Team Highway Hooligans
Team Information and Index
(Another collab with @Elizipeazie, as expected.)
Highway Hooligans, 8 PM to Midnight
The first hour goes by relatively well, at least from the pit lane. Jake had, by this time, dozed off in his tent, leaving Cody and Trevor awake to heckle the other teams as they raced around and crashed. The first casualty was the Wartburg, bent out of shape… Or bent into the shape of a banana.
Then the Velocity slams into the “passenger side” front door of the limousine and bounces off, nearly tearing the door off with it.
Trevor grabs the radio and keys it, as well as turning to the Velocity’s pit-box, shouting at Green Speed Racing, “Hey, ASSHOLES, don’t hit the fucking driver’s door! Do that one again, I’ll put a fire axe through your windshield, you cockroaches!”
Out on the road, things were less than stellar, courtesy of the chum-bucket seat and questionable control array, eventually made worse by a hefty shunt into his driver (the front right) door.
In trying to both keep the car on the road and himself from losing any and all concentration to the spike in discomfort, he fails to throw profanities at Green Speed Racing, instead limping it into pit road, trying to not smack the door into himself on the way there.
The car rolls to a rather gentle stop vaguely within the Highway Hooligans pit box.
“Made it. I want out…”, Valentin sighs, already unbuckling but keeping the foot firmly on the brake until he can put it in park via the gear lever. He falls back into the seat, grimacing slightly at the harsh impact into it, then takes a few deep breaths.
“Cody, help me get Val out of this car. After a crash like that, he’s not driving - he still has to drive the rig to get us home,” Trevor calls out.
Cody shrugs, then joins Trevor in trying to remove the dangling door so that Valentin has nothing stopping him from getting out of the car.
“Oh, this is going to be impossible…” Cody grumbles, just as the door finally comes off and Trevor leans it up against the fender.
“Well… Val’s side’s basically inoperable at this point. That hinge is ripped in half, the other one is twisted, the latch is ripped out of the B-pillar. If we were back home, I’d weld the door shut. We don’t have a welder,” Trevor replies, “but we have a drill and a box of deck screws. And duct tape.”
“I would rather arrive home in one piece as well…” Valentin comments, finally making his way out of the limousine.
Once out and standing, the helmet is set aside and an extensive stretch in pretty much every conceivable direction follows.
“This is why I generally do not race… going fast is one thing, clashing with other cars is another. Speaking from very intimate experience…” he adds, still in the process if loosening joints.
Trevor shrugs. “I didn’t realize there was going to be so much contact, or I’d have reinforced the barge a bit more.”
Now that Val was out, Cody and Trevor carefully put the door back in the frame, where it promptly falls back out again as both of them go looking for duct tape and deck screws.
They get back, and Cody starts by sticking the door back into the frame with several strips of duct tape. Trevor puts a screwdriver bit into the drill, puts a box of screws on the roof of the car, then crudely drives a screw through the upper door skin and into the body of the car.
The two of them continue this process for 30 minutes, with only a minor pause when Cody ran out of duct tape.
30 minutes had gone by since they’d come into the pits, but with one driver now out entirely and the door sealed in place, Cody cracks open a Monster, chugs it, and gets behind the wheel. “Time to (belch) party!”
The tires chirp as the Bricksley leaves the pit lane, rejoining the track not long after the Hakumai. “What happened, someone leave oil in that corner? I swear, four cars just-” Cody’s broadcast is interrupted by an aggressive shunt by the TDF trying to spin him out, though a bit of casual counter-steering solved that at his end. “Okay, ya bastard, I’ll give you a bumper full of push bar next time I get the chance!”
It was within the same 30 minutes that Cody saw his chance, lining the bash bar up with the TDF’s backside. With a sinister Kevin McCallister impression, Cody hits the radio button as he accelerates, announcing only one word over the I5’s war-cry. “Hello!”
Unfortunately, the TDF dances out of the way of the two ton missile, which plows into the Soviet box-shaped-object, the Kahzron of Team Timeloss.
“Oh fuck! Sorry! That shunt was not meant for you!” Cody yells into the radio.
“Well, they just came into the pits and retired,” Trevor announces.
“God damn it. Didn’t mean to do that to them,” Cody admits.
A few laps later, as the Seongu oversteers out in front of him, Cody accelerates again, though this time, he uses the bash bar for good, not evil, nudging the smaller car straight so it wouldn’t spin out.
By the time midnight rolls around, things seem to be peaceful enough in the Bricksley… For now.
