muse: slade simms [ 42, mechanic, veteran street racer ]
open to: m only pls! your muse would obv have to be a street racer at some level.
plot: fast and furious vibes let's goooo!!! based off of the race wars scene; slade's ex-partner ended up in a violent accident that caused significant memory loss, including most of their relationship. now, slade is slowly trying to help them remember everything.
The desert stretched endlessly, rolling dunes shimmering under the blazing sun, air wavering with heat, and a small, light breeze carrying the scent of dry Earth and scorched sand. Desert dirt billowed in clouds around the sleek black tires of Slade's car------- a roaring beast of American muscle. It was a 1970 Dodge Charger, jet black with polished chrome accents that caught the light like shards of a mirror. Its rumbling V8 engine was a growl of raw power, and the dual exhaust pipes spit occasional bursts of fury as Slade eased it forward, one hand casually resting on the wheel. His body reclined in the leather seat, exuding an effortless, rugged confidence, but beneath the surface, his chest clenched. His heart scrambled with a cocktail of hope and dread; he knew better than to dream too big... memories lost weren’t easily recovered, and even the doctor’s words replayed in his head like a warning. To keep expectations grounded, realistic. However, his love, even for an ex-partner, couldn't be so easily snuffed out. The endless desert road finally widened into a massive open expanse, buzzing with energy. A pandemonium of cheers and revving engines filled the air as they rolled into the scene, hundreds of vehicles glinting under harsh sun, forming a chaotic gridlock around the makeshift raceway. Massive billboards, spray-painted with bold black and yellow letters reading "RACE WARS," loomed overhead. The crowd was fully alive with excitement, a sea of bodies surging between the rows of cars. Experienced racers flaunted their machines, each one a masterpiece of engineering and decadence. Sleek Lamborghinis gleamed with metallic wraps that shifted colors in the light, their angular bodies slicing through the crowd like predators. Suped-up Skylines and Supras, fitted with custom wide-body kits and neon underglows, hummed with modified turbochargers that promised impossible speeds. Each car had been fine-tuned to perfection------- engine swaps, nitrous kits, and oversized spoilers hinted at the sheer chaos they could unleash. Slade slowed the Charger, the low rumble of its engine diverging from the high-pitched whines of European and Japanese speed demons. His companion’s question broke through the storm of his thoughts, pulling his gaze from the scene. Slade tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement crossing his sharp features before a slow, confident smirk claimed his lips. At their curiosity, his golden-brown skin caught the sun’s glow as he turned toward them, voice low-toned but dripping with assured pride. "...Come here? We invented this place."
