飞龙 @feilxng-blog - Tumblr Blog

拉力賽. . .

yvyin:

Almost entirely, at the very least.

He takes a mental picture of the rims, memorizes the shape and the construction. You can’t be completely off the grid.

When they start to roll, he wants to take his brother’s hand like he used to. He wants to give a reassuring squeeze, letting the other know that they’ll be fine. They’re always fine.

But he doesn’t.

They’ve gone through this too many times for either of them to be nervous right now. Yet he still finds his stomach turning. He blames the new technology and tries to squash the feeling that’s pressing up against the back of his mind, anchoring its fingers in his throat.

Still, he manages his trademark smirk.

“This is why they invented seat belts, Gēgē.”

The world around them speeds up in an instant. They’re flying again, jerked into motion by the propulsion system intertwined with the chassis and frame of their vehicle.

He hums in agreement.

It’s always been a wonder to him that humans were able to invent such a divine contraption.

But when their adversary’s car pulls ahead, he frowns.

“That’s not right…”

The model doesn’t match up to the speed increase.

“Nitrous?”

It’s been banned in their circle for a little while now, but nobody’s ever done a check on them. Whether it was out of fear, respect, or just general lack of concern, he’s never really known. He supposes he’s just got his answer.

If you can’t afford the right car or the parts, you can afford the right NOS.

It’s a cheat.

“Someone needs to start checking cars.” Pixiu growls as he sees the front end of the Supra pull ahead of their Skyline, and lifts his foot onto the clutch to shift, only to shove it down harder on the gas pedal after he does so. He repeats the process until he’s in his highest gear, then keeps the gas pedal to the floor. “Right now it’s just us, them, and the road. We can’t let him win.” Pixiu tries to take the inside of the curves to catch up, and manages to gain enough ground to get beside the car, but on the straight sections he still pulls ahead. “Damnit!” He’s starting to get frustrated, something that is clearly not needed right now, so he reaches over and takes Yazi’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “There isn’t anything we can do. He’s going to fucking beat us cheating.” “I can gain some ground in curves, but I highly doubt he’s going to let me take the inside again.” His suspicions are confirmed when he tries to take the inside again and the Supra swerves in front of him to keep him in place. “I don’t know what we can do here.” Pixiu attempts to fake a calm facade, but small scales are beginning to show through his skin. It’s very obvious he’s anything but calm.

“We haven’t even been on the road long and he’s already decently far ahead. 这是胡说.”

拉力賽. . .

yvyin:

Of course he didn’t. He never does. But Yazi can’t help it. For most living, self-aware creatures, there’s a nagging in the back of the subconscious that tells them they are not unique, they are just one in a hundred or a thousand. Statistically, humans have about ten other “versions” of themselves, reproduced in some other country on some other side of the planet. He’s not human - the numbers aren’t the same.

He sighs, and wonders if he should start putting out feelers before each race. The idea is that they’re supposed to be blind, not know anything about their adversaries, but he’s never liked surprises. It’s easy to become accustomed to knowing everything when you live forever. Or, rather, a very, very long time. He’s not sure if forever is actually attainable.

So he wants to make every second enjoyable.

His eyes trail over the opponent’s car as it pulls up beside them and tinted windows keep him from seeing the interior. It’s a nice ride - almost as nice as theirs, if he were to be generous. That doesn’t garner this guy any respect, though. Just means he has enough money to show off. There could be a lot to this, or there could be nothing. The only way to know if this guy has the skill to back his car is to look at the upcoming results.

“Nice rims,” he muses, “Those are custom. Looks like Momgwa Maeum.”

He almost wants to whistle.

“Pricey, but traceable. Paint job is…” Hard to tell in the dark, actually. “Probably DIY. Nothing especially flashy.”

“I suppose we’re going in entirely blind.” Pixiu complains, frowning slightly at the situation, as if these aren’t the exact circumstances in which they should be. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen that car around here. This race must be pulling in newcomers. I suppose I can’t complain, racing the same people every week or so is starting to become boring. Maybe this will add some variety.”

“Still, we shouldn’t be too prideful. That course of action always goes before the fall.” One of the crewmen approaches the two cars and waves them forward, and both cars tires squeal against the pavement before they lurch forward to their places. “Looks like it’s showtime. Let’s hope we can keep our place on the stage.” The smell of heated rubber seeps in through the vents, not the most pleasant smell, but still an element of familiarity in a race with too many unknown variables. He edges the car forward until the crewman tells them they’re even, then he waits. Everything outside of the road blurs, and he focuses all of his attention on the car and the path ahead.

“I would tell you to hold on to your seat.” He smiles and tightens his grip on the steering wheel, revving the engine with a shaking foot.

A woman walks out onto the track, smiling for the crowd, and lifts her arms into the air.

“But I think we’ve been through this so many times that you can manage.” Her hands fly to her side, and Pixiu’s foot slams into the pedal with all of his pent up excitement and energy. The engine roars as the car flies forward down the street, leaving the supra behind a few feet, and Pixiu grins again. “Maybe this race won’t be so different after all.”

#huo #yvyin

拉力賽. . .

“There is no one out there like us.”

The response is immediate. They are unique, some of the last of a dying breed. Only a handful of people in the world know what it’s like to be like them, and they are all family. He’s already got a taste of disdain for their competitor.

“If he’s got a reputation, we’d have heard about him. The number of people that could be classed like us is small enough.” His other eye opens as they round the last stretch, and he sits up.

This is the time to size up the competition and their spectators. It’s easy to pick out who’s won so far and who’s lost; there are smiling faces and there are upset ones, and then there are some that are just counting, money in hand. He can’t find their opponent anywhere. There’s nobody sitting at the start.

This is easier. He doesn’t like talking to these people. They’re greedy people that have no idea how precious their lives really are. He has existed for a long time and seen countless people live and die, and he’s learned it is a lot easier if he doesn’t concern himself with them at all. Prevents a lot of unecessary headache.

He hums.

“Yeah, might as well. We’ll be able to start whenever he shows.”

“You know I didn’t mean ‘like us’ in that sense. Of course there’s no one like us, outside of our family, that is.” His reply is soft and corrective of his previous statement, clarifying the intent behind it.

“We may have already heard about him, but they’ve managed to make it difficult enough to establish connections between what we’ve heard about our competitor to what we’ve heard about others.” Pixiu admits, taking a moment to consider any possible ties between what they know about their opponent and what they know about the regular competitors around this area. He racks his brain as he slowly approaches the starting line, but comes up with far too many matches to narrow anything down in the slightest. All of their information is mostly general, which is not much of a surprise since both party’s identities are supposed to remain concealed until the race is over. It’s just unusual for Pixiu not to be able to find out more, even in this situation. He’s done it before, so one would think he’d be able to do it again, but no such luck.

The car comes to a stop just before the wetbox, and Pixiu starts to put the car in park, but stops when he hears the sound of another engine approaching over the purr of their Skyline.

To his left in the rear view mirror, he catches a glimpse of the distinctive headlights of a Supra. “Ah, here he comes. Looks like he’s in Supra, so we’ll have to be on our best game.” He mumbles and brings a single finger to his lips in thought. “The car doesn’t look familiar to me.” The elder states flatly, a tinge of curiosity in his voice. As the car comes closer, there are still no unique marks to link it to anyone they’ve seen before. “Damn, the car doesn’t even give me any information.” He grumbles, instead trying to focus on the windows, but, no luck, they’re tinted black. “Yazi, does anything stand out to you?”

拉力賽. . .

His own eyes close as they rocket forward even faster. If he lets himself go, it feels like he’s flying.

“If there are rumors, it shouldn’t be too hard to find out who he is. How come you don’t know yet?” The short answer is that they’ve both been busy, the long answer might be a bit more complicated than that. He doesn’t expect a response.

“’Nobody flies faster than the Dragons from the West,’” he says,”If anyone knew they were up against us, they’d tap out before we could even get started.”

It draws out a quiet chuckle, something not rueful nor blithe, and he shifts in his seat. One golden eye pops open.

“Do you think it’ll ever stop being fun?” He’s resting his head on his hand now, elbow dug into the aniline leather on the center console, following the lines of cartilage in his sibling’s ear. “We’d have to go back to pillaging on the weekends.”

“Oddly enough, the rumors all seem to lead to dead ends. No one seems to know anything other than that.” Their speed slows as they come upon the turn they were looking for, and Pixiu shifts into a lower gear to accommodate. “There’s always the possibility that he’s like us, in that he’s kept every bit of information expertly hidden away in case it were to influence the race. Like you said, if anyone knew they were up against us, we’d be hearing their tires squealing away instead of their engines at the starting line. We have quite the reputation, maybe he does too.”

About a quarter of a mile down the road, they come around a curve and the clamor of voices and engines revving increases in volume as the source of the noise comes into sight. All sorts of custom cars parked along the sides of the road, gleaming slightly under the dull streetlights, with their owners standing beside them boasting about the qualities that make them unique. Everyone here has already been through their run, or they’re here to watch, at least that’s what makes the most sense. “We’re here, but we’re a bit early. Should we go ahead and make our way to the starting line? I assume we’re not supposed to socialize or anything until we’ve both crossed the finish line.”

拉力賽. . .

He knows only the night.

The underground comes alive when the sun goes down, when everyone else is at home watching whatever reruns are on television. There are nights when he yearns for a life like that; one where he doesn’t have to deal with his own reality, but tonight isn’t one of them.

The air is hot and humid - breathing is like sucking down steam - but he’s safe within the carbon steel and aluminium confines of their Skyline GTR.

His brother is in the driver’s seat tonight, propelling them toward the industrial district. He leans against the door with his head against the glass.

“How much do we have on this one?”

The buildings outside pass by in a blur, eventually dwindling to one here, one there, and then there’s only warehouses. The perfect setting for their favorite activity.

“Five hundred sixty-one thousand? Odds better be stacked.”

The hum of the engine feels like home.

“Didn’t ask for a name, did they?”

Bright lights flash past in a blur as Pixiu sinks his foot down farther on the pedal, flying past any other traffic on the road in the blink of an eye. All of his concentration is on the road, and he misses the first few words of Yazi’s question, but gets the overall gist of it.

“As they always are...” He chuckles lightly. “Though it makes no difference. Their predictions never really end up being too accurate.”

Five hundred sixty-one thousand. To the average person, betting a sum of money that large would be insanity, but to someone who couldn’t lose, a bet that large is nothing more than a statement to their confidence in themselves. No risks involved. After decades of experience, no competitor could even hope to match the skill of either Long brother on the road, let alone beat them.

“No, we, and our competitors, are to remain anonymous until both cars cross the finish line. They won’t know us, and we won’t know them.” He takes a right turn at a rather high speed, and the tires emit a high pitched squeal as they slide across the concrete. “Though I’ve heard rumors that our competitor is undefeated, which is fairly impressive, even if that streak ends tonight.”