LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

Whitney Cole. 32. Briar Ridge, SC. Local gay & racing specialist. rp blog. 

[whitneyxcole]

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

Name: Whitney Jean Cole Birthday: October 29th, 1992 (32 years old) Occupation: Lead Race Strategist at Vanguard Racing Company Pronouns & Gender: She/Her & cis female Sexuality: Lesbian Length in Briar Ridge: Entire Life, hometown girl Neighbourhood: Beach Front Faceclaim: Florence Pugh

Brief Bio:

Growing up in Briar Ridge, she spent most of her childhood at the racetrack, shadowing her father, Warren. He was an old-school racing legend with high expectations and a traditional mindset. Though she dreamed of becoming a racecar driver herself, her father repeatedly dismissed the idea, insisting it was "a man's job." Determined to stay close to the sport she loved and to her family business, she channeled that rejection into ambition, eventually rising to become his head race strategist. She became so talented that she is one of the few women, and one of the only openly lesbian professionals, at the head of command on race day.

Whitney is a mix of biting sarcasm and raw honesty. She will never sugarcoat something, but can still be considered the nicest person in the room. At her core, she’s loyal, deeply empathetic, and only wants the best for the people she cares about.

Underneath it all, she carries a deep guilt tied to a recent racing accident involving her best friend and her father's protégé, Jordan. She can’t shake the thought that a different decision (different tires, better timing, better preparation) might have changed his terrible accident. It’s a weight she bears quietly, driving her to be even more thoughtful and even more relentless in a world that rarely gives second chances.

[leylayilmz]

WHO — open starter (0/4) WHERE — the beach WHEN — one afternoon

Leyla kicked off her slides and let them land wherever, already peeling off her tank top without breaking stride. The sand was hot beneath her feet, the water looked decent, and she hadn't had a good, dramatic swim in way too long. She paused long enough to side-eye whoever was closest, squinting against the sun like she was weighing whether or not to drag them in with her. "This is either healing or self-sabotage. We'll know in about ten minutes." She marched toward the water like it owed her money, pausing only to glance over her shoulder with raised brows, curious. "You gonna continue standing there looking pretty, or are you coming in?" Then she turned and walked straight into the water like she belonged there — hips swaying, zero hesitation, already half-smiling at whatever chaos she planned to start next.

[whitneyxcole]

If there was one place that Whitney loved more than the racetrack, it was the beach. The water was her safe space. She understood how beautiful and how dangerous the ocean could be. She had just finished a surf session, and she was sitting on her towel, about to enjoy her book and the high UV when she heard a voice. Her hazel hues looked up from the pages only to watch the woman walk straight into the water. A soft laugh escaped her lips at the confidence this stranger had. Without a doubt, she shoved her book back into her bag before jumping up and running into the water. Whitney dove right in, only to emerge a few seconds later as her hands slicked back her blonde hair. She looked at the dark haired beauty and offered her a charming grin. "Any inklings on if this is healing or sabotage after your first few minutes in the water?"

[jordan-reyes]

It wasn't like Jordan to spend this many days in the bar in the same week, but he was... off, sort of. So, why not? At least it was easier to get a drink this go 'round. He was taking the last swigs of his second Corona when movement out of his peripheral drew his attention. He could only hope the person wasn't feeling particularly chatty — oh shit.

"Whit," he choked out, desperately trying to avoid beer coming out of his nose. "Hey, um.. I've been meaning to call you back. Just been, uh, busy."

[whitneyxcole]

"Don't lie to me Reyes," Whitney said bluntly as she waved her hand to get the bartender's attention. Confrontation was not something feared. She had to be bold, even a little rough around the edges, to live in the world that she lived in. Plus, she had known Jordan long enough to know that he wasn't just busy. "Y'know my dad has been calling me non-stop, wondering what you're doing. He asks more about your life than he does about mine." A hint of jealousy rolled off her tongue since scavenging for the love from Warren Cole had been a battle her entire life, yet for Jordan, it came so easily. "Where have you been?" She asked, this time hoping for a straight-up answer.

[sonnysolis]

status — open (0/3)

location— side of the road, hating life

Why her? Why of all days must she be the one stranded on an empty two-lane road that cuts through the backwoods outside of Briar Ridge all alone?

The sun has now dipped just below the horizon, casting everything in that heavy, in-between light — not quite dark, but definitely not safe either. The air smells like pine, old dust, and something metallic. Sonny’s car sits half on the shoulder, hazard lights blinking weakly into the twilight. The front left tire, shredded. Her hands are stained with grease, and her jaw is tight with the frustration she refuses to show.

Meanwhile, she stands with her arms crossed, back leaning against the car like she owns the stretch of road she was stranded on. Her black leather jacket laying tossed across the passenger seat, the faint glow of a cigarette flickering between her fingers — unlit, just something to keep her hands busy.

The engine is dead silent. Her phone has two bars of signal, just enough to tease her with almost loading a map, then crashing every time she tries to do something useful. No spare tire. No roadside assistance. And, of course, no one else on the road for miles — until now.

Headlights cut through the trees behind her, slow and cautious. She doesn’t move at first. Just stays still, one boot pressed into the dirt, watching the oncoming vehicle in the rearview mirror like it might be fate, or something worse.

When the car finally rolls to a stop beside hers, she flicks her gaze toward the driver but doesn’t smile.

“Please tell me you’re not lost, a serial killer.” Her tone is dry but not entirely unfriendly. “Got a flat. No spare. Cell’s basically useless. So unless you’re here to gawk, rob me, or trade car parts, I could really use a hand.” She arches a brow, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “And no—before you ask—I don’t know how to say ‘please’ or 'thank you'. You’ll just have to live with that.”

[whitneyxcole]

Whitney loved to drive. When she was behind the wheel of a car, she was at her happiest. When she was stressed, she would often rip down the back roads of Briar Ridge since she knew them all like the back of her hand. During one of her late night drives, she noticed hazard lights up ahead. Slowly down to a halt, Whitney got out of her car to be greeted with a not-so-friendly introduction. "Wow." Whitney said, almost in disbelief at the stranger's version of asking for help. "I mean you did just say please and thank you so I guess you do know how to say them." Whit responded, sarcasm dripping off her tongue as it usually did.

[whitneyxcole]

~ where have you been with @jordan-reyes ~

It had been some time since Whitney had seen Jordan. There had been an insane amount of guilt that constantly circulated through her veins since his crash. A piece of her felt that it was her fault that he got into his accident. Actually, it was more than just a piece, it was her entire being. In order to drown these feelings Whitney had been visiting the local watering holes, enjoying a few drinks now and then. Upon stumbling inside one of them, she noticed a familiar face sitting at the bar. "So this is where you've been hiding out." She said, almost in an annoyed tone of voice, as she sat herself down in the stool next to Jordan. Although, she felt her own feelings of guilt, she continued to reach out to Jordan, but got no response. Now, he would be forced to talk to her.

[florencepsource]

FLORENCE PUGH The New York Times |  © Jingyu Lin

[obscenery]