[Fic: Speed Racer] "One-Way"
Aug. 4th, 2008 03:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rocknloadTitle: One-Way
Author: Brittany
Fandom: Speed Racer (2008)
Rating: G
Words: 1800
Summary: Behind the scenes at Fuji.
*
Speed Racer loves everything about racing, everything, and even the things he hates he loves.
It’s eleven minutes before the green light at Fuji, Speed’s standing next to the Mach 5 and he should have pulled his helmet on already, but he hasn’t. Driving on a track without something on your head is downright stupid, as far as he’s concerned—Pops and even Rex have told him that more times than he could count—but plenty of drivers do it anyway. They want to be able to see behind them.
So does he.
Everything is different.
Some of the drivers are already strapped in. Lots of them aren’t, and some of them are mulling around, peering up and around at the track, squinting into the sun. Some of them are talking to each other. It’s those meanderers he watches. What could they possibly be talking about? A racer wouldn’t discuss strategy before the race, any tricks of the track, anything.
His hands tighten on his helmet as he twists it around in his hands, and he realizes that this is the most nervous he’s ever been before a race.
He already told Pops. He’s going to prove Royalton wrong. And if he doesn’t…
Speed Racer really does love everything about racing, and up until a week ago when he was standing in Royalton’s penthouse office, he could only think of one thing he’d change about it.
Now he doesn’t even know.
He knows there’s good and there’s bad. Sure, they can pain up a track real nice, but it’s not a racetrack unless it’s got some engine grease on it. That’s what he’s always thought, it’s what he had to believe whenever he saw the media frenzy after a race, or heard of another driver caught using a spear hook. You have to take the bad with the good, because take anything away and you’re one step removed from perfection.
Except now it wasn’t just grease stains, it was scorch marks, too. Speed has always known people got hurt, his family knows that better than anyone, maybe. But now he has to wonder just how many people there really are that ended up just like—
“Taejo Togokhan,” a voice says softly.
Speed jumps so high and he spins so fast that he’s not surprised to see the startled expression on the face of the woman standing behind him. He hadn’t heard a thing before she spoke, she must move like a ghost. Or maybe he just wasn’t paying attention.
“Sorry,” she says, recovering quickly.
“It’s okay,” he says. He’s shaking his head, because he’s an idiot, he’s trying to watch his back and not just literally, his head is completely out of the game, he’s— “What’d you say?”
“Togokhan’s up to two hundred,” she says, lightly. Speed doesn’t know where she came from or who she is—despite knowing a good chunk of the WRL by reputation at least. Her hair is curly, her teeth are capped with gold, which he notices because she’s smiling. “It was one-fifty just ten minutes ago. Pass it on?”
She starts walking away.
“Wait,” he says. “I don’t understand. Two hundred?”
She pauses, her smile turns to a puzzled frown. “Two hundred thousand to the driver that…” She stops.
She sneers.
Speed feels his shoulders slump as she stalks off. His first thought is: It’s true. This is hopeless.
His second is: Someone has to do something about this. There’s five minutes before the race, someone has to warn Taejo that other racers are gunning for him.
Speed’s never met Taejo but he knows what he looks like, red hair, good looking, Asian—Speed realizes with a little jolt of embarrassment that he doesn’t remember what country Taejo actually comes from, but that’s not important right now. Speed cranes his neck, he’s not tall but he’s tall enough to scan the crowd, and he spots the racer and his car several rows back.
Speed drops his helmet into his car and starts toward him.
He makes it halfway there before someone grabs him by the arm.
Speed tenses, but not nearly as much as he does when two words are whispered in his ear: “Speed Racer.”
Speed jerks around. The wiry man lets go of him, and folds his arms.
This guy, Speed knows. Kind of. His name is Quarter… Turn? Quarter Something, and he’s almost famous for not only never winning a single race, but never getting to the end of one, either. He’s lived through a lot of fiery crashes. And suddenly Speed knows why all those things are true, because Quarter repeats himself, “Three hundred for Racer, kid drives the—”
“Mach 5,” Speed says, tonelessly.
“That’s right, the—” Quarter frowns, he leans forward. “Oh,” he says, shrugging. Realizing. “Your car stands out a bit more than you do, kid.”
When he walks away, Speed doesn’t even try to stop him. He takes a deep breath.
At least someone warned him.
He shakes his head and starts pushing through the crowd.
It’s seven minutes before the green light, now, he thinks, he should be behind the wheel and ready for anything. But he’s only three car lengths away from Taejp and he has plenty of time to give the guy a quick warning. And it’s easier going now, because around the marked man’s car the crowd thins tremendously, as if no one wants to get too close.
Speed looks up, to find Taejo already looking at him. They’re too far away to talk but Speed opens his mouth anyway, maybe to shout something—and he notices the knowing half-smile on Taejo’s face.
“Speed! What’re you doing over here?”
Speed ought to feel relieved—Sparky’s face is the first friendly one he’s seen out here. But when he turns around to answer, all he can think about is Quarter Turn’s three hundred and the bitter expression on Taejo Togokhan’s face. “I was—” He thinks better of it. “Just checking out the track.”
Sparky reaches out and grabs him by the arm, dragging him back to the Mach 5. “Little late for that, now, you’ve got five minutes and I want to talk to you about the…”
Speed knows that whatever Sparky’s going to tell him, it’s not going to help if every other driver on the track is dirty—is that even possible? Every one? Can he beat them all? He’ll try, but he doesn’t think so, and he knew thinking that way is the first step towards defeat but he really can’t help it.
As Sparky pulls him along, he glances back to watch Quarter Turn’s progress down the track, talking to every nasty looking racer along the way.
“Are you all right, Speed?”
Speed realizes that they’ve stopped walking because they’re standing next to his car, and Sparky’s giving him a concerned look. There must be four minutes before the green light, maybe less.
“I’m—” He almost tells the truth, again, it’s just his nature. “I’m fine.”
Sparky nods slowly. “If you say so.” He picks up the helmet. “You’ll need this, won’t you?”
Speed glances back before he puts it on.
The next racer in Quarter’s line drives a yellow car, emblazoned with the number nine across its hood. Speed feels his stomach sink further than he thought it could—that’s a racer he definitely knows by reputation. Everyone knows his reputation.
Sparky follows his line of sight. “Hey, isn’t that…?”
Quarter makes his approach towards the leather-clad driver, and Speed nods slowly. “Racer X.”
Racer X is known for leaving a trail of burning cars in his wake, for doing anything to win—some people even said he had a machine gun under the hood. Speed’s always thought the man cheated, he thought Racer X was the one bad apple that spoiled the bunch. Not the guy who drives like everyone else and was just better at it.
Speed watches them talk, he ignores Sparky’s second request that he pull his helmet on—watch the peripheral vision, Speedy, you’re going to get stabbed in the back—and he doesn’t usually swear but there just isn’t another word for it. He is so—
Racer X grabs Quarter by the shirt sleeves, drags him up like he’s going to say something in his ear and then he throws the racer clear into the door of a nearby vehicle. The thunk is audible even from where Speed and Sparky are standing.
Sparky sputters. “What—he just—didn’t anyone see that?”
Apparently not, since no whistles are blown, no security guys come running.
Quarter picks himself up, brushing his clothes off, and his mouth is going a mile a minutes, and Speed wishes he were close enough to hear what was being said. Then the little racer turns on his heel and bolts—he’s fleeing the whole track, it looks like. He’s bailing out of the race.
“It’s so blatant,” Sparky’s saying. “Guys like him are what Royalton was talking about, Speed, you be careful of him. Most racers aren’t like that.”
“No, I guess…” For a second it looks like Racer X is going to turn in his direction, and Speed looks away. “I guess not.” Then he grins, and takes his helmet out of Sparky’s hands and pulls it over his head. “I’ll be careful, Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t ever a Scout, Speed.”
True. “We’ve only got two minutes left,” Speed notes, pulling open the door and sliding into the Mach 5. He should’ve done this earlier, because the second he sinks into the seat he suddenly feels like he’s home.
“All drivers to their cars,” a robotic voice says overhead, speaking through the intercom system. “All drivers to their cars.”
“Guess it’s time for me to get out of here,” Sparky says. He drops his hands onto the door. “Knock ‘em dead, Speed. I know you’re gonna win.”
Speed grins. He doubts that, he doubts that a lot, but he still grins. “Thanks, Sparky,” he says.
He watches his friend walk away, and he knows he has to get his mind into this race, now. Right now. No more thoughts of cheating or sabotage or spearhooks or Taejo Togokhan or Racer X—who he’s supposed to watch out for, even if for a second it looked like Racer X was looking out for him. He takes a deep breath, he puts one hand on the wheel and the other on the shifter and he closes his eyes.
He waits for the green light.
Maybe he doesn’t love everything about racing, but most everything, almost everything. No one is going to take the thrill of the actual race from him. He’s pretty sure that’s not possible.
The artificial voice starts up again.
3…
2…
1…
*
Author: Brittany
Fandom: Speed Racer (2008)
Rating: G
Words: 1800
Summary: Behind the scenes at Fuji.
*
Speed Racer loves everything about racing, everything, and even the things he hates he loves.
It’s eleven minutes before the green light at Fuji, Speed’s standing next to the Mach 5 and he should have pulled his helmet on already, but he hasn’t. Driving on a track without something on your head is downright stupid, as far as he’s concerned—Pops and even Rex have told him that more times than he could count—but plenty of drivers do it anyway. They want to be able to see behind them.
So does he.
Everything is different.
Some of the drivers are already strapped in. Lots of them aren’t, and some of them are mulling around, peering up and around at the track, squinting into the sun. Some of them are talking to each other. It’s those meanderers he watches. What could they possibly be talking about? A racer wouldn’t discuss strategy before the race, any tricks of the track, anything.
His hands tighten on his helmet as he twists it around in his hands, and he realizes that this is the most nervous he’s ever been before a race.
He already told Pops. He’s going to prove Royalton wrong. And if he doesn’t…
Speed Racer really does love everything about racing, and up until a week ago when he was standing in Royalton’s penthouse office, he could only think of one thing he’d change about it.
Now he doesn’t even know.
He knows there’s good and there’s bad. Sure, they can pain up a track real nice, but it’s not a racetrack unless it’s got some engine grease on it. That’s what he’s always thought, it’s what he had to believe whenever he saw the media frenzy after a race, or heard of another driver caught using a spear hook. You have to take the bad with the good, because take anything away and you’re one step removed from perfection.
Except now it wasn’t just grease stains, it was scorch marks, too. Speed has always known people got hurt, his family knows that better than anyone, maybe. But now he has to wonder just how many people there really are that ended up just like—
“Taejo Togokhan,” a voice says softly.
Speed jumps so high and he spins so fast that he’s not surprised to see the startled expression on the face of the woman standing behind him. He hadn’t heard a thing before she spoke, she must move like a ghost. Or maybe he just wasn’t paying attention.
“Sorry,” she says, recovering quickly.
“It’s okay,” he says. He’s shaking his head, because he’s an idiot, he’s trying to watch his back and not just literally, his head is completely out of the game, he’s— “What’d you say?”
“Togokhan’s up to two hundred,” she says, lightly. Speed doesn’t know where she came from or who she is—despite knowing a good chunk of the WRL by reputation at least. Her hair is curly, her teeth are capped with gold, which he notices because she’s smiling. “It was one-fifty just ten minutes ago. Pass it on?”
She starts walking away.
“Wait,” he says. “I don’t understand. Two hundred?”
She pauses, her smile turns to a puzzled frown. “Two hundred thousand to the driver that…” She stops.
She sneers.
Speed feels his shoulders slump as she stalks off. His first thought is: It’s true. This is hopeless.
His second is: Someone has to do something about this. There’s five minutes before the race, someone has to warn Taejo that other racers are gunning for him.
Speed’s never met Taejo but he knows what he looks like, red hair, good looking, Asian—Speed realizes with a little jolt of embarrassment that he doesn’t remember what country Taejo actually comes from, but that’s not important right now. Speed cranes his neck, he’s not tall but he’s tall enough to scan the crowd, and he spots the racer and his car several rows back.
Speed drops his helmet into his car and starts toward him.
He makes it halfway there before someone grabs him by the arm.
Speed tenses, but not nearly as much as he does when two words are whispered in his ear: “Speed Racer.”
Speed jerks around. The wiry man lets go of him, and folds his arms.
This guy, Speed knows. Kind of. His name is Quarter… Turn? Quarter Something, and he’s almost famous for not only never winning a single race, but never getting to the end of one, either. He’s lived through a lot of fiery crashes. And suddenly Speed knows why all those things are true, because Quarter repeats himself, “Three hundred for Racer, kid drives the—”
“Mach 5,” Speed says, tonelessly.
“That’s right, the—” Quarter frowns, he leans forward. “Oh,” he says, shrugging. Realizing. “Your car stands out a bit more than you do, kid.”
When he walks away, Speed doesn’t even try to stop him. He takes a deep breath.
At least someone warned him.
He shakes his head and starts pushing through the crowd.
It’s seven minutes before the green light, now, he thinks, he should be behind the wheel and ready for anything. But he’s only three car lengths away from Taejp and he has plenty of time to give the guy a quick warning. And it’s easier going now, because around the marked man’s car the crowd thins tremendously, as if no one wants to get too close.
Speed looks up, to find Taejo already looking at him. They’re too far away to talk but Speed opens his mouth anyway, maybe to shout something—and he notices the knowing half-smile on Taejo’s face.
“Speed! What’re you doing over here?”
Speed ought to feel relieved—Sparky’s face is the first friendly one he’s seen out here. But when he turns around to answer, all he can think about is Quarter Turn’s three hundred and the bitter expression on Taejo Togokhan’s face. “I was—” He thinks better of it. “Just checking out the track.”
Sparky reaches out and grabs him by the arm, dragging him back to the Mach 5. “Little late for that, now, you’ve got five minutes and I want to talk to you about the…”
Speed knows that whatever Sparky’s going to tell him, it’s not going to help if every other driver on the track is dirty—is that even possible? Every one? Can he beat them all? He’ll try, but he doesn’t think so, and he knew thinking that way is the first step towards defeat but he really can’t help it.
As Sparky pulls him along, he glances back to watch Quarter Turn’s progress down the track, talking to every nasty looking racer along the way.
“Are you all right, Speed?”
Speed realizes that they’ve stopped walking because they’re standing next to his car, and Sparky’s giving him a concerned look. There must be four minutes before the green light, maybe less.
“I’m—” He almost tells the truth, again, it’s just his nature. “I’m fine.”
Sparky nods slowly. “If you say so.” He picks up the helmet. “You’ll need this, won’t you?”
Speed glances back before he puts it on.
The next racer in Quarter’s line drives a yellow car, emblazoned with the number nine across its hood. Speed feels his stomach sink further than he thought it could—that’s a racer he definitely knows by reputation. Everyone knows his reputation.
Sparky follows his line of sight. “Hey, isn’t that…?”
Quarter makes his approach towards the leather-clad driver, and Speed nods slowly. “Racer X.”
Racer X is known for leaving a trail of burning cars in his wake, for doing anything to win—some people even said he had a machine gun under the hood. Speed’s always thought the man cheated, he thought Racer X was the one bad apple that spoiled the bunch. Not the guy who drives like everyone else and was just better at it.
Speed watches them talk, he ignores Sparky’s second request that he pull his helmet on—watch the peripheral vision, Speedy, you’re going to get stabbed in the back—and he doesn’t usually swear but there just isn’t another word for it. He is so—
Racer X grabs Quarter by the shirt sleeves, drags him up like he’s going to say something in his ear and then he throws the racer clear into the door of a nearby vehicle. The thunk is audible even from where Speed and Sparky are standing.
Sparky sputters. “What—he just—didn’t anyone see that?”
Apparently not, since no whistles are blown, no security guys come running.
Quarter picks himself up, brushing his clothes off, and his mouth is going a mile a minutes, and Speed wishes he were close enough to hear what was being said. Then the little racer turns on his heel and bolts—he’s fleeing the whole track, it looks like. He’s bailing out of the race.
“It’s so blatant,” Sparky’s saying. “Guys like him are what Royalton was talking about, Speed, you be careful of him. Most racers aren’t like that.”
“No, I guess…” For a second it looks like Racer X is going to turn in his direction, and Speed looks away. “I guess not.” Then he grins, and takes his helmet out of Sparky’s hands and pulls it over his head. “I’ll be careful, Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t ever a Scout, Speed.”
True. “We’ve only got two minutes left,” Speed notes, pulling open the door and sliding into the Mach 5. He should’ve done this earlier, because the second he sinks into the seat he suddenly feels like he’s home.
“All drivers to their cars,” a robotic voice says overhead, speaking through the intercom system. “All drivers to their cars.”
“Guess it’s time for me to get out of here,” Sparky says. He drops his hands onto the door. “Knock ‘em dead, Speed. I know you’re gonna win.”
Speed grins. He doubts that, he doubts that a lot, but he still grins. “Thanks, Sparky,” he says.
He watches his friend walk away, and he knows he has to get his mind into this race, now. Right now. No more thoughts of cheating or sabotage or spearhooks or Taejo Togokhan or Racer X—who he’s supposed to watch out for, even if for a second it looked like Racer X was looking out for him. He takes a deep breath, he puts one hand on the wheel and the other on the shifter and he closes his eyes.
He waits for the green light.
Maybe he doesn’t love everything about racing, but most everything, almost everything. No one is going to take the thrill of the actual race from him. He’s pretty sure that’s not possible.
The artificial voice starts up again.
3…
2…
1…
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-08-04 11:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-04 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-04 11:20 pm (UTC)No seriously I liked it. Very mood-appropriate.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-04 11:23 pm (UTC)Thanks!
Jerk.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 01:04 am (UTC)BUT FINE
YOU'RE WELCOME
no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 01:07 am (UTC)... THE ICON JUST PROVES IT
no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 06:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-04 11:58 pm (UTC)“I’ll be careful, Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t ever a Scout, Speed.”
I'm not sure... but that exchange just made me giggle a lot XD<3
I really wish they'd showed more of Fuji, it looked like it would've been my favorite track XD It is on the games anyway <3
no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 02:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-06 12:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-06 03:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-14 08:38 pm (UTC)