NationStates Jolt Archive

The voices were low in the dark room, the only real noticable sound was the clicking of computer keys. The sound of the typing was rapid, and it wasn't long before a small green light blinked.

"We're in... one of the voices said, hushed.

"Gotcha," one of the men said, before pulling a microphone close to his mouth. He nodded, and started to speak. "Yo yo yo this is your man in black Scott Jordan with ma boy DJ Double K Kirkland, and as always, your listening to Starflame FM, the pirate radio station for everyone! Listen up ya'll, we ain't got muchos time here, so I'm gonna say this once. All you boys with your bad toys, you've been called out. The locals are looking for some action, and want the best to come on down to tha house. Ya'll know what I mean! So come on down, and hit some..."

The station went staticy, but the message was out to all the drivers who thought they had the take. It had been an open calling to whoever could hear the call. Jordan and Kirkland, the two men that seemed to "operate" Starflame had issued a challenge, and it would be up to the rest of the world to answer.
_____

The black Toyota went through the turn sideways. In fact, it was more than sideways, it was almost facing in the opposite direction as the inertia carried it. The driver popped out of second, slamming through to third, and spun the wheel against the grain of the road, spinning his nose around towards the upcomming turn, and then sideways again.

The tires squeeled as he toyed with the steering wheel, keeping the car on its path. The driver was in control of an out of control car. The rear tires had no grip on the road at all, no traction, they were just spinning. Everynow and then they would catch, and give the driver a push towards the next down hill turn.

The road started leveling off from the twisty mountain highway, and soon the black Toyota was shooting straight along I121 towards New Dellas, quickly accelerating to 115. The car shot past a few buildings, and soon started slowing from its speed of one hundred and twenty miles per hour down to forty five, and then swung into a garage.

The owner of the car had heard the call on the radio, and hopped that the out turn would be good.

OOC: So heres where ya'll step in. I've always wanted to do an RP about the more underground aspects of Imitora, and this seems like a good way for me to start. You can be anyone from a cop to a spectator to a driver to a parent of one of the drivers. Only rules are no super duper 300 mph cars that hover or float or whatever, and no super duper ex military 19 year olds who can kill a man by looking at him funny. Just regular teens. I'd prefere that you use cars in current existance today, but if you want to use one of your own, thats ok.

Jake Suthers cocked an eyebrow as the FM radio monitor he had on his computer went haywire, and tuned in out of curiousity. After listening, he quickly figured out what was going on in his groggy mind. He sat around for a bit, thinking it over in his mind. His midyears were over, there was the break, and he had nothing better to do. Street racing was over for him, his buddy had trashed his car, and due to the fact insurance didn't cover gunshot damage (His friend had chosen the wrong time to race, Police raids were annoying like that), he was itching to see some action. It wasn't as if he had any commitments, his girlfriend had dumped him after seeing him get involved with the law after the incident with the raid. He packed his bags, pulled on a windbreaker and hat to cover him from the windy and cold Montascus range air, and booked a flight. On the flight over, he brushed up on Imitora in general.
Virus outbreaks, Catholic violents, militarist dictator takeovers, and international ass kicking. Sounds like a very wonderful history.
Not that this was a problem. As he arrived, he realized he had no idea on the when and where of this stuff, which was typical of his past mistakes.

Jake didn't have to far to look. Street Racing, be it sprints, drags, drifts, and the like, was the main source of entertainment for the younger crowd. And while the airport was generally left alone do to heavy police presence, but New Dellas International wasn't to far from Downtown New Dellas, where most of the clubs were. And where there were clubs, there were club cars.

And the clubs were the best place to find club cars. Club cars were different than the standard racer, as they were meant to get you places in style, and genarly look good. Club cars consisted of EVOs, WRXs, Integras (RSXs to teh rest of the world), and the like. Sporty smaller cars that could hold their own.

Jake was snapped out of his trance when a voice called out to him. "Hey you! Ya need a ride or somethin?" It was a cabbie, at the wheel of a four door accord.

Jake whipped around, slightly surprised.
"Uh, yeah. It would seem so."
He hefted his bag strap over his shoulder, and made his way over to the Accord. So far, Imitora didn't seem too much different from home, or at least the airports weren't. Heavy police, even average police with heavy weapons, were a common sight in his cities. Hopefully they wouldn't be as strict on street racing, a police squad equipped with "stickygel" lead to many a ruined car and arrested drivers. As he approached the accord, he adjusted his baseball cap and asked, "So, uhh, I'm here on vacation. Whaddya people have for entertainment around here?"

"Well," the cabbie said, pulling away from teh curb, inching into the flow of traffinc, "it depends." He steared over a lane, and barely missed a black EVO VIII, speeding towards downtown. When the lane was clear in front of him, the cabbie held his hand out. "On how much you wanna know."

Officer Jake Montell was on his way home from the office in his squad car listening to the radio when he heard the broadcast then got on his radio,"hey uhh i just got a open calling to street racers im guessing on the radio.." he let go of the button,then the dispatcher replyed,"roger location given?",Jake looked confused and the radio for a secound,"uhh no..but ahh hey im off now and going home to the beautiful wife and kid, im turnin off people have a good one". he shut his radio off and drove towards home wishing he knew where starflame radio was located so he could laugh in all their faces, he was only 27 years old,did some racing in his day but that was over now, time to get serious with life.

The dark blue car looked almost black against the night sky, its Rensis engine howling as the driver increased his speed. He looked down at teh speedometer, reading the numbers flash by. A buck thirty five, not bad on minor bolts, he thought, shifting up into sixth.

He looked up through the window of the RX-8, and saw a black and white. He was appraoching the swuad car at near 140, more than twice the legal limit on the road. He knew the cop would probably chase, it was almost a given, so he slammed down on the gas, shooting past the squad car at 150. He looked in his rear view mirror, waiting for the lights to come on.

Bump cuz a bump feels right

"I wanna know," Jake leaned back in his seat, "Whatever gets me entertainment, fast cars, and the like. I didn't come here for the nature."

Pavel looked up from under the engine lid of his supercharged Porsche 944 when his favorite song was interupted. Not another Emergency Broadcast System test... When he heard the message he grinned and put the spark plugs back in. "Time to see vat you've got in you..."

The 944, though two decades old could reach 170 or even higher if he risked the engine giving out, wheeled out onto the city streets, blowing past what traffic there was at around 110, metal blaring as the young Russian headed towards downtown, a case of vodka in the seat next to him. Alvays make sure you have an advantege...

The cabbie nodded, and turned onto the freeway. He took I121 towards I183, and exited just five miles outside of Downtown New Dellas. He was driving at a conservative 65 mph when two cars screamed by the Accord.

The engines wailed as teh vehicles, a 2003 S2000 and a 1998 Supra shot into the night air, blow off valves hissing, letting off the excess presure from the turbos, which, in turned screamed like jet engines. The cars, now out of sight from the Accord, were both pushing 170 when it was obvious neither car would go faster. The Supra had a nose on the S2000, and the S2000 let off, sliding in behind the Supra.

The cab driver, not taking his eyes off the road, spoke. "That what you lookin for?" He pulled back onto the highway, and after a few more minutes, exited again, and pulled into the parking lot of a night club. The sounds of the club mix music could be heard outside, muffled by the walls of the building. In the front of the lot was a line of Lancer EVOs of varying models, and a few newer WRX STis. While the line to get in the club itself was long, a good portion gathered around the club cars, admiring the level of detail and the amount of work put into the cars.

"Thirty five," the driver said, holding his hand out.

"Thanks," Jake said, handing him over 35, and then getting out of the cab. He once again pulled the strap of his bag over his gray windbreaker again, taking a look at one of the WRX STis, thinking back to his old car...
It was a local design, a Frisia Motors "Lynx Type Six", a good car, but not as decked out as most... And invariably, his mind went back to his friend getting out of it at the finish line, congratulations going around. And then, the raid. The target was a crack dealer's kid, a punk with too much money, and not enough common sense. As the squad cars pulled up on all sides, he was behind his car. And he pulled a gun. 20 seconds later, any doubts people had about the fact that bullets could go through engine blocks was disproved. The car was trashed, and since it was an illegal event, he couldn't sue...
He snapped out, realizing he must have looked pretty stupid staring at the WRX. He stood up straight, and looked at the line to get into the club. As he slowly walked over to the line, Jake wondered how foreign he actually looked, although the New England accent was sure to clue people off that he wasn't native.

In every city, there were rumors and stories and tales of an almost supernatural nature. And New Dellas was no different. Standing in front of Jake were two very attractive females, talking of such rumors. "Well, I dunno, I mean, it just seems, to good to be true," the blonde said, "I mean, just the idea of a car going that fast."

"Yeah, I'd love to meet the guy who makes somethign go that fast," said a red head. She looked back over to the row of club cars, and winked at one of the drivers. She waved to another who was leaning agasint an EVO V, and blew a kiss to one opening the hood of an STi.

"Why do you do that?" the blonde asked, watching her flirty friend.

"Becuase I can, and unlike you, I'm single." She winked at another driver, then turned and looked at Jake. She eyed him up quickly, and noted that she had never seen him before. New Dellas was medium sized with a population of about thirteen million, but most people at clubs around here were regulars, and this kid wasn't. "Hey, I've never seen you before. I'm Rachel, and this is Amy," she said, nodding to the blonde.

Jake looked up, nodding.
"Jake, and yeah, I ain't a regular. Decided to take a vacation from New Empire, come over here after catching a Starflame broadcast about the races."
And Jake was intriuged by the rumors. Back in his home area, corporations were always peddling their latest racers under the table to the richest drivers, as a sort of field test. And with them came the rumors.

Pavel wheels around a corner and nearly smashes into a cab. He blares the horn and hangs out the window. "Hey! Watch where I'm going buddy!" He grins and pulls up to the other cars, noting his 944 was probably the oldest car here.

The russian gets out and leaves the car unlocked, confident the vodka would be gone when he got back. He nods to another driver with an EVO V. "Nice car. Vat modifications have you made?" he asked, the usual line of questions he gave out.

The driver of the V looked over at Pavel and then at the 944. He noted not the bottle of vodka, but the leaving of the doors unlocked. He looked at the Mitsu, and smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked, cockily. He leaned back against the black EVO, whose only visible external modification was a single red vinyl decal that ran along the side of the car.
____

"Well Jake its nice to meet you, I love your accent," Rachel said, extending her hand. "So you heard the Starflame braodcast too? Alota people wonder what it means."

A semi rumbling, semi 'gurgling' noise entered the air, and a yellow EVO VIII pulled into the parking lot, drawing a few stares, and a few oohhs and ahhs. It parked, and the driver stepped out, closing the door, and hitting the 'lock' button. The car chirrped, and the driver walked over to the two girls. He hopped the rope line, and kissed Amy on her cheek. He looked at Jake and nodded, extending his hand. "Brett Perry," he said, smiling.

Pavel nodded. "Not that much..." He snaps his fingers and unlocks and pops the hood of his car, removing something the other driver can't see, pocketing it. "Vouldn't do to have a classic stolen, eh?" he says, locking the hood.

The red 944 was obviously a product of the 80's. Big and boxy, but with a lot of power. It had only four outside modifications. One was the custom yellow stripe down the center, one was his name written above the doors in Russian, the third were the custom rims and last was the low restricion muffler, which succeded in contridicting its name.

"I guess if you like classics," the driver said, nodding at the Porsche. By now, a few of his friendshad gatherd around, looking at the two cars. The driver of the V looked around, and snuffed, walking away.

bump for da hell o it

He shook, "Jake Suthers. I'm from New Empire."
He was a little distracted by the 944, which looked out of place among the EVOs and WRXs, guessing he wasn't the only person here from out of town.

Pavel smiled as the others walked up. "It's alot different from yours, eh?"

The color scheme of the car seemed to be a cherry red and bannana yellow inside and out. Also, the center of each rim held a yellow hammer and cycle on a red background, as were the steering wheel and shifter. If asked, Pavel would have responded with "Tradition. I come from the land of the Soviet, so I make sure that the most important parts of the car are marked vith it's symbol."

He steps away from the car and lights a cigarette.

Jake looked over, "Heh, everything here is different from what we have back in New Empire... So many damn tarriffs it's hell just to get a Ford pickup."

"Ya dont say?" Brett replied. "Driving and shit like that is a big part of Imitoran culture, so even though we got our own brands, we get all types of cars at about equal pricing, so its no biggy. So what brings ya to Imitora?"
_____

The group looked the Porsche over one last time before walking away, one of them mumbling a comment about Pavel and 'god damned commies'.

A much deeper rumble could be heard, and to the amazment of many, a black Cammaro, one of the older first generation models, pulled in to the parking lot.

The group that had gathered around Pavel's and EVO V boy's cars soon changed direction, and started walking over towards the Cammaro. Their walk went from the walk of an indiferent nature to an almost agressive nature.

One of them shouted something unintelligable, and two older men stepped out of the Cammaro, walking with a quick pace towards the group of younger men. Another younger male walked up, and stood next to Pavel, before leaning back against the Porsche noncholantly. "This is gonna be good," he commented.
______

Brett looked over to the gathering storm of EVO and STI drivers, and the two men from teh Cammaro. "This isn't gonna be good," he said quietly.

"Well, it's not like we have any trouble getting anything on wheels in New Empire either. The automotive industry pumps out some great cars, trucks, 'cycles, even boats and military stuff. But while you can get a top line car, sometimes the racing models with mods installed by the company, you can't get anything foreign without breaking the bank..." After looking at the Cammaro, he silently agreed with Brett. Politics, xenophobia, and club cars probably didn't make for a good mix.

Pavel looks up at the person next to him. "Da. It vill prove entertaining, at the wely least." He doesn't seem to mind his car being leaned on. He had destroyed it twice so far. As long as the man didn't start messing with the car, Pavel didn't care, simply taking another drag from his cigarette.

Montell pulled in his driveway and shut off the police car,sat there thinking for afew mintues then hoped out and ran into his house. His wife came out of the kitchen,"jake what are you doing?i thought your ass said you be home early", jake was in their room getting out of his uniform,"1 secound honey" he replyed putting on a black and white doo rag with his matching Rockawear outfit and ran downstairs,"where you think you goin at this time right after work" his wife yelled as he about to go out the door,"monicah im sorry,im be back soon i have to pick somthin up for Shandell's basketball game tomorrow,them shorts he wanted" Jake replyed,no responce so he walked out the door shaking his head going to the small wooden shed behind his house.

He Opened the doors,it was dark inside then he pulled a string attached to the light, There sat a 1998 Toyota Supra, lime green and orange with 18 inch zenetti racing rims it shone in dim light, the glass was dark orange almost impossible to see inside the vehicle. Jake went over and opened the door then got in rubbing his hands over the wheel, taking a deep breath he turned the engine over and drove out of the garage pumping the 4 MTX 12's in the trunk up to 35 with his favorite song,"headbussa" by lil jon.

The air had become increasingly tense since the arrival of the Cammaro. It wouldnt have been a fare fight, as just about teh entire parking lot had surrounded the two men. A fight seemed imenent, and two bouncers for the club, whose job was to moniter the parking lot, were already moving out. Brett himself was about to jump the line, when an older driver, either late 20s or early 30s, walked over.

Word were exchanged, glares stared, and fingers pointed, when finally the two men got into the Cammaro and drove off. The older man who had talked to them waled off to the side of the club, and moments later, a red Supra with a TRD body kit left the parking lot.

Brett turned to Jake. "There really isn't 'territory' per say in Imitoran racing, but American musscle cars are generally disliked, and its kinda an unspoken rule that they stay away from the clubs and stick to the strips on the outside of town. And you'll never see any on the mountains. For the most part, drivers get along, but for some reason, the guys who drive American just like to start trouble. The guy who you saw talking to them was Craig, kinda the local peacekeeper."
_____

"So," the leaning man asked as the crowd disapated, looking at Pavel, "you race? Or you just try to look tough? Obviously, you're hear cuz you heard the anouncement on the radio."

Montell hadn't drove this car very much,once last spring but he knew how to handle her at top speeds so he decided to open her up on the highway when it came. Going up the long on ramp he shited her into 3rd and the engine hummed loudly with the duel greddy exaust system,glanced at his rising RPM's and shifted up to 4th, he was now at 130Mph and climbing, he knew the consiquences if he was caught, especially being a police officer but he had to get the down-lo on this street racing and have some fun in the process,if he could make a mass arrest he might even have a shot at being top cop of the year. Once he got off the highway and drove through the streets downtown scanning his eyes all around for any sight of souped up cars, then he seen a Honda Civic Si dark purple and baby blue go through the lights and turn into a parking lot behind a club, he followed to his suprise there was cars all over the parking lot along with groups of people everywhare, He cranked his music up and creeped into a parking spot.

Montell turned on his orange street glow then got out of the car, leaning up against it having a smoke his eyes wandered to all the other vehicles,"daaamn this is..amasing" he wisped blowing out smoke. A beautiful black girl walked up and sat on the hood of the car,"hey papi nice ride" she said sliding her finger across her lips, Montell smiled giving her the full inspection,then thought of his wife quickly saying, "ha yeh..she's my pride and joy.." trying to avoid eye contact with the fine woman. He was really waiting for another driver to approach him, before he was a police officer he worked in the Konning factory for 4 years on cars worth more then his life.

Brett flicked his eyes over to the Supra, and had to bite his tounge to keep from laughing. The extreme colors were so outragous that everyone started staring, and not in a good way. Someone in the crowd, picking up on lime green and orange, let out a shout along the lines of "Hey Spilner, hit the Nawz hommie!"

Another one shouted "Ya, the stickers had like, one thousand horsepower at the wheels!"

It wasn't that Supras were disliked in Imitora, nor were flashy cars, but when cars were going to be flashy, they needed to at least look good, or tastefull.

Seconds later, the red Supra that had left a few minutes earlier shot by, turbos screaming, and the Cammaro soon followed, a good three or four car lengths behind.

"Well, we got the same thing in New Empire with the different manu-"
He took a look at the Supra.
"Yeesh, is he colorblind or something? That thing hurts my eyes..." Jake muttered under his breath. He turned back to the others.
"I take it he's not from around here either?"

Pavel considered the man and nodded. "Da, I race. I see that American products are not liked here. Good." He smiles and opens the door, pulling out a bottle of decade old 80 proof vodka. "Here. A gift. I have plenty. Brought them to share with everyone." To prove that there wasn't anything in them, he grabs one while he speaks and opens it, taking a swig. "Can't be a good wodka."

The man shook his head. "Naw, I dont drink. And its not that American cars are disliked, its just, well, its kinda an unspooken rule that they stay away from the clubs, and stick towards the outside of town to race." He looked around. "But hey, if you race, let me introduce you to some of the guys," he said, walking away from the car.

Pavel shrugs and puts the vodka back, keeping his bottle. He follows the other man, ignoring the rather ugly car as any sensible person would do. He also ignores a few women waving and trying to get attention from the drivers.

Jake walked toward the wall of the club and leaned against it, checking the time, and putting the headphones to his Mp3 player over his head and played it as he looked over the cars, then at Pavel's 944, and then some of the other cars.
Yeesh, of all the times for Chris to get the car shot up by the cops, it's before an international street race event. Man, I'm the king of misfortune.

As pavel stepped away from the Porsche, the man's friends went to work. Opening the passenger side door and staying low, they first went for the radio. Once they got it out, they rummaged through glove boxes and the center armrest, pullling anything that looked valuable. Using a screw driver, they jimmied off teh soviet logo on the steering wheel, as well as teh two on the passenger side wheels. To add insult to injury, they slashed the two tires on the passenger's side, and grabbed the bottle of vodka.

As they finished, three black STis drove by, stopped briefly, and the thiefs jumped in. The three Subarus peeled out of the parking lot, taking off into the night.
____

"And that over there is Mike Forstion, head of the local Celica club," the man said, showing Pavel around the parking lot. "And that guy over there is the so called man to beat. He's teh reason we are all here," he said, pointing out a older looking man leaning agasint the side of a Black Nissan 240SX.
____

Brett leaned against the wall next to Jake. The line was moving slowly, and he was in no hurry to get in. He had left Rachel and Amy in teh line to hold his spot. "So whats it like in NE?" he asked, watching the three black cars peel out of the lot. Damnit, they're at it again, he sighed to himself.

OOC: :x Why you little!

IC: They would have found a gameboy, a few CDs of European Techno and a couple nudie mags, the only place he could have them with his girlfriend in the house.

Pavel stopped as the Subaru's pulled away and watched, wondering why they showed up and left so quickly. He nodded as he was shown the other drivers. "I see. Wely nice to meet you sir." He says, heading back towards his car.

When he got there and looked at his car, now tilted to the right from the destroyed tires, he gave a short and concise lesson of the most popular and even some rarer Russian curses. He opened the door and looked inside. Only one of the ten vodka bottles was gone, but the interior was looted and rims scavenged. He slams his fist down on the hood. The only tires he had were the spares back at...

He pulls his cell phone out and dials. A few minutes later he hangs up. "The wadio I can understand. Why they vould vant the Soviet emblems though... they're just plastic. The shifter is the only jeweled peice and they left it..." he says softly to himself, leaning against the car. The thought he was set up never crossing his mind. After all, in Russia, theft of anything worth stealing was common. He locks the car and sighs.

"Well," Jake began, "In terms of racing, things are OK. A hell of a lot more cops than here, but we also do have low crime rates, so almost nobody goes and trashes your car. Most of the major cities are way too strict for anything serious like this, but there are plenty of privately owned areas where you can go and do it. Of course, there's also the mandatory civil service program. You can go at 18, 24, or 28. Police, Firefighters, Coast Guard, Emergency Reaction, Govt work, Reserves, National Guard, and of course the frontline military. Some people dodge it, a lot of racers do, which sort of leads to all the crackdowns and raids. Which really suck, because anyone can get a gun in NE without being underage, mentally challenged, or having a criminal background. But then again, most people get them and only qualify for the first two. This basically means every time the Police come out with guns, which is every time, some scared idiot driving "Daddy's car", Daddy usually being a paranoid dope dealer, pulls a piece, and gets shot to hell."
Jake blinked and realized how long he had gone on.

A beat up old pickup drives up about a half hour later, seeming very out of place. A tall strong looking woman, yet still small enough to get gawked at seriously, steps out and pulls the spare slicks out of the back of the truck and gives them to Pavel. "Here. Want to watch the car better next time? I'm not comin' out here again."

Pavel nods. "Da, I'll vatch it. Get me the jack and help me get tires changed..."

The woman does so, still not letting up on him. "I knew plasterin' all this Soviet crap on the car was a damn bad idea. Didn't I tell y-" SHe stops when he stands up suddenly.

"Marthe... shut the hell up and change the damn tire. I don't vant to here it." Pavel says sternly, staring her down until she did as he said.

She left with the detroyed tires without another word. He'd here it when he got home. Oh boy would he get it...

Brett nodded. "Cops usually stay away from races around here, unless your doing it on the highway in light to moderate traffic, then they come after you."

As he finished, a blackish looking Nissan pulled into the parking lot. It was a 1999 R34 GT-R. It wasn't really black, but the angle of the light hitting made it look black. Dark blue, almost violet, neon glowed on the street under the car, and the exahust let out a low pitched gurrgle. The entire lot seemed to stop an look at the car as it drove in and parked. A young male, handsome in the rugged way, stepped out, and looked around.

He picked up on everything, the EVOs, the STis, the Porsche, the other Nissan, a midnight black S15, and the pickup truck leaving. He walked over to Pavel first. "Somethign happen to your car?" he asked, looking at the 944.

Pavel looked up. "Da. It's fixed though. Slashed the tires and looted the interior. Last time I be charitable and leave wodka in the passenger seat..." He shakes his head and leans against the door.

The dirver of the Nissan just nodded. "I'll get it taken care of," he said, turning to walk away. He walked over to a few other groups, talking to friends, looking at cars, and generally wandering through the crowd.
_____

Brett looked up, and pointed the Nissan driver out to Jack. "Thats Ian. One of the best drivers around, but he never races. Rumor has it that that Skyline puts one kay at the wheels. Not base, but at the wheels. Just got back from some place called Waughslind few years ago. Bought an old Skyline, went to work right away on it."

Brett looked around the parking lot. If Ian was showing up, it wouldn't be long before the rest of his team showed up.

Pavel shrugs. He could get new slicks and the emblems were marginally harder to get. If the man wanted to play vigilante though, more power to him.

Montell looked around at the people staring at his car, he really didn't care what they thought about it in a way, he then opened the door and sat down pumping his 4 Bi-Tech 18's up so that the car was shaking and rattling then turned the key, the car roared with the deep sound of the duel greddy full exaust system he was rockin. He shut off the engine,left the sterio on,triggerd his alarm then walked over to the 944, this wasn't like some of the ricers he seen tonight, turning around glancing face to face of people that stared at him, "what? i came here to race just like ya'll, sure i stand out but when you rockin what i am you allowed, straight up..any one wanna have a look then judge? maybe even step up? i an't come with no beefs, just ta chill an shit you know?". He slid his hand over the hood of the 944, "daaamn, o well if a brotha got flow..why not show it.." he wisped to himself.

Silence filled the drivers in the parking lot, and soon they all burst into laughter. "Yo hommie, roll on dubd like you aint got flow, yo!" someone called out.

"Yeah dawg, got some blunt ass rolls?"

"Hey Spilner," hte name now stuck, "watch youz rollin?"

Somone held up their hands, and the heckling stopped. A younger looking man walked over from a Subaru WRX STi. "Hey Spilner, you wanna race? Well then, why dont you race him," he said, pointing to someone leaning on a similar looking metallic black Supra.

Pavel ignored the people talking in some english dialect he couldn't understand and unlocked the hood, replacing the part he took out. He looked over the stage 4 turbo and the quad butterfly intake system, among a few other, more or less illegal additions to the car. Satisfied, he closed and locked the hood, walking around the car to lean on the back. "Venever you two are finished with your race, I'd like to see vat kind a fools think new and shiny means the best." He grins. That'll get me a race.

OOC: I got a class I gotta get off to, so I'm gonna breifly explain how the races are gonna work. The first race is a straight out mile drag, Supra v Supra. The rest are gonna be mostly downhill drift races (Initial D, anyone?) with a few mile drags and a coupla sprints (point a to point b). Becuase non of us want to loose, I'm gonna be using the same method for the races as I did on my Top Gun school RP. I'm gonna use a random number generator to randonly generate two numbers (one for each racer). The one with the lower number wins (lower number=lower time) After I post the results of the race, the two racers will each get a chance to 'RP' the race, well, what the driver did and thought durring said race. I'll wait till I get a responce from New Britian Isles to do the first race.

OOC: Waiting...

IC:

A 20ish looking male walkes up to Pavel. He looks at the Porsche, and then at a rather stock looking WRX, and then back at the 944. "Ok, I'll race ya. Of course, you do know what kinda race it is, right?"

A Supra, similar to the Skyline that had pulled in moments earlier, pulled in, its exhaust 'gurrgling' as it idled, then stopped. The driver stepped out, and walked over to the driver of the Skyline, and began talking.

OOC: Crimmond, I'll do the race a bit later tonight

Jake watched Pavel and the WRX driver with intrest, he had been wondering how the 944 would perform. The slang talk between the Supra owner and the others had gotten quite annoying, rarely did anyone talk like that in New Empire, even in the underground.

The driver, noting that nothgin was going to happen with the supra drivers, jogged back over to his WRX. He hopped in, and turned the key, letting the engine rev, then idle. He smiled as the car seemed to emit a different tone. He looked over at Pavel, and smiled, pulling out of the parking lot slowly.

Pavel grinned at the reactions. first took the bottles of vodka out of the car and set them behind the car next to him "Help yourself, thats vat they're here for." He says, etting in the 944 and starting it. The aftermarket turbo roared to life as he pulled back slowly. The missing Soviet symbol irritated him, but he would get a new one. He followed the other driver to the start, pulling beside him and rolling down the window. "What's the course? Slalom, street unmarked or walled?" He asked, only half expecting a truthfull answer. He almost wished he had taken his buddy up on the offer for the modern 911 Turbo, but he hadn't.

OOC: Gotta get some sleep.

"Mountain!" the WRX driver called out, turning towards one of the mountain roads. Within 15 minutes, the WRX had lead the driver of the 944 up to a small mountain rest stop. He stepped out of the car, and looked as the 944 as it pulled up. "So we showing guns or just goin?"