Nov 20, 2017
day 8: free day for @hurloaneweek
theyre tender loving girlfriends and theyre so in love <3
made this on the stream, thank you to everyone who dropped in!!
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Iraq
seen from Syria
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Portugal
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Macao SAR China
seen from China
seen from Spain
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
day 8: free day for @hurloaneweek
theyre tender loving girlfriends and theyre so in love <3
made this on the stream, thank you to everyone who dropped in!!
hey everyone & welcome to hurloane week! although taz: balance is over, that doesn’t mean our love for these real good girls is over too! 11/19 marks the day the final episode of Petals to the Metal was released, so why not build up to it in style? our event will run from 11/12 to 11/19, so feel free to make anything: art, fics, playlists, edits, etc! there’s no wrong way to show our appreciation for hurley & sloane and we the mods encourage all forms of media 💕
we ask though that when you post, you tag either this blog and/or use the hashtag #hurloaneweek so we can easily see and reblog all your amazing works! and if you plan to make nsfw, please tag it accordingly. if you’re having trouble reading anything, check below the read more for the list of themes.
and hey, maybe reblog this so more people can know about it? let’s spread the word! we hope to see you there! 🌸💞
Themes
11/12 (Sunday) - Firsts / Pre-Canon
11/13 (Monday) - Racing / Adrenaline
11/14 (Tuesday) - AU’s / Crossovers
11/15 (Wednesday) - Nature / Cherry Blossoms
11/16 (Thursday) - Domesticity / Healing
11/17 (Friday) - Dryad Life / Sacrifice
11/18 (Saturday) - Wedding / Post-Canon
11/19 (Sunday) - Free Day!
there’s a first time for everything
for @hurloaneweek !! day 1: firsts / pre-canon
read on ao3!
...
“You’re free to come over any time, you know?”
Hurley’s words had been echoing in her head ever since their garage date last week. The way she turned away shyly after realizing what she said was already enough to send Sloane’s heart into palpitations, not to mention the softest smile she had had the fortune of seeing after that. She didn’t even remember how the topic came up. Something about Sloane’s place being a mess maybe? God, it didn’t even matter.
What did matter was trying to work up the courage and actually go over. She knew what days Hurley had off from work so that wouldn’t be a problem. Sloane’s schedule was usually pretty clear unless a big race or heist was coming up. Should she bring a gift? She could buy food because god knows what would happen if she tried to make it herself… Or would that be too much just for a visit? Flowers could be good. She could get some from the marketplace before heading over to Hurley’s apartment…
Oh god, she was so nervous.
And she knew she had no reason to be. It was just Hurley. And her home. And the absolute awkwardness that could ensue if Sloane was going to be an idiot about everything.
She banged her head against a nearby wall as if to punish herself for the thought. Confidence is key. If she could face the most deadliest of battlewagon races and risk her life over and over again, a home visit would be no problem. So why was she still anxious about it? She let out a frustrated groan as she fell back on her bed to stare at the cracks in the ceiling. She couldn’t keep thinking about this forever. The longer she drew it out, the worse it would be.
“Fuck it!” she spoke aloud suddenly. “You know what?! I’m going today! Fears be fucking damned.”
And with a quick grab of her coat and keys, she headed off to the marketplace.
---
The crowd today wasn’t as bustling as it usually was, which unfortunately meant she couldn’t go around and steal some flowers from a stand or whatever. That was fine though; she wasn’t really planning on being a thief today anyways. She knew that Hurley would never accept flowers if she found out she took them without paying. Even if the person selling them was a sleazeball with their customers, she thought, glaring at a stand nearby. Walking past it, she looked around to see if there were any other florists in town today.
Just as she was about to call it quits, a voice addressed her.
“Excuse me, miss?”
After a moment’s confusion, Sloane turned to find herself facing an old human woman. “Do you mean me?” she asked, pointing to herself as if her question wasn’t clear enough.
The old woman laughed. “Yes, you! Is there anyone else out here dressed in all black in such hot weather?”
Sloane ignored the jab at her (absolutely valid) fashion choices and continued the conversation. “Sorry, I’m kind of in a hurry, did you need me for something?”
The old lady just shook her head. “What’s the rush for, dear? No time for a grandma like me?”
Sloane held back a sigh and took a look at her stand to see what she was selling before answering.
Her annoyance quickly disappeared when she finally realized what she was staring at. “Oh! You sell flowers!” she grinned for probably the first time that day.
The old lady nodded as she gave a toothy smile in return. “You have a big date coming up, miss? Is that why you’re in a hurry?”
“Yeah… Do you happen to have any sunflowers in stock? I’d like a few.”
The old lady nodded again. “A nice choice! Are those your date’s favorites?” she asked as she bustled around her stand to get what she needed.
Sloane only shrugged. “Not necessarily… She’s just… a very warm person. Sunflowers remind me of her.”
The old lady cooed, which Sloane pointedly ignored, slightly embarrassed. She was a cheesy person, okay? As long as no one else ever found out about it, she’d admit it.
As she took her leave, the old woman wished her luck.
“You’ll be fine, dear. I can already tell.”
---
Sloane took her sweet time on the way to Hurley’s apartment anyways. Apparently each staircase up had twenty stairs each, except for the one on the fourth floor. That one only had nineteen. An interesting fact that her girlfriend was sure to enjoy once she had the nerve to actually walk up to her door.
She eventually managed to force herself in front of her apartment, and the moment of truth finally arrived. She knocked before hesitation could strike again, like she was ripping a band-aid off as fast as she could.
Oh god, did her knock sound desperate?
Before Sloane could dwell even further on this, a muffled voice coming from inside interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll be there in a minute!”
She could hear small footsteps coming towards the door, an unlocking, and then there Hurley was with a smile that rivaled the evening warmth of the sun.
“Oh shit, hey! You decided to come over!”
Sloane could feel her shoulders relax just from seeing her. “Hey! Yeah, I thought it was about time,” she chuckled. What was she so nervous about again?
“Well, come on in!” Hurley said, gesturing towards the inside of her apartment, “don’t keep me waiting!”
Sloane laughed again as she stepped inside, before remembering the gift she was holding in her hands.
“Oh fuck, hold on, I got you these.” And with a flourish, she held out the small bouquet she had bought earlier that day.
Hurley’s smile widened at the sight. “Aw what! Babe, how’d you know I liked sunflowers? These are wonderful.”
“Thief’s intuition, I guess,” she answered nonchalantly with a wink.
Hurley shook her head, but continued to grin as she placed them down on the counter. “I’ll find a vase for these in a second. Come on, let’s get you situated or however you’re supposed to treat a house guest. Are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually.”
“Good. I just ordered way too much fantasy take-out, help yourself to it. It’s by the couch! I’ll be right there.”
Sloane nodded and took a deep breath once Hurley disappeared down a hallway. She felt okay. There was still some jitters here and there, but most of them had dissipated by now. She knew she was being nervous over nothing, thank god. Hurley always seemed to help, even if didn’t know she was doing it.
Feeling decidedly better about everything, she headed over to the couch and glanced around the place. It was so much neater than hers. She even had a little hanging plant by the window sill. But her observations halted once she saw all the food on the table.
Before she could even react, Hurley was next to her again, looking embarrassed while holding a vase of sunflowers. “Sorry, I kind of maybe lied about accidentally ordering too much. I actually had this feeling that you might come over today so…”
“Hurley? Have I ever said how much I love you?”
“Oh, stop it! I’m gonna go put these down by the window, go on and sit already.”
Sloane grinned as she followed her instructions, waiting on the couch for Hurley to join her.
A minute passed before Hurley spoke again. “There we go! Thanks again, sweetheart.”
“Of course! Now come on and eat with me so I don’t feel bad,” Sloane said as she piled food onto a paper plate. Hurley just rolled her eyes as she plopped herself onto the couch with her, grabbing another paper plate from the table without a word. Before they could dig in though, Hurley gently squeezed her arm, making Sloane stop to look at her inquisitively. She was giving her another one of those prize-winning soft smiles, the ones that left her face feeling so warm.
"I just wanted to say... I’m really glad you came over, you know?”
Sloane hoped her grin said more than she could. “Yeah. I am too.”
Day 3//AU/Crossover
Looking back, we knew this was coming
A playlist featuring Chelsea Lankes, Wayfarers, Catey Shaw, and others
My playlist for the last day of @hurloaneweek!
1: Precanon
(ao3)
Sloane was missing something.
She had the battlewagon. She had the core-all thanks to the local dealer, not that they were yet aware of it. She just got the most badass getup for the race this weekend-a silky black cape that sent chills throughout her every time that she touched it, and a raven’s mask with real raven feathers that she was so proud of that she could burst. She had the skills needed to drive it-all of the medals and trophies hanging on her wall proved that, despite the giant learning curve that came from not having a second rider. She had almost everything that she needed for the race this weekend, save for one thing.
Standing quietly in the alleyway, watching the parade go by, she waited patiently for an opening. Di Mane, one of Goldcliff’s most famous designers, was touring the country to show off her designs, and had stopped by as a part of her tour. There was to be a big procession of all her stuff leading to the museum, where she would give a grand speech to start the grand opening. Even better, hundreds of shopkeepers had set up near the event, making the already crowded streets even more packed with people on top of the chaos. The whole thing ran through the part of town with the least amount of visibility, but throwing in the parade, the music, and the cheering crowds, it held the perfect opportunity. I should be okay, she mused as she slid on her mask, tightened the strings on her cape, and took one last breath, long as I can get past the other cops.
And cops there were by the boatload. If they weren’t darting between the crowd and the floats, making sure that people didn’t get too close, or thundering by on ginormous horses, they were surrounding Di’s personal cart, with the woman herself on it, waving and beaming at the crowd, draped in her most expensive creations-and the best of Goldcliff’s police that money could buy.
It was almost comedic how airtight they kept the perimeter around the float. There were two officers on horseback at least ten feet away from the front of the float, and two in the back. In between that were four officers bordering the float itself. Sloane recognized them from her previous run ins-the half elf in the front was formal, efficient, and brutal with evocation. Just looking at him made the burn scars that knotted her arm ache. The short, stubby one with the sleepy face was damn good with abjuration-Sloane put a hell of an effort in getting out of one of her last traps. The large reptile flanking the far left didn’t know anything as far as Sloane, but was dangerous enough in combat-Sloane saw them using styles that she didn’t recognize.
And all the way in the back was the halfling.
If Sloane had to describe her, she would describe her as compact-in word, movement, and action. It wasn’t just her short stature, or the clipped, proper way that she spoke to both civilians and criminals, or the corkscrew curls that were close to her head, just threatening to burst out from underneath her cap. If Sloane was pressed, she might say that it was in how she carried herself. In every run-in with this cop that Sloane could recall, no matter what trick she pulled, she’d always find the cop not too far behind her.
Sloane remembered this cop as unflappable, even in the heat of the moment-Dogged as hell, too, she recalled, even with the way that she gives chase. This parade wasn’t Sloane’s first run in with the halfling cop-they had clashed before over stolen valuables and magic items. Sloane would do everything to have the cop lose her trail-run through rushing water, navigate through crowded alleys, even hide in an abandoned factory at one point, but the halfling had swam through the river, bowled through the alley, and burst into the factory. She’d chalk it up to some overzealous newbie trying to get into some higher-up’s good graces, or a cadet bluffing themselves up into victory, or even just stupidity, but this felt different. Nobody was that overzealous, that self-absorbed, or that stupid. And every time that she’d meet with the cop-or more like, every time that she would corner her, she’d still be completely poised and precise, in speech, manner, and fighting style. The way that she moved in those few moments that they were alone, however, felt a little less rigid, less controlled, less compact. If I didn’t know any better, Sloane mused, I’d think she was enjoying herself.
A loud bang drew Sloane from her thoughts as a firecracker shell burst at the crowd’s feet, and pulling a flinch from Sloane. Delighted shrieks emanated from the audience as a prankster in a suit covered in firecrackers on the float in front of them laughed and beamed and waved, and despite her mission here, she felt a cloud foul over her good mood. Gaudy, she spat. On any other day, that’d be considered dangerous, but pay enough money here and it’s a party trick. Glowering, she sank her hand into the pocket and felt for her prop.
The trinket was barely worth mentioning-just a shell tied together with some leather, and a small pearl dangling from it. She had found it on some trader’s cart a few years back, and she figured that it wasn’t valuable enough to warrant him missing it much. The important thing was that it looked glossy and expensive, though. Sloane understood when everyone got upset when she took something that did something-block magic, or open doors, or give you good luck, but she found it funny the way that people put value on things that sparkled, glittered or just looked nice, then blamed her for stealing them. If people didn’t say they were valuable, she mused, then I wouldn’t be stealing them in the first place. She looked cautiously around the crowd, scanning for someone who would seemed like they would draw the most attention. Picking out a nervous looking redheaded girl, she walked past her quickly, brushing past her noticeably.
She saw the raven’s mask and the necklace dangling from Sloane’s hand before she saw Sloane. With a simple cry of “Thief!”, the crowd that she was in was roiling-some of them trying to get away, some of them trying to get a closer look, some of them trying to grab her. Good thing I don’t need to deal with crowds today, she thought idly. She touched the ring on her finger and jumped, sending her springing through the air and onto the rooftop. Even from up there, she could still hear the commotion down below her-people screaming and shouting, officers trying to control the crowd-and the orders of a commanding officer deploying a small squadron.
And I haven’t even really done anything this time, Sloane thought. She could barely imagine the chaos that would unfold if she did.
She could hear the squadron storming down the alleys, two on both sides of the building that she had landed on. She was well aware of the drill by now-they usually split off with the elf accompanying the conjurer, and the lizard going with the halfling. The magic user in the group would know some combat, and the fighter would have one or two magic objects on them, in the event that they were separated, but Sloane knew she could count on them not shifting roles. Choosing to attack on a parade day was a benefit as well-the streets were stuffed with attendees and sellers, but the police probably have most of the area behind me already cleared out. The area around her-full of small alleyways and tight turns-would be her best bet. I just need to know how far behind the cops are, she thought. Without stopping, she cast a downward glance at them.
Fuck, she spat as she watched the baby face caster and the giant lizard head directly in front of her, and the elf dart off behind her far left, the halfling trailing behind. On the one hand, she thought gleefully, it’s kind of flattering that they made a new formation for me. The lizard was built like a tank, and Sloane knew that they were there to cover the abjurer when she casted. So interrupting her concentration’s out. The elf wasn’t fast or strong, but he had a hell of an aim-her arm was testament enough to that. And even if the elf didn’t hit her, he’d certainly drive her into the abjurer’s trap. Then there was the matter of the halfling. Even if she weren’t part of the plan, she’s still good enough to take me in combat and cover the elf. It was all that Sloane could do to not just tilt her head to the sky and groan her frustration. In a matter of seconds, the entire squad had blown through her original plan-and her back ups-just by shifting positions.
Pushing past the panic that was rising through her, Sloane slowly sat down and reached into her pocket. Pushing past the magic bric-a-brac that she had packed, she brought up three smooth stones, midnight blue in color. She always did love how silent they made her as soon as she touched them-she couldn’t even hear the sound of her breathing, or the rustle of her cape. So it looks like the plan is to box me in, she mused, running the stones through her hand. The elf’s good enough to fire at long range, and the halfling’s fast enough to catch her while she was dodging his Magic Missiles, so going back or left is out. She cast a glance ahead, towards the abjurer and the lizard. The abjurer would box me in, and the lizard would make sure that I stayed put. Frustrated, she pursed her lips and let out a silent groan. So going forward or right is also out. Looking farther out forward, she saw nothing but rooftops of various lengths and areas. But the further they go, the closer that they get to the dumpsters and junkyards. Better than the developed areas behind her-she’d have more room to navigate, but she’d be sure to get caught.
She sat like that for a few minutes, weighing the risks and the options, twisting the rocks in her hands, trying to swallow the lump of frustration in her throat. The more that she sat there considering her options, the less time that she had to move-and the less patience that the officers down below would have.
At least there’s a breeze, she thought. Despite the still day, she was high enough to have the wind run by her, shifting her hair and her clothes. It helps me look cool in the ca-.
Realization hitting her lock a rock, she stopped mid-thought, her mind running with an idea, her hands racing around the stones. Without warning, they stopped, and she sprung up, rejuvenated with her new idea. Shrugging the cape off of her shoulders, she dipped deep into her pocket, searching intensely. I could have sworn that I had a rope in here…
She switched her concentration to the elf behind her. It looked like he had taken up rotations around a city block, moving in a line. The halfling was directly behind Sloane’s building, poised in a defensive position. Looking ahead, she caught the abjurer not even half a block away, the lizard directly next to her. Both of them were poised in front of the building that was two buildings away from Sloane. Not actively attacking, but not not attacking either, Sloane groused. At least the caster hasn’t put up the wall yet. Digging up the bottle from her pocket and gripping the cape in her other hand, she made her way towards the front of the building, concentrating on the elf’s rotations around the building. The breeze was right behind her, pushing her hair into her eyes and fluttering the cape forward. She looked behind her at the elf, who was finishing easily his tenth or twelfth revolution, and almost about to turn the corner away from Sloane. She held her breath as she counted his steps. This would be walkaround thirteen, she counted quietly as she listened for the hiss of air escaping the bottle. As soon as she heard it, she pushed the rest of the cork out with her thumb and slid it over the bottle. He was almost 500 feet to the corner of the block, and he would turn left, away from her.
Sloane took a breath in and let her thumb off of the bottle, flinging the cape in the direction that it was pointed. All she needed was a little gust…
The tornado quickly caught the cape, and the eye of the elf. Before Sloane could really process it, a Magic Missile flew right past it, and then another, then another. His eye on the target, he forged forward, casting with ease and directness. Sloane heard something break in the distance, and turned to see a large prismatic wall, more than a mile across, burst out from the ground, the abjurer crouched on the ground mid-cast. The lizard had taken a defensive stance around them, in the event that the Raven would try and break their concentration.
And the halfling was on the other side of the wall.
Sloane eyed the distance between the building that she was on top of and the wall that was right next to it. While she was no caster, she was familiar with the spell, and knew that going through the wall would leave her with some damage. Twisting the ring on her finger, she sprung down, then bounded over the wall and past the halfling, running straight as she hit the ground. She could hear the elf call out, “Hurley!” to the halfling, surprisingly more clerical than Sloane would expect from someone just outsmarted by a silk cape. She was after Sloane before he could even open his mouth, and she swore that she could feel the halfling’s-Hurley’s-feet hitting the dirt with every step.
So that’s her name, she thought with a pang of excitement.
Sloane knew that she should have been tired already, but all that she felt was the pulse of adrenaline running through her body, and the sting of exhilaration pushing her aching legs forward. She had spent the past few months planning, searching, calculating, all to make this meeting work out. She had run through what she felt was every possible variation of this evening, with all possible scenarios-the building crumbling beneath her, the prismatic wall breaking down early, her getting a muscle cramp-and did everything that she could to cut out any minor variable that could throw this off. There’s no way that this can screw up! she mused gleefully. ...Unless she arrests me. She shook her head, jarring the thought out. We’ll work around that.
Left, right, left, left. Sloane didn’t even have to think about where she was heading, she had visited so many times before. She turned around one last corner and walked right into a dead end. Set by a brick building easily 60 feet high, the little abandoned corner was a half circle of flat dirt, covered in junk, iron, and refuse around the edges. Perfect for a little rendezvous, she thought, looking over the area. To the average passerby, it looked dry and dead, but Sloane knew that anyone still enough could see small flowers climbing through the cracks in the ground.
She couldn’t resist-sinking to her knees, she scrutinized the little white flowers poking through. It’s probably because of the building’s shadow, she thought excitedly. I bet it creates enough condensation for them to grow.
Oh my God, what am I doing. She stood up and started dusting the dirt off of her pants, a flush rising up her face from catching herself in the moment. She’ll be here any second. The chase hadn’t treated her well, with dust hanging on her now loose clothes. I’m probably red from running all over the place, too, she sulked. Grabbing her mask, she made as if to take it off, then pushed it back on again. Wait, no. I should leave it on. She probably hasn’t seen me without it. Satisfied, she resumed her position against the wall, and then resumed attempting to remove the mask. Yeah, she’ll be real happy to see someone waiting for her in a dead end wearing an animal mask. Girls love that. She tugged on the ribbons in the back, only to realize that they were stuck.
Goddamnit.
Heart pounding, she slid it up her face to the top of her head, still working with the ribbons. How about, I just…
“Sloane Ramirez!”
Sloane froze mid tangle and tilted her head in the direction that the voice came from. The cop-Hurley-stood right behind her, feet planted firmly on the ground, hands held in a bare block position. Even caught with her fingers mid-tangle, just looking at her made Sloane feel enthused. She had just run-how far?- into an abandoned part of town, right after a twenty minute standoff, by herself after her team had gotten isolated from her, and she wasn’t even flagging.
She would be perfect.
Sloane gave the cop-Hurley!-a casual smile and swiped the mask from the top of her head. “Took you long enough,” she in a tone that she hoped sounded leisurely. “To get here. Running, I mean. Running fast.” Folding her arms behind her, she cast a teasing glance at her. “Feels like I’ve been here for hours.”
The halfling kept her stance. “Sloane Ramirez, you’re under arrest for petit theft and resisting an officer. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
...So not how she exactly imagined things going. Sloane had envisioned this with a bit more of Hurley dropping her stance and saying something like, From the kindness of my heart, I will hear you out. Sing me your cares, you muscular goddess, and then they’d sit and talk about Sloane’s plan for a while, right between the flowers in the cracks on the ground, with the breeze blowing through their hair.
Still, Sloane didn’t want to give up just yet. For months after each of their encounters, Sloane could close her eyes and still see Hurley’s attacking stance, her fluid movements, the gleam in her eye, and know that she was giving chase for as much the thrill of the chase as for the duties of her job. Even now, with Hurley right in front of her, Sloane could see the shake of her shoulders, measure the seconds between her breaths, watch her eyes follow Sloane’s movements. She isn’t tired at all, she realized with a jolt of euphoria. She was as excited for this meeting as Sloane herself was.
Taking one last nervous breath, she looked Hurley in the eyes and gave her her most devil-may-care smile.
“...actually, I was wondering if I could make you an offer.”
@hurloaneweek prompt 1: firsts/pre-canon
first kiss !
Hurloane Week Days 1+2: First Race
Summary: Hurley is being blackmailed by a certain bird-themed criminal. It’s not as bad as she thinks. 1535 words. A/N: I had no time to write two prompts so I just combined the first two ones!! I also had no time to edit this so rip y’all Full fic below the cut! Really, Hurley thinks, she should have expected this much from a criminal.
Because the Raven is a criminal, a fact that Hurley would do well to remember even as she desperately tries to avoid lumping herself into that same category. Racing is illegal, yes, but not as illegal as theft, or blackmail, which seems to be the Raven’s new M.O.
And, honestly? Blackmail? Hurley had thought The Raven was better than that, despite being the most infamous criminal Goldcliff’s ever seen, but, clearly, she was mistaken. If the Raven really was beyond such petty crimes as blackmailing a lieutenant, she wouldn’t be forcing Hurley to race with her, but she wasn’t, and she is, and Hurley’s not too pleased.
Later, she’ll admit the situation was her own fault. She had gotten cocky after winning her last race, only walking a block away from the race before taking her mask off. Had she noticed the Raven following her, she would have been more careful; but then again, if she had heard the Raven coming, she probably wouldn’t be considered the great thief she was.
“Lieutenant Hurley. What a surprise,” the Raven had said, in a voice that implied it wasn’t a surprise at all. “Take a walk with me, will you? I think we have something to discuss.”
Hurley had agreed, of course, and agreed again when the Raven proposed a “deal” of sorts: if Hurley would race with her one time, the Goldcliff militia wouldn’t find out about how she spent her downtime. It was an offer Hurley really, truly couldn’t refuse- so she didn’t.
And now she’s here, sweating under her mask in the Goldcliff heat and waiting for the race to start. The Raven is standing in the back, harness on and knife out.
“You’ll drive,” she’d explained, “and I’ll board.” Hurley still isn’t sure if that was meant to be a compliment towards her driving or an insult towards her fighting, but she’s choosing to take it as the former. Make the best of a bad situation, and all, she figures.
Speaking of making the best, she can hear the countdown horns outside, and she braces herself, foot on the gas and one hand on the clutch. She hears Sloane inhale behind her, sharp and excited, a second before light floods the wagon as the box around them falls away and all she can think is go, go, go.
They pull away almost immediately; it’s unfamiliar, driving the Raven’s wagon instead of her own, but Hurley’s no stranger to battlewagons, as much as she legally should be, and it takes her no time at all to get comfortable.
That’s the thing, too- she’s comfortable, taking the familiar opening turns of the track with ease. It should be bad, she knows, because racing is wrong legally and morally and probably in some other way, knowing her luck, but gods does she have fun doing it, so it can’t be that bad, right? And, besides, she’s damn good at it. Only a few competitors keep up with them, with one wagon, staffed by three dwarves in wolf masks, positioning themselves to attack.
Before Hurley can maneuver away, she hears the Raven yell over the roaring wind, “Stay on me,” before launching herself to the enemy wagon. Not a moment later, Hurley’s forced to swerve to avoid the other wagon’s spiked wheels, leaving the Raven stranded.
There’s a second where Hurley considers leaving. Just driving away, leaving the Raven to her fate and facing the consequences of her illegal actions herself, blackmail be damned. But then she sees one of the dwarves fly off the back of his wagon, his safety harness activating as he hits the dirt, and hears the Raven yell something unintelligible from across the way as she struggles against the driver. The dwarf tries once again to steer into the Raven’s battlewagon, but Hurley punches it, shooting forward a few hundred feet and keeping distance between the other wagon. In her mirrors, she sees the wagon skid and swerve before straightening out, a black-clad figure in the driver’s seat and three much smaller figures lying on the ground, becoming less and less visible with every passing second.
Within seconds, the formerly hostile battlewagon pulls up beside Hurley, the Raven grinning at her from the front seat. She gestures to Hurley, motioning her closer as she slowly stands. Once Hurley is running alongside, the Raven jams the wheel in the opposite direction, jumping off towards her own wagon as the other careens away from them. Hurley wrenches the wheel towards the Raven, catching her well before she hits the ground. It’s a rough landing, with the Raven more or less landing on her face as three other wagons pull ahead of them, but Hurley recovers fast even as the Raven doesn’t, maneuvering her way back into first while a horn blasts to mark the destruction of the dwarven battlewagon.
A hand touches Hurley’s shoulder and she jumps, though she doesn’t miss a beat on the next turn. Out of the corner of her eye she spots black feathers and the curve of a beak before the Raven leans in close enough for her to hear.
“You’re doing incredible! Keep it up!” The words are more of a yell than a whisper, a necessity on the loud battlewagon track, but Hurley feels a shiver go up her spine regardless.
Focus, she reminds herself, only nodding in response and feeling a thrill go through her as the Raven squeezes her shoulder before moving back to her attack position, throwing spells and insults alike at the other racers.
The race only lasts a few minutes, but it always feels longer to Hurley, especially that last second before crossing the finish line. That moment lasts an eternity, any battlewagon racer would swear, as you straddle the line between braking too early and braking slightly, horrifyingly too late.
There could be a science based around that quick stop before the cliff, entirely dedicated to quantifying that feeling, but all Hurley knows is STOP and NOW and her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as she screeches to a halt and the Raven laughing, laughing, laughing behind her, and then-
They’re stopped. They’re stopped, and they’re first, they’ve won, and winning is no strange feeling to Hurley, but winning together, with the Raven whooping and cheering by her side, the smells of leather and sweat and dust and a warm body pressing into her side as they accept their prize money.
And then, just like that, it’s over. They’re away from the crowds, back in the same alley they first struck a deal in, and the Raven is still smiling, though Hurley feels like it’s less sincere, more plastic than it was when they were both up on the battlewagon.
“Well, Lieutenant,” she begins, tossing half of the money at Hurley, “a deal’s a deal. Honor among thieves, and all that.”
“I’m not a thief,” Hurley argues, which earns her a wider smile.
“You’re not,” the Raven concedes, “but you’re not exactly an upstanding pillar of morality, are you, Miss Ram?”
Hurley flushes and fiddles with the edge of her mask before pulling it off. The Raven knows her face by now; it’s not doing her any good at this point.
“Either way, you upheld your end of the bargain, so I’ll uphold mine. The militia won’t know anything about this.”
“How do I know?” Hurley challenged, the heat of the race fading to leave behind only anger. “I’ve been trying to catch you for months. I’m still going to try- while I’m on the job, at least, you know that. What’s keeping you from ruining my life, my career- everything?”
There’s a pause, long and heavy, where neither racer says anything. Then, slowly, the Raven’s hands go up to the strings of her mask, undoing the knots and revealing her face before Hurley can even react.
She’s beautiful, is Hurley’s first thought, which only makes her face redden more. The Raven smiles, a little self-conscious, and tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear.
“Sloane,” she says, and it takes Hurley a minute to stop gaping and realize this is the Raven’s name. “So now we’re even, right? I out you, you can out me. Or you could arrest me right now, I suppose. If you can.” Her smile turns into something different, something Hurley wants to call dangerous or captivating or- flirtatious? No, no, definitely not. Why would she- no.
Hurley just shakes her head, looking everywhere but at the Rav- Sloane. She’s Sloane now, a distinction Hurley feels marks a change of some kind, something so big she can’t even comprehend what it is.
“I won’t. I could,” and Sloane laughs at that, a beautiful sound without the mask muffling it, “but I won’t. When I get you, I’ll get you on my own, not because you let me take you.”
Sloane laughs again, and Hurley blushes once again as she realizes how that sounded. “Thanks,” says Sloane. “I trust you.”
The words sound like something else, something meaningful and serious. They sound the same when Hurley says them back.