NationStates Jolt Archive

Competition is the natural order of life. From the earliest fights over food, to the modern day sports events and elections, competition is the single most prevalent human urge. Even the meekest of individuals have their moments of pushing against an outside force. It is natural, and almost important, for two forces at any one time to be competing.

By midnight, the street culture of Imitora is in full swing. Rest stops along the highways are full, divided by invisible boundaries. On one side, the wanna be gangsters and rappers show off SUVs and Pickups with wheels no smaller than twenty four inches, custom ICE systems that turn their Cadillac or Mercedes into a rolling movie theatre, and hydraulic systems that shake the ground as large, old muscle cars bounce up and down. Loud rap music blared over the sounds of engines, and someone with well over 10,000 Imitoran Credits worth of speakers and equipment was winning it all, as TI's Motivation could be heard on the other side of the parking lot.

On the other side, the fighters sit. Warriors at heart, they live for one thing: the race. They could care less about the money, though a little bit of cash for gas is always appreciated, nor the respect, though everyone needs a group of loyal followers. No, all they want to do is compete. That is what they desire. They drive flashy cars, a rainbow of colors dot the parking lot as Porsches with color changing paint jobs roll through lines of BMWs, Mercedes, Toyotas, Pontiacs, and other performance built pieces of perfection. Racers sit, letting their cars cool from, or warm up for, a night of racing. Blow of valves hiss, exhausts roar. There is no such thing as stock in the minds of these warriors, no. To them, stock is simply going into battle unprepared. Their armor comes in names like AC Schnitzer, Veilside, Kaminari, and StreetGlow. Their weapons are called HKS, Top Secret, SLP, Lingenfelter, and Apex'i. Thier steeds are called Supra, Skyline, Trans Am, and Viper. They are our modern day knights, and live for one thing and one thing alone: competition.

Rest Stop 228, IH121 Northbound, Imitora, 11:30pm

The ground shook violently, almost as if an earthquake was striking. However, the vibration didn't come from the moving of plates beneath the earth's crust, but the raw power of the turbocharged inline six cylinder engine of a black Nissan Skyline GT-R screaming down Imitora's IH121 towards Northampton. The car, making well over 800hp, screamed as it slid past one hundred and seventy miles per hour. However, his opponent, a blue Acura NSX, still held a lead. By 200, the race was over. It had lasted just under a minute.

The crowded parking lot, however, wasn’t watching the two cars scream past the rest stop, but instead watched as a 2003 Cobra, with a Kenne Bell supercharger that rivaled some motors in displacement, warmed its tires. Warmed, actually, was an understatement as smoke billowed off the black top; white, acrid tire smoke created by rubber being heated past its solidification point. The red Cobra roared as its exhaust gas, dumped past the headers of its large V8, echoed of the concrete, and the supercharger whined, filling the air with the high pitched squeal of power.

The Cobra pulled out, and moved to the far left lane of the highway, and then stopped. Another car in the parking lot, a black C5 Corvette Z06, was doing the same that the Cobra had just finished. When the driver of the ‘Vette felt the tires were ready, he slowly slipped out the clutch, and the car rolled forward, still pouring smoke from the rear wheels. He too lined up on the highway, leaving an open lane between him and the Cobra, and sat, waiting for a flagger.

“I’m saying Hoot’s gonna take this one, that ‘Vette is pushing some good numbers. Not to mention a 150 shot of spray in the trunk, that might make things interesting,” one commenter mention, looking as a motorcycle rolled out in between the two cars, stopping a good three car lengths ahead of both. The driver leaned forward as another passenger sat backwards, holding a camera to film the race.

“I dunno, that KB is running at least 400 to the wheels, plus he’s got a built tranny made for launching it.” More arcane and confusing acronyms, shop talk, and other forms of vocalization bounced around the parking lot as racers compared cars. After a few moments, one man ran out to the middle of the highway, and raised his arms above his head. He spun his fingers in a circular motion, and the two cars again roared to life. He dropped his arms, and the two American made beasts ripped forward, exhausts roaring, tires screeching, the concrete tarring as the wheels ripped the cars towards the three mile mark that would mark the end of the race. The motorcycle driver expertly slid the clutch out, and kept the bike no more, and no less, than three feet from the front bumper of the lead car.

In the parking lot, a black Mercedes Benz S600 sedan slowly crept along, and pulled into a parking space. A well dressed man exited the passenger’s side, and began wandering through the lot.

“Look at him,” a young man, leaning against an RX-7 said, pointing him out to a girl dressed in pink, sitting on an equally painted motorcycle. The custom paint job matched the custom helmet and jacket she wore, her blonde hair, with its brown highlights, worn down. “Wonder what he’s here for.”

The man walked to the side of the lot where the American cars usually sat, and approached a man leaning on a yellow 2005 Pontiac GTO. He didn’t bother mentioning his name or extending his hand, and instead just nodded, and held out an envelope. “Mr. Lance Freeman, I’d like to extend to you an invitation for the Imitora Player’s Run 2005. I sincerely hope you will attend.” He finished, and began walking around the parking lot, handing out similar envelopes. Over the globe, racers famous from their exploits were being handed invitations to attend the race.

But, I digress. Back to Rest Stop 228. The man looking for drivers was currently looking for Hoot, whose black Corvette was lining up for another race. He swore to himself, and ran out to the black ‘Vette lining up against a Dodge Viper. After what appeared to be a few moments of shouting, the man jumped into the Corvette.

Andrew Lutz, the younger man leaning against the RX-7, laughed. “Man, he’s in for a ride. But hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. How the hell can you come out here, and not get looked up on. I mean, no offense, but your not a low profile figure?”

The girl smiled before replying. “Well, I guess you racers don’t watch the news,” she chuckled.

The next day, airports and seaports across Imitora received advanced notice of a possible arrival of large numbers of cargo, and were advised to prepare accordingly.

The black leather hugged her lithe body like a lover,'a very wonderful lover' Mercedez Merrideath Hexx mused with a grin as she finished pulling the zipper up. The body it clasped would have given any showgirl a run for the money- and the showgirl would have lost- Mercy was a master of aikido, tai chi chuan and more. She wasn't bad with a pistol either. Black driving gloves fit like a second skin and a futuristically sleek black helmet with built in HUD, communications and more hid bright golden hair and stormy blue eyes.

The AI that handled the unique car's performance signaled her that the HEXX (http://www.atddm.com/hc1a.jpg) was warmed up and ready to roll. Robert was out, she hadn't asked where, she never did, trusting him to let her know any thing she needed to. They'd gone through varous hells together, and she felt more than a little guilty about not telling him what she'd planned to do tonight.

"He'd have raised a fuss, said I wasn't ready yet" She fumed softly to herself. She though she was and their arguements over the state of her recovery from near death had her frustrated. She knew that he was concerned for her, but she felt swaddled in fluff of late. She wanted to get out and test her wings

She slid behind the wheel and soon the massive v12 engine with it's dual turbos was taking the sleek car down a stretch of Imitoran highway at nearly two hundred miles an hour

The man walked to the side of the lot where the American cars usually sat, and approached a man leaning on a yellow 2005 Pontiac GTO. He didn’t bother mentioning his name or extending his hand, and instead just nodded, and held out an envelope. “Mr. Lance Freeman, I’d like to extend to you an invitation for the Imitora Player’s Run 2005. I sincerely hope you will attend.” He finished, and began walking around the parking lot, handing out similar envelopes. Over the globe, racers famous from their exploits were being handed invitations to attend the race.

Taking the envelope into his hand, Freeman didn't immediately open it, but instead tapped it against his open palm thoughtfully. As he did so, he heard the audible click of heels on the pavement approaching him. A soft hand slid up against his bicep, and another hand snaked around his neck and rested lightly upon his torso. Soft feminine lips pressed against his cheek as the slender brunette; dressed in form-fitting low slung jeans and an equally form-fitting teeshirt with a graphic of a grinning she-devil behind the wheel of a modded Porsche; looked down at the folder and asked, "What's this? Fortier running another testosterone run again?"

Freeman grinned slightly, "You know it." He gave her a sly look.

Holly Lutz gave her sly smile in return, "And you're taking him for it again?"

"Well...somebody's gotta represent for the muscles..." Lance fired back.

Holly gave his bicep in her grip a gentle but firm squeeze. "Of course." She pulled open one side of the folder, revealing the papers inside. She scanned the information typed up, and signed in her ex's handwriting.

"Ready to roll?" Lance asked as she looked up to gaze at the Benz sedan sitting down the way. "Who's the rich bastard?"

"Hell if I know." he answered, following her gaze.

"I've got a feeling we'll be seeing him around later." she replied, before brushing up against Freeman purposely and strode around to the passenger side and slid into the seat. Lance gave a chuckle, and entered the GTO. The engine rumbled to life with the distinctive voice of a well-tuned muscle car.

A number of people nearby turned and gave a few whoops in approval, as they watched the legendary Tarlachian; the sole man truly from the streets and having made his name from scratch; forced rubber to smoke on the asphalt and take off quickly down the highway.

Loraba Auto-Body Repair
170 Muffler Lane
Showroomtown, HotRodia

Argenti Loraba had been pleasantly surprised at how quickly her Official Entry Form (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9555422&postcount=9) had been processed. Those Imitorans were fast, much like HotRodians, but Argenti guessed that they did not have that relaxed Texan heritage to keep their speed in check. All the better. It would probably be a nice challenge to race against an Imitoran. She was growing bored of racing against other HotRodians because none of them currently racing had her reflexes.

Two hours later...

After spending an hour packing two week's worth of clothing and another hour preparing her Chromera RV for transport, Argenti hugged her mother, said "Goodbye" and walked out of the front entrance of Loraba Auto-Body Repair to the cab of the specially-fitted truck that was carrying her latest favorite car to the Showroomtown Airport. As she drew near the door, she noticed that Vince was not in the driver's seat. Instead, there was a tall, shapely woman in a blue-and-white HotRodia Motor Corporation mechanic's uniform. Argenti sighed resignedly, opened the door, and took a seat on the passenger's side of the vehicle, knowing that this was part of her sponsorship agreement with HRMC. She didn't really like it, but she was willing to put up with it for the awesome car in the back of the truck. The HRMC had really outdone itself with the Chromera RV. They had taken the base model that had 400hp, and after of tuning it to the usual 650hp through non-aspirated methods as they would in the production version upon request, they had squeezed an intercooled twin-turbo system into the engine compartment, taking its power output up to 800hp at 4500rpm. They had also modified the drivetrain so that the power went to all four wheels, though with a rear-wheel bias. This was needed to help improve the handling to account for the increased power output, because the track tests had showed that the usual suspension mods hadn't been enough. As with many race versions, the Chromera RV had little in the way of interior amenities. The air-conditioner, a necessity under the excessively hot driving conditions in HotRodia, was the only luxury allowed.


Half an hour later...

As they pulled onto the tarmac at the airport, Argenti nodded to her driver and got out of the truck to supervise the loading of her car onto the relatively small cargo plane that the HRMC had provided. After twenty minutes, the car (which was inside the truck) was safely stowed in the hold, so Argenti went ahead and boarded the plane, dragging her baggage along into the surprisingly luxurious cabin. The HRMC was apparently going to try to keep her happy with frivolous things so that she would keep winning races for them. She shrugged, figuring that she might as well go along with it. After stowing her baggage in the luggage compartment, she went up to the front of the plane to see the pilot. Much to her surprise, the pilot was the same woman who had driven the truck. It seemed that this was a very talented woman, to be able to fix cars, drive large trucks, and fly airplanes. Argenti smiled at the woman and finally introduced herself. She might as well be on good terms with her mechanic and navigator, and maybe become friends with a woman whose abilities she could respect.

It was dark in the highway patrol camera center, it was lit only by the videos being shown on computer screens. There were no windows to let the little naturaly midnight light fill the room, the blue light from the TVs offering little in the way of illumination. However, every screen in the room was monitered buy individuals, confirming what was being seen was real.

"Uh, captian, I got something for ya over here, registering on camera 115C-121N. Its uh, lookin pretty big." The seargent was watching a video of a gold colored Toyota sitting in the middle lane of the three lane highway. It was just sitting there, not moving. There was no traffic for it to block, but it was still a worry for the two Highway patrol officers.

"Go to sound," the captain said, garbbing two sets of headphones, handing one to the seargent. The sound that came over the headphones was near deafining, and not becuase of the preset volume. The focused microphone was picking up the sound of the car, a gold Toyota Supra, reving its engines. Suddenly, a plume of smoke appeared from behind the car, the two officers watching as the plumes of white acrid smoke poured off the rear wheels.

Suddenly, the car rocketed near side ways, the front wheels fighting to push the car back into the lane. The smoke followed as the car rolled forward over 100 yards, then disapearing as the vehicle finally gained traction. The camera was already registering the car's speed at ninety miles per hour, twenty miles per hour of the limit.

"Shit, go to camera 114, now," the captain ordered, watching as the vision switched. The gold car slid past an 18 wheeler, following the middle lane as it turned into the second inside lane when the highway split to four lanes, the camera registering its rapidly climbing speed at 160, but only for a brief moment.

"Alright, shit, go to 12," he said skipping camera 113. The seargent did so, and the Toyota was again rocketing down the highway, its speed registered at a solid, stable 215 miles per hour. "Shit, get three cars on the highway, we need to chase this bastard down." They switched to the the next camera down the line, and saw the Supra stopped, parked next to a silver, heavily decaled Nissan Skyline R34 GT-R. The captain recognized the driver's face now, as well as the driver of the Skyline. "Call off the chasers," he ordered. He's back he thought in his mind.

Down on IH121N, Robert Fortier leaned against the Supra. "Two hundred and fifteen miles per hour. Thats a bit faster than my last one. Feels it too. Much more stable though."

"Shit," the driver of the Skyline, Andrew Lutz, commented. Hes daily driver, the GT-R was close, but not quite, at the performance level of the RX-7. "What do ya think its gonna push?"

"Already dyno'd it."

"Gonna leave me hanging like this?"

"Eleven forty nine at the wheels."

"Fucking christ. What about tourqe?"

"One thousand and two foot pounds. Quarter mile in nine point six at one hundred and forty eight. She moves. Oh does she move. I took out a Haybusa last night, that green turboed one that ran in the last race. Gonna start the rumors now, that way tomorow night it'll be big."

"Christ," Andrew said silently. "Why tommorow? Oh wait, the James and David race. Pasta rocket shoot out, the two fastest cars in Imitora. Till now, of course."

"Yup. Don't get me wrong, I love Ferrari's, I got that Prancing Horse in my garage, but shit, I think I'm gonna put some people in their place."

Andrew laughed. "Ya know, Sophia is still running, I don't think shes gonna let you win this time."

"She never did," Roebrt joked, rembering his ex. "What she in now?"

"Not in, on. Yamaha R1, turboed, at a fifty shot. She took out my Rex the other night from a dig and roll. It's fast man."

"We'll see. I gotta get going. See ya tommorow night?"

"I'll keep my eyes open for the gold blur."

"Aight man, talk to ya later," Fortier said, sliding into the Supra. He slowly rolled away at the speed limit, driving back to his garage, which had never closed after his exile, just ran by Andrew. He had been in Imitora for just under a week, puting the finishing touches on his Supra, and was driving a subdued, Mitsubishi Evolution to and from the shop. Other than these night highway runs, he hadn't been going out, needing the nation to still think he was gone. Tommorow night, they would find out the truth.

OoC: My next post will be close ot the actual start of the race, so I'd go ahead and RP your arrivals. What you'll need to do is have the car check in at the airport with Imitora Customs, and then get cleared by an agent (you all will as your registered for admitance into the nation on an extended [plus two weeks] pass for buisness purposes), and then begin the drive to the Water Tiger hotel in downtown Northampton. From Port Dellson, its a half hour drive into the city, then another twenty minute ride to the hotel. From Northampton International, its a ten minute drive. Check into the hotel, all racers have a full Empror Suite with everything you would want in a room. We'll all go from there.

Mercy put down the phone after finishing the order with room service. The Water Tiger, one of Imirota's finest hotel's had a quite acceptable inhouse restraunt, not a full five stars, but close. She wasn't that hungry, she was still somewhat depressed from the big argument she and Rob had had two nights ago, when he'd found out that she'd been out driving the HEXX, but she knew she needed to eat. At least she ascribed her current lack of appetite to the depression, but part of what Rob was justifiably worried about was her continueing lack of appetite. She was a little too thin still, despite how good the skin tight jeans and bustiers she favored looked on her.

The Emperor Suite that had been reserved for her and Rob, as participants in the Imitoran Players Run was as lavish as the name would suggest. She curled up on the California super king bed and let herself drift. She'd though to possibly enter the Run on her own, driving the HEXX, but Rob had been adamant. She wasn't up the strain of such a race, she'd be his navigator, and that was that. Part of her didn't mind at all. Riding with Rob was an adventure in and of itself, but ...Softly sleep stole up and hijacked her

John Antonette sat inside his car. He slammed his laptop shut, and threw his cellphone in the passenger seat.
Damn he thought to himself as he rubbed his eyes, How the hell did I get into this? O, right, I'm trying to get Anna. He had just finished sending emails to his palace saying he was safe, no, C.R. didn't need a coronation, and yes, he was comming back. He felt his Ruger Vaquero, in its holster. He had extra ammo, on the belt, and in the car. He wore black pants, white shirt with black tie and a black jacket. On the seat next to him was his trench coat and fedora hat. He slowly drive up to the customs agent and waited for him to approach.

OOC: Cherry Ridge, just go ahead and post your arrival at the hotel.

The door from the bathroom clicked silently as Robert dabbed a towel on his face, pulling away any left over shaving cream. “Hey honey, I think I’m,” he paused, noticing her asleep in the bed. He smiled to himself, and pulled the covers up around her. “Sleep well,” he whispered, and grabbed his car keys of the night stand. He kissed her forehead, and slowly closed the door into the room.

Less than two hours later, he was flying down IH121S towards a rest stop, holding a steady speed of 90mph, with Lutz in his Skyline following close behind. The communicated over cell phones, laying out the plan for the night. Two weeks earlier, two drivers of the fastest cars in the nation, a Ferrari 575 and a Lamborghini Gallardo, both lightly modded, challenged each other to a run. Two, to be precise: a five mile drag and a three mile run from a roll. Lutz knew about it, and he had informed Robert. This would be the run for Fortier to make his comeback. In his Supra, Fortier was smiling.

They rolled into the parking lot, rap music was blaring from somewhere, just as the Ferrari finished pulling off some donuts to impress the crowd. Fortier kept his Supra off in the corner, and Lutz parked his Skyline, running over to the Lamborghini.

“Hey! Hey man,” he shouted as the driver was sliding into the luxurious interior of the Lamborghini. “Hey, I gotta ask you somthin!” He ducked his head into the passenger’s side window. “Hey man, I got a buddy over there in the Supra, he wants to run ya!”

“Well, he can wait, I gotta go smoke this guy in the Ferrari, then I’ll let your boy in the rice rocket taste some real Ragin’ Bull.”

“Naw, he wants to run both of ya. Same deal. Dig and roll, and hes willing to toss in ten thousand.”

“I dunno man; I don’t wanna take his life savings that easy. Hold on. Jimmy! Jimmy come over here!” he shouted. The Ferrari rolled over, its Tubi exhaust burbling, the Prancing Horse emblem shining.

“Watcha want man?”

“Some hommie in a Supra over there wants to run with us, willing to drop ten. What do ya say?”

“Hell ya man, let him run, more money for me.”

“You mean me!”

“Fuck you man, I’m taking this one.”

The two Italian super cars pulled out onto the highway, rolling to a stop right in front of the rest stop. Lutz ran over to his Skyline, pulled out a video camera, and then jogged over to the gold Supra, sliding in. The Supra roared briefly under a single, hard rev, the blow of valve hissing as the throttle body closed and pressure was vented away from the turbo. The car rolled through the parking lot, its custom matte gold paint job catching eyes, including the eyes of Thomas “Hoot” Gibson and Lance Freeman. It also caught the eyes of a number of bikers, all noting it as the car that had taken out Jason’s ‘Busa.

“Man, I’ve never seen him around,” Hoot commented, leaning back on his Z06. He watched as it rolled out in between the Ferrari and Lamborghini, and reved again. “Who do you think it is, and why do you think he wants to loose his money so bad?”

“I dunno,” Holly replied for Lance. “Doesn’t have any markings of a local shop on it. Maybe she’s from outa town.”

“What makes you think it’s a she,” Hoot came back.

“Only a girl would have the ability to drive a car with that much style in it,” she joked back. “Why does it have to be a guy.”

Hoot just shrugged, and looked over at Lance. “So, any clue when my LS7 is gonna be done? I wanna drop it in; see how my baby rolls after that.” Hoot had just ordered a brand new, factory tuned LS7 motor from GM for his Corvette, and even though he knew it wouldn’t be in the car for this race, it would be in for the next one.

His eyes went back to the race starting, as a flagger ran out, and held his hands up in the air. He spun his fingers around in a “spool it up” like motion, and all three cars began revving. He waited just a moment, and dropped his arms.

The world was silent for a millionth of a second, and then the two Italian super cars roared forward, flames shooting out of their exhausts. They raced off down the highway, engines screaming as Prancing Horses and Raging Bulls fought for victory. However, the gold Toyota simply sat, its motor burbling as the cam turned over and the turbo spun slowly.

Someone was about to go out, to make sure the driver of the mystery vehicle was still alive, when, in a blink of an eye, it rocketed forward. The two super cars were out of sight by now, and the Supra would have to fight to even catch up. At least, that’s what the on lookers thought.

The two super cars were off now, a good mile and a half ahead, both drivers positive that they would be able to outrun the Supra, considering how far back it had to be with out launching. Mark, the driver of the Lamborghini, held a slight lead, his more powerful all wheel drive car sliding through the air like liquid, smoothly pushing itself down the highway, slowly climbing up to 160mph.

The Ferrari was pulling well, not too far behind, and Jimmy shifted up into sixth, gaining slight ground. He was pulling hard into the Lamborghini, when he looked up, and noticed a set of headlights behind him. “What the hell,” he thought out loud, watching them come up, and fast. “There is no way in hell.” The same thoughts were going through Mark’s head, as the gold Supra rocketed by both of them, pulling hard up to its top speed of two hundred and fifteen miles per hour.

Fortier laughed as he let gravity slow the car, downshifting into fifth, then fourth, as he let the Toyota slow. He reached 20mph, then slid over into the breakdown lane, and stopped. He waited as ten, then fifteen, then twenty seconds passed, and the Ferrari, followed very closely by the Lamborghini, shot by. Fortier chuckled, waving as the two cars passed.

He slowly slid back into the driver’s seat, and drove forward, pulling onto an overpass, and moving onto the northbound portion of IH121S, and began to speed up. He held his speed at 65 miles per hour, and cruised as Lutz changed the CDs on the Supra’s stereo, over from a nice hard rock track over to a trance track. “Good call,” Fortier said, watching two headlight sets approach fast. He downshifted into third, the tachometer spiking up, and as the two Italian cars sped past him, he floored it, shooting forward as the turbo spooled. Three breaths later, he shot past both of the super cars, and rocketed back towards the rest stop.

He arrived thirty seconds before both, and pulled off to another side of the lot. The crowd rushed over to see who the driver was, only to be silenced as Robert stepped out. Some cheered, some gasped, and many whispered.

“Hey,” he said, with his 100% signature smirk. He simply pushed through, and some how, taking cue, the crowd went back to what it always did on Friday nights: race, check out cars, listen to music, and whatever else it damned well pleased. Fortier simply walked over to the section where the American made muscle sat, over to Hoot and Lance.

He gave Hoot a dirty look, which dissolved quickly into a grin, and he jumped forward, giving his friend a large hug. “God man, its good to see ya,” he said, smiling. He gave Lance a good handshake, and then looked down at the GTO and Corvette. “Moving on up, eh boys?”

They laughed, talking about the last race, when a pink Yamaha R1 rolled over from the bike pack, stopping, the driver kicking out the stand and setting the bike. She slid off the back of the bike, and pulled off her helmet, pink with a pearlescent blue face mask, and sat it on the seat. He pink jacket was pulled tight, almost as tight as her jeans. Medium length blonde hair, with brunette highlights, waved in the light breeze. The sway in her hips teased all watching her, and she walked over to Fortier.

“Robert Francis Fortier,” she said, matter of factly.

“Anna Sophia Fratelli,” he responded in the same tone.

“I was wondering when you were gonna come back for me,” she said, smiling, increasing her pace as she walked up. “Oh wait, that’s right, you have someone else now, to good for us poor Imitoran girls.” Her look changed, and she stopped approaching. Her frown was serious, and she looked at Fortier. Fortier just looked right back at her, his deep blue eyes piercing into her dark brown eyes. She could feel his gaze, warmth burning in her chest, as burning memories flooded her mind. She fought back tears in her eyes, and began to walk again. Holly, Lance, and Hoot remained silent as Fratelli pushed her self up against Robert, arching her neck up so her face was mere centimeters from his. She pushed her lips against his softly, a somewhat passionate kiss, then pulled away. Still pressed against him, her arms went around him, and she stood on her toes, her lips next to his ears.

“Don’t forget us poor Imitoran girls that still love you,” she whispered softly, then backed off. She winked, and offered a somewhat soft smile, and walked back over to her bike, not looking at him. She pulled on her helmet, and started the Yamaha, grabbing a fist of throttle, and roaring out of the lot on one wheel. Her one way face mask hid tears of mixed sorrow and happiness.

“Hey man, you ok,” Lutz asked as she pulled away, Fortier’s eyes following Anna off into the distance. “Hey? Rob? You there?” he asked, snapping his finger’s in front of Robert’s face.

He shook his head, coming out of the trance. “Uh, yeah, I’m good. Yeah. Let’s get back, Mercy’s probably up now, wondering where I am. I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow,” he finished, walking over to his Supra, getting in, and driving off back towards Northampton, towards the hotel, and importantly, away from his past.

Mercy woke to the soft chime of the sute's door, as the wait staff arrived with her order. She smiled softly as she found the covers pulled up about her. The faint but stirring scent of Rob's favorite - and her's- aftershave tickled her nose and her smile was glorious as she sat up and stretched. Shrugging off the covers she left the bedroom behind and let the sait staff into the spacious sitting room of the suite. The smell of the rosemary roast chicken made her realized that she was well and truly hungry.

After she'd signed the tab and asked that some coffee and finger foods be brought up to stock the mini fridge she sat down, opened the napkin and proceeded to devour every bit of food on both plates. She realised what she'd done only when she contemplated calling down for some chocolate mousse to be brough up with the coffee. 'Robert will just have to find his own dinner' she grinned.

She changed into a loose tee shirt and gym shorts and began warming up for more strenuous exercise by doing slow, graceful tai chai chun movements. That was followed by yoga and aerobics. Once she had worked up a healthy glow she stripped down and dove into a steaming shower.

Imitora Customs
Northampton International Airport
Northampton, Imitora

"Imitoran Customs Agent Jones" was how he introduced himself to Argenti and her co-driver after checking their ID cards. He gave the car a surprisingly thorough inspection, going over all the side panels, examining the stripped-down interior, looking under the car using a mirror on a pole, and even checking under the hood and making appreciative noises. When he had finished, he said, "You're all clear. Enjoy your stay in Imitora, ladies." Jones then handed some papers over to Argenti, smiled, and walked away across the tarmac.


Ten minutes later...

Della Carro carefully squeezed the truck into one of the parking areas near the Water Tiger hotel. She noticed that the hotel seemed just as impressive as most of the hotels in HotRodia. A good sign. Nodding to Argenti with an expression that conveyed her intention, she turned of the truck's engine and walked next to the infamous HotRodian driver through the entrance to the hotel. As Della entered the lobby and headed for the check-in desk, she found herself gawking at the beautiful architecture and appointments. This was as good as the best hotels in HotRodia: hotels that Della had never been able to afford on even her unusually high salary as a professional mechanic/driver for the HotRodia Motor Corporation. This was the type of place where a CEO might stay for the night.

The check-in process went smoothly and quickly, just as it should at a hotel like this one. A short ride in a gorgeous elevator took Della and Argenti and their erstwhile bellhop escort to an Emporer Suite. The young bellhop showed them all of the luxurious amenities that would have indeed satified the tastes of most Emporers. Argenti gave a tip to the bellhop and then went straight to her bedroom to test her new sleeping situation. She threw herself onto the bed, making the generally impassive Della laugh aloud. After some more laughs and a few tossed pillows, they looked over the rest of the suite. Once their curiosity was satisfied and they were settled in, the ladies went back outside to the truck.

Five minutes later...

Della used a crank to lower the long folding ramp from the back of the truck, and Argenti went ahead and clambered in to start releasing the Chromera RV from its moorings. Once her beautiful racing car was freed of the restraints, Argenti pressed the large, red ignition button and slowly reversed the car into the parking area. Once the car was off the ramp, Della cranked the ramp back into its closed position and made sure the truck was secure. She walked over to the Chromera, slid in, and fixed her harness. Argenti was clearly ready to move, her fingers firmly grasping the steering wheel and her foot perched just above the pedal. After checking to see that Della was harnessed and ready to go, Argenti pulled out of the parking area, prepared to spend several hours familiarizing herself with the driving conditions in Northampton so the Imitorans wouldn't have such a great home-turf advantage when the first leg of the race began.

John was finishing unpacking his stuff. His hat and trenchcoat draped over a chair, along with his holster and Ruger, he laid down on the bed. A grin flickered across his face, and over his eyes. He reached over, and grabbed his laptop. Turning it on, he accessed the phone directory of all Prussian eladers. He found Fratelli's. He decided she probably wasn't at the office. he called her cell phone number, shut off his laptop, and said,
"First Speaker Fratelli, I believe you know who this is." he said laughing slightly, though a little bit nervous, "I'm sorry if I bothered you."

Fratelli nudged her hip, feeling the vibration of her cell phone. She simply hit a key on the number pad, sending the call directly to her voice mail box. She would check the message when she arrived home, but still had two good hours before she needed to be asleep, and she needed the stress relief. Instead of turning back, or at least of the road to check her messages, she twisted hard on the throttle, bringing the nose of the bike up in a hard wheelie, then letting it drop back to the road.

She arrived at the First Speaker's mansion just under an hour later, and collapsed into her bed, still wearing her riding gear, and fell asleep.
_

Robert keyed off the ignition as he pulled into the private parking space in the garrage underneath the Water Tiger. He slid out of the car, holding the white pizza box, smiling like a child. It had been years since he felt this young, racing along the Imitoran highways, blasting music at obscenly loud levels, and eating food that he really shouldn't be eating.

He punched in the key code for the elevator, taking him to the private level of the Emperor Suites. He swiped his key in the door, and pushed it open, walking past the dinning area, and into the main sitting room. He dropped the pizza onto the table, and clicked on the TV to watch the 2:00am programing, ripping into the pizza. He didn't know why he suddenly felt so young again, like he was 24 and on a week leave from the ICMC after finishing the collegiate program, but it was nice. He contimplated joining Mercy in the shower, but decided not too, and pulled himself on the coach, drinking straight from a two liter bottle of Dr. Pepper and ripping into his large pinapple pizza.

OOC: I'm gonna give everyone one last chance to post an arrival before I start the race.

Mercy's nose twitched as she opened the door to the steam filled bathroom...She'd thought she'd heard...yes it was very faint, the hotel's sound proofing was excellent, but the bedroom door was more than slightly open...and that was the smell of pizza as well...She grinned and finished drying her hair that fell in thick waves to the bottom of her ribcage. Snugging a thick crimson towel around her shapely torso in an informal wrap, she sauntered out of the bedroom with a warm smile on her lips

"Mmmmmmm three of my favorite things...Dr. Pepper, pineapple pizza and you!"

She slid down on to the couch next to Rob, but forgoing a slice of pizza for a gentle kiss.

"I'm glad you got pizza, 'cause I ate both your dinner and mine"

Damn thought John. He wired a message from his laptop to her office. It was unsigned, so know one would know it was him, just think it was a secratary or an aide.

The Kingdom of Burgundy: Office of the King
Tell Miss Fratelli (as soon as you can) that someone from the Kingdom's government will see her soon.

John got up, and opened one of his bottles of Baileys Irish Cream. He drank a few shots, before pouring himself a large glass. He sipped it. he had slept on the plane, so he didn't need any sleep. He logged onto his laptop, and sent an email to the Cardinal:

To: archbishop@archdiocese.cr
From: king@burgundy.gp
Cardinal,
You're in charge until I get back. I think you figured out where I am.
-John

A message quickly came back
To: king@burgundy.gp
From: archbishop@archdiocese.cr
Chasing that Imitoan leader, huh John?
-Cardinal De Vito

Damn priest knows too much. Ah, but hes a good one, and a good friend. besides, he is the one who intriduced me to Baileys. he grinned at the last comment, taking another sip.

The sound of thunder can be duplicated by man, and at times, it can even surpass the wonder of nature's own thunder. This was one of those times, as the GTO sat in the driveway, with Holly behind the wheel. The hood was propped open, and Lance was moving about, checking everything.

"All right, give it a shot." he called out to Holly, stepping back to watch the engine roar to life, its echo resonating for easily a mile or so around. He smiled, and closed the hood.

"We're good to go." he yelled over the thunder. Holly, although she didn't hear him, understood, and gave the GTO another powerful rev. She gave Lance a sly look, causing him to widen his eyes in surprise. "Oh no you don't!"

The wheels suddenly peeled, the vehicle lurching backwards and spinning out into the street. Lance ran to the car, but already Holly was in drive and roared past him down the street.

Raising a hand to his head, Lance gave a half-laugh and shook his head.

"You'll pay for that, love." he declared as the GTO roared around a distant corner.

OOC: Ready when you are, Imi.

"This isn't right" Jared Korash thought to himself. He was sitting in a small hotel room, literally half way around the globe from home. The car he was to drive in the race was waiting at the starting mark for him, having already gone through inspection. "This is just wrong. I'm a racer, but I've never been asked to go out and wreck my car." Admiral Hirbat had made himself clear. The Corvette Stingray was not to return to Kassyyk.

Jared stood up and walked over to the closet, pulling out his black firesuit. He pulled it on over his basketball shorts and white tanktop. The boots were next to go on. Before he left the room for the final time he grabbed his lucky helmet. The blue paint was chipped and it was dented in places, but the damn thig had saved his life before and he was damn sure going to need it in this race.

It was well after eight a.m. when Mercy woke from her deep, healing sleep, warm and loved in Rob's strong arms. The day, with barest slice of it that could be seen through the small opening in the heavy light proof drapes looked to be glorious.

Her smile was dazzeling as she noted a tiny puff of down that had escaped the ticking of the pillows, and further the pillowcase. Capturing it between a pari of slender but strong fingers she used her free hand to putt the bed linnens aside. She cound never get enough of the sight of Robert Francis Fortier. Mercy knew that there were probably many men far more handsome than he, far more deadly, far more intellegent, far more many things...but none of them were ALL the things that made Rob all that he was, and as far as she was concerned, that was completely irrisistable

...But not unticklish...with careful deliberation, a feather light touch, and a most kissable crinckle to her nose, she assaulted the fine thin skin just under the sides of the ribs with the bit of eider down. Ready to duck and slide off the bed if need be, but she was starting to laugh...

Antonette locked his door and strolled out to his car. Throwing his hat and laptop in the passenger seat (as well as a Bottle of unopened Baileys carefully down in a protective holder). Still wearing his black tie suit, he hid the pedal and sped off around the corner. 60...65...70...75...80...85...90...95. Dodging traffic, he pulled up to a rest areas known to be frequented by drag racers. He put his hat on, made sure his weapon was concelaed, and walked up to a "real" street racer.
"Any idea where I can find Anna Sophia Fratelli?" he said, handing him an assortment of Imitoran Credits, Ridgian Bills, and the Imperial Reichsmark. he grinned saying,
"For whatever kind you want. 100 of each."

The racers watched as the King stepped out, and started offering cash, but none stepped forward. There were several reasons, the first being that many a Imitoran didn't even know the First Speaker raced. They never really knew why the pink clad biker girl looked so familar, but could never place her face with that of the First Speaker, either.

Then there was the other reason. She may have been the First Speaker, but she was also one of them. She was a sister in the family of bike riders in Imitora, the female sibbling that all the brothers wanted to protect. One man, dressed in a green bike jacket and black jeans, stepped out, holding his helmet in his hand. He gave Antonette a once over, and shook his head. "Ain't gonna find her here man, best bet is to go look else where." The man spoke to the king they way he felt. He was a stranger, and he didn't care who he was, or what kind of cash he was throwing around, no one was gonna get to his "little sister" without his approval.

He had that sort of look in his eye, the one that said it was in the investigators best interest to investigate elsewhere. He turned, and head back, a group following him, over to the areas where the sport bikes were parked.
_

As the sun kissed the horizon, Robert Fortier rolled over, feeling something brush against him. It continued, a somewhat humorous feeling, mixed with one of an itch. He continued to roll away, pulling the sheets over him, trying to catch a few more hours of shut eye before the race.

Suddenly, he spun, and caught Mercy's wrist. He pulled it in, towards him, and shifted his wieght up, catching her underneath him. His other hand came down, holding Mercy's other wrist. He gave her a dark, threatening look, one that he would give someone who he had just caught breaking into his room. It quickly fadded to a smile, and he bent down, and kissed her breifly. He pulled away, smiled, and rolled off the bed.

"Gotta hurry up hun, meeting starts in a few hours, and we should grab a bite to eat."
_

Fratelli rolled out of bed at the chiming of her alarm clock. Her personal assistant was already standing over her, holding a bottle of water. She greatly accepted the water, took a long swig, and placed it on the table.

"I had the mechanics look over your, vehicle," she called the motorcycle, never beliving a First Speaker shoud ride such a device, let alone personaly transport themselves, "to make sure everythign is ok. They also refilled your Nitrous bottle, and cleaned it."

Anna nodded, and replied with a groggy thanks. She walked into a side bathroom, stripped, and slid into the open shower, her assistant following closely. "Also, you have a message. Someone from the king's government is hear to see you, but they never left a time or place."

"Hope they can move," Fratelli said, leaning back as the near boiling water cleansed her, running hands through wet hair, dragging shampoo through her hair and massaging her scalp.

"There was also a message on your cell phone, but it was only a missed call. No one left anything."

Fratelli nodded, stepping out of the open shower, wrapping a towel around her upper body. She liked to air dry, and sat in front of the mirror while drying, brushing her teeth, and contemplating the days events. "You sent my order along to the highway patrol, right? To keep waht highways they can eyes free?"

"Yes ma'am, but they didn't like it."

Anna didn't care about what they liked. She cared about that which would keep her from getting in trouble, and her face out in the news. She finished drying, and slid into a large closet, emerging dressed. She wore a pair of tight fitting, low riding dark blue jeans, and a white halter top. Over that, she wore a balck, semi transparent shirt that clung to her frame, and went all the way down to her jeans. She grabbed the custom made riding jacket, pink on white with pink and black designs, and her helmet. "How do I look?"

"Like a 28 year old with no responsibilities whatsoever, ma'am."

That was the exact response she was looking for.
_

Robert entered the lobby a few steps ahead of Mercy, wearing a black "Free Dado" Tshirt and blue jeans, and a pair of Converse classic All Stars, and looked around. Seeing the large gathering infront of one of the ball rooms, he walked over, holding Mercy's hand, and found a large open table, and sat. A waiter came by, but Robert wasn't hungry. He ordered a large glass of fresh squeezed OJ, and after Mercy ordered, the waiter disapeard. Moment's later, he heard the voice of his close freind and compatriot, Hoot.

He waved him over, and Hoot sat with his still fiancé at his arm. The two couples joked, talked about the usual boring pop culture news, clothing, and of course cars, when Robert realised teh room was quickly filling. Suddenly, another boddy apeared at the table. She collapsed into a chair next to Robert with an exhausted sigh, and leaned back into the chair. The obnoxiously pink riding jacket didn't do much to hide a fairly attractive body accented by a similarly attractive face.

Robert nodded at Hoot a smirk, and then turned to Mercy. "Mercy, I want you to meet First Speaker Anna Sophia Fratelli. Anna, this is Mercedez Merrideath Hexx."

The King took out his revolver and shot up in the air 3 times, reloaded, then put away.
"Now that I have your attention, tell her that someone from His Majestys government is here to see her." he said as he got back in the car, and slowly drove past them, then, sped out onto the highway.

"Mercy, I want you to meet First Speaker Anna Sophia Fratelli. Anna, this is Mercedez Merrideath Hexx."

Mercy gave Anna a warm smile of welcome and held out her hand in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you First Speaker Fratelli. Have you had breakfast this morning? I believe they're still serving."

She looked about for a member of the waitstaff, having finished the light breakfast their waiter had brought some time ago. Metallic gold leather jeans clung lovingly to her, showing off a slender waist and trim hips. A black teeshirt boasted 'I survived the Original Imitora National Rally' on the back, and the front had a silk screen photo of the entryway to Northhampton Jail going up in smoke as a rocket hit it, and the words: 'Escape from Imitora'

King John sped into the conference parking lot. Walking inside, he looked around and saw Fratelli.

"Miss Fratelli, how are you" he said bowing.


ooc-
sorry for short post

Anna nodded a polite smile at Mercy, extending her hand. "Pleasure," she said, smiling. She waved down a waiter, and ordered a bottle of orange juice, and nothing else. While waiting for the juice, she looked around the table. Hoot was chatting with his fiance, and Lance and Holly had disapeared. She looked back at Mercy. "So, you gonna be driving, or just ridin' along?"

Before Mercy had a chance to answer, she looked over at a man calling her name. She saw Antonette, and nodded. "Hey John," she replied, giving a smile and a wave. "Come sit over here."

After that, she turned back to Mercy. "So, what did I ask? Oh yeah. Are you racing or riding this year?"

"Are you racing or riding this year?"

Mercy wrinkled her nose in a brief, half serious frown and darted a look toward Rob. The wistfullness was only faintly evident in her voice.

"I'm not up to driving a race right now, and Rob asked me to be his 'navigator' so it's ride along time."

Antoentte sat down next to Fratelli, and shook everyone's hand.
"I am John ANtoentte, king of Cherry Ridge and Burgndy." He rodered a Baileys, and sipped it, waiting for an answer.

Robert went first, extending his hand to the king. "Robert Fortier, professional bad ass," he said, chuckling. Hoot extended his hand as well, giving a similar smirk.

"Tohmas Gibbson, but everyone calls me Hoot. Im the wing man, so to say," he laughed.

Anna nodded, and turned to Mercy. "Well, not everyone can take on the rigors of driving Imitora. Not an easy task for foriegners. I'll be driving," she said, holding up her helmet.

Following Mercy's response, a voice came over a set of loud speakers, a man walking up to the front of the room.

"Excuse me. Excuse me can I have your attention please?"

The room slowly quieted, and bit by bit, the racers tured their focus to the front of the room. When he had everyone's attention, he began to speak again.

"Alright everyone, first, I just wanted to say welcome to Imitora. For those of you who don't know me, my name is David Happmore, and I ran in the last Imitora National Rally. Some of you may rember me as the asshole in the black Ferrari," he said, getting a good laugh out of the group.

"I decided that we needed another one, one that, with no discredit to the origional event, was more organized, with a purpose of running, and a bit more of a geographical set up. This time, we actually know where we are going." There were more laughs, and he took a sip of water. Robert chucklled at the unintentional shots taken at him, and Hoot did as well.

"Right. Well, you should all have recieved maps, locations, reservation info, and what not with your invites and registration packets, so we can skip that. Most of the information you were given should be enough to answer any questions. Now, on to buisness."

He paused, and picke dup a box. He reached in, apulled out a white plastic vinyl bag. "You'll all be given one of these bags upon leaving. In each bag are a number of sponsorship decals and little goodies for you to use durring the race, including all access passes to certain clubs and resteraunts, and other things you may need. You'll need to put the decals on your cars before leaving. Also, you'll all be given an energy drink from another sponsor, which tastes halfway decent. So, any questions?"

A hand came up. "What about cops?"

"Well, if we dont break traffic laws, then we wont get in trouble. But I know that wont happen. The only advice I can give is that everyone try to stick in a large group. That way, not only does it look flat out awesome to see a bunch of hot cars rolling together, but it also makes it less likely that we could get in trouble. We can't promise, however, that the police will leave us alone."

Fratelli smirked, and leaned back in her chair, taking a long swig of the juice.

"Any other questions?" David asked, looking around the room.

"Pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty." Mercy gave him a pleasant smile, and an answer that gave him no more than Fortiers or Hoot's did - though the family name was one of the great political dynasties of Tanaara, and perhaps the wealthiest family in a nation that rivaled Imitora, or Vastivia, for overall wealth. "Mercy Hexx, Tanaara, currently on medical leave."

"Well, not everyone can take on the rigors of driving Imitora. Not an easy task for foriegners. I'll be driving," she said, holding up her helmet.

"No it's not" Few had any idea of the coup attempt that less than three weeks ago threateded to tear the distant nation of Tanaara apart, or Mercy's small part in it. She'd been able to assisst by supplying vital imformation, and personal verification to those who'd gone on to actually stop the coup. But her active apart ended when she'd taken multiple rounds through the torso from a copters mini gun. Both she and Fortier had to be fished from the river by covert operatives, and the damage to her lungs, and other organs had necessitated complete cloning and transplant.

"And the best of luck, but Rob and I are going to blow every one off the road." Her reply was sincere, and gently confident.

"Are you now?" asked the King, rhetorically. "I am not into racing. I am only doing it to better my chances at getting someone." he said grinning and a glance towards Anna, "And please, call me John."

Mercy's eyes discretely followed John's, her smile softer. She certainly knew what it was like to be in love. Her glance could not but drift to Rob's face, and her eyes softened even more. Rob gave her life a richness, an added dimention, a rightness she could not put into words, but felt every minute.

She wondered how Anna felt about being pursued so openly, though there was something very romantic about such, if were done the right way. Mercy also wondered if the King of Cherry Ridge and Burgundy knew how to do it the right way. 'Yes, he managed to depose the prior king because of "Masonic Connections" - what a crock, just because the pope can't control the Mason's they villify them... and Imitora is predominantly Catholic...' Mercy thought as she began creating an intellegence memo in her thoughts. You might put the Supply Clerk on leave but you can't stop the Supply Clerk from being Intellegence. Especially when said Supply Clerk - Tanaara had a long history of giving their positions very odd names - had been asked to become the head of the Directorate of Intellegence. Mercy hadn't given them an answer yet.

"Certainly, John."

"Well, I think we're gonna do ok," Robert replied, taking a swig of his own juice. "But then again, it really depends on the road. Anything can happen when you roll. I just wanna get this started."

As if his mind was being read, a young lady walked over, and handed Robert, John, Anna, and Hoot plastic bags. Written on each bag was a number, one through seventy nine, their launching order. Robert and Mercy were five, Hoot was thirty two Anna was two, and John was seventeen.

"Not bad," Anna said, pulling out hte sponsorship stickers, and placing osme on her helmet. She stood, and started walking over to the door way that would lead them out of hte lobby, and to the private garrage holdign the cars. "I'll see ya'll in Felston," she said, grabbing her jacket and pulling it closed.

After Anna left, john jumped up, finished his Baileys, and walked outside. Jumping into his car, he drove to the atrting point, ready for the race.

Anna was stradling her motorcycle, letting off a few revs to keep the idle even. In font of her was the number one car, a black Ferrari 575 GTC, a publicly available purpose built race car. She looked back, and saw Fortier and Mercy sitting in the gold painted Supra, and smiled inside her helmet. She pulled it off, winked at Robert, and blew him a kiss, before turning around to see the Ferrari take off.

She pulled the helmet back on, and rolled her hand hard back, the tachometer spiking, and slid her foot off the clutch, dropping the bike into first gear. The front wheel rocketed skywards, and she screamed down the street on her rear wheel alone, receiving a massive cheer from the crowd.

She dropped the front wheel, and cut the bike over hard towards the highway. Fortier chuckled as he let off the clutch, rolling the car foward. "Shes a bit of a show stopper, isn't she," he said, absent mindedly. He rolled up to the line, and flicked a few controls, the radio skipping to a CD, and Jimmy Eat World's Pain began to play. "What doya say we go win us a race?" he asked, smiling.

He reved the car up hard, and slipped the clutch out, spinning the rear tires all the way down the street.

As the king rolled up, the starter girl leaned into his open window, and smiled. "Go get her tiger," she said, and pulled away, dropping the flag, slapping the Lamborghini on its "ass" as it pulled away.

OoC: Next post will have results of the first stage!!!!

Jared pulled up to his starting position, more nervous than he had ever been before. He had succeded at every type of race he'd run, but this was the first time that he'd been asked NOT to win.

The red Corvette rolled up to its marked spot, Jared reved the engine once to check the readings. He quickly pulled off his gloves and wiped his hands on the black firesuit.

"To hell with Hirbat! To hell with the Kunar! I'm going to win this damn thing!"

Jared throttled up once more, waiting for the drop of the flag. When he saw the young woman step away from the king's car he knew the race was on.

"Ready or not, here I come."

John sped off, concentrating only on the road.
"God damn grea!" he said to himself,
"I should have tried this long ago!"

Mercy had laughed warmly at Ann's sassy blown kiss to Rob. The sun was shining, she was alive and happier than she'd ever been in her life.

"What doya say we go win us a race?" he asked, smiling.

She looked over at Rob, and impulsively plastered a large kiss on his cheek

"Yes! Charge!" She whooped, and sat back to enjoy the rush.

Lance and Holly had remained quiet, watching the others gab about whatnot, and overall, getting ready for the races. At last, they brought the bag around, filled with numbers.

"Pick one for me, babe." Lance asked, giving Holly a sly grin. She returned the grin, "Lucky kiss, first?"

"I suppose." he replied, giving her one before she reached out sideways without looking. Her fingers clasped a number, bringing it up to view.

"Twenty-one." she declared.

"Beautiful number." Lance replied, walking out the door to get into the GTO and rev the engine warm. Holly was right behind him. The GTO rolled into position, waited until the flag, and then roared impressively down the road. From the top-of-the-line subwoofers in the GTO, Alter Bridge's Metalingus played at near maximum volume.

Starting Point
Northampton, Imitora

Argenti Loraba grinned at her co-driver and tightened her hands on the steering wheel in anticipation. She focused only on the road ahead, paying no mind to the other racers on the starting line. She tried to keep in mind the routes she and Della had plotted through the city earlier, knowing that not having to slow down to improve navigation would make for a better time in the race. In her peripheral vision she saw a flag move and pressed the pedal into the floor for an impressive burnout, shooting away from the line like a round from a railgun.

Mercy made sure that the picnick basket full of gourmet sandwiches and bottles of water was readily reachable as Rob skillfully piloted the Supra along a stretch nearly empty of traffic.

"You only had OJ for breakfast, Rob, are you getting hungry? Traffic's light enough for you to eat and drive."

He nodded assent and she pulled out a onion roll piled hight with rare roast beef, dark green leaf lettuce and slices of ruby red tomatos. Patially unwrapping it she guided his hand around it as she reached back to pull out a bottle of water.

She chose a turkey and swiss for herself, but waited to eat until Rob had finished

OOC: Alright, here is the finishing order for the first leg. Next post from everyone should be one little bit of racing, then the arrival in Felston. My hope is to get three or four good pages of RP for every destination point. With my next post, I'll have though up reasons why everyone finished where they did.

1. Tarlachia
2. HotRodia
3. Imitora (Fortier/Mercy)
4. Cherry Ridge
5. Imitora (Fratelli)
6. Kunar

John sped towards the town. he looked ahead. 3 were ahead of him. "Almost there. maybe I can make it in 3rd. Be accidently jerrked the wheel, and the toher car sped ahead of him.
Damn, O well, its only my first time. he thought, But where's Anna? She mustr be ahead. He pulled over the ending point and realised he had beaten her. He stepped out, and waited for the others.

Highway 121
Felston, Imitora

The silver beast that was the Chromera RV ripped through the air on Highway 121, making a sound not unlike that of a passing airliner. Argenti had been pushing the car hard today, and the odometer was occasionally reading up to 190mph. Despite this, she and her co-driver Della hadn't been able to catch up to the GTO that had passed them earlier. It had been hours since their last encounter with the thumping bass coming from its sound system. As they moved into the Felston city limits and an increasingly traffic-filled area, Argenti slowed the Chromera's speed gradually so as to keep from crashing. Even with her driving experience maintaining those kind of highway speeds in even medium traffic was unsafe, at least in her more cautious point of view. Della would have liked to pull off as much speed as possible despite the risk, thinking that the car could handle it.

Mercy looked at Rob, laughing at his signature smirk as they they crossed the 'finish' line and pulled in beside Lance and Holly in the hotel parking lot. The HotRodian Chromera RV had arrived just ahead of them, and His Majesty John was just now crossing the line behind them.

"Third place, way to go!!"

She whooped with sheer exuberance and flung herself into Rob's lap, claiming his lips in a passionate kiss.

She was looking forward to a night of dancing, topped by a swim and more - if they could find a private enough spot amid Felton's famous beach based nightlife.

Robert kissed Mercy back, but his smile quickly disappeared. Hoot had rolled in behind them, his black nitroused Z06 being used as a cammera car. He walked over, and noticed the look on Fortier's face. Rob hadn't said anything, and Hoot just nodded.

"I got a kit in the back of my car, what is it."

"I'm falling of boost at 28, I should be running up to 34. We need to get on it," he said, reacing into the car and pulling the hood release hatch. It popped open, and Hoot was busy rolling up his sleaves, grabbing a tool kit out of his Corvette. Rob looked at Mercy, and smiled. "I'll be right up babe, just wanna see whats wrong.

Behind them, the angry sound of a cammed motorcycle rolled along. Fratelli rolled into the parking lot, and dismounted the Yamaha. She sighed, and gave the bike a once over, and walked over to Robert an Hoot.

She noticed them talking shop, and looked over at Mercy, smiling. She looked back at teh two boys, and squeezed her way in between the two. "So," she asked, pressing against Rob, "whats wrong?"

"I'm falling at 28," Rob replied. "I should be running to 34."

"Check the wastegate?"

"Yeah, spring is fine. Might be in the vacum."

Fratelli stood upright, and nodded. She rolled her her own sleaves after removing her pink jacket, and grabbed a flashlight. "All right, lets see what we can find."

Mercy watched and listened interestedly for a few minutes, but she'd never claimed to be any sort of mechanic, so some of the shop talk left her far behind. And though she didn't want to admit it the day long drive had left her stiff and hurting.

"I'll see you in the suite." She said softly when there was a lull in the shop talk and with a smile at the group clustered around the front end of the Supra she reached into the back and pulled out her's and Rob's overnight bags.

Once up in the luxurious suite she filled the over size tub and eased in for a soak.

Lance gave a trademark grin as his GTO roared across the finish line. They had surprised many with the GTO's performance, and it had performed as expected. Holly gave a cheer and leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. He only grinned wider.

"Looks like you might be slipping there Fortier, but then again, you could be just waiting for the big show..."

"Knowing him, that's exactly what he's doing." Holly replied with a slight scoff. Nevertheless, she didn't let it bother her.

Lance emerged from his GTO, his eyes seeking out Fortier. "So what happened man? Slipping in performance somewhere? Got a kink in your spine? Perhaps Mercy can help you fix that problem..."

He gave his friend a wink and laughed as Holly shook her head in amusement next to him.

John walked over to the other racers.
"Congradulations." he said smiling.

When Mercy stepped out of the shower, Fortier was leaning back against a couch, cellphone glued to his ear, his shirt stained with oil and grease from the engine bay of his Supra. He was babbling on with somone on the other end of the satalite relay in a language that few understood: car.

His words were quick as he spoke of turbochargers and superchargers, motor swaps, chasis builds, and the like. The tounge known as automotive language was foriegn to most, but it was one that Fortier was fluent in. He looked at Mercy, and nodded as she stepped out of the shower, but it was obvious his focus was on the phone.

"Right. Well, lets say an hour to get it in? OK. No, the tee isn't ready, I don't think it can handle it with the current pistons, and the bottom end definately isn't ready for the kay plus range. No, I think we'll just run with the sc one. So how long. Four hours? Ok yeah, thats good enough. No, not the blue one, its the one for the tee, we need the black one. Yeah. Yeah I know the ess emm gee two is gonna hold it back some, but I don't wanna risk putting the number for into low earth with a boost high run this long. Ok. See ya then. Peace."

He clicked the phone shut, and stood up, to face Mercy. "Bad news. The exhaust side compressor is gone. Fired pretty bad, thats why we lost boost most of the way down here. Car aint gonna be going anywhere anytime soon, so I'm having a buddy of mine bring up one of the other cars in the shop. She'll be here in a few hours, but we'll have time for dinner before we go out tonight. Hoot's not feeling to hot, so he's gonna let us use his 'Vette."

He walked by Mercy, stripping of his shirt, and tossing it into a corner. He popped his neck and nuckles, and reached into the shower, turning it on. Steam rose quickly, but soon disaptated. "Hope ya didn't use all the hot water," he joked.

Felston, Imitora

The sand felt warm and rough between her toes, similar to the sand found on HotRodia's beaches, though thankfully not quite as hot. Della smiled at Argenti as a very good-looking Imitoran man wearing a bikini bottom passed by where the two HotRodian women lay. They had rented large umbrellas and borrowed beach towels from the hotel, hoping to maintain their respective tans. It wouldn't do to go back to their homes all pale and sick-looking. That was why they were also wearing bikinis in an effort to ensure proper coverage. Back in HotRodia they would have simply gone nude, but they had not been entirely sure if that was socially acceptable in Imitora, and had decided to err on the side of caution. Della was looking forward to some ice cream for dinner after this long day at the beach, and decided that she might as well indulge her sweet tooth while she could. She was also looking forward to continuing the drive with Argenti. The slightly younger woman was beginning to grow on her, and Argenti was certainly attractive in a conventional sort of way.

"Oh if it's hot you want to be..." Mercy teased back as she tossed aside the towel and followed him into the oversized shower stall.

"Let me work the kinks out of your back." She pushed him against the shower's wall, adjusting the showerhead so that it pounded forcefully against his upper back and shoulders. She worked up a lather between her palms and proceeded to give him a thorough massage. Strong hands found each and every hidden knot and kink. Working them out from just below the hair line on his neck, down across his shoulders, along his spine, and into the firm muscles at the small of his back.

"So where were you thinking of for dinner? And I hope Hoots going to be alright"

Robert pressed back against Mercy;s hands, sighing at the massage. "Hoot's gonna be good, just a nasty sore throat. I think you'll like the car I'm having Christin bring up. Lot more comfortable than the Supra."

He grabbed a bar of soap, and lathered up. Popping his neck and back, he washed off the soap, leaning back into the water. "Well, dinner wise, we got reservations at Ship of Fools. Somewhat classier burger type place. Americana, if you will. After that we'll pick up the car, and then some of the other racers wanna go to Colex or Excelsior."

Robert was talking about the two major night clubs in Felston. He slowly slid out of the shower, and off into the other room to get dressed.

On the beach, Anna Fratelli sat in the light of the setting sun, letting the bright Imitoran sun slowly tan her skin. He dark Ray Ban sunglasses allowed her to watch it with little fear of hurting her eyes. The somewhat less than tastefull two piece bikini revealed enough skin to get the eyes of even the prudist passer bye, but she showed no interest.

Her mind was elsewhere as the sun kissed the ocean in the distance, but she forced herself to focus, and stood up. She pressed her feet into the white sand beach, and noticed two semi familiar faces not so far away. She walked over slowly, and smiled as she neared. "Hey, you two are racing, aren't ya?"

Antonette's phone rang. Picking it up he answered,
"Hello"

"John get your ass back in CR now."

"Cardinal, how the hell did you find this numb..."

"Nevermind that, get back here now."

"Why?"

"Something along the lines of a rebellion."

"What!"

John quickly darted outside, and drove to the airport. Already, the King of Burgundy's jet was landing, and he quickly entered. He took off, and flew back to CR. He called Anna Fratelli (from the planes phone) and left a message,
"Its John. Im going back to CR. A rebellion is happening." he then hung up, and began giving commands.

"I'd enjoy a good burger, or maybe a salad, nothing to heavy though. Should we bring Ashley and Hoot something back? Though I'd guess he wouldn't want anything too spicy." She asked as she toweled dry

A quick bit of blow dry and she french braided her hair up. She'd let it fall free and wavey when they went to the club, but dinner was more casual. Minimal, natural looking mak up and shortly she was stepping into black, form fitting jeans. A ebony bustier, went under a dohlman sleeved shrug done in teal. Matching Prada balarina flats completed the outfit. Mercy whirled in front of the mirror and decided that every thing looked just right.

"I'm ready when ever you are Handsome. And either club sounds good to me. Perhaps if we are there too late we could get in a moonlight swim?"

"Nah, I think Hoot and Norton are gonna be fine. Besides, not sure if we'll have time to get back here after dinner. Gotta pick up the car and all."

Fortier stepped out of the closet, wearing a black polo that fit just a step looser than snug, and a medium blue jeans. A pair of black Converse All Stars high tops for shoes, and light jewlry: a college ring and silver banded watch with a black face. He smiled at Mercy, and grabbed his wallet off the table next to the bed.

They walked down the hall past other racers who were simply hanging out in the hallway, towards Hoot's room. He nocked, and Ashley, Hoot's almost eternal fiancé answered. Hoot could be heard vommiting in the back of the bathroom. "Stomach flu, that or performance jitters," she joked. She handed Fortier the keys to the black Z06, and said her goodnights.

The walk through the lobby was quick, with Fortier noticing a number of motorcycle riders, their colorfull jackets designating which group they rode with. He noticed a number wearing jackets that matched the group that Fratelli rode with. Unlike most motorcycle groups, they wore no specific color, but instead boasted jackets that read Eventus Stultorum Magister; Events are the Teachers of Fools.

He made a mental note, and smiled as they walked by a gagle of police officers, mostly wearing anti gang unit patches. "This many colors in one location, not suprisedthey got a good amount of cops out here." He smiled, leaning over to kiss Mercy, and then lead her out to the black Corvette.

He slid around the front, opening the door for Mercy. "Your ride, maddam," he said, smiling.

Mercy took in the crowds of various racers and hangers - on interestedly, smiling and waving to the few she knew personally. After she returned the warm kiss, the black Vette got an appreciative once over as Rob opend the passenger door with a flourish and a...

"Your ride, maddam,"

Her eyes twinkled back at him as she replied, joking yet serious at the same time.

"Why thank you kind sir, but you know this fine vehicle just can not compare to those in your stable. What car is Christin bringing up? " She asked as Fortier slid behind the drivers seat and the Z06 turned over with a throaty rumble. The city's night life lights were spangles and neon threads as Rob handled the powerful car with finesse. Mercy enjoyed watching him drive, appreciating an artist at work.

Fortier winked. "Its a suprise, but you'll see shortly."

He poped the car in reverse, and let it roll backwards. The cammed LS6 burbbled, its open three inch exhaust allowing the high velocity gasses rumble as they traveled down an open pipe, spewing out into the garrage. The cam sounded like aluminum being crumbled forcefully, the exhaust sounding like a roaring jet engine. The car was an audio orgasam as Fortier lightly gassed the motor. The car rolled out of the parking garrage, and onto the side streets.

He let it open up, the automated computer keeping the nitrous in the bottle as Fortier kept the revs and power low. He shifted early, pulling out onto a main street that lead a long open straigt that went by shops and stores, outdoor cafes, and coffee shops. Robert slowed the car as it rolled to a red light, a black Ford Mustang Cobra sat next to them. Fortier smiled, letting of a long, easy rev. The returned rev was just as long, but harder, a loud whine made the exhaust almost unoticable. Fortier smiled at Mercy, and deppresed the clutch, reving up to, and holding, at 5000rpm. The Cobra was doing the same when the light clicked green, and Fortier let the clutch slip out.

THe Cobra dumped, and fired off the line, with Fortier in close tow. The Z06 roared as Fortier slammed into second, his nose now inches from the Cobra's tail. By third, they were door to door. It was here that the computer decided that the Z06 was going fast enough, and in the proper gearing, and a light on the dashboard blinked, letting Fortier know that the nitrous was now bing dumped into the fuel line. He rocketed away from the Cobra, leaving him far behind. He just smiled as he let off the gas, and began breaking, pulling into a parking lot. From teh lot alone, one would expect the resteraunt to be full of tuxedo wearing buisness people, speaking of world politics, and eating a hundred credit plate of steak. However, upon entering, a slightly upscale resteraunt greated them, and Robert and Mercy were shown a table.

Mercy grinned at Rob's secret keeping- all of his surprizes had been interesting, and most had been more fun than the proverbial 'barrel of monkeys'- though not all. She could wait.

The race had her grinning widely. She'd known what the outcome would be but the speed was a rush that she never tired of. And from Rob's signature smirk, neither did he.

Ship of Fool's had excellent burgers she discovered. Thick, juicy and cooked to order, she had hers with bacon and blue cheese. Rufusing desert she sat back and sighed happily.

"This is just the vacation I needed Rob. You, fine cars, a race, and lovely countryside with nightlife added on..."

Then her voice changed became slightly pensive, and she looked away for a second, then back her eyes serious now.

"Rob, have you ever thought about settleing down?"

Robert didn't let the full wieght of the question show, and instead continued to eat his burger, taking a pull from his beer after swallowing his food. Fortier was not one who settled down, permanently. He was an action person, a doer, not a sitter. But he knew what Mercy meant, and he wasn't sure if he could do that either. A house in the hills, a white picket fence, kids and a dog, a real job, a family. It wasn't something he knew he could do.

Unless the white picket fence had razor wire and embeded machine gun positions. And the family garrage held numerous 700+ HP race cars, and a small aresenal. He didn't let his concern show, but smiled. "I dunno hun, never really thought about it. I mean, eventually, yeah, but nothing has really crossed my mind about it."

He took another swig of the beer, his only one for the night, and spun the tables. "What about you?"

Mercy took a sip of her iced tea and contemplated his return question for a second, though she had alrady thought long and hard on the answer. She was going to speak her heart, go for what she wanted "Yes. I have, but not the two point three kids, the white picket fence, the minivan and daily grind. I don't want to live in that box."

She had spent her life living in a careful, controlled, conformable box, victim of a heart so damaged that a walk down the street could have killed her. But she'd gotten a cloned heart, one undamaged, and now she lived the life she had always wanted to. One she wanted to live with Rob.

"Rob, that box isn't for either of us I think...and just because we aren't wanting to live in that box, doesn't mean we couldn't be..." Mercy braced herself, inwardly terrified, but refuseing to let her fear stop her. " a couple."

Fortier hid his confused look, and smiled at the waiter who took his place away. "That was awesome what you did back there sir?"

Fortier let his confused look out. "The Cobra, sir. Some local ass hole, thinks he's the king of the streets around here. Alot of us waiters were outside when you raced him."

Fortier just smiled and nodded, making a mental note to leave a good tip.

However, when the waiter left, he looked back at Mercy, the confused look still there. "When you say we could be a couple, what do you mean? I mean, isn't that what we are now, a couple?"

"When you say we could be a couple, what do you mean? I mean, isn't that what we are now, a couple?"

"Yes we are." She smiled at him "Rob I don't know any one, can't think of any one, I'd rather have as a husband than you. I'd like spend the rest of my life with you, in a very permanant way."

RELAX. REaLise the situation, Asess possible reactions, and eXpress actions. This was one of the many basic tennents tought to the recruits of the ICMC in order to teach them to stay calm under fire. Of course, when under fire, it was all reall about figuring out who was going to kill you firs,t so you knew who to shoot.

This acronym was flying through Fortier's mind at the exact moment. As usual, he wasn't showing anything in the form of emotion, not fear, suprise, or hapiness. He took a long pull on his beer, emptying the glass, and put it down. "Mercy, I think your wonderful, but I'm not really looking for anything in the way of a marriage. I like what we have now, but I dont think I want to take it any further."

"Mercy, I think your wonderful, but I'm not really looking for anything in the way of a marriage. I like what we have now, but I dont think I want to take it any further."

"Never let them know they've made a hit. Never give any sign of injury, and they'll begin to doubt the effectiveness of their actions..." The words of her harshest instructor flashed through her mind and if pain flashed in her eyes, or tightened her lips it was only the barest flicker, and could easily be mistake for something else in the dim lighting of the restraunt. She wondered how Robyn and Tomoe woudl have handled this they were both geisha trained. 'Be happy with what you have and disengage slowly and politely if you must.' The words whispered in her head

"Okay, What we have now is wonderful. So ready to go pick up your mystery car?"

Robert smiled, happy that Mercy understood. Or at least he thought she understood. "Glad your not upset." He pulled a card out of his wallet, and dropped it on the table. The waiter took it away, and brought back the card with a reciept. Fortier did his usual one two stroke signature, and left a fifty Imitoran Credit bill for a tip. He stood, and lead Mercy to the car, holding the door open for her. Minutes later, they were on the highway out of town.

The Corvette bobbed and weaved through traffic, effortlessly sliding past cars as it slowed to take an off ramp. Fortier piloted it into the parking lot of a rather large highschool football stadium. As he crested through the entrance, he slammed the gas down, and dropped the gear shift down a click, into first. The rear tires smoked as all 450 wheel horse power of the modified Chevorlet was dumped onto the rear wheels, traction becoming an after thought. Fortier fought the wheel, keeping the car straight, and rocketed down a long open stretch. He was comming up fast on a turn, and tugged the handbrake, sending the rear end flying out to make the turn first.

He smiled as he stayed on the gas, flying towards a trailor towed by a Dodge pickup and flanked by a BMW SUV. HE nailed the brakes, and the car slowed quickly, comming to a final stop just feet from teh trailor. Fortier stepped out, and tossed the keys to a young brunette wearing a grey "INAF" squadron tshirt with a black skull imposed on a white spade, and tight fitting cammo pants. "Bout time," she said, winking at Fortier. He tossed her the keys to the Vette, and looked at the trailor.

"How was the S54?" he asked, refering to the car she didn't bring.

"Honestly, I think it woulda been fine if you run low boost. We still haven't gotten the pistons in, and once we can get those in and match the cam with the turbo, its gonna be insane."

"Good stuff. So lets see her," he said, motioning to the trailor.

She waved over to an assistant, and the rear doors opened, a ramp sliding out. A black car slowly rolled down the ramp, its "shaddow chrome" wheels glistening in the parking lot lights, its black liquid shape drawing attention from a group of students on the other side of the empty lot, comming out for a pre party.

The black, four door sedan didn't look anything like it was. Underneath the wolf's skin was a tiger, ready to rip into its prey with ease. The car looked stock, save for a tasteful carbon fiber trunk lip, and two largeish holes in the front fascia, trimmed in chrome. Its lightly tinted windows revealed nothing of the interior of the technological power house that now sat in the parking lot.

Those who drove by would simply think it a black BMW E39 540i. The car was really more than a late 90s family sedan. A true enthusiast would look out and see it for what it really was, a 2000 BMW M5. The most technological M car of its day, a true driving machine. It was a race car with four doors. Its free reving five liter V8 delivered a menacing 400 horse power, and 369 pound feet of tourqe. However, like most of the stalions in Fortier's garrage, this one was not untouched.

The Carbon Black Mettalic sedan hid under its hood the BMW S62B50 that had been delicately removed, and shipped to Steve Dinan's facility in California. It was then shipped back to Imitora, now super charged and intercooled, with a rebuilt block with stronger pistons, and an aggresive cut cam. A full three inch open exhaust spewed out the exhaust gasses through four three inch tips, mounted in the same location on a stock M5.

The inside was mostly stock, except for a three gauges mounted below the stero system which delivered all the information Fortier would need. The navigation computer screen could also display performance information as needed. The custom Koni suspension would keep the car glued to the ground, and giant Brembo brakes that were almost as large as the wheels they sat behind glimmered a matt gold, promising to bring the car to a violent halt at a moment's notice.

Fortier smiled at the car, and took the key from Christin. "Whaya think?" Fortier asked, turning to Mercy.

"Glad your not upset."

She was a lady, and no, he would never know how deep his strike had gone. She knew now that she was just a past time, a momentary thing, not good enough, outside looking in yet again. That did nothing to change her love for him.

The drive to where they would meet up with his people was more of watching an artist doing what he loved best. She appreciated his natural talent. It served him well.

Slowly she circled the BMW examining it minutely with a drivers eye.

"I think no one is going to be able to dominate you. You'll will take all comers and trash them." She smiled at Fortier.