[ A lady appears dressed for the planet— or one like it, in her fancy steampunk gear and tough boots, topped off with a fancy hat. More notably, she appears to have received two (2) starter kits through various means, with the first hooked over one shoulder 'cause she's cool™ and the second in her hands, presently being explored. Perhaps she stole it from you, when your back was turned, or you witnessed her sweet-talk it out of some nice lad’s hands. Regardless, she appears unimpressed, frown pulled tight. ]

[ Abruptly, Fiona comes to a stop. She flicks up the brim of her hat, so her travelling companion can see the sharp arch of her brows. ]

You see that? [ She points to a nearby tree with FIONA WAS HERE and two tally marks sloppily scratched in the side. Maybe there’s an indicator that you passed this point, too. ] I did that. Me. Twice. [ a beat. ] We’re going in circles.

[ little does she know that she only thought to make a mark on the seventh go around the block. ]

[ The world fades in, smelling of exhaust and rust. Dust fills the air, spinning off tires. Engines rev all around, and the crowd roars. With the stadium lights up, the circular dirt track comes into view, penned in by jagged fences and rickety metalworks with a pit in the center. Single riders wearing manic masks and massive vehicles in varying states of disrepair speed past. You find yourself on a flat, open hunk of metal, pulled forward by two masked motorcyclists, as if it were a chariot.

A booming, tinny voice pierces the din: And now — degenerates and scumbags — it’s time for what you’ve been waiting for! The first motorized killtacular event of Murder Rally twelve-thousand! Also known as That Big Chariot Race Thing Where Everyone Dies! Whoever is the last mongrel still screaming at the end will win the one, the only Hyperion Mystery Case of Wonder! ]

Hey! [ Fiona lifts off her own mask to give a scathing look. ] We gotta win this race and get the case.

[ Oh, it’s a we now, is it? Welcome to the Death Race. ]

[ An Olympian jeweler has caught Fiona’s attention, holding out necklaces on his slim fingers, but one of his rings gleams brightest in the light. Must be a precious gem. ]

C’mon, man. An example of what’s to come? Really? Sounds like an empty promise. [ then, drawling. ] I’m an eligible refugee, blessed by the gods, sent from above to change the world, the whole package — [ she sets one hand on her hip and tilts up her chin expectantly. ] — so I’m gonna need you to make me a better offer. How about… you give me that gold ring? I’ll wear it whenever I wave my hands and chant “Olympia strong!”

[ Ah, the sweet smell of bullshit in the morning. ]

[ do whatever you want / pm me or hmu @ locution for something special! ]