Warning, even more bad words ahead. Where do you think "Pardon my French" comes from?
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The cameras stopped rolling, and the hosts relaxed a little, yet only slightly, still behaving as usual, joshing amongst themselves as they walked away from the set to take a break. Outside, the cold of the British evening started closing in, and the experience of sharing something so much larger started to fade already, as minds switched to the journey across the Channel, and into France.
Strop stretched his limbs, still tingling a little at the turn of events. He made a mental note to be sure to thank his mastermind colleagues, and trotted over to his Peapod. It had served him well, but maybe… just maybe after this tournament he really should find out wherever Boden might have put the old R18A2 and really see what they could do with it…
“Strooooooop,” a whiny voice whined. Strop froze, not sure if he should turn around and listen, but too late, an insistent hand tugged at his shoulder. “Look over there!”
“What is it Sam.”
“It’s them. Them!” Sam hissed, pointing a furious finger in the distance. “That’s just improper mate! A shame on the British sensibility!”
Strop peered into the distance, and saw nothing. “I see nothing.”
“What’s wrong with your eyes? Such vulgarity!” After a while, Strop finally realised that he was not referring to the cars, but rather, the fact that Kai and Bianca were enjoying a quiet walk trackside.
“No really, Sam. Are you actually referring to Kai and Bianca? Help me out here bro.”
Sam spluttered, turning a few shades darker in the process. “It’s PDA! Haven’t you ever heard of PDA? It’s impolite and they’re shoving it in our faces! Make them stop!”
Strop’s face twisted as he contemplated, then remembering, that his girlfriend was the affectionate sort who would make Kai and Bianca’s so-called PDAs seem like a stroll in the park, decided to go with: “Sam, what the hell is wrong with you? They’re a couple. It’s perfectly natural to want to spend some time together before they say goodbye.”
Sam’s face fell, and he was about to launch into another diatribe when Strop shoved a candy bar in his face, quipping: “Here, have a Snickers. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”
Sam glowered, then snatched the bar away, tearing the wrapper off and taking a vicious bite. “Mmph mmf mmmf mph.” He mouthed, before stumping back to Sleipnir, the wrapper joining the multitude of other candy bar wrappers in the footwell.
“And clean out the goddamn car sometime!” Strop called after him. “It’s the company prototype!”
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They went into the Channel Tunnel, the last of the light pursuing them. An hour later, they emerged, into the moonlight, into the land of passion, the land of eccentric, unabashed, France.
The northern countryside rolled past as they drove on through the night, in convoy. Conversing over radio to pass the time, talking about what kind of cheese grew where, how many hunters accidentally got shot while hunting wild boar, and from Tesla and Hannah, a rollicking assessment of the new Transit van, which was in short, just as mad as the rest of them without reason or rhyme, and a ridiculous amount of power. They joked at how the van might even be a match for the Mephisto, and Sam heartily agreed, the reply to which was a stony silence.
That was when they noticed, the silence coming from the Mephisto was palpable. More so than the visceral vibrations of the rough, jerky rumble of the V8, struggling against the vacuum of the turbo in its lag phase while cruising, just before the cusp of the power surge. It was felt through the receiver of the speakers, like a lump of lead, a black cloud. Gradually, under its weight, the conversation dragged, then slowed to a stop, even as the cars kept barrelling down the highway.
Finally, Sam figured he should attempt to pick things up again before the drive got real boring. “Cheer up, Kai,” he piped down the line. “Think of all the racing we have ahead of us!”
Silence.
“If you don’t pick up your game, you’re going to have a big fat LOSER tattoo on your forehead for your girlfriend to look at, remember?”
More silence.
“I mean, it’s going to happen anyway, but it’ll be no fun if you don’t put up a fight.”
If Kai was saying anything, he was humming something at exactly the same pitch of the Mephisto’s growly V8. Otherwise, he still wasn’t saying anything.
“Oh come on!” A tinge of irritation crept into Sam’s cajoling. “What’s she to you anyway? It’s not like she’s some kind of, I don’t know, Swedish supermodel with a fine ass and big perky boobs and legs up to yay high or anything close.” The line was slightly interrupted by a trio of gagging sounds presumably originating from the Gryphon Gear Van. “Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s kind of the opposite. And she’s shorter than you are, which is kind of sad in itself-“
“Shut up.” Kai’s first words for the evening were short and sharp, and warning.
“No, really, somebody has to tell you this!” Sam was never one to take a hint when he was on a roll. “You are a professional racing driver! You are supposed to be able to score with whoever the fuck you want by rolling up alongside in your fancy car and telling them your name. And if that fails, all you need to do is show them your trophy cabinet. And I know you don’t have a lot of trophies, but the fact you’ve won a championship is serious pulling power even for a short guy like you.”
“You need to stop talking.”
“Kai, my man, you need to get laid more. That is the root of all man’s problems, excuse the pun. After this race let’s head to Paris, I’ll hook you up in the red light district, and I’m sure you’ll appreciate my point of view.”
Kai growled. "If you stopped thinking with your dick, you might actually get into a real relationship."
There was a bit of chattering in the background, as Tesla ribbed Hannah. “Hey, pass the popcorn, this oughta be good.”
The joviality started to slip from Sam’s voice as he went on the defensive: "Hey fuck you. I don't need a ‘real relationship’, I'm free. I can hook up with anyone I like. I don't have to think of anyone but myself!"
"Because this is the way you’re going to live when you’re fat, forty and failing at life?" (This one was met with a muffled “OH SNAP” from Noah).
"Don’t be a dick! I'm still young. You’re younger, you shouldn't chain yourself to someone yet, not to mention someone living on the other side of the world, when there are plenty of hot chicks around if you just bothered to look outside your door!"
Kai hesitated a little, before snapping back: “I... I love Bianca, okay? What’s so hard about that?”
Sam laughed, a laugh fraying around the edges into despair and incomprehension. “You are an idiot! What do you know of love at twenty three or whatever it is? I bet you just haven’t had any really good sex. Have you even done it bareback yet? I could show you worlds of pleasure beyond anything your puny mind might have imagined. All it takes is some extra cash, a wink and some words and some establishments are willing to look the other way, I guarantee you. Mind. Blowing. You’ll never be pining over some chubby chick you see twice a year again.”
Between the rumbling of the car tyres and the engines, there was a long, awkward silence. Then, “I take it back.” Kai’s voice, low and steady, dripped with venom. “It won’t take you two years to get AIDS.”
Over the radio, there was a sudden sharp intake of breath, which came across as a crackle. Two seconds later, Strop’s eyes bolted open as Sam blipped the throttle, pulling alongside Kai in the Mephisto, then jinked the car at him.
There was a squeal, and then the Mephisto pitched sharply across, rolling onto the shoulder of the road, before snapping back, wobbling violently as it steered with a suddenness ill-advised in a car of its stature. The brake lights flickered on as it braked, hard, and then it pulled over to the side of the road. Shortly after that, Sam slammed on the brakes and Sleipnir also screeched to a halt on the other side of the road.
“Should we…?” Hannah started, but Strop, swearing, was already slowing down, pulling over ahead of them, fiddling with his harness. In his mirrors, he could already see the wing doors of the Mephisto and Sleipnir swing open, and Kai and Sam haul themselves out to face each other.
Sam spread his arms wide as he walked towards Kai. “You gotta lighten up man, you’re so tense you almost lived up to your callsign over a little argy-bargy. Like I said, if you just listened to me for once and had a really good hook-up, you’d-“
Kai, the picture of cold fury, responded by punching Sam in the face.
Sam reeled, flailing as his feet stumbled back several paces. Straightening, one hand covering his left eye, he stared at Kai in shock.
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up once in a while, asshole!” Kai shouted, rubbing his right hand.
“So… I guess that evens things out from three years ago,” Sam murmured, before suddenly hunching forward and launching himself wholly into Kai’s midsection.
For a brief, dizzying moment, they were airborne, and then Kai crashed to the ground on his back, the heavier Sam landing on top of him. The air was crushed out of his lungs with an “oof”, but he rolled over, powered by rage, mounting Sam and indiscriminately raining fists and elbows upon the body below. Sam covered up at first, then got a leg free, and planting it squarely on Kai’s chest, launched him off. Scrambling on all fours, he charged again, collecting Kai and dragging him along the ground as they rolled, entangled in chaotic, incoherent battle.
“Break it up, break it up!” Hooves clopped as Strop sprinted towards the pugnacious duo, then jumped, diving straight into the path of fire. Attempting to lever his limbs to separate Kai and Sam, he ate several fists and elbows before he was successful, shoving them apart, where they lay spreadeagled, on the dirt and ashphalt, panting.
“Put that away!” Closer to the van, Hannah slapped Noah’s hand, wrapped around his handycam.
Strop was the first to rise, and he regarded Kai and Sam with a baleful glare. “Pull your shit together! We can’t afford this kind of stuff, not when we’re racing and running the tournament!”
As he lectured Kai and Sam, who were scuffing their toes and twiddling their thumbs, faces flushed and gazes averted, Hannah, Tesla and Noah formed on his wing. “We should be working together and enjoying ourselves but also looking out for each other, who knows when we might run into trouble? Don’t go around creating more among yourselves okay?”
“Yeah, or we’ll have to call Dan.” Noah snarked.
“Oh no, not Dan, anything but Dan.” Kai muttered sarcastically, though he did go a few shades paler.
“Now apologise to each other.” Strop grabbed both of them by the scruff of the neck and turned them to face each other. Kai tried to give Strop a head slip, mumbling something about needing a smoke, but Strop tweaked his ear and he turned back with a yelp.
“I’m sorry.” Sam said.
“Good man,” Strop nodded.
“I’m sorry I didn’t actually hit Mephisto,” Sam clarified, with a wicked grin.
Strop doffed him upside the head.
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The light of dawn was peeking over the skyline as the convoy pulled into Rouen, ancient river town, home, like much of France, to some of the finest relics and remnants of the rebirth of the arts throughout Europe. After refuelling, they took some time to stretch their legs and soak up the sights in silence. While Kai and Sam, still ignoring each other, went their separate ways to gnaw on their solitude, Strop, Noah, Hannah and Tesla stuck around to sample the magnificence of the Notre Dame Cathedral, the treasures of the Musée des Beaux Arts, packing a quick picnic to take to the Jardin des Plantes de Rouen.
Fatigue eventually took over, and they booked into a budget motel, keeping low key to rest. It was another two hours to Sarthe, and the site of the legendary Le Mans, and another midnight, another race approached.
Wed Dec 03, 2014 12:24 am 
or 
I retract all my statements re: your OP and humbly withdraw from this conversation! 
