so uh jess and i have been IN TALKS about racer!din and while i am still bouncing some ideas around i can't STOP thinking abt it so here's what i've got so far hehe
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Din Djarin is an adrenaline junkie, first and foremost. a foster kid born and raised in remote California, he started fixing up his uncle's old cars and motorcycles at the age of fourteen. it was encouraged, at first, because it gave din something to do with his hands. it didn't take long for him to find a gang of kids that was just as bored and angry as he was. that's when he started drag racing with the weathered Ducati that was collecting rust in the garage.
it was about speed. it was about the scream of the engine beneath him as they ripped through the pitch-black desert, nothing but sand and the interstate beneath them. most of all, it was about hurling himself into something dark and furious with no promises to return.
things got bad when that same group of kids started robbing places--well, it got bad because they were good at it. like, really good. it offered the same kind of release, in a way. they spent most of the money on pills and booze, the rest on getting more parts. better bikes. they made promises to each other. auditioning at the racetrack in Lodi. going professional. making it to the big leagues: texas--no, din insisted, europe. where the real money was.
they were gonna get good, and then they were gonna get the fuck out.
that lasted all of six months. Din got arrested for a robbery gone wrong. someone got hurt. bad. he and his friends faces were plastered on every wanted list in a fifty mile radius because of a missed CCTV camera. it was pretty much a given that his life was over until a distant friend of his adoptive family, a mysteriously wealthy man by the name of Mr. Karga, paid his bail.
that same man was waiting for Din the morning he stepped out of his holding cell, standing in front of a Ferrari that stops Din in his tracks.
i've seen your tapes, he tells him, flashing a video of Din making a particularly harrowing maneuver that went semi-viral a few weeks previous. i'm gonna make you into a fucking star, kid.
Din accepted, reluctantly, on two conditions:
no teams, i go solo. and no one sees my face.
seven years later, Din Djarin is a ghost-like figure on the motocross scene. he's known for his ruthlessness on the circuit, only to disappear as soon as the race is over. Karga has capitalized on his insistence of anonymity to a near aggravating extent, but at least Din can appreciate being able to slip off the helmet and the suit and evaporate into the crowd.
Din is in Perth, Australia for the Grand Prix. after one of his practice sessions, he takes his personal bike--a beloved Ducati scrambler, affectionately nicknamed The Crest--to a diner as far away from the masses of fans and paparazzi as possible.
there, he orders a cup of black coffee. he doesn't look up from his phone as he does. but when the waitress makes a polite attempt at small-talk, he looks up. the waitress has kind eyes and a near uncontainable laugh. she's so beautiful that he forgets what she just asked.
you throw him a lop-sided grin as you scribble down his order. and then you introduce yourself.
if you all have any ideas/prompts/questions please please please send them my way <33 need to jog my brain a little bit and what better way than with some modern mando au
