon-ur; who wouldn't wanna be driven around by a 3-time champ? Still, he's all enthusiastic and, now that I get to drive a politician around, so am I. We shake hands, go through all the safety stuff and get a few holos for the presses before we get to the fun stuff, getting the trainer car out.
"He's practically over the moons as we squeeze the guy into the safety gear and into the passenger seat, and there's me in the front trying to be all cool and collected and not slip what I've got in mind until we're on track. I pull out of the garage and light up the engines, I hear this excited little squeal over the radio; guy definitely had to be having the time of his life."
Another pause, this time a gentle adjustment in the seat on the part of the Bothan to make himself comfortable, allowed for just that little bit more anticipation to build...
"So anyway, we get a few laps in around the course and I've been fairly easy on the throttle thus far; enough to be exciting, but I'm not pushing anything, you know? Our good Senator's still over the moon but he feels like he's gotten used to it all: 'oh, it's not so bad' and 'oh, it seems so much faster from the outside...', and there I am trying so hard not to laugh...
"We pass the line for, I think, the fifth lap when I see my engineer at the pit wall give a double thumbs-up. Kinda subtle a signal but it's enough; I put the hammer down and we blast down the main straight like we'd just broken tether. The poor guy in the back is screaming in both joy and probably terror as we approach the first corner, and I just hoof through it without so much as a touch of the brakes.
"We stay at race pace for about two laps on the track, a real windy and quick circuit, before I pull into the pit lane, bring up the limiter, and cruise down to our garage bay. I hear so much panting from the back that I practically didn't need a comm to pick it up. As we park and crack the canopy open, the press is on us; there's me grinning like an absolute moron and this poor guy, sweat and all, looking like he'd seen a ghost, for the morning news flimsi the next day.
"'Course, we give him a few minutes to let the jitters calm down and he's having the time of his life; we get a few holos for the team, give him a helmet we had made up for the visit, crack a few jokes with his staff...But oh, for those few seconds, I think I could've died laughing."
Sayar Kal'ir
Race:
Bothan
Age:
17
Birthplace:
Kothlis
Allegiance:
Galactic Republic
Status:
Citizen
Rank:
Professional Speeder Pilot
Height/Weight:
5'2", 116 lbs
Appearance:
(Art by Acaciathorn on Deviantart, commissioned by me.)
Sayar wears his age on his sleeve; there's no thinking for a single second that he's anything less than a teenager upon laying eyes on him. He's on the shorter side, standing no taller than an average human male's shoulders in height, but there's definitely no space to call him tiny or scrawny; a steady died and rigorous regiment of exercise keeps him fit and fairly strong for his size. Rather than a bodybuilder or strongman's physique, Sayar instead stands more like a sprinter; lean and devoid of packed muscle, but nevertheless firm and defined.
Short, blonde hair tops his head, almost blending in with the thin, wheat-yellow coat of fur lining his frame as consistent with Bothans; kept meticulously groomed and brushed as one would expect for someone constantly under scrutiny and potential media attention. Two tapered ears top his head narrow down sound and give him a feline quality to his face, the right of which usually adorned with three copper-and-gold earrings for aesthetics. A short, stubby muzzle juts from his face, terminating in a felid nose and, usually, a smug little grin filled with well-cleaned teeth.
Sayar prefers to dress casually when not adorning the multiple-layers of protective clothing required of a racing driver, or a suit appropriate for those infrequent higher-society meetings. Shorts and shirts tend to be the favourite, but depending on the weather, Sayar isn't above rugging up and admitting defeat to the cold.
Personality:
If there's any one word to sum Sayar up, it's confidence. Confidence in his abilities, confidence in his demeanour and confidence to go after what he wants without too much fear in the way of failure; the stereotypical 'I'm invincible' mindset of a teenager. Success hasn't gone to the boy's head to the level of arrogance or conceited behaviour, but there's no denying he's perfectly at home in the spotlight, in some cases even actively seeking it out. He's not so desperate as to demand attention, but he isn't exactly going to shove that holocam out of his face, and hey, if the conversation just so happens to go about how awesome he is, well, it'd just be rude not to talk, right?
Perennially playful and always up for a laugh, Sayar's an optimist and tries to see the funny in all things, reserving a more quiet demeanour when matters become more serious. He likes to play jokes, and he's happy when everyone else around him is as well; he's the guy in a group of friends always pushing to go out somewhere or catch the new holofilms, and whilst he has a work ethic enough to know when play time is over, he'll still try to find at least something amusing in the most tedious situations. Case in point, as he is still underage, oftentimes he has a chaperone assigned to him for public appearances involving alcohol, or party functions on the more 'loose' worlds; Sayar has no problem putting on the teasing to get a rise out of them.
It's hard to get Sayar grouchy, but it can happen. Whilst he tries to be patient, dealing with a persistent problem can frustrate him, and it's usually vented in a colourful litany of Bothese cursing and a hand running through his hair. He's not prone to outburst, though; he's not the sort to throw his datapad across the room because it froze, but he is the sort to start talking to it for the same reason. Most of this is kept, however, behind closed doors; Sayar is very aware of himself in the public eye and, whilst he loves attention on himself, knows the difference between good press and bad press....Or at least, is told the difference.
Ships/Vehicles: Aratech AR-0
Equipment:
(Out and About):
Personal Datapad.
Credit Tab.
Driving/On the Track:
Protective Bodysuit.
Crash Helmet.
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength -
Average
Agility -
Above Average
Intelligence -
Average
Charisma -
Above Average
Combat Training: None
Other Training:
Landspeeder Driving: Expert
Media Training: Adept
Biography:
So you wanna know about me, huh? Geez, where to start. Well, I'm from Kothlis; not quite as well as Bothawui proper but the weather's so much nicer there. My folks, Birun and Kosit, married young and had me not soon after the marriage. Dad was an assistant litigator for the council back on Bothawui and mum, well, she was actually a customs agent at the spaceport on Kothlis; that's how they met! Dad jokes that it was love at first random screening; maybe mum planted something in his bags as an excuse to say hi. Of course, that's not true, but mum never really denies it...
Getting sidetracked! So, they hit it off well and, after the stuff that you do to get a kid, out I come. Dad's family wanted us all to be on Bothawui, y'know, the more 'proper' place to raise a kid but mum, well, she was (and still is, mind!) stubborn as a reek and refused to move. There was some tension; you don't want to know what two Bothan clan-families can be like when they don't see eye to eye, but eventually mum won out and we stayed on Kothlis. I don't know how she did it; I rekkon she threatened to give dad a full-on cavity search the next time he came back from Bothawui and that might've sealed the deal. I do know there was a lot of travel back and forth between home and Bothawui, though; so many aunts and uncles I saw as little kid that I know only because we've got holos of them holding me as a little cub.
So, they have me but they both keep working their jobs as they need to; we had credits enough to live decently well but any extra helped out for the nicer things in life. Going out to holoflicks, the occasional trip to Bothawui or some of the nicer beaches on Kothlis; mum and dad would do that and I got stuck with my cousins at my uncle and aunts' places. Suppose you can afford some extra luxuries in life when you've got a free and readily available babysitter, right?
Gotta say, though, I don't think I would've ended up in the same place if they didn't; every time I went over, my uncle loved watching the repulsorsports; old uncle Jakys always tinkered with this classic swoop he had, but I think he just loved all things that went fast, loud. Every time the races were on the holoprojector, we all had to be quiet as he watched and, well, curious me at the time couldn't help but wonder what he was watching. My cousins would all avoid that room and be off playing Limmie or tag, and there I'd be sitting on the floor watching, practically nagging now and then about what was going on! Poor guy; I must have been such a pain in his ass back then. Still, credit to him, Uncle Jackys answered and explained to me, in as best a way you can explain to a four year old, what racing was about. That would be where the bug bit, I think.
'Course, wasn't long before I kept asking to visit and watch races; and hey, like my folks were gonna say 'No, how dare you spend time with your extended family.', you know? With each one I think I began to understand it a little more, like why they were driving the way they were, what an overtaking move was, what the flags were and what the colours meant, though of course, when you're young you're just seeing things going fast and making cool sounds. The whine of those old-style repulsors was awesome; you know the ones I'm talking about, right? neeoowwwwwrrr!
Anyway, fast forward a couple years and there's eight year old me sitting in the seat of an old, rickety hanno speeder cart on Kothlis, way out in the sticks somewhere on some absolutely awful little track. I'd nagged and nagged my folks to go and, for my eighth birthday and after about the thousandth time asking, I think they finally relented and made some time to take me to a track. I remember it like it was yesterday, too; you don't forget your first time in control of something. I remember this grizzly, old bastard of a Bothan, grey fur and overalls covered in what I hope was engine grease coming over and explaining to me, in no real defined terms and in a voice that stank, how the cart worked; right pedal to go, left pedal to stop. This thing was barely floating, we're talking no gears whatsoever (thankfully!), pretty much one step off of an old combustion engine puttering away, and me in this stuffy old helmet grinning from ear to ear and barely understanding a word of what this guy was saying.
As you can imagine, little eight year old me hoofed it. Subtlety with a pedal, nah, I remember putting my right foot down and nearly screaming with joy and fear as the cart leaped forward. I gripped the wheel so tightly I think I might've ripped it loose were I any stronger back then, but man was it exciting; what a rush, I was finally driving just like all those famous speeders Uncle Jakys talked about...
For all of about two seconds until I, in my excitement, didn't notice the first turn and went careening off into the far barrier, pretty much full on. No turn whatsoever; I was so giddy I forgot to turn! Good thing those old little carts didn't go real fast, so it was just a startling little smack against the frame; they'd lined the barriers with so much rubber that had scuffed away over the years. Almost instantly, old man grease is on me like a shot, 'you gotta turn the wheel, kid! Try again!' and grabs the back of the cart, and with the strength I swear of a ronto, pulls me off the barrier and sets the cart pointing the right way. I dunno if he was angry, trying not to laugh, or just outright surprised but I couldn't help but find it all so much fun.
I think the nervousness took off after a couple of really careful laps and I started to get a feel for things; how to ease off the pedal slightly as I entered the corner, then apply it again coming out. Where best to position things to hit the corner apex and come out flying again, the basic sort of stuff. Not to over-throttle or anything like that, started getting out of the barriers less and less and keeping the cart floating above the paved bit, rather than the rubbery and dirty bits. Started setting some okay times, then some pretty decent times; by the end of the time my folks booked, I was pretty comfortable with the track; I didn't want to get out of the cart at first!
Course, now that I'd had a taste of it, you can bet I was hungry for more. Every now and again in the next few months I got to go again; sometimes I was good, sometimes not, but there was a general sense of improvement. Not to stellar levels, but enough that the old guy running the track suggested to my mum one day that maybe she should consider looking at the option of me trying out for a racing league, or at least looking at a school as an out-of-education hobby. Some kids had Limmie, some kids had hologames, some had computers and droids; wasn't like racing carts wasn't an alternative to that, and there definitely were options out there. Said he could see some sort of talent in there that could come out; maybe that's what persuaded ma to suggest the idea to dad. Wasn't like I was exactly Mr. Popular at school at the time; I was a pretty quiet kid and I didn't really have any hobbies at the time, either. I did stuff, sure, but nothing rock solid, you know?
So yeah, that's how I got started racing. Pretty basic, stock standard sort of stuff; I'm sure you've heard the story before from all the drivers; pretty much one of the only ways to get into the job. Anyway, so it goes that I manage to luck up a few good places early on and get some decent points in my first season; I didn't exactly get anywhere near the top but enough to separate myself from the lower sections of the table. Gotta say, I think it surprised my folks, too; went from a pretty basic if off-the-normal hobby to a practical job in about a year or so. Deep down I think they were hesitant to let me keep going but, well, I'm sure me beaming ear to ear was enough to win the argument.
So anyway, fast forward a couple years and, granted I'm still in school, I'm fairly regularly having to leave Kothlis to compete in outer-system race events; some of the lower-tier professional leagues; I won back to back titles from nine to eleven and that was enough to get the nod up. That's how I met with the guys from Aratech, actually; they had a development team in the lower grade leagues to help train drivers they hope to pull up to the top, y'know, so they can pay 'em less than hiring on a proper professional from another high team. 'Course, I myself couldn't sign the contract; I had to get my dad to review and sign on my behalf because, well, y'know; law's still the law.
So there's me finally getting a drive for Aratech; as you know from there I moved up the ranks pretty consistently, moving from hanno carts to speeders, got a couple more good seasons under my belt and kept momentum going upward. Lots more outer-system trips meant Aratech had to make sure I was still meeting my education requirements, and well, family kinda became a bit harder to keep in contact with. Sure, I kept making sure mum and dad could come to the track, but work was work and sometimes it just wasn't doable. I mean, they did have to still cover a lot; Aratech paid decently well but c'mon, I was still a kid at the time. This sport isn't cheap; if nothing else, that's the take-home. They sacrificed a hell of a lot for me to have a shot.
Fast forward another couple seasons and well, here I am; up from the minor leagues and into the big time. It's my first season for Aratech proper, but with the signing bonus I received I was finally able to pay back so much of the creds my folks outlaid for me to get here. Ma was practically in tears when she found out she wouldn't have had to work so much to keep our home payments covered; dad was a bit more reserved but I know he was just as elated. Course, it means I've got a lot of pressure on me; dunno how many millions tune in but you kinda feel like everyone in the galaxy's watching you when you get into the speeder and line up on the grid.
Wouldn't trade it away, though.
Roleplay Sample:
"So, any interesting stories so far with Aratech?"
It was hard not to grin, hard not to chuckle just a little as memory flushed back. The Chandrilan woman with the datapad in her hand and the holocamera over her shoulder seemed to match the mirthful expression for a moment, but it moreso for politeness than any sort of inside knowledge. Maybe it was the studio looking for a good sound-byte or simply personal curiosity, but it was far too tempting to tell the story than simply let it dwell within his own head.
The Bothan leaned forward, a spark of mischief in his amber-hued eyes, as if sharing a great secret rather than an anecdote.
"Yeah, actually. Last month, in the off season, the team got a request from the offices of one of the Senators, I won't say who but they know who they are." Sayar started, his grin only growing wider, showing his youthful age by the second as golden fur rippled in excitement. It was hard not to choke on his own amusement, though the melody in his voice shifted ever so slightly higher for a moment as the cords in his throat momentarily tightened.
"Turns out they were a fan of the races and, well, they wanted to see if there was any way they could, y'know, leverage a go in one of our cars. A bucket-list sort of thing, I think he said; he was willing to pay whatever costs he had to.
"As you know, off-season's mostly development for us, so it's not like it was really hampering the schedule so much, and well, goodwill is goodwill. So the team says, 'yeah, sure, come by; we'll organise the whole thing'. 'Course, the good Senator's overjoyed; he gets picked up from his own office, if you can believe that, about a week later and ferried along to our testing track."
The Bothan stopped momentarily; his eyes watching carefully the ever-growing expression of anticipation across the Chandrilan's face as she, seemingly, hung upon every word. Letting a few seconds go by, disguising the cheap suspense-building moment to take the glass of water just out of frame of the camera, Sayar mulled on how to best word the next part of the story; it was a little cruel if said the wrong way, after all. Leaning his head back and letting the cooled water slide down his mouth for a few gulps, the boy set the glass aside, giving a friendly little smile in gratitude as the vessel was taken back.
"Anyway, we had pretty much gotten most of the day's work done when the Senator arrived, all prim and proper as you'd expect, when we're decided which of us gets to take him for a few laps. I think Hon-ur wanted to take him at first, but the engineers wanted to talk to her about the car and make some of the more technical decisions with her input, so it got dropped to me. Isn't all bad being the number-2 driver, you know.
"Of course, the poor Senator probably would've wanted Hon-ur; who wouldn't wanna be driven around by a 3-time champ? Still, he's all enthusiastic and, now that I get to drive a politician around, so am I. We shake hands, go through all the safety stuff and get a few holos for the presses before we get to the fun stuff, getting the trainer car out.
"He's practically over the moons as we squeeze the guy into the safety gear and into the passenger seat, and there's me in the front trying to be all cool and collected and not slip what I've got in mind until we're on track. I pull out of the garage and light up the engines, I hear this excited little squeal over the radio; guy definitely had to be having the time of his life."
Another pause, this time a gentle adjustment in the seat on the part of the Bothan to make himself comfortable, allowed for just that little bit more anticipation to build...
"So anyway, we get a few laps in around the course and I've been fairly easy on the throttle thus far; enough to be exciting, but I'm not pushing anything, you know? Our good Senator's still over the moon but he feels like he's gotten used to it all: 'oh, it's not so bad' and 'oh, it seems so much faster from the outside...', and there I am trying so hard not to laugh...
"We pass the line for, I think, the fifth lap when I see my engineer at the pit wall give a double thumbs-up. Kinda subtle a signal but it's enough; I put the hammer down and we blast down the main straight like we'd just broken tether. The poor guy in the back is screaming in both joy and probably terror as we approach the first corner, and I just hoof through it without so much as a touch of the brakes.
"We stay at race pace for about two laps on the track, a real windy and quick circuit, before I pull into the pit lane, bring up the limiter, and cruise down to our garage bay. I hear so much panting from the back that I practically didn't need a comm to pick it up. As we park and crack the canopy open, the press is on us; there's me grinning like an absolute moron and this poor guy, sweat and all, looking like he'd seen a ghost, for the morning news flimsi the next day.
"'Course, we give him a few minutes to let the jitters calm down and he's having the time of his life; we get a few holos for the team, give him a helmet we had made up for the visit, crack a few jokes with his staff...But oh, for those few seconds, I think I could've died laughing."