Hot Sauce Eating Contest MCLXIII!

[Dmitri]

OOC: This is a no kill/capture/injure* thread. *Exception to "no injury" include tongue, maw, stomach and intestines due to hot sauces.

For over a millennium, there had been a tradition on the noble planet of Empress Teta. It had been started by a Lord of Weiss, Lord Lebon Weiss, as a way to celebrate the coming of the new year. Among the many festivities that occurred, he had introduced one that had gained some intergalactic popularity. It was the Hot Sauce Eating Contest. A novel idea introduced when Lord Lebon had visited numerous planet and had tried their cuisines. Taking back many of their hot sauces, the worst of the worst, he made their consumption into a contest. Many people who came rarely made it pass the first trio, sometimes nicknamed the Knock-Out Triad. Over the years, the list of hot sauces have altered throughout time, but the contest has kept the amount of 10 hot sauces. At the current time, they include the following:

1. Jedi Battle Tactics
2. Ewok Attacks
3. Jar Jar's Shames
4. Poppa Smurfs
5. Fett Fits
6. BeskarDAYUM
7. Lucky S***
8. SWRP Tempers
9. Sreeracha
10. Darth Assblaster

When the New Sith Imperium conquered Empress Teta, it was believed the annual Hot Sauce Eating Contest would be abolished. However, as the month of its execution approached, fliers came out detailing the Hot Sauce Eating Contest would carry on as usual. The reason was due to Geist Weiss' intervention. He hoped to help remove some of the stigma attached to the New Sith Imperium. When removal of crime was ignored by Coruscant's devastation, the way to people's hearts was through their stomachs. It also psychologically hinted that the Imperium were now in charge, but that didn't mean people's lives were suddenly going to be drastically changed. People would be allowed to live as they once did.

The Hot Sauce Eating Contest this year was being hosted at the Green Range, a former prison that had been refurnished into a garden-like park. The former structures of the prison had been recycled into a homeless shelter. That too had been part of the propaganda machine, to indicate homes might have been lost, but the Imperium would not let them freeze in the outside's unforgiving wrath. Tables, though, now littered the grounds for the event, to accommodate the thousands of individuals who would be competing today. Already people of different nationalities and races skittered around the Green Range. The contest hadn't officially started yet, so socialization was norm in the area.

Perched a balcony from the nearby Es Cade Palace, home to the defuct ruling family that Geist had refurbished as his main residence and chief operations center for the imperial occupation of the planet, Geist watched the crowds. When it came time for the festivities to begin, he would use a hologram to greet the contestants. However, he was not in his usual garb. He had altered his appearance to match that of Cane Es Cade. The real prince's fate had yet been revealed to the public, so for all they knew Cane Es Cade had willingly worked with the Imperials for a more peaceful occupation. To them, it was not a Sith that was hosting the Hot Sauce Eating Contest, but the crown prince and former Senator of Empress Teta.

 

[Tribunal Power]

A deep and unearthly rumbling resonated from the fairgrounds. At the epicenter was a man-- nay, a god-- sleeping peacefully, his snoring a harmonious symphony of loud snorts and nasal chokes. He was alone at a circular table, head leaned back with his fat bulbous body nearly slumping out of the chair. A particularly loud snore disturbed him and he shifted, slumping from the chair and nearly losing balance until he woke up with a start, catching himself on the table. It may have saved him, but he grasped the very edge, and the table leaned as well, letting him fall to the ground. The table, at least, did not fall with him.

With a groan, he struggled to get back to his feet. The front of his shirt was damp with sweat, and he reached to his chest to feel the moisture. His nametag ready 'randy' and was smeared slightly, making it look more like 'runny'. But he didn't care; he was jetlagged from his trip to this world, and his tangle with security hadn't helped. Why did everyone always have to hassle him?

Directing his eyes to the crowd around him, he stood his chair and sat down with a grunt and a plop, wondering when the festivities would start. His stomach grumbled loudly, sounding not unlike his otherworldly snores, and he new it was time to quaff. Maybe he should have brought a snack to hold him over...

 

[Crim]

An airspeeder glided across the skies, preparing to land in Commander Tarkin's private parking spot. The first thing they told Konnor was not to abuse the privilege. Traffic on a city planet was hell and a parking space. The Commander was supposed to only use it for business. Of the times he's used it, only one time was for business. The airspeeder hovered in place before shutting off. Konnor opened the door to the sleek airpseeder and exited, followed by two off-duty captains. This was a stark change in scenery; for the last few months, Konnor had either been on duty or overseeing the construction of Commander Tarkin's private home in the ruins of Alderaan. As he walked to the contest grounds, a whiff of hot sauce hit his nose. He made a mental note to keep his hands away from his eyes.

The Commander noticed that they were serving drinks. His first instinct was to immediately head to the bar, but reasoning began to kick in. Hot sauce and too much alcohol didn't go well together. Konnor was famous for three things: leading the 501st on Coruscant, building a luxury home on a chunk of Alderaan, and being incapable of knowing when to stop drinking. He made another mental note to hit the bar after the hot sauce contest. The Commander continued on with captains on his flank. The moved through a crowd gathering around a corpulent man. On the other side of the crowd was the waiver booth. The captains and Commander Tarkin signed the waiver and paid their fees before being assigned numbers.

11, 3, and 8. It figured.

 

[Sophia McLaren-Cobb]

Varnus Maximus wasn't one to travel across the galaxy pointlessly. He had heard of a Hot Sauce Eating Contest on Empress Teta. He hadn't been to Empress Teta before. It was his first visit here. He was up for anything, and he had a spice tolerance, so he thought why not try his luck on this contest. He was after all looking for good enjoyment. He wasn't at work or anything so he had plenty of time. He was ready for anything. He paid and signed whatever he needed to, and he was assigned a number. Number 13. Not his luckiest number. But he doesn't care. As long as he got a shot at it, that's what mattered.

 

[Vulpes]

No 'Hutt Sauce'? Amethyst pondered as she viewed the menu board. It was rather disappointing, especially since those whom she spent her company with preferred that as their form of edible torture. She was not much of a spicy food person, but with little going on at the moment, she had decided to make a small detour to Empress Teta, the former hub of Jedi activity. Amethyst never really thought twice about visiting this competition before, she'd spent a good portion of her time on Coruscant as of late.

The crowds were shocking to her, even with everything going on, people still came to enjoy the festivities by drinking hot sauce and alcohol, not always in that order though. Bith bands played traditional songs to keep the excitement alive, while beings from all over the galaxy signed documents and paid their fees. Truthfully, she couldn't look down on them, as she was just as guilty, standing in line to be given a number.

The time came, she was handed a clipboard with a generic piece of paper. She filled it all out and handed it back to the Zeltros who handed it to her in the first place, but this time with the credits required attached to it. Amy was then handed back a small slip of paper, it was her number. 3.

 

[MasterTyvokka]

Smuggler's Folly slowly set down on the surface of Empress Teta. Renald had heard of the annual hot sauce eating contest before but never had the chance to attend. This time he happened to be in the vicinity and decided to see how hot hot sauce could get. Renald approached the booth where it appeared numbers were being given out. At the booth was a Zeltron, a very attractive one at that. With the pheromones in the air it was all he could do to fill out the form and take his number before he did something he'd regret.

Once Renald had distanced himself from the Zeltron he looked down at his number, 1. Although it probably didn't mean anything Renald wondered if that was a good sign. He looked around and noticed a few of the other contestants. An interesting lot to be sure. Not surprisingly Renald's eyes fell first on the incredibly large fat man whose chair seemed like it was strained beyond its limits and would collapse at any moment. Really the whole picture is something Renald wished he could forget but things like that can't be unseen. Thankfully his eyes next fell on an attractive female form with short black and purple hair. Renald didn't stare though and decided to take a seat of his own.

 

[Vulpes]

((Assuming there's no post order? Correct me if I'm wrong, though.))

Amethyst caught a glimpse of the eyes of the man who had momentarily looked at her. She, too, had noticed Randy, and had wished to focus her attention on someone else, so she approached Renald, perhaps just to spark some small talk before the festivities really began. With her arms crossed, she walked up behind where he sat, speaking over his shoulder to him; "You'd figure that with everything going on, this year would be cancelled.." she chuckled lightly, inspected the number she was given just a few moments ago

"So..what are these numbers for? This is actually the first year I've come," she smiled to him, uncrossing her arms for just a moment so that she could tuck it into the pocket on her bantha-hide coat.

This small talk was helping to put her mind at ease, something about being on this planet made her uncomfortable, even regretful that she had bothered to come. There are many more important things I could be doing then watching people engorge themselves on hot sauce, she thought.

 

[Tribunal Power]

Reaching starboard to scratch his side, he felt something papery stuck in the brim of his sweatpants. Elastic bands were one of his better ideas, knowing that food competitions often caused expansion, but the tension also doubled as a handy way to keep miscellaneous items from getting away. He grabbed the paper and pulled it. It was a ticket, and it read 6. Or was it 9? Randy flipped it up and down to try to figure it out, letting out a groan of uncomfortable annoyance. With a whine, he looked up and peered around to the others that had gathered.

Standing with a massing effort from his chair, he pulled up his pants as his belly pushed them down, and tried fruitlessly to make the t-shirt cover his belly. When he pulled on it, the nerdy 'Call of Dagobah' emblem stretched, and he let it slack again so that it looked normal, and he wished he was back at home playing it. Food, he reminded himself, and he was suddenly refocused on the task at hand.

It was then that he saw her. She was standing some yards away, all by herself. She looked so lonely. Randy felt his heart lurch as he looked at her, the same way it lurched when he ate too much, that feeling of yearning and satisfaction. Do it, he thought, daring himself. Putting one tennis shoe in front of the other, he began to approach. Was she looking at him?

Then the woman turned, and started talking to another man. His heart sank, and he let out a sigh, turning quickly to hide his shame--

And walking face-first into a tall soldier. He let out a grunt and stumbled backward, clattering to his ass in the grass and rolling onto his back. Looking up to the large man, he saw he was flanked by two other soldier-looking men, and wondered why they were here. Shouldn't they be killing something? He whined and grunted as he struggled to get to his feet, muttering out, "Sorry-- uh, I... Sorry."

 

[Crim]

"Hey, Commander, check out that Zeltron" one of the captains said.
Konnor turned to look at the woman before noticing that she was with another man. Konnor debated moving in to cockblock the guy before a massive amount of force slammed into Tarkin, almost knocking him off of his feet. Tarkin immediately turned around and noticed the culprit. The giant of a man who had been eating in the middle of that dense crowd. It was difficult not to be repulsed by the man; food and sweat coated his face. Konnor scowled as the man struggled to right himself. The Commander was about to unleash verbal hell on the man before one of the captains tapped him on the shoulder. Son of a Bith.

Konnor almost forgot about the Smile And Nod protocol. The Imperials were told to be a bit more forgiving so citizens would be less afraid of them. That wasn't to say that they couldn't command obedience, it just meant that they should be a little more patient. If people were afraid of Imperials, they'd be less productive. The Empire just wanted to smooth things over and not seem as hostile as they're known for. Konnor was not patient. He was known to fly off the handle at people, in fact. It took an immense amount of restraint to keep remarks from spewing out of his mouth. This man was absolutely disgusting. As the man righted himself, Konnor's scowl vanished. He didn't know what face to make, so he kept a straight face until the man was on his feet.

"You took a nasty spill there. You okay?" he said. Okay, that was enough being nice. Konnor decided he did need a beer. He wasn't in uniform, but people could definitely tell he was a Stormtrooper. Hell, he'd been made a near-celebrity after the Battle of Coruscant. First the report on him in HoloNet news. Then the appearances on talk shows like Late Night with Leno the Hutt. If he was caught being a jackass, people would recognize him and it'd be a horrible symbol of the Imperials. He decided to add, "Why don't we hit the bar? Drinks on me."

 

[MasterTyvokka]

Renald heard someone walk up behind him and turned in his seat to see the woman he had glanced at earlier. As she mentioned something about thinking the event might be cancelled Renald stood up; partly out of politeness and partly so she wasn't looking down on him. "I guess although events like this tend to keep populations happy, at least temporarily so maybe its more of a political move. Although who knows with the Imperium."

Really nobody would know what as going to happen given the inevitable fall of the alliance. For some things would get bad, for others good. Renald hoped to be in the latter category. "Maybe these numbers are the order we are supposed to taste in or something. Although I was kind of hoping they had something to do with whether or not we win or lose," Renald responded holding up his number so that Amethyst could read it.

Renald was about to introduce himself as he heard a load grunting sound and turned to see the unfortunate sight of the fat man attempting to rise from his seat. It was odd watching the huge man stare in their direction and then do a 180. It was hilarious watching him run into one of the men who obviously had military back ground. But the plumber's crack that was the result of the fall caused Renald to return his attention to the woman in front of him. "Names Renald, smuggler extraordinaire. So what brings you to this event anyways? Boredom, hot sauce, maybe just for the hell of it?"

 

[Vulpes]

Amy rubbed her neck with her left hand, while still clasping the ticket in her right, "Nice to meet you Renald. Amy. I'm Amy," she said, uncertain if her first phrasing of it made sense, "And I suppose a combination of the three. Boredom, and seeing people inflict self-harm to themselves at this level is funny, in a sadistic way, I suppose." She chuckled lightly, not meaning it too seriously.

The girl watched as the other contestants went to the bar, that she had previously noticed only moments earlier. "C'mon, how about a drink before we start? Nothing builds up courage like a little ale." She patted Renald on the shoulder before making her way over to the counter. With a quick gesture, she hailed the bartender over so that she could place her order, "Give me a beer, something Corellian." She smiled to the worker, and then looked to her side, where the soldiers and their company were, giving them a faint nod before receiving her drink.