Oh howdy. First Cars fanfiction, because I thought it would be interesting, writing with a new concept and context, but my car anatomy's a bit bad so please pardon that.
Set post Cars 2, but with Doc Hudson still around. I just can't let the old man go.
Cars owned by Disney/Pixar. I only own the Wintersons.
It was the endless sound of rubber on asphalt. The incessant engine revving, or whatever it was that made cars go 'VRRRRRMMMMM' was on loud speakers.
Mom didn't get those Bose stereos just for Formula 1 DVDs. Yet, that's what they're being used for. Only being used for. They were for action movies, concert DVDs, MTV, music…
Oddly, the sound of speed did seem like music to the ears.
But not when one is doing art coursework.
The moleskine was shut with a meaty thud and a pair of bare feet met the carpeted floor with an even louder thud. "I swear I'm going to rip your F1 collection to shreds. Can you please stop watching reruns of the 2010 race in Singapore?"
"Nah. You like Hamilton too much." The boy smiled, "and you can't rip DVDs into shreds. It's physically impossible unless you're the Hulk."
Cue exasperated sigh. "He's the only guy I know. Besides, he had an accident that time. Now I have to do my work. Bugger off and go watch it in your room."
"Nah. The living room couch's a nice place." The teenage boy gave the white cushions a nice pat. "Plus the 46-inch TV and mom's sound system… Why don't you go to your warehouse—"
"Studio."
"Whatever. I'm trying to watch here." The boy waved his sibling off.
The girl stood up to exit. "Bugger," she mumbled. Her other complaints were drowned out by the sound of zooming cars and voices of enthusiastic commentators.
Mint-green painted nails looked almost neon in the dark, as fingers pushed the button on a remote, opening a garage door. It was a second garage the Wintersons had made to house and hone their daughter's creativity. Sometimes in the form of a mass of creative mess, but it was still called art anyways.
The metal shutters went up, and a pair of feet in yellow flip-flops found themselves on familiar wooden floorboards. Brown eyes met wooden carvings of letters stacked on each other like a totem pole on top of an architect table. "Tuesday," it read.
Seriously, Mom, I still can't believe you named me after the day I was born. Why wasn't Tim named Saturday, then?
She gave out a small chuckle and shrugged the question off yet again. There are some mysteries in this world that aren't worth solving.
Tuesday sat on a computer chair and rolled her way to the radio, turning it on, then rolled off to the other wall of the room, checking if her oil painting had already dried. She stuck an index finger out to touch the colorful surface, only to find that an orange color stuck it. "Oh, ya can't rush art, but we've got deadlines…" she said to no one in particular.
Rain started falling, creating a nice ambience for painting. The shutters were put back down to prevent the water from getting in.
Rolling off to another corner, Tuesday picked up some brushes and a palette, and made her way back to the canvas.
The rain's starting to pour. We're suspecting flooding to happen again down Orchard Road.
"Well, that means free H&M for everybody then," Tuesday commented while dabbing paint on the canvas. Last time Mossimo Dutti's stock was washed out into the streets. Why not H&M this time?
There's no stopping the rain, is it? I really hope it doesn't get worse than this. We've never seen weather this bad in a long time, eh?
The palette and brush were left on the floor. Tuesday opened a cupboard on the side and look out a Mentos.
Yeah man. And the traffic's looking pretty bad! A lot of cars got stranded already; especially those that go real low.
The girl yawned and stretched on her chair, followed by aimless rolling. The garage could fit two and a half minivans. There was a lot of space to go around in.
At least students could look forward to tomorrow. Looks like school's going to be suspended!
Back to the painting, it was looking kind of finished. Let's hope the teacher would approve of all that blue.
Just the students? What about us? I don't even think we can get out of the studio today.
Tuesday tilted her head to the side and rolled to see her painting in different angles. It seemed finished. Too lazy to was the brushes, they were just chucked into the turpentine mug and the glass palette was carefully placed on the floor. The girl stood up to stretch and grabbed the remote control, ready to leave the "studio," also readying herself for the shower she's in for as she walks back to the house.
Well, slumber party! We should totally—fzzz –dzzz—it'd be—like the—Dszz—Dammit—we're not—teenage gir—ssss
The ceiling light started to swing and dwindle just as the radio fizzed to a stop. Tuesday narrowed her eyes at the situation, holding on to her desk. Wind started to blow, and the swishing sound of water could actually be heard from outside.
The ground started to shake and the light had died out. Both hands were on the desk now. Thank God it had been screwed on to the floor. Tuesday couldn't see so clearly in the dark, but something told her that water was starting to seep into the room. The varnished floorboards weren't shiny enough to have a liquid glittering sheen.
A large force shook the ground, and Tuesday was thrown to the floor. Yep the water's in aright… She could feel the dampness on the sleeves of her hoodie and the most part of her legs.
Another large shake came, and Tuesday knocked her head on the underside of the desk. A giddy, spinning sensation took over. She wondered if she'd wake up in the Land of Oz before she lost the train of thought.
"Wull blow mah horn, tha darn flood dragged in a new rest stop ta Ra'iator Springs."
"I wouldn't call it a rest stop, Mater. Looks like some kind of work shop to me."
"Wull ah sure hope Sheriff wunt ticket the car responsible fer this mess o'er here."
"The water's done enough mess. Come on, let's get to Luigi's. He needs help collecting the lost tires."
Ugh. Jesus. What's this. A conversation between a hillbilly and an American city boy broke Tuesday's sleep. The sunlight was piercing through her eyelids, which shouldn't happen, because the garage was supposed to be an enclosed room. But not anymore. A dull ache in her back prompted the girl to stretch on the floor. In the process, her hand accidentally pushed one of the easel's legs, knocking the entire support and the canvas over. And by a domino effect, other canvases propped on the easel's legs that covered her from the eyes of Radiator Springs.
"Wait. Whut's that sound?" There was a sound of creaking, rusty metal that accompanied the hillbilly accent.
Oh shit.
But it was too late. Tuesday was sprawled awkwardly on the floor, tired, damp, and in mid-stretch, as she came face to face with a red racecar and a rusty tow truck.
"Uhh… Hi," Tuesday squeaked.
Both cars' eyes widened considerably, and the tow truck clung to the racecar with its front wheels. "Lightnin'! I-Its talkin' ta me!"
It was the girl's turn to be terrified. She scrambled away from the two vehicles as fast as she could, kicking the turpentine mug in the process, and tried to stay as far into the studio as possible, ignoring all the bodyache.
"I-It's dem alien ghostlights! Noooo! Lightnin' I-I still got more years in me engine…" The truck became hysteric, loose metal clanked louder than it did, and he decided to hide behind his automobile friend. This animated display seemed to only scare the human girl more.
A deep blue Hornet came into view. His eyes looked straight into hers. "Well I'll be," the husky voice whispered, "I'd never thought I'd see one in this lifetime." He drove closer to the garage, stopping at the opening where a wall gave out. "Come on now, we won't hurt you," his voice sounded comforting, like that of a grandfather. There was something in it that Tuesday felt she could put her trust in.
Slowly, the girl found her feet and inched towards the talking car, but slipping halfway through from some rain and turpentine residue on the wooden flooring. The three cars gasped at the view and the sound of the impact. The critter seemed really weak and fragile, not to mention small and frail, well, compared to cars. "I'm alright," she wheezed, and slowly got back up to meet the cars.
By "meet," it meant standing a good two meters away from the first one, being the one called "Doc."
"What is it?," the racecar whispered to Doc, but it was audible to Tuesday.
"Humans," he replied, "the highly developed beings who rumored to exist in another world that could understand abstract reasoning and communicated with languages."
"You mean like cars."
Tuesday involuntarily raised an eyebrow at the racecar's reply, and it wasn't ignored by Doc Hudson. "Well yes, but they invented cars, inanimate ones that were used for their travel."
"So, so y'mean it's kinda like our, y'know, creator?" The tow truck peered from behind the racecar, now less scared as there was less movement by the human, and Doc was around.
"Not us, but their own version of cars," Doc replied. "Miss, if I do get your gender correctly, may I have your name?"
Tuesday looked at the three of them, and blinked a few times, "Tuesday."
"Gee, y'must 've hit yerself pretty hard in 't storm, girly. It's Tuesday, but we're askin' fer yer name," Mater piped up, all the shiver and clatter had already left his engines.
She got that all the time, "No, my name is Tuesday." She turned to Doc, "Umm… Tuesday Winterson. Nice to meet you, Doctor Hudson." She extended her right arm out of habit, but retracted it awkwardly and pretended to scratch her head, seeing that there was nothing for her to shake hands with. She just smiled sheepishly at the awkwardness of the situation, cue a shiver from her damp clothes.
"Welcome to Radiator Springs Miss Winterson," Doc looked over to the other two vehicles, giving them a knowing look.
"Oh, excuse me manners. Muh name's Mater," the tow truck gave a small bow.
The red car revved its engine first, slightly startling Tuesday, then it pivoted, showing off the "95" on its side, "Lightning McQueen. Ka-Chow!"
"Enough of that, Hotrod," Doc gave a light reprimand, "Now, Mater, could you help tow our guest to Flo's? Maybe she could find a nice place to dry off."
The word "tow" immediately registered in Tuesday's brain, and it didn't have a very good dictionary definition if it were linked to what Mater was going to have to do with that look. She shot Doc a look between horrified and incredulous. Mater just looked from the girl to Doc, back to the girl, and back at Doc, eyeridges furrowed in confusion.
"You could let her sit in your back carriage," Doc slightly chuckled as he drove off with McQueen, leading the way.
The girl took ginger steps towards Mater. She could see in the truck's eyes that it wasn't too enthusiastic about letting an unknown object sit in it as well. He drove and positioned himself in front of her, lowering his hook, "Now hang on ta that, girly, and I'll hoist ye up on me back carriage."
Tuesday grabbed on to the hook, and she felt herself get lifted on the ground and on the truck. She was hesitant about sitting at first, familiar with the rough texture of rusting metal from several art adventures. It was a bad day to wear shorts.
Realizing that the truck would probably start moving if she settled down, she placed herself cozily, back resting on the truck's… well… could she call it a head? She couldn't be bothered if the red would stain her gray hoodie or her blue shorts. There were more important things to worry about.
How to survive?
Weeeelll. How was that? I know, first chapters are always a bit of a bore. Or rather, I tend to be bad at it. Anyways, more to come soon!
I would really appreciate any critique in any sort of way. Please review, alright? :)