Two
Will had the outside lane. Viggo was next to him, and beyond him, Dilipso. Jurgen, Mackie and Lee were on the far side.
Viggo winked at Will. "You and me for the season, eh?" he grinned.
Will nodded grimly in reply. He could hear Dilipso talking to Jurgen.
"Try to avoid the face, will you?" Dilipso chuckled. "I don't want to end up some ugly waster. Regular waster is good enough for me."
+THREE+
"Oi, Will! I expect to see you backing me up as number two!" Dilipso yelled.
+TWO+
"I'm coming for you, Swede," Jurgen rumbled.
+ONE+
"Ah, balls. Here we go," Will murmured.
+GO+
Viggo was first out of the blocks, Will quick on his tail and Dilipso close behind. Jurgen was held up slightly, flattening one of the novices who had cut across him. The unfortunate man was pounded into the ground, face first. He didn't even have time to scream.
Will slid in smoothly behind Viggo as he made his way down the circuit. Having watched his last run, Will hit the shortcut that he knew the Swede would take, keeping close to his rival. Dilipso shot away along the main course behind them, followed by Jurgen and the last novice. It was quickly turning into a two horse race.
Will bided his time until they were at least half way down the course, far clear of the other riders. On a straight patch of the track, he used the speed he had built up in Viggo's wake to slide up next to him. Viggo glanced over, surprise on his face, and flicked Will a thumbs-up.
"Nice and easy now, eh?" he chuckled, voice devoid of any accent. "Keep your head, there is space on the tour for the two of us."
Will thought back to Jurgen's speech in the bar. It didn't feel good, but second place wouldn't earn you anything under regular circumstances.
"Sorry, Rollig," Will shrugged, and thumped Viggo full on in the face. The lanky Swede was a tall man, just over six foot, but Will still had a good three or four inches on him, like the rest of his lumbering family back in England. Will also had the benefit of a thick-set rugby player's physique, and bulging arm muscles. The punch knocked Viggo head over heels, leaving him face down in the snow.
"Yoo frastard!" Viggo snarled through mouthfuls of snow. Will cackled as he snowed away in the lead.
"Grow up, Rollig!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Don't pretend you didn't see it coming."
A few swift turns later, Will glided over the finish lines, arms up in the air. Any doubts about his tactics were swiftly dispelled by the roaring crowd. It was worth it.
Looking back up the course, Jurgen was in second place, but slowing badly. His leg seemed to be giving him some serious problems. Will smiled as Dilipso shot past him and slid over the line in the final qualification spot. Jurgen came in third. Viggo and the other two were nowhere to be seen.
Dilipso bumped fists with Will, grinning from ear to ear. He began unbuckling his boots, easing his feet out. The sight of two stringy, holed, battered grey socks greeted Will.
"Well aren't they pretty?" Will smiled. "Lucky socks?"
"Yes, actually, they are," Dilipso snorted. "I've got some lucky underwear too, but you aren't seeing them. Not in public, anyway." He winked at Will.
"I'll pass."
"So…" Dilipso asked. "We're through! Aren't you a little bit happy?"
"Oh, yeah. Happy that we're going to get our arses kicked at the race meets across the globe."
"Will; please, try and enjoy this," Dilipso chuckled. "I don't think either of us want to go back to what we could be doing if we weren't boarders. Speaking of boarders, what happened to Viggo? He was right next to you."
"Took a trip. Faceful of snow. Very messy."
"I see." Dilipso gave Will a look that told him that he knew more than he let on. "Well, I'll see you after the press meetings? I'm sure Stryker and the 2.5 crew will be waiting to grill their new competitors."
#
"Name?"
"Will Dawber, sir."
"Uh-huh…" Will found himself facing a short, bearded man with a clipboard and pen in one of the Snowdream lodge's back rooms. There was a small camera mounted behind the official, and advertisements and logos plastered cross the wall at Will's back. "Right, I'm Pete Wilson. Also known as Powder Pete by the smug gits who run this operation. I've got to fill in this rider profile for you, so the 'adoring fans' can find out all about their new 'hero'." The scorn in his voice was evident.
"Sound's good to me."
"Let's get this over with, then. I've got all the physical details, so… thing in the world?"
Will answered instantly. "Sale Sharks shirt, sir. My pride and joy."
"And what exactly is a Sale Shark?"
"Sale Sharks are a professional rugby team. You know, rugby? Tries, Webb Ellis, etcetera?"
"Rugby? That's American football, basically, right?"
Will grimaced. "You say that to a Sale player, they would NOT be impressed. Sure, American football is a hard game, but all that padding? And the timeouts? Need to man up, in all honesty. Try playing eighty minutes of-"
"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever," Pete interrupted him. "Thing to hate?"
"Stereotypes. Tea and crumpets are vile, despite whatever anyone says."
"Other sport? Do I really need to guess?"
"Rugby, sir."
"Thought so. Food?"
"Mash."
"As in the potatoes? Alright. Music?"
"Anything by Reel Big Fish."
"At last, someone with some taste. The amount of idiots who listen to Napalm Death… Time for a bit of Q&A, magazine stuff. This was proposed by SSX Monthly, so if it sounds stupid, blame them, not me. Boxers of briefs?"
"Boxers. The MAN's choice of clothing."
"Things you have broken."
"Arm, nose – twice – and jaw. That one hurt."
"If you weren't a pro?"
"Erm… drunk sports fan."
"The word?"
Will paused. "What? What does that mean?"
"Don't look at me, I'm not 'down wiv da kidz.' I'll just put down 'what?'… In your pocket?"
"Driving license. Passport. Walkman."
Pete stopped and looked up at him. "A Walkman?"
"Yes, I still use a Walkman!" Will spat indignantly. "Nothing wrong with them. Not going to get nicked, that's for sure."
"Nicked?"
"Stolen, robbed, pikeyed, nicked. Whatever."
"Alright, alright, calm it… any pets?"
"Two ducks. Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg and Mildred."
"Person you adore?"
"Tommy Cruickshank. Coach. True gent."
"And worst injury/wipeout?"
"Broken jaw. Rugby injury. Big sod that's now professional caught me high. Very messy."
"Okay, that should do it. Right, some admin stuff. You can go home now. 2.5 starts in a months time. There are four meets; Elysium Alps, Garibaldi, Metro City and Intimidator. The last two are going to be sneak peeks at courses coming up in the SSX 3 season. Get yourself there, Stryker's cutting costs and doesn't want to waste any money on transport. You should be able to afford it yourself. Don't take the piss like Psymon and those other ass-wipes do, if you do well, you could actually score yourself a full-time contract with SSX. Got it? Good. I'll see you at Elysium. Now piss off, I've still got the rest of those morons to interrogate."
#