"aw, ain't that just sweet," parker coos at nina's very good manners. she doesn't push it more than that. she gets it. she might be filthy and she might be as emotional as a brick, but she's worked gentlemen's clubs - men with their wolfish teeth, thinking they're owed beating/bleeding hearts. 

and more painful still are the ones meant to protect them, turning when gratefulness is equated with belonging. davina was one of those girls. and her sister was too. 

moodily, she takes a bite of her own sandwich, but then raises a brow at nina, good-natured smile coming back fast as a whip. 

"yeah? fuck it then. we're gonna win."

nina larson

☉

the car rolls. her baby rollllllls. and her blood pumps in anticipation. she jerks upright in her seat, wild grin on her face, but then confusion crashes into her, and then she nearly crashes into the dashboard. her hands come out on the dash instead, steadying her, and she breathes shallowly, heart racing. 

blinks once. twice. and bursts out laughing. 

"you - you fucking," she starts, but cuts herself off because that is just too damn funny. how fucking long had they been working on this godsdamned car? and she's just now noticing the clutch?

she kicks open the passenger door and lopes over, hitching her fingers under the driver's side handle. "it's a manual car, nina. i'm makin' an executive decision here. i can work magic, but ain't no way in hell ya learnin' stick a few hours 'fore the race."

nina larson

☉

parker's fingers grasp the door a second too late and her brows furrow. she tries the door once, twice anyway and then gives it a good shake, knuckles rapping on the door while nina looks churlishly up at her. 

"it can be your destiny tomorrow, nina!" she says, exasperated. they gotta get on the road and get some time under their belt before the race. or there's no way they're beating that golden-haired fox. 

but, oh, wait - what's she doing? she had wolf take the back window out. so she skirts quickly around to the back of the car and dives through, drags herself up to the back of nina's seat and wiggles the rest of her way in with a grunt.

nina larson

☉

it takes a bit of finagling. she's not exactly small, but with nina clambering out of the way, parker manages to haul herself into the driver's seat. when she's done, she lets out a sigh, slaps both palms on the steering wheel, and flashes a cheeky grin at her partner in crime.

"yeah, you wish," she says and she drops one hand down onto the stick. her canine sinks into her bottom lip and as the garage door continues its slow, rickety lift upward, she revs the engine. poor sal covers his ears next to the garage door, but even he can't hide the wily joy on his face.

"'kay," parker says as they lurch forward into the narrow alleyway behind sal's candy shop, "this means you're gonna be our gunner. the water blastin' you did 'a me before? that kinda shit. that's why we popped the window out the back. other racers 're gonna have tricks up their sleeve too. got it?"

nina larson

☉

she's so good for her. parker's fingers flex adoringly on the stick and every time her gears shift seamlessly, she melts just a little bit more. they're still going through some tight alleyways, but she leans into the gas a bit and gods, she purrs. 

nina's already going to do so and parker doesn't stop her. in fact, she maneuvers her hands so she can crank her own window down. slateport's undercity air - brine and piss and home - hits her nose and then they pull out onto flat road, driving further and further inland, leaving the sea behind them.

they aren't alone for long. eventually, other cars start to follow them. junkers, mostly, but with enough shit rigged on 'em she knows they'll put up a fight before sputtering or spinning out. there are a couple of bikes, but not many. roads get too crowded for them.

except for her, of course, but parker doesn't see the gleaming black helmet, the telltale golden mane flowing out from under it. 

"gonna mosey 'er up to start. roll your window up, nins. don't wanna give these monkeys the time o' day 'fore shit begins."

nina larson

☉

"ya, that's my schtick. the girl who comes up with the coolest ass nicknames," she says. nins (NEENS, to clarify) is better than what else she was considering - niner. but anyway, the clutch is smooth as silk and every time she shifts, she understands a little bit more why car-dudebros are so dudebro about their cars. 

"yeah, there's a wholeass track. even got some sponsorships," she says and sarcasm drips from every word coming right out of her mouth, but it's playful. her grin is back in full force as mercurial eyes continue to sweep the road. 

"up there," she says, jutting her chin. they're part of the procession now. part of the no way back. the back roads have all been cleared, tight alleys marked with yellow smears. it'll just be graffiti in a couple years, painted over maybe, in a paltry attempt to make this part of the city more palatable to people with money. 

the engine's purr becomes a whisper as they start to slow. and there, up at the front of the line, is the nameless biker that she swears has to be - 

"keep it clean within reason, folks! winner's gettin' a tight thousand 'n bragging rights."

there's no flag, but there is a gun, and their announcer flashes gold teeth as she raises her arm. engines roar in response and theirs is no different. parker licks her lips as she revs and spares a glance at nina as the countdown begins. 

"hold onto your butt, nins."

nina larson

☉