Team Shift Happens
Team Information
Previous Chapters:
The Plan / Getting the Truck / The Email
A Trick and a Wager / I Hate Scorpions!
March 4, 2022, a patch of the Mojave Desert, now designated as the Official Shitbox Rally of 2022 Starting Line, 3:30 AM Local Time.
Once they’d gotten dressed appropriately (at least by Rukari’s standards), the team piled into the old Bricksley and headed off to their predetermined starting location. Rukari was behind the wheel, Kaylie was in the passenger side rear seat behind the radio stack, Malavera was stuck in the middle of the rear bench with a horrible double-scowl going on, Kayden took the driver’s side rear bench seat, and Kivenaal had called shotgun, so he got to enjoy lounging in the front passenger seat.
Kaylie sighed, not really enjoying the form-fitting leather outfit anywhere near as much as she knew others would enjoy seeing her in it. “Does it have to be this tight, Rukari?” she asked. At her hip, she was carrying a more-or-less typical set of tools, including two adjustable wrenches, a screwdriver with interchangeable bits, a utility knife, and, much to Kaylie’s amusement, a proper set of lock-picks.
“Is good leather armor. Best can do with no time,” Rukari replied. In similar contrast to Kaylie, he was wearing thick, blackened leather armor, backed with ring-mail, his heeled riding boots, and a magnificent royal purple cloak draped over his shoulders. At his left side, he carried a sword made of a mysterious black metal, showing signs that it had been quite heavily used, but well maintained. Sitting in the back bench seat with Kayden was his traditional murdaira, the Valraadi-made flintlock rifle-cannon designed to fire one-kilogram projectiles, or a full fist of lead shot (usually fairly close to a kilogram), typically used in naval battles, though also carried by some Valraadii who just wanted more firepower. Ironically, because it was muzzle-loaded, it ended up being completely legal for Rukari to own it in the United States.
Kayden, meanwhile, was dressed in his military armor, the sleek black composite panels looking relatively normal when compared to Kaylie and Rukari’s outfits. “Just be glad, sis, that you’re not like Malavera. Rukari took two hours trying to find something he would fit in.” Across Kayden’s back was his traditional warrior’s sword, a katana with a heating element designed to turn the edge white hot on demand. He only loosely held onto Rukari’s overgrown blunderbuss because he’d been told, in no uncertain terms that if he messed with it at all, Rukari would shoot him with it and see if he could heal from that.
Kivenaal was grinning, wearing leather pants, a heavy leather duster made for his unusual form, his large and comfortable cowboy boots, and a button-down shirt that was stuck somewhere between tan and dirt colored with a leather vest over it. All of this paled, however, in comparison to his gun belts, which held two holsters at each hip, along with a mess of .357 Magnum rounds for his modern replica Colt Peacemakers. He was comfortable with the single-action pistols, and in his messenger bag, he had several boxes of .357 Magnum cartridges just waiting to be loaded into his guns. Sure, he could handle Rukari’s favored flintlock cannon just fine, but he liked Earth’s pistols. “On the bright side, Kayden, we only have to deal with the moody Khalan for a few hours,” Kivenaal said. In his vest pocket, he was carrying several cigars, mostly because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get any while in Crugandr, and likewise, he carried a pipe in the inside pocket of his duster just in case he needed a good smoke.
Malavera scowled. “I can’t believe I have to wear a robe,” he grumbled. To be fair, he did stand out among the group, but then again, two heads and fur as bright-white as fresh-fallen snow also made him stand out, even before being put in a bright yellow satin robe. On the flip-side, he did appreciate that he could conceal a few weapons, one of which was his trusty double-barreled .45 Winchester Magnum pistol with two magazines, and the other was one of his traditional Khalan crystal knives with a wickedly-sharp blade, despite the translucent nature of it.
“You will blend in, no worry,” Rukari said, looking over at Malavera.
“Yes, and the three of you have armor, Kivenaal has no shame and would wear that get-up in public, and here I am with no armor and a robe as bright as the fucking sun,” Malavera growled.
“Is ring-mail in truck bed,” Rukari replied, “You could wear under robe, secret protection.”
Kayden, Kaylie, Rukari, Kivenaal, and Malavera parked the Bricksley Highwayman as neatly as they could in a sea of dirt and sand. They had less than 2 hours and 30 minutes to transform this empty sea of dirt into a proper starting line, as well as starting up the party, transforming Nothing-but-Dirt, Nevada into a decent starting area for the teams. They put up some basic awnings, set up a couple tents, and with 30 minutes to spare, started a campfire and got the charcoal grill going. While Malavera pulled off his robe, slipped into the leather and ring-mail that Rukari had gathered up for him, and put his robe back on over it, Kayden smiled, flipping over a burger as he watched Kivenaal slowly loading all four of his pistols. “How good are you with those things?” Kayden asked.
“Three time champion of our shooting club with pistols and moving targets. Helps that I don’t have a weak arm. Humans would call it ‘ambidextrous,’ but I don’t think that term works for me,” Kivenaal replied. He flipped the loading gate closed, set the hammer down gently, and grabbed his fourth gun.
Kaylie watched as Kivenaal half-cocked the hammer, flipped the loading gate open, and fed rounds into the cylinder one at a time. “It’s fascinating,” she said. “Both you and Rukari favor revolvers over semi-automatic pistols.”
“These jam less,” Kivenaal replied. “And before you mention rate of fire,” Kivenaal added, grabbing a loaded pistol and aiming it out into the empty desert, “I know a trick or two.” He cocked the hammer, pulled the trigger, and then ran his thumb and four fingers over the hammer with one of his left hands, emptying six rounds just as fast as anyone else could have fired them from a traditional pistol. “That took me a few years to learn, but fanning revolvers is fun. And now I’ve got to reload this one,” he said.
Malavera chuckled, watching Kivenaal ejecting spent cases and replacing them with fresh rounds. “He’s damn good with those things, too,” Malavera admitted.
“So, why is it that we each get our own tent?” Kaylie asked. “I mean, it’s nice having privacy, but that’s a lot of shit to pack up each morning.”
“Well, no one really wants to share a tent with Malavera,” Kivenaal replied.
“Why not?” Kaylie inquired.
“He bites,” Kivenaal said jokingly.
“I do not!” Malavera said.
“That one mission we went on-” Kivenaal started to say, just before Malavera clapped a huge hand over Kivenaal’s mouth. Kivenaal, in response, bit Malavera’s hand.
“OW!” Malavera yelled, pulling his hand away and shaking it, scowling.
“Go set up table,” Rukari said, handing Malavera a handful of spare registration forms and forms to fill out for vehicle inspections, as well as forms for renting CB radios in case they were needed. “Stop fighting with my brother.”
“Wasn’t a fight,” Kivenaal said, chuckling. “I’m not stupid enough to pick a fight with Malavera.”
Malavera chuckled as he set up the table with some spare registration forms, a handful of inspection stickers for the cars that passed, and his bulky 20-pound rugged military laptop, ready to help teams out if they found they were in a bit of a bind.
6:00 AM, the Shitbox Rally official Starting Party campsite.
Kayden smiled as he looked over what they had achieved in the span of a few short hours. There were tents for teams to rest in, awnings to protect teams from the heat while they worked on their cars, a charcoal grill with some burgers nearby for him to cook up for everyone, and Kaylie was busy working on getting their sound system going.
Kaylie swore under her breath as she tried, and failed badly, to tune in the radio Rukari had brought with them. “What the hell did you do to this thing, Rukari?” Kaylie grumbled.
Rukari shrugged. “Not me this time. Bought in pawn shop, I think you call it.”
Kaylie sighed, setting the seemingly broken radio down and shaking her head. “Please tell me it wasn’t expensive.”
“Three dollars,” Rukari said.
“At least it’s worth that much in spare parts,” Kaylie replied.
Kivenaal was keeping an eye on Jaden, Kaylie and Kayden’s older brother, who had taken their shuttle down to the campsite long enough to get the portal entrance set up.
“I don’t get why we’re using a wooden box with barn doors for a teleportation device,” Jaden grumbled.
“Because Rukari says we have to match like to like. Mirrors can’t go through doorways, doorways can’t go through mirrors. There’s no mirror on the other end big enough for cars to drive through,” Kivenaal replied.
Jaden nodded, then got the doorway in the spot that Kivenaal and Rukari had indicated by spray-painting an X on the ground. While Rukari knew that positioning wasn’t exactly important, Kivenaal didn’t, and he wasn’t taking any chances. Once the doorway was in place, Jaden stepped away and sent the shuttle back up. “I’ll stay and watch the party,” he said.
“Fine by me,” Kivenaal said, drawing his four revolvers and twirling them around his index fingers.
Rukari sat on a large, flat-ish stone and started carving a little cork ball for his murdaira, the traditional Valraadi rifle-cannon he had with him. He’d read somewhere in his research that it used to be traditional in racing to fire a starting pistol to announce the beginning of the race, and he remembered Valraadi sailing races being started by a murdaira full of cork-shot. In all things, tradition mattered, and so he was whittling away at this cork ball with his bronze-bladed hunting knife, smoking pipe in his mouth as he puffed away.
Malavera sat at the table, waiting for cars to arrive, both heads watching over the entirety of the camp. His laptop sat open and idle, he had a stack of registration forms ready to be filled out for last-minute arrivals, and, in the end, he felt he was ready for anything.
As the sun started to rise, the first arrival showed up in a most unusual way. First, one of the previously unoccupied tents flared up with a dark blue glow for just a few seconds, before an Aetheriian Jagrilan stepped out, her jet-black fur catching everyone’s attention for a moment. She walked over to the table and picked up one of the registration forms, studying it for a few seconds before smiling. A couple minutes later, a faded-red Yamada ASR-4 pulled up and parked next to the tent. Charlotte introduced herself to the confused people inside the car, explained there was a rally going on, and convinced the others to join in. Kaylie looked over to Charlotte and said, “Make sure that registration form gets filled out, please. Rukari’s in charge of making sure no one gets left behind in Crugandr, and Malavera will make sure any documents get filled out.” Soon after, everyone disappeared into the tent, where they stayed for a while, until Charlotte and Romulo got out with a plan in mind.
When Charlotte and Romulo approached Malavera to get some ‘proper’ plates for their car, and the necessary paperwork to avoid any unwanted traffic incidents, Malavera did what he knew best, making it appear as if the vehicle they were in had come from Mexico, passed through the border control in Texas, and that they were here in Nevada for a vacation.
After a while, the registration form was turned in and Team Blazers was officially part of this run. Malavera handed them a Shitbox Rally windshield sticker and told them, “This goes in the top passenger side corner of your windshield. Think of it like a badge of honor.” Malavera then read over their registration form and passed it over to Rukari, who grabbed a bit of copper from his pocket and made five more rings for the late entrants, enchanting them before returning to his careful whittling of the large ball of cork. These would be handed out, just like the rest, when the drivers’ meeting started.
Then, as the start of the first convoy of crap, it was Team Wayfarers in their rust-and-red-colored old IFAZ Bogatir flatbed, “Chernobog,” which they parked up next to the Bricksley Highwayman. Jill and Jack Willow-Wright hopped out of the truck, looked over the half-van, half-truck thing that Team Shift Happens had brought, then joined the members of Team Shift Happens out by the campfire. Malavera, likewise, wandered over and studied the large truck, chuckling as he saw the window stickers, ‘My silly husband thinks this is his truck,’ and ‘Magic Happens.’ Otherwise, Malavera thought it looked to be a good, sturdy work truck, if a little rusty, but he saw nothing about it that would prevent it from running in this rally, so he placed a Shitbox Rally sticker on the passenger side of the windshield, up in the top corner. Jill was carrying Rufus, the team’s mascot and her familiar, and ended up not too far away from Rukari near the campfire.
A few brief moments later, it was Team Gearknobs showing up in their white Hakaru Carica SE. Unlike Team Wayfarers, however, Andy Kauffman decided the best way to park the Hakaru was a violent handbrake turn, sliding through the dirt, and coming to a perfect stop just underneath one of the many sun-shade tents that had been set up to keep the desert sun away. He stepped out to a mix of applause and glares, with most of the people already there congratulating him on the bold entry, and Kayden being rather irritated that he got a dirt-shower because someone had to show off. Soon after, Jay Jarrett and Ed Sale climbed out of the little hatchback, both heading over to the other two vehicles there to get a good look at them. Likewise, Malavera looked over their hatchback, again seeing no reason it shouldn’t be part of this rally, although he suspected if they kept driving like that, there wouldn’t be much left of their car when all of this was over. He applied the Shitbox Rally sticker to the passenger side of their windshield, although he had to double check because the car was right-hand-drive.
When the blue Claussient 25 of Team Fallen Angels of the Past arrived, Kaylie waved them over to park underneath a sun-shade near where Malavera was sitting. She’d heard rumors that they might be in trouble, courtesy of Malavera and his hacking, and as a result, Kaylie was making sure that Maria and Lucia were as safe as they could be, in this case by putting the two of them close to the two-headed Khalan who was, to be fair, armed to the teeth. Kaylie knocked lightly on the window with her natural right hand, then said, “You two are safe with us. If at any time you feel you’re in danger, run toward me, my brother Kayden, Malavera, Kivenaal, or Rukari. Malavera’s the one with two heads, Rukari and Kivenaal are the ones that look like tiger demons. If you feel comfortable relaxing around the campfire, please, join us, but you don’t have to.” Like he’d done with the others, he looked over their car, decided it was worthy, and placed the sticker in the top corner of the windshield, giving the two ladies a thumbs-up afterward.
At the end of the first little convoy was Team Slow, their silver Schnell XL53 V8 gleaming in the desert sunrise, their arrival anything but slow as they rocketed past the campsite at first, turned around, and came back to park under the same sun-shade tent that the Hakaru was under. Matt and John both got out soon after, passed by the burger table, then sat near the campfire with the other teams, preparing their own oven and tents and settling in for a long day. Malavera looked over their car, then placed a Shitbox Rally sticker in the top passenger corner of the windshield, making sure it was out of the way.
A couple minutes passed before the next convoy of crap rolled in, with Team Oil Crisis leading the charge in their rust-and-green Union Magistrate V8, a rather big station wagon that rumbled into the campground, slowly circled the perimeter, and then finally parked on the other side of the Bricksley. The doors opened and five people got out along with their rottweiler, Gunther. Immediately, Owen was looking around to see where any potential danger would come from, while Aidan, Karl, Max, and Pavel headed to see what the other cars were like. Kayden, having wiped most of the dirt off of his armor, looked over to Owen and said, “You may as well try to relax. If anyone’s stupid enough to attack this camp, there’s enough firepower here to make an easy defense. Rukari’s got that damn cannon of his, Malavera’s armed with his pistol, I’ve got my blade, Kaylie’s left arm could kill a man through a concrete wall if she had a good reason to throw that punch, our brother, Jaden, he’s carrying a plasma pistol, and then there’s Kivenaal, Rukari’s brother. If someone attacks us, he could quite literally glass this place, he’s that strong with his fire magic, and that’s provided he doesn’t just unload on someone with his four pistols. And that’s just the people we know.”
A couple seconds later, once Owen had joined the rest of his team in looking at the cars and Malavera had window-stickered the Union Magistrate, a bright, atomic-bubblegum-pink van with the number 23 splashed across the sliding doors came into the camp, the raspy little four-cylinder buzzing like an angry hive of bees as Team Hillbilly Rollers prowled around looking for a good spot. They parked next to the Union Magistrate, where Janne and Andreas got out of the van first, having the grace of the door-seats, and headed straight for the middle of the camp. Marie, on the other hand, got out a few seconds later, and on the way to joining the others, grabbed one of the purple glass bottles out of the back of the Highwayman. Rukari looked her way, shook his head slightly, then said, “Next time, ask first.” Malavera, like he’d done many times already, placed the Shitbox Rally sticker on the windshield of the van, then dodged around Janne on his way back to his table.
Kaylie looked over at Janne, trying to make sense of the mess of 80’s electronics and duct tape he was wearing. She’d seen some rather interesting stuff made by Rukari, so it wasn’t entirely unusual to her, but to see an old portable gaming handheld crudely taped to a hard hat, with wires running haphazardly out of the cartridge port, over Janne’s shoulder and into his backpack, where an old TV aerial was poking back up out of the partially-closed zipper was definitely the sort of thing that she didn’t want others getting hurt with. “Hey, Janne, mind putting the safety hazard away before someone gets an antenna in their eye?” Kaylie asked, giving him a pointed look. Kivenaal looked to see what Janne was wearing, laughed, then cursed roughly in Valraad after dropping one of his revolvers in the sand. He scowled, then started cleaning up the dirtied nickel-chrome finish.
Then Team Witchlight arrived in their deep red EAAC Aphrodite Ishtar, parking under a sun-shade on the other side of the campfire from where most of the teams had parked. The doors opened, and immediately, Kayden could tell that these people were a little bit different. Elist was the first one out, and they gave a light smile to Kaylie, who waved back, only to grimace as she flashed herself with the sun’s reflection off of her chrome left hand. “I’m beginning to regret having it chromed,” Kaylie grumbled. Then Ambay climbed out of the back seat, sword strapped to his back, the only person currently there who looked like they might be mildly-enjoying the dry desert heat. Finne hopped out not long after, compound crossbow hanging by the sling over his shoulder, his eyes locked on the flintlock rifle-cannon resting next to Rukari before he made his way over to the campfire and making Ambay follow him. Finally, Kira slipped out of the car with vulpine grace, her unusual outfit getting a second glance from Malavera as she followed the rest of the group. Like the others, he couldn’t really see anything that would immediately keep this car from competing, and so, like each of the rest, he put a Shitbox Rally sticker up in the passenger side upper corner of the windshield.
After what seemed like a long while of waiting, another vehicle arrived, the screaming inline 4 of the Kontir Cunningham owned by Team Mravolinski-Chitco making itself heard as the huge truck swooped in, leaning ominously as it made the turn toward a parking spot thanks to the homemade camper shell. The first out of the truck was Mrdja, a trickle of sweat dripping out of his hair and landing on his glasses, which he hurriedly cleaned off. Then VerBanka got out of the passenger seat, looked around at the array of crappy vehicles there, and smiled. Pi Citko crawled out of the back of the truck, standing tall on her four legs as she held the door open for Klimentol and Cikota. They joined the others in standing near the truck in the hot, merciless desert sun while waiting for Aydar to get out of the front seat. With everyone grouped together, they wandered over to Malavera to get checked in. Kivenaal watched them for a moment after finishing his gun cleaning, picked up all four revolvers and twirled them around like an old Wild West gunslinger again, and holstered all four of them at once, while Malavera looked over their truck. Malavera shrugged off his yellow robe, handing it to Mrdja to hold for a moment, slid himself under the front of the truck, then lifted the whole front of the truck into the air as if he were a human bench-pressing a light amount of weight.
“Well, it’s a 4x4. Not much engine up here, but it got you here. I don’t see any glaring safety hazards, but I’d be careful,” Malavera said, setting the front axle back down and sliding back out from under the truck, “about your camper shell.” He grabbed his robe back from Mrdja and pulled it back on, then said, “It’s a little tall and a little wide. Keep an eye out for low bridges, trees, narrow paths, you may have to find another way around some places.” He handed Mrdja the Shitbox Rally sticker and told him, “That goes on the passenger side of your windshield, upper corner.”
Not long after the rather tall camper-truck made it into camp, they saw a Mara Kanyon approaching rapidly. Well, as rapidly as a Mara Kanyon could do, at least. Kivenaal looked up, then said, “Well, it’s official. We’ve got a proper shitbox rally going, someone turned up with a Mara.”
Just then, Arthur and Ford parked the Mara and, instead of looking at the cars, went straight for the campfire to chat with all of the interesting teams standing around. Malavera got up, carrying their registration form on a clipboard, and said, “Hey, you guys need a team name on here.”
“Oh, we’re QR-dash-47,” Ford said, perhaps a little bit too quickly, as Malavera gave him a suspicious look with both heads.
“Is there a meaning behind that, or are you playing mind games with me?” Malavera asked, glaring at Ford.
“It’s… Um… It’s short for Quick… Rally 47. Yeah, that’s it, Quick Rally 47,” Ford replied.
Malavera quickly wrote down their team name, never taking his left head’s eyes off of Ford. “Very well. Welcome to the rally. Perhaps, for the next one, remember to put your team name on the registration paperwork before you show up,” Malavera said, before handing them the official sticker. “That goes on the passenger side of your windshield, upper corner.”
Arthur, meanwhile, still hadn’t managed to close his mouth after Malavera’s question and Ford’s spontaneous reply. Kivenaal looked over to Arthur, reached into his messenger bag with his lower left hand, pulled out a brown paper bag, shook it lightly and held the open end in Arthur’s general direction. “Want an oven roasted scorpion? I made them last night, they’re quite good.” Kivenaal fished one of the small scorpions out of the bag and popped it into his mouth with a hearty crunch.
Then, with way more speed than they needed, Team Mrezhari arrived in their Dunav 3300, wrenched the wheel around, and slid the car violently across the sand-covered dirt, flinging dirt and sand across the camp, covering Kayden with dirt for the second time. “Hey, assholes! I’m making burgers over here and you’re throwing dirt! These ones are yours!” Kayden yelled, taking four dirt-dusted burgers off of the grill and putting them in buns. Four men got out of the car, wearing dark blue fire suits better suited to a race-track, black racing helmets with tinted visors kept closed so no one could see in, and their call-signs printed, military fighter-pilot style, across the forehead of their helmets. ‘Imp’ held up both of his hands, as if saying “Don’t shoot,” or “I surrender,” before tapping his visor, pointing to Kayden, and shaking his head.
“You didn’t see me?” Kayden asked.
‘Imp’ shook his head again.
“Clean your visor next time, then, or I’ll make you eat that helmet,” Kayden growled.
The other members of the team, ‘Hightower,’ ‘VIP,’ and ‘Doc,’ all looked around between each other and ‘Imp,’ shrugged, and settled around the camp, keeping a distance from the other teams.
Malavera, after checking out the Dunav, added the Shitbox Rally window sticker to the modified station wagon / SUV hybrid.
The last car arriving in the 6 AM hour was Team Jockey’s bright-yellow shoebox, the Yinzer MightyTiny. It pulled in and parked up next to the Mara, where Angela, Dave, Rita, and Darra all bailed out of it. Malavera was there in no time at all to look over the car, including nearly lifting the poor thing off of the ground to get a better look at the RWD subcompact’s driveline. After gently settling the car on the ground again, having tipped it up onto the rear wheels using the front bumper, Malavera planted the Shitbox Rally sticker on the passenger side of the windshield. “Good luck,” Malavera said.
(OOC: I’m only taking control of teams long enough to get them into the campsite. Also, while the race won’t start for another week, I figure interacting in the campsite gives people who are already in something to do. Also, if you’ve entered and you don’t see your car mentioned, please let me know. I’ll quickly put together a write-up after reviewing your car and team post.)
