Author's note: Hello all! I'm glad you're enjoying the storm thus far. I saw a vehicle yesterday with a plate reading 'Malise' on it, not a Honda or a convertible, but still interesting and coincidental.

I don't quite follow television or voice actors, but Melise'ss supposed to sound quiet, soothing and kind. Jackson and Shannon described her voice as ambient, which essentially means that it is very gentle sounding tone, one that doesn't disrupt you when you hear it– similar to steady rainfall at night. I hope this helps some more to explain her tone.

Thanks for the reviews. Have a great day!

Chapter 9 : One Down, More to Go

Most likely, it had been about four days, but naturally, when the days are hustling and bustling by, it might feel like weeks have passed.

Melise opened her eyes, peaking to the dimming curtains within her view. A blinding series of sunrise rays were shielded by the fabric. Laying there under the covers for a few minutes, the first thing on her mind was the warm temperature of the quilts covering her– reminding her of the cold water of the fountain last night.

Certain it had to have been some sort of dream, Melise turned, facing the mirror in front of the bed. To her embarrassment, the reality of the event was proven true– on her roof, the white towel– providing extra warmth underneath her quilts.

Melise took her eyes away from the mirror, and straightened herself up. She reached for her phone, sitting on the dresser, and tapped the screen, revealing the calendar event notification:

'last day at Copper Canyon Speedway'

It felt bittersweet to be leaving the hotel. Seemingly, over a span of days, a month's worth of events transpired, and Melise couldn't decide if it was good experiences, or indifferent ones thus far.

If hoping to get a day of no hassles, it was best to begin readying her luggage now. Glancing around the room, she noted the mess of Piston Cup employee guideline papers scattered about the carpeted floor, an array of pens and pencils, with single box of cookies left open from the day before. It wasn't much to tidy, as her bags were mostly left unopened.

She rolled into the bathroom, flipping the light switch on. The sudden scent of chlorine filled the air, and Melise sniffed, curious of the bleach-like smell. Reaching for the shower lever, she turned on the water– then remembered the fountains again. They were public water, and public pools, much like fountains, had chlorine in them– and she fell asleep covered in it.

Melise didn't hesitate to accelerate into the frigid temperatures of the cold water, gradually warming up. Her entire cabin became as numb as a dump-truck's brain, and she bounced on her axles, squealing in the shower for a few moments. The fountain becoming a long-term memory.

As the temperature warmed up, Melise pondered on, droplets tapping her metal, and steam surrounding her.

Jackson Storm was just as ominous as the IGNTR logo on it's dark background. Sure, he wasn't a scary guy, but he was stoic and cautiously curious with a stern face to match. When he made eye contact with her, his grey eyes seemed to be analyzing, yet indifferent at the same time. He seemed to have two usual moods: cool, calm and collected; or stern, stoic and serious. Melise had to admit, he made her feel smaller with his disposition. It didn't help to make a complete goof of herself whilst meeting him.

Leaving the bathroom, Melise took a glance of her paint in the dresser mirror, seeing the hue of peach still natural on her metal. She sighed in relief, then began glancing to the mess.

Sliding her tires over papers and pulling them to her, she skimmed over each sheet briefly, most of them being basic courtesy instructions, doodles of flowers, uniform guides, and a theory of the Piston Cup Racing Series. Tossing the papers in the trash bin, Melise kept the last sheet, interested.

She tucked most of the pens into her suitcase, and left one on the dresser for any new guests. Staring down at the bag in front of her, Melise felt foolish for not really going through it. She had been so caught up in the world around her that she had forgotten what was even inside her luggage.

Opening the suitcase, Melise observed two canisters of flavoured fruity oil, several snacks, two tea towels, an extra quilt, and lip balm. Seeing a clear bottle buried beneath the supplies she now remembered packing, the bottle must've been something her mother put there.

Pulling it free from the chaos of her belongings, Melise sighed annoyed, reading the bottle's logo 'Selene Carsen Rim Polish'. she never painted her rims, why would she need to have it handling oil all day?

As Melise packed the polish back into her suitcase, her cell phone began chiming from the bedside table. She didn't hesitate to roll over, and read the caller ID:

'Vanda Rūūnes (Mother Dearest)'

Melise answered the call, a smile spreading across her bumper as her mother's voice came in.

"Hey, Hun'. How's the last few days been?"

"Mom! It's been so awesome," Melise gushed, she bounced on her axles eager to tell her mom about the arena.

"The speedway is huge, and I got to meet some of the racers. This job isn't so bad–"

"You met some of the athletes!?" Vanda said excitedly, cutting off her daughter, "did you meet Darrell Cartrip!?"

Melise thought over her mother's question. Come to think of it, she didn't see a glance of the Chevrolet Monte Carlo anywhere, only his voice over the loud speakers every now and then, praising McQueen, then Jackson, when he took the lead.

"I didn't see Mr. Cartrip, but I heard him a few times over the speakers in the stadium," Melise answered honestly.

Vanda sighed, her voice expelling delight.

"If I could hear that man rev his engine just one more time," Vanda said dreamily. Melise cringed, then giggled.

"I'll be sure to get you a signed autograph, or a picture with him." Melise said, remembering her mother's first request days ago.

"Aww, thank you, sweetie," Vanda replied on the other end. "And, make sure you don't use all of the rim polish, that's my favorite clear coat."

Melise sighed, "Mom, I don't wear rim polish, you wear rim polish."

"I figured the Manufacturer would pass on my aesthetic of beautiful rims to you," Vanda laughed, Melise rolled her eyes smiling.

"How have you been at home?" Melise asked, breifly checking the suite clock, reading 7:47 AM.

"Good, I bought some plants to hang in front of the house," Vanda said, "They look better than the neighbours orchids."

"Because you have time to take care of them," Melise answered, "I wish I could see them."

"They're the roses you said were pretty," Vanda replied, "remember the roses we saw in the garden outside the airport? The ones before you left for your flight that night?"

Melise's eyes lit up, remembering the beautiful pink flowers, "You found them at a shop?"

"No, but Grandpa found yellow ones, same flowers, different colors."

"Oh, he's there?" Melise asked, suddenly curious.

"Yes, he came over for a little while," Vanda answered, "he doesn't want to pay for satelite television, so he came to use ours." she began laughing.

"He's a fan of that racer, what's his name?" Vanda continued, "Storm?"

"Jack… son Storm?" Melise trailed off, wondering if she was correct.

"Yes, him, I think. He was hollering at the T.V last night, and almost had a heart attack."

Melise held back her amusement, the image of her grandfather waving his cane at the television, yelling at the racers was too much.

"And today is the last day at Copper Canyon?" Vanda asked, the sounds of an oven beeping in the background alongside her voice.

"Yes, we're headed elsewhere tonight, I can't remember the name of the stadium." Melise began rummaging through her bag, looking for the guidelines, not finding the information anywhere.

"Well be sure to stay safe," Vanda said, "call me when you've landed."

"Sure thing, Mom," Melise replied, staring at the box of cookies left open. "I'll miss you, and Grandfather till then."

"Oh! and don't forget to get a picture with... Darrell," Vanda said, her tone becoming seductive as she said his name.

Melise cringed, and said 'goodbye' hanging up the phone. Her mother laughed on the other end.

With the silence filling the suite, Melise quickly grabbed the box of cookies under her treads, and took a bite of one. Her mouth curled into a smile as they were still fresh and chewy.

With her bags packed, she tossed her phone charger in, along with her quilt. The towel Mister Storm gave her, still sitting at the foot of the bed, smelling of chlorine.

Melise would be sure to give it back to the hotel staff.

"You look nice, Mr. Hicks," the maroon schemed female car said. She began parking across from the racer. He glanced to her, smiling as her looked her up and down.

"Well, you're looking sexy as usual, Natalie," Chick replied, Natalie Certain's eyes squinted briefly as she gave a forced chuckle.

"I see you're already carrying this breakfast from zero miles per hour, to one hundred and fifty?" Natalie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey, I'm just bantering," Chick said defensively, "and this man's faster than that."

"Ahuh," Natalie replied. She glanced around the restaurant, different from the hotel's diner. This one more posh, and elegant, yet, mostly empty.

"So Cal," she began, watching as Chick thanked the waiter serving his sausage and egg platter, as well as her crepes and egg omelet. The former racer took no time in digging into his food.

"... Weathers. Where did he go?" Natalie asked, Chick glanced up to her, his cheeks filled with juicy sausages.

"Maybe Dinoco's on vacation, I dunno," Chick replied after he finished chewing, scooping another serving of egg into his mouth. Natalie stared off into space thinking. Chick glanced across the table, curious of her interest in Cal Weather's disappearance.

"No horns on my grille," Chick answered chewing, "I'm not Tex Dinoco, ask him."

"Mhmm," Natalie said, taking a bite of her omelet, "so Jackson Storm won, what'd you think about that?"

Chick stared at her through chewing cheeks.

"Anyone ever tell you to let a man enjoy his food in peace?"

Natalie chuckled at his comment, "Yes, Mr. Hicks, you just have. But I want to know." Chick squinted for a second, then rolled his eyes.

"He's a fast kid," Chick replied simply. "He beat McQueen... finally. All that yada- yada." He scooped some more food into his mouth, visibly enjoying his meal, not caring for much else.

"Mhmm. Do you want to know what I think?" Natalie said, she crossed her tires and gave Chick a smirk.

He raised a lid, "what do you think, Certain?"

Natalie stretched out her left axle, pursing her lips, "Jackson Storm is a young guy, a young man who qualified, and won in his first race. He's the first of the 2017 generation rookies entering the Piston Cup, and he's done what McQueen tried to do in two years, in a matter of days... win a Piston Cup."

Chick idled, staring at her lips as she spoke.

Natalie continued, "he's not just fast, he's the next step in racing– he's the future of racing... the world is changing. Racing is changing, Chick."

The green race car yawned loudly, catching himself mid-yawn to how rude it was. When Chick wasn't doing his live segments, he just wanted down time. Miss Certain certainly wasn't in for a mellow breakfast. Chick stretched out his axles, taking a sip of his oil. Natalie took no notice of his boredom.

"Well, I'll be interviewing Stormy boy sometime, I'll ask him what he thinks too."

Natalie scrunched her lip incredulously, "You did invite me to take me out this morning, Chick."

His face remained contoured in confusion as he pushed his empty plates to the side.

"I did, and I thought we were gonna a talk about tires, the food, or at least me, but damn, about work?"

Natalie rolled her eyes, pushing her half eaten omelet to the center of the table, Chick jumped from the noise of the plate sliding across the wood. She reversed from her seat.

"I've got a report to write about the season so far, logistics and analysis." She said, as Chick looked on, open mouthed.

"Good bye, Chick," she finished, driving off, and out of the restaurant. He watched with a look of dumbfoundness

"Well then I'll eat your omelet," Chick said aloud, taking a bit of it. "How 'bout that, Certain?"

Chewing, Chick thought about how bad the date went, but more importantly, that he would have to make it up to her before her scheduled appearance on his show. He didn't need his name trashed a second time.

"Hey, waiter!" Chick called. The car approached, empty tray in tow.

"Lemme' get seconds, on everything." he scaled his tire around the table, emphasizing the meal.

"Yes, sir," and he was gone behind to the kitchen in a flash.

Chick was gonna enjoy this date, with or without Certain, he would worry about things later on the private jet to the Motor City Speedway.