becomethewolves (becomethewolves) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-02-18 11:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | jamilla arvanatis, ongoing, player: alice, zelliot |
I'm going to lure you into the dark
It is often said that a fool and his money are soon parted, but that can be said as well for the rich who have so much to burn and are so used to having no consequences they will turn into fools just for a taste of risk. If it involved letting others take the actual risk then even better for them. It was the illusion that counted. It had taken Elliot three weeks of racing in Atlantic City — and a bit of thievery, let’s be honest but she had kept her head down — and other nearby, easily driveable cities, to get herself notice. As it turned out, the East Coast had higher rollers than she was used to in the Midwest, which shouldn’t have surprised her. Goddamn yankees, and fuckin’ rich people with nothing better to do. Elliot had been ‘invited’, which really meant an invitation somehow both a sleazy snake oil sales pitch and a threat all at once, to take part in a race that only happened once every two months, and coincidentally, this February it was two days before the Moon. But it was fine, she was fine. A little more high energy than usual, more adrenaline and aggression flowing through her for absolutely no useful reason, but she could deal with that. It was old hat now. She had acquired a car, and spent two weeks modifying it in a chop shop in AC owned by one of the main recruiters for the races. Because even though she wasn’t in that business anymore, didn’t mean she couldn’t find all the dirty sides of it when needed. Now it was the night of, and she was the only Wolf, and one of only a few women racing tonight. It was taking place at a long strip of shipyards along the water, security cleaned out by the people in expensive gowns and suits sitting on a yacht watching the cameras, taking bets with more money than she saw in a year (probably, who the fuck knows) and eating caviar or some shit. There were cameras all through the maze of shipping containers, and light up arrows, though she had memorized the map easily several days before. Classical music echoed out into the parking lot from the ship, and the last thing she saw before she got into her baby was a man from the ship in a suit yelling at one of the ‘veteran’ racers, but a woman looking like just stepped out of a painting staring at her through her mask. It was eerie, and why did the rich people need to make this a masquerade anyway? The rich don’t have to obey laws, everyone knew that. Later, Elliot would admit that she understood why Wolves weren’t involved in this. The stakes were high, space cramped, tensions at their peak and it tested her even. But she had been doing this since she was fifteen, before the Wolf ever came into the picture, and she could (mostly) push her down for this, narrow the world down to the people around her, the rumble of a well put together engine under her fingers. If one knew how to control the Wolf, learned from an experienced pack in the beginning, took to the discipline needed out of necessity, not a stranger to high stakes out of necessity since childhood, they could even use the Wolf reflexes to their advantage. Perhaps, that is why she won her first race with only a few minor scrapes. The adrenaline high, the triumph and the thought of the cash prize was shoved aside when she was faced by the other reason most Wolves avoided this sort of thing — the crowd. The roar and hands on her shoulders, the smell of sweat and people around her yelling congratulations, recruitment and curses all in raised voices. Worse, possibly, when she was pulled onto the ship. |