Burning Up the Track [Pal!]

[Marakai2.0]

He wasn't even sure why he was here, of all places. Standing in a line that, behind him, stretched all the way nearly to the Stellarium, surrounded by fans a multitude of people of all kinds. Civilians, regular military, even a Pilot or two like him, himself and all of them waiting ever-so-patiently for each and every creeping step forward.

Well, that wasn't completely true. He knew why he was here. But if he'd known he was going to have to wait around all day just to get in, he might have reconsidered purchasing that ticket. But, the price was right, and besides, it wasn't as if he'd been able to do anything for himself in a while, right? So what could it hurt? Nothing. That's what. He didn't have any duties to attend to today, barring any emergencies - and so help him, if someone decided to try and cook s'mores using a jet engine again, he was liable to immolate them and the sticky mess, lectures about his temper be damned - so he was all but free to do what he wanted.

Ahh, but these days were so rare, after all...and at last, Vaas had the chance to do something. For him. He'd nearly forgotten what that was like..forgotten how. Sure, he had his interests, his hobbies, the little things he'd do around his apartment to keep himself occupied, but...He needed something....more. Especially since being idle for too long caused his mind to wander, which made his temper go up, which caused his neighbors to complain to the building directors about their air conditioning being on the fritz (which caused him no small amount of amusement, he had to admit). So, here he was, standing in a line, waiting to get into a race of all things.

In retrospect, he realized he ought to have been more excited. He'd always admired the circuit racers, even when he was a kid, but the last several years, he'd been...preoccupied, he supposed. Between work, a relationship that very well could have gotten him out of work, albeit permanently, and life in general...he just hadn't had the time. His own interests fell to the wayside. Things changed. And Vaas lost sight of himself. Was that what this was? Some attempt to reconnect with who he was, and what he wanted?

More than likely, came the teasing voice, tingling in the back of his head. Raijin, naturally. The taciturn old dragon seemed much...was happier the right word? Probably not. But much more something ever since he and Sparrow broke up. It still wasn't exactly clear who broke up with who - Vaas had been the one to broach the subject, but in the end, it had been rather...mutual, he supposed. But in any case, Vaas was inclined to think that, perhaps, Raij had known all along...or at least had some suspicions, anyway. He winced. Perhaps he hadn't been so great at hiding his thoughts. Had Raijin simply...allowed him to think he was?

Vaas didn't bother asking the dragon. They had a mutual understanding, it seemed - don't ask, don't argue. That worked perfectly well for him. But in any case...

Bugger off, old man, came his reply, full of amused snark. Today's a me day. You've got me the rest of the week, Raij. C'mon.

The line was moving again. Finally. He moved four, five...eight steps forward. Two more. And then, it was surging forward. But Vaas got shouldered aside, then, as someone brushed past him, rather rudely. A hot - literally and figuratively - flare of anger welled inside him as the guy shouldered past the rest of the line, where Vaas saw him speaking to one of the attendants receiving tickets. For a moment or two, he and the attendant debated something, before he was allowed passage.

Cutting the entire line. Another slight wave of heat emanated from him, causing his hair to flutter gently from the suddenly-warm air. Forcing himself to calm down, Vaas closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. The air began to cool, and once again the pyro began to move forward, following the flow of bodies as, one by one, they handed in their tickets to take their seats.

[Paladienne]

Her hands were shaking.

She stared at her black-gloved palms and watched them quiver. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t nerves. It was excitement. Excitement that she was going to be living her dream once again, and that she was going to be putting on a show for all those people filling the stands. She could hear them even in the locker room, a dull roar of voices cheering. When she’d arrived at the track, she’d noticed that most of the seats were already full. People had arrived early to avoid standing in line for hours, even though the main event wasn’t for another twenty minutes. There were smaller races going on, semi-professionals vying their skills against each other as sort of an appetizer. The track would be cleaned soon enough and then the fanfare would really start, hyping the crowd up for the race they were truly here to see.

Ryan looked up from her hands to the mirror set in the door of her assigned locker, studying her own face. Her dark eyes glittered with determination and fire, ready to win. Her black hair was tied back into a smart tail, with not a strand about to fall in her face. She was going to win this. She had to. It was a mantra she told herself before every race, that her win would solidify her spot in this field and that the strings that had been pulled to get her here had been worth the price.

She closed her locker door and picked up her leather jacket. She was already dressed for the race - solid black leather pants with armored knees, sturdy boots with their buckles and laces firmly set in place, a plain t-shirt over which she wore a thickly padded vest - but this jacket would be the final piece, besides her helmet. Upon the black leather was emblazoned a stylized red and gold phoenix, its wings taking up the entirety of the back of the jacket’s sleeves while its head rested across her shoulders and its body and tail stretched across the back of the jacket. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and settled the jacket on her shoulders, pulling the zipper up and belting the jacket closed. She ran her hands over the front of the jacket and then pulled it down and adjusted it until it was just right. That done, she picked up her helmet - also black with a stylized phoenix expertly painted upon the hardened plastic - and tucked it under her arm.

Ready. Ryan schooled her face into an expression she was all too used to making, that of an emotionless block of ice that couldn’t be melted. That’s what she was after all. A frozen flame.

She stepped out of the locker room and walked down the hallway to join her fellow racers in the holding area. In this field, there were a few other Pilots like her, Cardinals all, but most of the other racers were extremely talented individuals that enjoyed racing as much as anyone here and enjoyed entertaining the populace of Adstreia even more. Ryan didn’t care about entertaining the people. That was just something that came along with the territory. Her real passion was the race itself. Sitting on the back of a powerful machine, feeling the engine thrum and knowing that she was in control of it, knowing that it would obey her no matter what she asked it to do, knowing that at top speed any mistake might kill her. If she leaned too far into a curve, she might topple right over. If there was a crash ahead of her and she couldn’t avoid it, she might end up part of it. Perhaps she was suicidal. Perhaps she was an adrenaline junkie. Ryan didn’t know and didn’t care. All she cared about was the heat of the moment and, afterward, being able to appreciate the machine that had carried her to victory.

“Nervous?”

Ryan looked up at one of her fellow competitors. He wasn’t a Pilot and she couldn’t remember his name, but she’d raced him a few times before and always recognized him by the yellow lightning bolts sewn into his racing uniform. He was a nice sort, but Ryan knew he was put off by her mask of ice and indifference, just as most people were.

“Should I be?” she replied, her tone cold and even.

“I guess not. You never seem to be, anyway. Hey, good luck out there. And afterwards, too. I hear that the stadium’s filled to capacity ‘cause of the meet and greet afterwards. I guess it pays to be a Pilot eh?”

Ryan shrugged and said nothing. Meet and greet. That was one of the conditions for her being able to do what she wanted despite her Pilot status and escape what was usually required of her. She had to spend time with her adoring fans, take pictures, answer questions, and generally be an ambassador of good will. It was easy enough to pretend like she enjoyed that part; she’d been pretending a good deal of her life after all. She needed to keep her calm and her temper in check at all times, or she’d be checked out of society entirely. Eventually, he left her, mostly because she wasn’t engaging in conversation after that. Not that she ever engaged in conversation with anyone. Her frigidness was her trademark, after all. No sense in ruining it.

In the holding area, Ryan heard the moment when the announcers began preparations for the main event. The crowd absolutely erupted into a roar that seemingly shook the entire stadium. Ryan moved to join the line that was forming at the direction of officials and closed her eyes for a brief moment, breathing, putting herself in the headspace that wouldn’t allow for distractions. Pure focus. That was what she needed. Ignore the other racers, ignore the cheering of the crowd, ignore the announcers calling out the names of each participant. Simply walk to her bike and roll to the starting line. Focus on what was ahead. Visualize the track, anticipate where she would need to lean for a curve, where she would need to open the throttle. It was a ritual Ryan did before every race. Something that was wholly hers and hers alone, where no one could intrude.

Ryan pulled on her helmet, opening the visor so she could see the crowd without the shade of the tinted polycarbonate. A race assistant rolled her bike up to her as she stepped out of the holding area, the roar of the crowd no longer muted. Ahead of her, Lightning Bolt and four other racers were slowly rolling up the underground rampway toward the light outside. Each one paused at the mouth of the tunnel, waiting for the announcers to give them their magnificent entrances, each one unique and filled with fanfare and designed to get the crowd screaming.

“You’re up, Pilot Teaona.” said the assistant holding her bike steady.

She nodded and approached the machine. A P2702 Akima, sleek and sexy, all black and silver and blue edges. A brand new design, not even on the market yet. Its makers were counting on her to advertise the bike’s capabilities in a race, and Ryan was determined to deliver. Ryan ran her hands over the handlebars like she was greeting an old lover, then gripped the handles and pulled it away from the assistant to make room for the next of the participants. As she walked up the ramp toward the track, the noise of the crowd swelled like an ocean wave and broke over her. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, taking in all of the stimuli around her and simply tuning it out as she approached the opening. She heard the announcements of the racers before her, and then she was the one stepping out into the light.

“And now the moment you’ve been waiting for, folks!” cried the announcer, her voice lifting several octaves even though the sound system ensured that she would be heard over the thousands of voices in the stadium. “The Phoenix, the Princess of the Track, the beautiful Frozen Flame herself! Pilot Teaona!”

The crowd roared as they saw her, going wild as they’d done for all the previous racers, especially those who were also Pilots. She lifted a hand and waved to the crowd, turning left and right so everyone in the crowd felt as though she was waving right at them, giving them personal attention even when she really wasn’t. After taking a moment to pose so those closet to the tunnel’s entrance could snap photos of her with their devices, Ryan rolled her bike to the starting line and mounted it. She continued to wave to the crowd with both hands then, even as their attention was pulled off her for the last participants in the race. Then she snapped down her visor, turned the ignition, and gripped the handlebars, ready to kick off and push her bike to its limits.

As the last participant rolled to the starting line and mounted, as the last of the engines thrummed to life, the crowd seemed to go silent. Ryan looked ahead at the illuminated indicator, watching the red light flash in slow bursts. Then it began to flash yellow. And then...

The moment the light switched from yellow to green, the stadium erupted in a roar that drowned out the roars of the engines of the motorcycles, and Ryan found herself somewhere in the middle of the pack, leaning low over her machine, waiting for an opening to exploit.

[Marakai2.0]

In time, the line shortened further and, at last, Vaas was at the front of the line. With little fanfare and just a small amount of irritation, he handed his ticket over. When he was asked his name, he arched a brow and, for a moment at least, looked at the attendant as if they had grown a second head. But then he remembered that there was some kind of event attached to the race itself - a meet and greet, if memory served. He wasn't entirely enthusiastic about it, really...he just wanted to watch the race and enjoy himself.

He tried to say as much, that the meet and greet wasn't especially important to him, but apparently it was important to someone above them, as he was eventually pressed into giving his name. This, of course, caused the attendant and what others overheard him to pay a lot more attention to him.

Vaas grimaced. He'd enjoyed his temporary anonymity, but he also knew it couldn't last forever. Stripping the dye out his hair, cutting it,  and taking out his colored contacts had thrown off pretty much everyone, other than his squad that saw him every day anyway. Originally, his appearance had unnerved some people, but that had been before he'd been a Squad Pilot...now, though, the shorter red hair and amber eyes seemed to garner a more positive response. Before, eyes that seemed to glow when the light hit them just right, coupled with heat and the occasional flame popping out of nowhere, just scared people.

Now, though? He had to hurry to his seat just to avoid signing autographs. He caught the very end of the semi-pro circuit, not paying too much attention to it seeing as how he'd missed damn near the whole thing. While they were cleaning and setting the track back up for the Pro circuit, he flagged down one of the vendors for a soda. When he was settling back in his seat, he heard a name that caused his head whip around hard enough, he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd damaged something.

"Did they say...Teaona?" he mumbled to himself. That name was certainly a blast from the past, all things considered. He hadn't seen or heard hide nor hair of Ryan since the ATC, but...he supposed that was mostly his own fault. If he heard right, though...she was down there, on the track, on one of those bikes. Gradually, his lips curled up in to a grin. It looked like she'd done it...she'd gotten to do what she always wanted, even as a Pilot. How she managed to stay away from being shot at out in the wastes, he didn't know - she'd been *far* more talented than he ever was with the flames. She'd have been lethal. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to track her down and find out....that was, if she didn't slap him silly for being quiet all these years. That was a small amount of shame, on his part.

Vaas resisted the urge to shout and cheer, and he didn't bother trying to connect with her mind - the intrusion likely wouldn't have been welcome, and he didn't want to cause her to make a mistake and end up a pretty smear on the track. He compromised with a wry grin, a smile that reached his eyes.

"Go get'em, Firebug."

[Paladienne]

The first curve was fast approaching, and she was fourth in the pack. Out of the corner of her left eye, Ryan saw a jacket emblazoned with a lightning bolt moving quickly up beside her. They were too close to her, close enough that she could hear the roar of the other bike’s engine above her own, and if either one made a wrong choice and made a move prematurely, they would collide and take each other out of the race. Ryan glanced to her right and found a space where she could safely shift, but she didn’t take that chance just yet. She knew the window would close quickly at the speeds they were going, but something in her gut told her that now wasn’t the time to move. The curve was straight ahead, the track gently sloping to bring them around into the next straightaway. It would be just after that she’d make her move. Everyone would decelerate a little in order to keep from crashing, and as they tried to gain back their speed, Ryan knew she would have the opportunity to pull ahead.

She leaned into the curve, allowing the bike to do most of the work while she guided it into the motion she wanted. The gap to her right widened just a hair between her and the person in third, and Ryan opened the throttle and leaned a little further, and her bike shot through the gap, past third, and then into second as they came out of the first curve. In the straightaway, Ryan leaned low over her bike, easing up on the speed. This early in the race, she only needed to maintain her position rather than jump to the lead immediately. Everyone in this field had the same idea - gain a good position, maintain it, jump at the opportunity to advance when it appeared, and wait for the final lap to push toward first and take the win - because that was what they had learned throughout their entire careers in this industry. And for some, like Ryan who was also a Pilot besides a racer, that idea couldn’t hold more true. Ironically, she didn’t apply that idea to her life as a Pilot. That was why she had yet to advance beyond Cardinal rank. It wasn’t that she didn’t love being a Pilot, or that she wouldn’t fight for her country, or die for it, but it wasn’t her dream.

Her dream had always been to be here, on the track, on the back of an excellent and well-crafted machine, with her blood filled with adrenaline and exhilaration, savoring a victory that hadn’t been bought by blood and violence. She’d gotten lucky. Luckier than she had a right to be.

She leaned into the next curve, keeping pace with the leader, a full length behind. In her periphery she saw two of her opponents try to make a move on the outside, trying to gain ground between them and first place. They were coming out of the curve now, and Ryan forced her bike to accelerate, anticipating for one of the two behind her to try and gain the lead. Instead, she heard tires squeal and the bone-jarring crunch of fiberglass and metal. She didn’t have to turn her head to see it; the crumpled mass of the two bikes and their riders skidded on a diagonal toward the outside of the track and slammed into the shielding wall. The crowd groaned as one at the sight of the crash, then cheered loudly as the two riders managed to get back up.

Ryan’s heart pounded faster with the realization as to how close to wiping out she’d come. But that was part of the thrill, wasn’t it? Moving at speeds only dragons could reach, with only two wheels touching the earth, pushing the body to its limits in movement and keeping as perfect a balance as possible between all the elements and forces acting upon it, it was a source of pleasure and excitement.

She pushed the thought from her mind and roared down the straightaway, passing over the checkered marks on the pavement mere seconds behind the leader. The glowing billboard above the crowd glowed brightly with numbers, ranks, and speeds. All Ryan saw was that she had two more laps to go. Two more laps she had to hold herself in check and avoid disaster if she wanted to find victory.