Hello, loves! Just a little thing I wrote and left. Decided to finish it up. Mostly just a small race fic. For my PTD people, I'm sorry it's taking a while. I'm working on it. Life has been busy and very cray cray. Just a heads up, I'll be changing my author name to my actual name. Something that feels less pretentious, lol. These damn artists and their deep-meaning names. Thank you for reading.
"Are you sure you got this, Beca?" She snorts.
"Yeah, dude. No worries." She slides the visor of her black and purple plaid helmet down, flipping open the vents and leaning forward to run her gloved hands along the curves of her dark purple motorcycle. Jesse nods, speaking into his headset. Beca takes the time to observe her surroundings.
The streetlights bathe the barren asphalt in a cool light. Around her are several groups of people - other racers surrounded by their teams. There's an Asian woman, face stoic and makeup black to match her suit and bike. She has her helmet gripped in her hands as she listens to the man in front of her talking. A loud brunet man stands against a car with a couple of other guys around him, joking and nudging each other in front of an oil drum fire. There's another man, tall and blond, trading his beanie for his dark red helmet. He throws a winning smile to the racer next to him, also blonde. She laughs and is pulled in by the neck by a woman standing near her. The brunette doesn't seem to appreciate his flirtatious grin.
The freeway above them sounds with the occasional passing truck in the late night. Jesse raps his knuckles on the side of her helmet, wisps of condensation curling around him as he tells her the race will be starting soon. She gives him a lazy salute, putting two fingers together and tapping the side of them against her visor. Beca briefly glances at a blonde woman in the distance, yelling at a black and gold suited racer on a ridiculously yellow bike. She reminds Beca of a bee. A sharp whistle draws all of the attention.
"Okay, boys and girls, are you guys ready to play?" Hoots and whistles make up the returning cry and Beca smirks beneath her helmet. The statuesque brunette, wearing way too little for the season, stands on a small platform of cinder blocks in the middle of the street. As she waves her arms, twirling the flags expertly, everyone moves into position. Beca lines up alongside the other five racers, three on each side of the flag girl. She notices the blonde from earlier, following the yellow bike and still complaining. Her shrill tone reaches Beca's ears.
"You can't seriously be doing this. You could get hurt!" The way she says it, like it's something nobody has ever thought about, makes her bark a loud laugh. One that garners the focus of the other two. Beca fiddles with the tank of her motorcycle, checking it for scratches she knows aren't there. The flag girl claps her hands.
"All non-racers, please move to the sidelines." The brunette looks pointedly at the blonde, who huffs and leaves.
"You guys know the rules: no playing dirty. No contact. Go when the flags drop. There are no set tracks, but only open road is allowed. No driving through someone's house or over their lawn," here she stares at the racer on her far left, the brunet, who shrugs his shoulders and rubs the back of his helmet sheepishly. "First to the finish wins the pot." There are scattered cheers.
"Racers, on your marks!" Beca leans forward, revving her bike. She hears the others do the same. A couple of them adjust their positions, lining up their motorcycles with the rest.
"Get ready!" She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and steadying herself. This is what she loves to do. She's been on a bike since she was three.
"Just keep pedaling. You've got this." She nods, hearing her daddy's encouragement and feeling him holding the bicycle behind her. She sets her face, determined not to fall this time. She can tell he's smiling. Daddy's always smiling. With a gentle push, she's off. Pedaling, rolling, never stopping. And as she leaves him behind, hearing his cheers as he lopes along a few paces back, she's filled with a sense of freedom and an insurmountable joy.
"Daddy's girl is the fastest in the world!"
She's ready. She was born ready.
"Set!" She tenses her muscles before relaxing them, tucking a leg into the bike and bracing with the other. The air around them is both loud and quiet. She turns her head to see the owner of the yellow bike staring at her. Really, she doesn't know because the visor is tinted, but she imagines that the racer is looking. Beca dips her head in acknowledgment before turning back to the stretch of road ahead of them. Another slow breath is released.
She can hear the track calling her.
"Go!"
And they're off, surrounded by the roars of six high-powered vehicles.
Beca's mind is blank. She's thinking no thoughts, entertaining no fears or worries. There's only her and everything in front of her. The silence of the industrial part of the city at night, the wideness of the road throughout and beyond. The darkness, broken up by the lightpoles and flares set to mark the course. Those little pink blooms dance in the still winter air.
This isn't a big race, the prize isn't that large. But Beca is a competitive person; she likes to win.
It's not an ego thing, she doesn't need to win - she's confident in herself and her ability - she won't cry if she doesn't, but she demands the best of herself. It's that attention to personal integrity that spurs her on. She shifts gears as she slows to turn a corner.
A couple of the other racers, the brunet racing a bright blue motorcycle and the blonde woman on a burnt orange bike, dig into the turn a little fast, turning late but adjusting quickly. Beca goes in a little later than them, but since she's at a more manageable speed, she's able to shift and overtake them. The Asian woman neither slows nor has trouble, sliding down and drifting her bike around the bend like she's in a car, riding at an acute angle. The yellow bike racer and the blond, whose dark red bike match his helmet, are right alongside Beca. She rolls her eyes when he waves at her and pops a wheelie to pull ahead.
She's at the back of the pack now, watching the movements of the other racers and studying their habits. She's also consulting the map of the track in her head and so she knows that there's a wide s-curve coming. Beca's considering speeding up when she spots it.
An alley, bordered by cardboard boxes and weeds. She hears Jesse's voice in her mind.
"This curve is all part of the same building complex. There's a straight shot that runs through them but you have to take it just right or you could end up clipping someone. If you don't though, it'll put you ahead."
She slows a bit, letting everyone move into the the beginning of the long arc of the first curve before she veers off to the left and guns it. She wants to make it through the bend before they pass so that she isn't followed. The boxes collapse in behind her, pulled by the vacuum of air created from her movement.
The alley is dark and her headlights are the only source of light. Still, the path doesn't deviate, so it's safe enough for her to flip them off as she nears the end. She spots the streetlights ahead. Beca offers up a silent and wordless prayer as she breaches the border between light and dark, zipping into the street for a nanosecond before she's back in the shadow of the alley and racing towards the next curve. She exhales when she neither sees nor collides with anyone.
Like a bat out of Hell, she flies through the second alley, this one shorter and slightly more narrow than the first. She feels the air around her like a rustling cloak, cool and slipping tangible fingers over her. Beca passes back doors and roof drainage pipes on either side. She blows a breath out through her mouth, reminding herself to stay relaxed in her tension rather than letting it consume her and make her too rigid. Beca spots the end of the alley and s-curve. It winds a bit to her right before continuing straight and so she doesn't slow down.
She curves to the right, bringing her shoulder and leg perilously close to the corner of the building. With a wiggling movement that would have dropped a lesser rider, she's back on the main track with barely a dip in her speed.
In the distance, she can hear the racers behind her, unaware of her positioning. It's as she's searching through her mind for the next shortcut that the Asian rider catches up to her.
Her motorcycle is nice, more aggressive in its capability than its looks. However, this woman's bike seems to be supercharged and it screams as it spots Beca ahead of it. In the width of a second, the Asian racer has caught up to her, eating up the straight patch of road like a vindictive beast. She tightens herself, bracing as the wind from the passing bullet brushes against her. With a slight wobbling and a brief skyrocketing of her heartbeat, the racer is gone, quickly becoming a small speck. Beca narrows her eyes.
She wasn't going to be beaten for any reason other than skill.
She guns it, urging her bike forward with the kind of thoughtless encouragement that two deeply connected entities use, understanding without words. She knows that her motorcycle isn't a living creature, but it's so much a part of who she is that they move like extensions of each other.
"Breathe, Beca. Breathe, and listen." Dad's voice is calm, sure. His fingers press into her shoulders, pushing the muscle into relaxing. "You've got this." She frowns.
"I don't know, Dad. What if I can't?" The motorcycle is as big as she is. She knows he's thinking the same thing when his words sound amused.
"All movement is dance. Your bike is your dance partner, and you're the leader," he reaches passed her and pats the tank. "You lead your motorcycle. Make it a leader, too. Make it dance, Beca."
His voice is in her ears now, his advice tinged with that same humor and he reminds her to lean in with her bike as she takes the curve faster. The industrial district fades away quickly, being replaced with empty fields. The black-suited rider guns it, and she urges her bike to follow.
"What are you going to name your bike?" Jesse looks excited. Beca strokes both of her hands along the front of the windshield, heart beating a mile a minute as she stares at it. Her dad laughs from the doorway into the garage. He limps over, the tapping of his cane a constant beat.
"What are you going to name your dance partner, Sweetheart?" His smile is big, wide like the horizon. "You've got to pick a good name. It's gotta be a strong name." She nods.
"I'm a leader," she taps the brake, "he's a leader. Kimball." Jesse wrinkles his brow.
"Kimball? What's that mean?" She smiles.
"Leader of men." Her dad gets it. He stands up straighter, bracing strongly with his cane.
"Lead them, Becs."
The other riders have begun to caught up. A straight path is easy food for even those new to the game. Everybody is hungry at the feast, but the fastest eat the most. And Beca?
She's always starving.
Another curve takes them up a quick incline, and the noise level around them increases as the machines fight to push their riders up. The winding is sharp. It ends up bunching them all together. Even the Asian woman is with the rest of the pack. Beca spots the gold rider to her right, glittering in the headlights.
Eventually, they reach the summit and the Asian is off, gunning it through the straightaway that spans the distance of the hilltop. She follows, swearing in her head when the black-suited rider takes the first descending curve at a reckless speed. The other bikes behind her slow down in preparation. In her peripheral, she notices the obnoxiously yellow bike and the brunet on the blue bike settle in behind her. She knows that she's going to be stuck with them in this curve if she stays at a safe speed. These were all experienced riders. Ahead and below, the Asian has already completed the first arc, and Beca was watching the bright red light get smaller. Beca studies the S-curve. It's narrow, bunched up. She could do it.
"What do you like about riding motorcycles, Beca?" She consider's Cynthia Rose's question seriously.
"Hmm. Well, what do you like about making music, Cee?" Her friend laughs, pointing a finger at her.
"You can't redirect," she snorts, but continues with, "But, when I make music, writing the lyrics and seeing it come to life, it makes me feel like I'm alive. Like, I'm living through these songs every time someone sings them." Beca smiles.
"It's the same for me, in a way. I feel alive. I feel like," she takes a deep breath, holding her friend's hand, "I feel like I can fly."
She could fly.
Kimball roars as she urges him on, increasing her speed and launching her over the edge, her diagonal trajectory carrying her through the air and quickly dropping through the incline. She hears someone swear loudly behind her. The low brush flies by underneath. Beca narrowly misses a pine tree, its needles brushing the side of her boot. With a groan, her motorcycle crashes heavily and bounces onto the tail-end of the full curve. The Asian woman's bike screeches behind her as she brakes and veers to the left, swerving by Beca. She laughs incredulously as she finds herself still alive, and hurries to bridge the gap between them.
She honestly can't stop laughing. She doesn't even care if she wins or not, because this race was worth it just for the memories. When she catches up to the black bike, its rider turns her head and raises her brake hand in a 'what the hell was that?' gesture. Beca shrugs her shoulders and gives her a thumbs up in return.
The track of this race takes them in a wide and wobbly circle, leading them back into the industrial area of the city. Beca stays neck-and-neck with the Asian rider most of the time, only occasionally lagging behind as the difference in pure power between their machines makes itself known.
With a few more straightaways, the other riders draw closer, but only the burnt orange bike and the dark red one with their respective blondes get anywhere near them. The hard right turn almost takes everyone out, including the black motorcycle. But all is well, and Beca's back at the front of the pack with the Asian rider and the dark red bike.
The last straight path before the final series of turns comes up to meet them and the noise level becomes deafening. Everyone knows that this is important. The blue bike is just behind her, trying to pass and she just barely edges ahead and in front of him, forcing him to slow. He can't pass her without clipping and taking them both out. A quick scan reveals that she's in the perfect place to take an upcoming shortcut. It wasn't long enough to allow her to slow down and hide it, but it would put her at the front. She edges away to her right and the bright blue motorcycle hastily moves into the space, not leaving room for her to block him out again. Knowing she won't need it, she prepares to take the shortcut. With a quick veer, she dashes into the angled street.
Three of the riders take the original track, following the light bending of the main street. The other two, the black bike and the yellow one, are right next to her. They move smoothly through the street, emerging ahead of the pack and the Asian rider speeds up to ride the curve ahead of them much like she did the very first curve of the race. Beca snorts and, with a short prayer, does the same.
She speeds up just a bit, and begins to lean down.
"How the heck do they do that?", she mutters loudly, opening her eyes wider like it would help her understand. Her dad laughs.
"A lot of leaning, both up and down, a lot of praying, and knowing when to speed up and when to slow."
"Right. Pray," she mutters disdainfully. He laughs again.
"Doesn't hurt to do it," his booming laugh covers her snort. "I would hate to leave bits of myself on the track."
Laying easy on the acceleration, Beca goes in. When she gets into the lean, she speeds up again, using that to keep her going and from falling. She's not as good at this as the Asian rider, but she's done it enough to not wipe out.
Beca's an experienced rider. She's good. Kimball's fast. One of the best bikes, with great parts. But the Asian rider was probably a motorcycle in a past life, and her bike had to have been a lightning strike. It's just too much, and she crosses the finish line a full two seconds after. As she slows down, she sees the Asian woman up ahead, helmet off and waiting for her. She takes her own helmet off when she pulls to the side next to her in the dirt.
"You totally kicked ass, dude. That was amazing. Congratulations," she says, holding out her hand after tucking her helmet under her arm. The Asian woman smiles.
"You were fast. Your blood is strong," she says, and Beca thinks it's a compliment. Beca finds out her name is Lilly, and she was raised by the Yakuza, racing in the Tokyo streets and dancing to Japanese techno in the underground raves. Her favorite color is neon pink. Beca laughs.
The rest of the riders eventually come in. Stacie, the flag girl, approaches with the crowd as everyone forms a large group. She claps her hands and speaks above the chatter, smiling as the crowd quiets.
"Congratulations, everyone! You all finished the race. Some finished faster than others. The winner of the pot is: Lilly!" Cheers sound around them, and Beca claps hard. The Asian woman bows her head and accepts the stack of money. Stacie raises her hands in the air to signal for more quiet. "The other racers finished in this order: Beca," Beca can hear Jesse's crowing just above the crowd, "Luke, Jessica, Chloe, and Bumper."
Beca watches as the shrill blonde approaches the bumble-bee rider, looking worried and exasperated. She's checking the rider before the helmet even comes off. Beca isn't expecting the rider to look straight at her.
Wow, is the first thing that Beca thinks.
She's so caught up in red hair and blue eyes that she realizes a minute late that the woman is walking towards her. Her sight is suddenly blocked when Jesse sweeps her up in a giant hug.
"Becs! You're alive! Second place isn't bad," he says. He's cheerily informing her that the second place prize isn't that much, but it was still a good chunk. "Everyone's going to get drinks, you want to go?" He knows that she normally prefers to go home and unwind after a race, but she ends up nodding, looking at the redhead just over Jesse's shoulder. She's smiling at Beca and swinging her helmet by its straps.
"So," the woman starts, and Jesse drops her to turn around and greet the rider. He high-fives her enthusiastically.
"Hey! Congrats on surviving! Your friend told me that this was your first race! How'd you like it?" Beca's eyebrows go up. For a racer, she did remarkably well. The redhead laughs.
"My family races on tracks mostly. Aubrey was nervous about an 'off the books' race," she makes air quotes, smirking. "So I'm not new to racing in general. But I'm mostly dirt bike," she adds, glancing at Beca every now and again. She sticks her hand out to Jesse, "I'm Chloe." He takes her hand and shakes it before turning her towards Beca.
"I'm Jesse, and this hot stuff here is Beca. My bestest friend in the whole wide world," he gushes, and Beca feels like a friendly golden retriever being introduced to the neighborhood kids.
"Er, yeah, I'm Beca. Hi," she waves awkwardly before swinging down to shake Chloe's hand, "you raced really well." Beca almost doesn't get to finish her sentence because Chloe just kind of explodes with sound, staring at her intensely.
"I raced well?! You jumped off of a cliff!" Beca smiles widely.
"It wasn't a cliff, but I am happy to still be alive," she states, laughing when Jesse shrieks next to her.
"WHAT?!" Beca rolls her eyes.
"I jumped a curve on a decline, caught up to Lilly. No big deal," Beca shrugs casually. She kind of wants to jump and scream, but she's pretending to be cool. Chloe shakes her, and her arm tingles a bit where the redhead's gloved hand meets the leather of her riding suit.
"Don't downplay it! You totes could have died! That was insane!" She laughs.
"You mean 'insanely awesome'." Chloe bats away the correction.
"Still insane!" Jesse's been talking the whole time, asking her questions and checking her for scratches, but she can't stop looking at Chloe, for some reason.
"So, are you and your friend going to the little get-together that Bumper's hosting?", Jesse asks Chloe as her blonde friend approaches them. The redhead nods, biting her lip and looking at Beca before turning to her companion.
"Bree, you wanna go grab a drink?" The blonde shakes her head.
"You're crazy, Chloe." But it seems that she's acquiescing, because the redhead smiles and bounces up onto the balls of her feet. Jesse sweeps her away with plans to meet up with them at the celebration.
"Bec." She hums. "Level with me here." Beca rolls her eyes, walking back to her motorcycle. "You think she's pretty." She sits on her bike, putting her helmet back on, "you want to get to know her," she adjusts the fit, "and you want to get her number." She turns the engine, drowning out the rest of his words and flipping him off when he laughs. Beca shakes her head, smiling at him as he makes kissy faces and draws hearts on his way back to his car. She turns to the redhead, looking at her as she prepares to leave as well.
So what if he's right?
"You've got to tell me where you got the nerve to do something that crazy," Luke says, waving his beer bottle around to emphasize.
The other riders all chime in, agreeing and it's been roughly the same all night. Word of her daring aerial feat had reached everyone and she's been receiving as many congratulations as Lilly has. She's honestly all talked out at this point, but Jesse told her she can't leave for another thirty minutes. She sips her drink.
"I've been on bikes since I was three. And I like to fly," she quips. The people around her laugh. Across the room, Chloe watches her as she stands next to Aubrey. There's a guy avidly chatting her up, but the redhead doesn't seem to be paying any attention. Beca raises her cup and heads outside.
The chill is a nice contrast to the heated interior of Bumper's home. Beca leans on the railing, looking at the grass below. She hears the noise from the party increase momentarily as the door is opened. A black and gold suit settles next to her.
"Why on Earth would you pick something so... gold?" Chloe laughs.
"I like the sun. The sun is gold," she smiles.
"I guess that's a good reason. I guess."
"It totes is."
They enjoy the quiet of the night, drinking and occasionally tossing little comments out about the race. The distance that the door provides from the bustle of the party makes the air around them more intimate. The muted party music adds to the ambiance. Beca's finished her drink and is trying to balance the edge of her cup on the wooden railing of the deck. It rolls and drops on her foot. "Crap." She bends down to grab it and as soon as she stands up Chloe's there.
Pressing against her shoulder and red hair tickling Beca's cheek, standing in her space and sharing her air. She drops the cup again, and Chloe brushes her own hair back behind her ear. That hand comes to rest on Beca's waist.
"So, um, you can totes say no, but-" Beca leans in.
"Is riding when you feel the most alive?" She nods.
"That's the only time I ever feel like I'm soaring. It's amazing."
"It's your thing, huh?" Beca smiles.
"Yeah."
Maybe kissing Chloe could be her thing, too. She feels pretty alive right now. Chloe sighs as they break apart, squeezing her hip lightly. Her blue eyes twinkle, and Beca feels herself grinning in response.
"Maybe we can meet up again? I'd love to show you my dirt bike," the redhead says. Beca smirks.
"Is that an innuendo?" Chloe giggles and winks.
"Oh, def."
"I guess it's a date."
"You guess?"
"I guess." They both laugh.
Right now, standing across from Chloe, smiling like fools in the cool evening air, she feels like she's flying. She feels like she's soaring, breathless and free and excited.
This could definitely be her thing.
Hope you enjoyed!