Le Melange de Grand Prix- (The Grand Prix of Melange) Prt 1.
I prayed for riches and achieved success,
All that I touched turned into gold. Alas!
My cares were greater, and my peace was less
When that wish came to pass.
I prayed for glory; and heard my name
Sung by sweet children and by hoary men.
But ah! the hurts, the hurts that came with fame!
I was not happy then.
I prayed for love, and had my soul's desire,
Through quivering heart and body and through brain
There swept the flame of its devouring fire;
And there the scars remain.
I prayed for a contented mind. At length
Great light upon my darkened spirit burst,
Great peace fell on me, also, and great strength.
Oh! had that prayer been first!
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox, "Answered Prayers"
Magny-Cours is fucking hot but people don't like to talk about the heat or the weather at these things. It's a continuous struggle. Racer X remembers his ancestors back in the hayday of racing half a world away admitting at least that the weather was murder but not here. Never here.
He's learned to let it go like the rest of the people around him, baking in their hot leathers and dress clothing. Magny-Cours likes to maintain that old world sense of dress and fashion, back when this was a gentleman's sport and not a means to an end for ninety percent of the drivers on the track.
His target was five places back and two over which meant that he wouldn't be able to do a goddamn thing about the man until the race started.
A helicopter soared overhead. Airspace had been cleared of all personal air-vehicles long before the race. There'd been a disasterous incident at Daytona years ago where someone had dropped smoke bombs onto the track from up above-a harmless prank-
But harmless pranks in this business were likely to get you killed.
[Conducteurs ! Mettez en marche vos moteurs!] Racer X ignored the announcement in english.
His star came to life. Car number nine, the shooting star, Two time construction winner and four time driver winner. She purred and took the challenge of the other cars beside her. The roar was deafening-hundreds of jungle cats pent up in a tiny space waiting for that final call to-
[GO!]
Instinct took over.
-----
Only a fool calls racing a sport for people of lower intelligence. The balance between man and machine must be carefully maintained and it is ludicrous-if not derogatory to assume that this sport does not require the utmost dilligence, the most critical mind. A mind honed by the background of the driver taking the curve too fast for the spectators to follow and earning cheers for it.
----
Cheval is two places behind him moving serpentine on the track as Rex Racer glances over his shoulder and smirks. He can win this
Confidence was the name of the game and he had it in spades. He could win this and accomplish what he needed to accomplish. The second cave in the Maltese Ice Caverns was coming up-a rattler of epic proportions.
His hands tightened on the wheel
----
[Do you see him?]
This is not inspector Detector but his european counterpart. The europeans have never fully embraced what racing means-they still think of it as a gentleman's sport and are utterly content to stand by and let the CIB, INTERPOL, and all the other organizations contend without existence.
[I'm on him.] Racer X is terse and to the point. He has a hell of alot more to concentrate on then just keeping the T180 in a fucking straight line fuck you very much. The cars are too close together.
He makes a mental note to tell Inspector Detector this after the upcoming crash. Sometimes you need to let go of the past, build toward the future. I understand this-why the fuck doesn't anyone else?
----
The drive to win gives way under something in his chest. He almost stops the car-almost, because if he'd actually had he would have been killed instantly.
Apprehension.
So this is what it's like to be afraid. He'd never been afraid before (well no, but he'd covered it up with a sort of reckless abandon and a firm belief instilled by his mother that everything was going to be okay if he just believed it would be)
He senses Cheval rather then sees him-the driver's grinning wickedly and the chase is on, cheetah and gazelle, wolf and hare- it's a juxtaposition that Rex hates. For most of his life he has been the Predator.
Being the prey is a different feeling entirely.
-------
"You're mine."
Somewhere the judges are tallying the race and shaking their heads. They don't call Racer X the harbringer of boom for nothing.
But what can they do? Whoever Le Loup de Fleur Di-Lis is, they have deep pockets. The sponsers can only shake their heads while the media drinks the river dry, a Roman Holiday. The fans come for metaphorical blood (because we've risen above that) to laugh at the looser bouncing away in their Kwik-Save Cocoons of shame.
Racer X has to remember that this man is a notorious member of the Cartel. This man is responsible for killing hundreds of innocent drivers-
----
This man is going to pass him.
Rex almost doesn't let it slide. He shifts into third and prepares for the ice-caves up head. Cheval fights dirty like all the rest, he's got tire shredders coming out behind his car.
That's when it hits him The other cars are just as in danger as I am.
He was supposed to let him take him out, the one time that Inspector Detector and the CIB intended to capitulate to the cartels-worse then communists-worse then terrorists who had infested their beloved sport. Because they were willing to do whatever it took to win.
That wasn't right. This was a game. This was supposed to be fun.
The shreddres sparkled like tiny stars ahead.
---
[That's a Nasty Crash. Racer X takes an early lead-this'll put him within qualifying for the Fuji Hexiconal but it doesn't look like Veritas Maximus will be coming through that any time soon...]
[Oh Doctor! And here come the ambulances for the poor guy's Kwik-Cocoon...You know, that crash was big enough almost to rival the worst crash in Racing History...]
---
Rex Racer, so surefoot, so fast- Slid
He turned the car to the side and slid down the caves. The Star screamed-he could feel it's legs frantically grabbing for a handhold on the ice.
The other cars pulled to a stop ahead of him-headlights flashing in the gloom as the star whirled backward-Just take it easy and let it happen...trust them..
He thought of his brother and wanted to cry.
"I'm doing this for my family."
The car shudders.
"This sport means everything to them."
----
[.... Took a turn like that and skidded off the ice cave wall-first time anyone in the sport has actually gotten out of their vehicle since the days of the American NASCAR!]
[And it's the Shooting Star! Winner of the Grand Prix at Magny-Cours!]
Racer X doesn't hear the cheering, he doesn't have time. He poses stoic and firm at winner's circle not sparing a second glance back for Veritas-Truth (how ironic was that?)dying.
Not for long.
His gaze is cold and dispassionate as they crack open her coccoon. A cartel driver deserves no sympathy. He was on a mission to make sure that they didn't take out anyone else-
Like they almost took me out.
Fuji was a step in the right direction, especially if the rumors that Speed had turned down Royalton were true. He'd had to win. taking you out in the process was just an extra incentive bitch. No honor in winning without actual sport, something he had given everything to keep in this stupid game.
The driver's look of fear is something that he cherishes as he flies back home.
All that I touched turned into gold. Alas!
My cares were greater, and my peace was less
When that wish came to pass.
I prayed for glory; and heard my name
Sung by sweet children and by hoary men.
But ah! the hurts, the hurts that came with fame!
I was not happy then.
I prayed for love, and had my soul's desire,
Through quivering heart and body and through brain
There swept the flame of its devouring fire;
And there the scars remain.
I prayed for a contented mind. At length
Great light upon my darkened spirit burst,
Great peace fell on me, also, and great strength.
Oh! had that prayer been first!
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox, "Answered Prayers"
Magny-Cours is fucking hot but people don't like to talk about the heat or the weather at these things. It's a continuous struggle. Racer X remembers his ancestors back in the hayday of racing half a world away admitting at least that the weather was murder but not here. Never here.
He's learned to let it go like the rest of the people around him, baking in their hot leathers and dress clothing. Magny-Cours likes to maintain that old world sense of dress and fashion, back when this was a gentleman's sport and not a means to an end for ninety percent of the drivers on the track.
His target was five places back and two over which meant that he wouldn't be able to do a goddamn thing about the man until the race started.
A helicopter soared overhead. Airspace had been cleared of all personal air-vehicles long before the race. There'd been a disasterous incident at Daytona years ago where someone had dropped smoke bombs onto the track from up above-a harmless prank-
But harmless pranks in this business were likely to get you killed.
[Conducteurs ! Mettez en marche vos moteurs!] Racer X ignored the announcement in english.
His star came to life. Car number nine, the shooting star, Two time construction winner and four time driver winner. She purred and took the challenge of the other cars beside her. The roar was deafening-hundreds of jungle cats pent up in a tiny space waiting for that final call to-
[GO!]
Instinct took over.
-----
Only a fool calls racing a sport for people of lower intelligence. The balance between man and machine must be carefully maintained and it is ludicrous-if not derogatory to assume that this sport does not require the utmost dilligence, the most critical mind. A mind honed by the background of the driver taking the curve too fast for the spectators to follow and earning cheers for it.
----
Cheval is two places behind him moving serpentine on the track as Rex Racer glances over his shoulder and smirks. He can win this
Confidence was the name of the game and he had it in spades. He could win this and accomplish what he needed to accomplish. The second cave in the Maltese Ice Caverns was coming up-a rattler of epic proportions.
His hands tightened on the wheel
----
[Do you see him?]
This is not inspector Detector but his european counterpart. The europeans have never fully embraced what racing means-they still think of it as a gentleman's sport and are utterly content to stand by and let the CIB, INTERPOL, and all the other organizations contend without existence.
[I'm on him.] Racer X is terse and to the point. He has a hell of alot more to concentrate on then just keeping the T180 in a fucking straight line fuck you very much. The cars are too close together.
He makes a mental note to tell Inspector Detector this after the upcoming crash. Sometimes you need to let go of the past, build toward the future. I understand this-why the fuck doesn't anyone else?
----
The drive to win gives way under something in his chest. He almost stops the car-almost, because if he'd actually had he would have been killed instantly.
Apprehension.
So this is what it's like to be afraid. He'd never been afraid before (well no, but he'd covered it up with a sort of reckless abandon and a firm belief instilled by his mother that everything was going to be okay if he just believed it would be)
He senses Cheval rather then sees him-the driver's grinning wickedly and the chase is on, cheetah and gazelle, wolf and hare- it's a juxtaposition that Rex hates. For most of his life he has been the Predator.
Being the prey is a different feeling entirely.
-------
"You're mine."
Somewhere the judges are tallying the race and shaking their heads. They don't call Racer X the harbringer of boom for nothing.
But what can they do? Whoever Le Loup de Fleur Di-Lis is, they have deep pockets. The sponsers can only shake their heads while the media drinks the river dry, a Roman Holiday. The fans come for metaphorical blood (because we've risen above that) to laugh at the looser bouncing away in their Kwik-Save Cocoons of shame.
Racer X has to remember that this man is a notorious member of the Cartel. This man is responsible for killing hundreds of innocent drivers-
----
This man is going to pass him.
Rex almost doesn't let it slide. He shifts into third and prepares for the ice-caves up head. Cheval fights dirty like all the rest, he's got tire shredders coming out behind his car.
That's when it hits him The other cars are just as in danger as I am.
He was supposed to let him take him out, the one time that Inspector Detector and the CIB intended to capitulate to the cartels-worse then communists-worse then terrorists who had infested their beloved sport. Because they were willing to do whatever it took to win.
That wasn't right. This was a game. This was supposed to be fun.
The shreddres sparkled like tiny stars ahead.
---
[That's a Nasty Crash. Racer X takes an early lead-this'll put him within qualifying for the Fuji Hexiconal but it doesn't look like Veritas Maximus will be coming through that any time soon...]
[Oh Doctor! And here come the ambulances for the poor guy's Kwik-Cocoon...You know, that crash was big enough almost to rival the worst crash in Racing History...]
---
Rex Racer, so surefoot, so fast- Slid
He turned the car to the side and slid down the caves. The Star screamed-he could feel it's legs frantically grabbing for a handhold on the ice.
The other cars pulled to a stop ahead of him-headlights flashing in the gloom as the star whirled backward-Just take it easy and let it happen...trust them..
He thought of his brother and wanted to cry.
"I'm doing this for my family."
The car shudders.
"This sport means everything to them."
----
[.... Took a turn like that and skidded off the ice cave wall-first time anyone in the sport has actually gotten out of their vehicle since the days of the American NASCAR!]
[And it's the Shooting Star! Winner of the Grand Prix at Magny-Cours!]
Racer X doesn't hear the cheering, he doesn't have time. He poses stoic and firm at winner's circle not sparing a second glance back for Veritas-Truth (how ironic was that?)dying.
Not for long.
His gaze is cold and dispassionate as they crack open her coccoon. A cartel driver deserves no sympathy. He was on a mission to make sure that they didn't take out anyone else-
Like they almost took me out.
Fuji was a step in the right direction, especially if the rumors that Speed had turned down Royalton were true. He'd had to win. taking you out in the process was just an extra incentive bitch. No honor in winning without actual sport, something he had given everything to keep in this stupid game.
The driver's look of fear is something that he cherishes as he flies back home.