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Ha-HAH!!
Last one there's a rotten Stinger egg.
[Erol, of course, is already there, as the rev of a zoomer engine in the background proves.
He's probably not going to sleep for a few days. Racing is far too important to interrupt with petty things like sleep, which is for the weak anyway.
Yes it's an open commentlog.]
Last one there's a rotten Stinger egg.
[Erol, of course, is already there, as the rev of a zoomer engine in the background proves.
He's probably not going to sleep for a few days. Racing is far too important to interrupt with petty things like sleep, which is for the weak anyway.
Yes it's an open commentlog.]
A zoomer? Really?
[He's not sure that will be quite fair. He's not sure whose favor that unfairness will be in, but it's definitely unfair somehow.]
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Oh yes, really. Come on, Razer - I'm a little rusty, but I wager that evens the odds a little.
[He's... playfully teasing. Yeah, Erol's definitely high - or something.]
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[He fiddles with the control panel until he finds--oh dear mar that's a Havoc V-12. That's--with a little adjusting that's HIS Havoc V-12. Oh dear MAR. Razer smiles--SMILES--and laughs a little as he lets this bizarre place do its work and pull up his choice of racing machine.]
Speaking of whom...
[He runs a hand over the beauty of a machine as he steps around it to climb in. A little more adjustment there, he's tall and he knows it, but not too much.]
...do you think he'll show up? The three of us all on the track at once could be fantastic.
[He laughs again, an honest-to-goodness laugh. Erol isn't the only one with a high from this, although his is significantly more obvious given that Razer's demeanor is usually fairly amused in some way or another.]
Makers, Blitz would have an aneurysm.
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Oh yes, let's rely on his version of events, shall we? The one that omits the fact he used short-cuts off the main and still barely came through ahead on the First Class.
Insisting on duking it out with the pack will be the death of me, I swear to Mar.
[He rakes a hand through his hair, as if settling ruffled plumage. When he's a bit more settled, he takes the time to eye up Razer's vehicle. Low to the ground, vicious curves. Nice.]
I'm certain he will. Between the two of us -
[Wait. Razer is ostensibly supposed to be on Jak's side. While he undoubtedly wouldn't do him any favors on the track, that meant teaming up to cream him into the pavement wasn't an option.
Damn.]
- well, I'm certain Blitz would enjoy the show, at least.
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[His tone is close to singsong, amused and playful. He pulls out and lights up a cigarette--same as before every race in the last decade--and takes a long drag before speaking again.]
Fact remains that the boy is good. Better than his upbringing should allow, considering. He has beaten you, me, Mizo--regardless of how many times I beat him before the championships, that is where it counted.
[He does not sound pleased, but that edge of a buzz hasn't left him. The adrenaline rush of sizing up the competition, when there's competition worth sizing up, more than makes up for the frustration of having lost to a nineteen-year-old who didn't even seem to know how to use his brakes.]
But, as we both know, talent can only get one so far; and this Jak is behind mine by a year. A year less training and practice, we'll see how well he does when he gets here.
[...]I may have to ram you off the track, you know. Just once or twice. Or make a show of attempting so, at least. Not that I would be going easy on ( ... )
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Losing against Jak a third time - it was possible, no matter how much he wanted to deny it - would be intolerable. But he thought he might be able to swallow losing against Razer AND Jak, especially if one of them was playing dirty. His voice croons low and flirtatious.]
Oooh, don't worry. I shan't hold it against you. Unless you really want me to.
[To be quite honest the idea of playing at being set against one another in the public arena appeals to him immensely. The possibility of getting "caught," the opportunity to pull out a dramatic flare... and, beyond it all, the utterly delicious prospect of Jak learning that Razer had been enthusiastically sleeping with Erol the entire time ( ... )
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I might. I suppose that depends on the outcome.
[He doesn't have quite the same buzz from the danger of being found out--he hates having plans fall through, and he's put a lot of work into this one so far--but the thought of actually racing Erol makes him damn near giddy so it doesn't matter. He's only wanted to do this since he first heard about the guy.
He takes one more loooong drag on his cigarette, then flicks it over the side.]
Ready whenever you are, Commander.
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Don't worry Razer, Erol has no intention whatsoever of blowing your cover; he intends on doing his part to pull it off beautifully. He's just a risk junkie.]
I was born ready.
[Yes, he DID just say that line with a straight face. This is the man whose repertoire of taunts include "You can't handle the speed" and "Too much for you?!" Let's just say he's a smidgen excitable and leave it at that.
Erol reaches over to the control panel and initiates the countdown. The grin he shoots Razer before pulling down his mask is palpably crazed.]
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He whispers the numbers to himself as they count down, taking a deep, steadying breath.]
Three...
...two...
...one.
[And with a flip of the wrist and a slam on the gas, he's off like a shot. Maybe his Havoc isn't as manueverable as a zoomer--but it's just as fast, cuts the same swath through the air.
Catch him if you can, Commander.]
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Briefly baring his teeth in frustration behind his mask as Razer takes the initial lead, Erol sets his jaw and consoles himself by nipping into Razer's slipstream while his own engines get up to speed. Now all he needs is a turn to catch up lost ground -
There.
Erol ducks his head, guns the engine and darts between Razer and the inside wall - a gap far too small for another car to consider, but to the KG it was as wide as one of the "shortcut" lanes back home.
Your turn to catch him, Razer].
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He moves into the inside of the next turn, one tire on the verge of slipping off the road as he slides, giving the younger racer no room to get ahead as they come even with one another. He glances sideways at the sleek bullet of color that is Erol, and can't keep back a short laugh.]
You are very good at this! I must say, I am somewhat surprised!
[No he's not. But...well, he has other things he'd like to say, and really can't right now, not with the chance of spectators. Later. When they're definitely alone.
He turns just slightly to give Erol's zoomer a slight nudge, but with the difference in size and design he's uncertain he'll manage it. Still, the intention is clear: "Swap paint with me, Commander."]
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If he hadn't already wanted to fuck Razer after the race, he certainly did now.
He righted the squirrely vehicle with ease, feeling the hum of the side stabilizers respond to his weight shift.]
Think you can push me around, do you?!
[The words were challenging but his tone rang with the exhilaration of the track. Bracing his feet and leaning low, Erol guns the turbines and returns the move ( ... )
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