#another pole to lose the race win? tick

[yrsonpurpose]

CHARLES LECLERC P1 // Qualifying // Mexican GP 2023

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 16

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.3k

Recommended song: “The Thrill” by Wiz Khalifa & Empire of the Sun

Your Saturday gets off to a great start when you spot Sylvie lurking in the corner of the garage. The woman pointedly raises an eyebrow at you when she notices you, the simple action setting you on edge. You glare at her in return, having none of it while Pierre suits up.

"Take care of this for me, will you?" Pierre places his cap backwards on your head. You smile, adjusting it so it's out of your eyes.

"I will." You glance over his shoulder before chastely kissing his cheek. You'd deal with Sylvie later; Pierre didn't need any distractions when he was about to get out on track.

"Nope, not acceptable." Pierre kisses your lips, completely unaware of the shit you'd likely catch as soon as he was gone because of it. 

You sigh and take half a step back. Having none of it, Pierre places a knuckle under your chin, tipping your face towards him.

"Sylvie making you nervous?" The pad of his thumb sweeping over your jaw gives you something solid to focus on. "I can ask her to leave if she is."

You shake your head. "Not nervous, no. But she's getting under my skin."

Pierre sets down his helmet and waves off Pyry who tries to shove it back in his hands, prepared to address the matter and hash out a solution immediately. "What's going on?"

"It's not a big deal," you try, "I can tell you after practice. You've only got a few minutes until lights out."

"I want to know now, mon amour."

Fighting was pointless. He would stand here until you spilled the beans so you might as well get it over with so he could get out on track. "Fine. Sylvie cornered me Thursday and asked me to lay low this weekend because of some interview you did. She gave me a copy of it but I didn't read it. She said it's bad for your image to be seen doting on me when you've got races to win."

Pierre blinks, head swiveling in slow motion. Sylvie watches your interaction like a hawk, waiting for either of you to slip up. "And you kept this to yourself?"

"I didn't want to distract you. You've got a job to do." A blush creeps up your neck and settles on the apples of your cheeks. "Sylvie was mad enough at me, I didn't want her in your face too."

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "That's bullshit. I stood up for you. That's why she's pissed. I told them you were just as important to me as racing."

Your heart somersaults in your chest. "You said that in an interview? Pierre, that's-"

Pierre drops Sylvie's stare and meets yours. "I love you and I won't apologize for it. I don't have time to talk to her now though- are you okay being here with her until after practice?"

"I'll be okay as long as you top the time charts," you tell him, a smile playing on your lips. When you'd gotten back together you had told yourself nothing would come between the two of you again, up to and including nosy PR agents who couldn't keep their hands out of your business.

"I will, just for you." Helmet in hand, he pecks your cheek before heading to the car. Pierre shoots Sylvie a glare and says something to Pyry before clambering into the car.

Pyry doesn't leave your side for the entirety of practice, chasing off Sylvie each time she tries to approach you. Pierre nearly tops the charts, sitting second fastest on the famed street circuit. Only Max clocked a faster time, which didn't surprise anyone. Pierre's side of the garage erupts when he is wheeled inside and is met with claps on the back and wide smiles from his team.

Confidence radiates from him as he peels off his helmet and thanks his team. A grin from ear to ear splits his face as he makes his way to you before he even bothers to unzip his suit. Before you know it he's swept you in his arms and planted a kiss on your lips.

"It's not first, but I'll take second if you're waiting here when I get back."

"It's only practice," you remind him, swiping away a bead of sweat from his neck with the pad of your thumb. "But you drive like that for quali in a few hours and you might get your first pole."

"What did I tell you?" Sylvie hisses, ruining the moment and sending you crashing back to earth. 

Instead of falling into line, Pierre's grip on your waist tightens. "Leave her alone, Sylvie."

"This isn't good for you," the woman insists. "People are saying you've gone soft-"

"I don't care what they say. My results speak for themselves." And they did. Second fastest today in practice, despite Monaco being a track that Pierre generally had a poor record at. "When I start slipping to the back of the pack you can talk to me about it. But even then it's out of your wheelhouse. I don't care what the gossip columns have to say about me-"

Pierre breaks off and you can see the pieces clicking in his head. "You've never cared either, not even when I got demoted. Horner put you up to this, didn't he?"

Sylvie straightens under the weight of Pierre's question, good enough as giving him an answer. "I have a job to do."

"And so do I." His words freeze over, his attitude icy. "How about you back off and let me do it? I don't need another person breathing down my neck. And she certainly doesn't either. And you know what? I'll make you a deal. If I win tomorrow, you leave us alone and keep your nose out of my personal life."

"You'll thank me when your name is out of the tabloids." Bewildered, you stare after her until Pierre's lips meet your temple, the simple gesture sending a tingle down your spine.

"I wish it was easier for us," you murmur, placing a hand on his broad chest as if you were the only two in the garage. "But as long as I have you, it's worth the fight."

"Don't let it get to you. You make me a better racer, no matter what anyone says. You taught me that I have something to fight for. You're the one that picks me up when I don't think I can make it. Without you, I probably would've blown my chance at taking seventh in the championship."

"And I'm the one that tells you when it's time to get your ass back in the car and race your heart out." You grin up at him, not caring for a second who was watching this time when you kiss him. "I expect you to be a pole sitter next time you're back in this garage. I might have already told my mom it was happening, so don't make me a liar."

"If I take pole, will you wear my cap again tonight? Just my cap?"

"That could be arranged."

**********

Pierre may not have taken pole, but qualifying fifth was more than enough reason to treat him to fulfilling his request. With only the Red Bulls, Charles and Hamilton ahead of him, you were confident he could at minimum hold his position, and at best his team would come up with a strategy that saw him undercut one or two of the guys ahead and put him on the podium.

As usual, Pierre gets to the circuit a few hours early to clear his head and walk the track one last time. Since it’s not a mandatory part of his race preparation, you take the opportunity to walk with him. The clouds part just enough for the sun to shine down on him, practically glowing in the light. Apparently not even the celestial bodies were immune to his beauty, coming out solely to appease him. Your gaze eats up the curve of his throat as he tips his head back to enjoy the golden rays warming his skin.

“Beau Rivage,” he murmurs as you come up to the right hand bend. “One of the few spots for overtaking, if you’re lucky.” Pierre studies the pavement, noting where patches of gravel had built up and toeing them with his shoe. His commitment was something to behold; not even Max could be bothered with a track walk on Wednesday, and forget about waking up with the dawn to participate in an optional one on race day.

Pierre was different though, throwing himself into the sport and refusing to commit anything less than a hundred percent. That commitment was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place and continued to be something you admired. You missed him when you were apart, but hearing the thrill in his voice when he spoke about racing lines or braking points never failed to remind you that he was living his dream and you would never stand in his way.

You thread your fingers through his, soaking it in as he walks you through the track. This wasn’t an opportunity you had often and you were determined to embrace and enjoy it.

“Massenette and Casino Square. This braking zone is tricky, if you go too wide you’ll lose seconds of time and probably a good chunk of your front wing, unless by some miracle you miss the barrier.”

Having little to offer to his assessment, you rest your head on his shoulder as you walk. You try to see the track through his eyes, picturing the cockpit around you as you attempt to pick out an adequate braking point.

You continue on in amiable silence, stopping once or twice so Pierre can take pictures with fans and chat with them. Eventually you come to a corner you recognize, one of the most infamous.

“I know this one.” You puff out your chest, holding an imaginary microphone to your lips. “The Lowes hairpin. Slowest corner on the calendar. The cars decelerate to 65 kph, a feat achieved nowhere else.”

Pierre throws his head back and laughs, making your heart stutter. You never wanted to go another day without hearing the full-bellied sound, rich and rife with more happiness than should be humanly possible. “You only know that because Crofty and Brundle bring that up every race, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” You beam back at him when he shakes his head, the action more to say I knew it than to express disappointment. Because he could never be disappointed in you, especially not for taking an interest in what he loved. You tended to queue up archived races to listen to in the background as you studied, meaning it was inevitable that some of the quips from the commentators rubbed off on you sooner or later.

“Now this is my favorite,” Pierre says, adjusting his cap to keep the sun out of his eyes.

“The swimming pool chicaines? Why?” They were considered boring by most racers, flat out but navigable by muscle memory if you’d had enough practice.

Pierre’s self assured grin leaves you in a puddle on the pavement. “Cause I’ll be jumping in that pool today, and I’m taking you with me.”

"I don't think so." You point to the hoodie you wore, one that you had stolen from his closet ages ago and since refused to give back under any circumstances. "I'm in irreplaceable gear. I don't want to ruin it."

Pierre rolls his eyes, dropping your hand in favor of slinging an arm around your shoulders. "I love it when you wear my clothes. My hat yesterday, my hoodie today, anything really. I love having that claim on you."

"If only I could get you to wear some of mine," you muse as the pit boxes come into view. 

"If you ask nicely, I'd consider it."

The garage is thrumming with anticipation before Pierre even enters. Checo’s engine penalty is all anyone can talk about, his subsequent start from the pit lane meant Pierre would effectively move up a place and start fourth.

Pierre is whisked away as soon as Tost spots him, the warm old man greeting you before stealing your boyfriend away. You know your way around well enough to be comfortable, staking out your spot along the back wall to observe the team's preparations. The early wake up call was quickly catching up with you however, your lack of movement causing you to stifle a yawn with the back of your hand.

"You look like you could use a coffee."

A young woman about your age steps into your line of sight and holds out a steaming foam cup. "Er, sure, thanks."

"Alana," she says, sticking her hand out for you to shake. "I'm one of the junior engineers for the team. I've seen you around once or twice, I figured it was about time I introduced myself."

"Thank you for the coffee, Alana." You lift the cup in mock salute and take a sip, the contents rich and flavorful. "I swear, I don't know what you guys lace this with, but it's addictive as hell."

The two of you share a laugh that earns you a few confused glances. "I think we're gonna be great friends," she says, tapping her own cup against yours. "It's nice to see another woman around the paddock. Sometimes it gets a little testosterone heavy."

You nod, taking another swig. You can practically feel the caffeine working, already a little more alert than you were minutes ago. 

"It's great luck." 

"Pierre moving up a place?"

Alana laughs, her ponytail swaying as she shakes her head. "No, I meant you being able to attend the race. You picked the best weekend to be trackside, the podium celebrations are the best."

Pierre startles you by snaking an arm around your waist and planting a kiss on your cheek.

"There's our star," Alana says, her smile bright and optimistic. "Better bring your team another trophy! The next one is going in the engineering department, they already have a little plaque made up and everything. I can see it right from my desk."

"Oh I'll bring one home," he replies, his hand casually grazing your ass as he moves to stand beside you. "I already promised her I would and I'm a man of my word."

"I know you will." 

"You have those time tables I asked about?"

"They're in the engineering suite." Alana hooks a thumb over her shoulder and smiles at you. "You're welcome to come back with us. He concentrates better when you're around anyway."

"Are you sure?" Red Bull never let you anywhere near proprietary data. You and any of Max's guests had always been corralled into the vip suite with the occasional venture down into the garage when they were wrapping up.

"You're part of the family," Alana explains as if it was obvious. "Of course I'm sure."

Pierre grins and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. His team knew he wanted you near and they were willing to bend the rules to make it happen. "We'll try not to bore you to death." 

You sit through a half hour worth of numbers and codes you didn't understand, your arm slung around the back of Pierre's chair. He offers tidbits and asks questions while Alana and the other engineers walk him through scenarios, ensuring he has everything down. The way he spoke was quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever had the pleasure of witnessing, aside from post race Pierre with his sweaty hair sticking up in every direction and an adrenaline infused smile on his red cheeks.

Before you know it the two of you are ushered off to his driver's room, Pierre changing into his fireproofs and suit while you treat yourself to some of the snacks lying about. Pyry knocks just as Pierre zips his suit up to his chin.

"Hunt 'em down," you say, resting your forehead to his and stealing a moment for the two of you.

"Always do."

And god, does he ever.

Ten laps in, Hamilton is complaining about the balance of his Mercedes, the gap between himself and Max is only a few seconds and rapidly decreasing. The headphones you wear allow you to catch snips of driver radio and team communications, and you gather that Hamilton is slowly losing power. No one is sure if it's an electronics issue or an engine issue but they aren't complaining either.

Flawless pit stops from most teams see little shift in track positions, Pierre still holding fast to P4 a little over halfway through the seventy eight laps. Alpha's stellar strategy sees him rejoin fifth after sliding into the pits for a set of mediums to take him to the end of the race.

"Gap to Norris three seconds ahead," comes the voice in your ear. 

Pierre clings tight to the rear of Lando's papaya McLaren ahead, using DRS to his advantage and practically toying with the younger racer, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Three short laps later, Pierre skirts around the McLaren at Beau Rivage and reclaims fourth.

Hamilton's ability to stretch tire performance to the maximum means he gets ten more laps before he's in the pits, Max closing in on his track position. The Mercedes crew stumbles, the pit stop more than twice as long as it should be, and Hamilton rejoins fourth.

"In the podium places," Pierre's engineer states.

Seconds later, white smoke pours from Max's Red Bull and he pulls off, causing a yellow flag and bunching up the pack.

P2, with only the Ferrari standing between Pierre and a win.

"Easy pickings Pierre, choose your moment."

Your heart pounds and your nails bite into your palms as Pierre goes around the outside at the hairpin, the entire garage shouting when he somehow gets away clean and the Monegasque backs off enough for Pierre to take the lead.

"P1 mate, two laps to go, two laps."

Pierre's brisk copy tells you all you need to know. He wasn't about to let this win slip through his fingers. Neck craned up at the screen, you watch as Pierre fights tooth and nail to fend off his friend, gasping audibly when a slight lockup nearly causes the two to collide around a chicane.

When he crosses the line, all you hear is a staticy scream.

Pierre Gasly, you are a Monaco Grand Prix winner!

It almost doesn't feel real how everyone around you begins jostling for the podium, their momentum carrying you along. A combination of luck and skill had seen him skyrocket to the top.

When you finally catch a glimpse of him in parc ferme, he stands atop the halo, arms spread wide amongst the deafening cheers of both Red Bull sister teams. Pressed between sweaty bodies, his team all push to the front to be the ones to congratulate him. 

You blink back hot tears. Pierre had fought incredibly hard to be on that top step, not just today but the entire season. Being demoted from Red Bull last year had been a backhanded blow, one that when coupled with his insistence on going back to the team in the future had warranted a feeding frenzy of media that ebbed and flowed as rumors surfaced. He'd been under the microscope ever since, struggling to keep his head above water but managing to come out on top.

Someone pushes you forward just as he takes off his helmet, his grin wild and unrestrained. Your mouth is open, his name on the tip of your tongue when a hand closes around your arm.

"This isn't your moment," Sylive says, near shouting to be heard over the roar. "No one wants to see you up there in the frame. This is his podium, let the media see that."

This woman really wanted to be knocked out, didn't she?

"He just won the prix." Dumbfounded at her audacity, you shake your head. "Leave us alone, he won."

"He could win the championship and I would still tell you to back off. There's hundreds of cameras out there, do you even have it in you to hold yourself together when they're all flashing at you?"

If she had asked you that question a few months ago, the answer would have been no, absolutely not. Now that you'd been to hell and back it was an entirely different story. You could walk through the throng and come out the other side unscathed if you had your best friend and partner at your side. He would shield you for the worst of it, be their punching back in order to make the burden bearable.

"Sylvie, if you don't get your hands off me-"

"Oh, sure," she says, releasing you with a smile. "He's already gone anyway. I only needed a minute."

Brow furrowed, you investigate her claim to find the truth of it. Pierre was already being herded away towards the podium, toweling off the residual sweat and setting his helmet on the provided stand. He throws one last glance over his shoulder before climbing the steps to the podium, his baby blue eyes cloudy when they should have been sunny.

Pierre's team principal calls your name as the boys take their places on the steps, gesturing for you to join him at the barriers. "Where were you? He was looking for you."

"No, I know," you start, shaking your head and gazing up at your racer. "Sylvie has it in her head that I shouldn't be photographed with him-"

"Say no more," Tost says, then pauses as the crowd claps. "I've never liked her."

"You and me both," you say under your breath as the anthems play. 

Pierre's hungry gaze scours the crowd for you, hands folded neatly behind his back while he bounces on his feet. When he finally spots you in Tost's shadow his shoulders straighten the tiniest bit, like he had been half expecting you to be absent. The pride in his posture is reflected in your smile, a fact that he picks up on and leverages to shine even brighter. 

Absently, you register the shutter of a camera going off as you beam up at Pierre. Your winner locks eyes with you before popping the cork of his champagne and spraying his fellow podium sitters, Daniel and Charles, before taking a long swig. Daniel blows a kiss to his girlfriend who mimes catching it and tucking it away while Pierre simply wraps Charles in an embrace, marveling in their first shared Formula 1 podium.

Pierre is surprisingly the first to leave, stalking off with his trophy and bottle in hand before the cameras have even stopped rolling. You track his progress, the crowd slowing him like he was a marble trying to sink through molasses. His thanks are short, his smile tight as he makes his way to you, eyes locked on his target and utterly unwilling to yield.

You meet him at the barrier which you still haven't been allowed to cross thanks to security taking their job far too seriously. Pierre doesn't care, tucking his trophy under his arm and unhooking a section so that you can slip through.

A laugh bubbles out of you when he wraps you in a bone crushing hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning in circles. Taking his face in your hands you kiss him passionately, wholly aware of the cameras on you. This was your moment to share with him; your universe had narrowed to his arms around you and the sweat-slick skin beneath your fingers.

"Congratulations," you murmur against his lips. "How's it feel to be a Monaco grand prix winner?"

"Better now that I've gotten to hear you say it." The brim of his Pirelli cap gets in the way when he tries to kiss you again and he turns it around.

"You gonna celebrate tonight, race winner?" The endearment works just as you had wanted it to, pride and something more primal flashing in his eyes.

His voice drops, his wicked grin already causing heat to pool in your core. "I have a few ideas."

"Me too." Now that the crowd has disappeared somewhat, you grow bold and nip at his lower lip. It sends a thrill through you to rile him up so publicly, his fingers tightening on your hips in surprise.

"Mon amour, you stop that right now." The slight shake in his voice betrays his true feelings. "I still have to weigh in and debrief."

"Maybe I want you thinking of me while you're there." You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning when he gulps. "Thinking of all the things I'll let you do when you get back to the apartment. Charles will be gone all night partying with Ferrari, I'm sure. We'll have the place to ourselves."

"We've got a full night ahead of us." He grins, tongue darting out over his lips. "We've got the winners dinner too."

You tip your head to the side. "Winners dinner? I don't-"

Someone calls his name and you both look in their direction. A race official, clearly fed up with your little display of love, waves Pierre over.

"Duty calls." Reluctantly, Pierre sets you back on your feet and passes off the champagne before he retreats to answer questions or whatever it was the official needed from him.

Watching him walk away, all you can think about is getting him back to the apartment. But first, you'd drag it out as much as he'd let you.

*********

Pierre spends the entirety of the debrief locked in an unending battle between thinking of you in compromising positions and actually giving feedback to his team. It wasn't his fault that you planted the seed in his mind; he couldn't help but expand on what your dirty little lips had whispered in his ear once he finally found you after the podium. 

"Okay, I think that's all we have. See you all at the pool in an hour," Alina says, and Pierre practically rips off his headset and sprints back to his driver's room. He bursts in without stopping to knock, earning him a yelp as you drop your phone on your face.

"Ow. A warning would be nice."

"I don't care," Pierre breathes, locking the door behind him and crossing to where you lay on the couch in a few long strides. "I've got an hour till I'm due to make an appearance for the cameras at the pool, care to make it memorable?"

"Oh, I don't know." You pick your phone back up and continue scrolling through it after giving him a once over. Leaving his race suit on and half undone served dual purposes: he didn't have to change again before the photo op at the pool and it drove you crazy. Apparently, his plan hadn't worked as well as he had hoped. "I kinda like seeing you all worked up."

"Come on," he practically whines, dropping to his knees to meet your glinting eyes. "Please?"

"I think you can wait." The corners of your mouth tug up and it's all he can do to resist leaning forward dragging your full bottom lip between his teeth. Energy still thrums through him, the adrenaline not yet faded.

Noting his stare, you roll your eyes. "Okay, one kiss-"

He doesn't let you finish, leaping on the opportunity to get a tiny sliver of what he wants. His tongue prods your lip and he groans when you open and allow him to explore. Hands glide over your hips while yours find his shoulders, nails digging in through the thin material of his fireproofs. Without breaking the kiss Pierre slots himself above you, a leg on either side of yours and caging your head between his forearms where they rest on the arm of the couch.

When he grinds his hips against yours in search of any sort of relief, you turn your head to the side. Pierre doesn't care, simply trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck. The building could be burning to the ground around him and he wouldn't move, too enraptured by you to be bothered.

"Pierre, my love, be patient." You push lightly at his chest and he finally breaks away, chest heaving. God, he needed you. Hadn’t stopped thinking about you once since he crossed that finish line in first. "Where's that unwavering self restraint you show on the track?"

"I'm not racing." He possessed no self restraint when it came to you. In your presence every sane thought flew out the window, replaced by the sound of your laugh and the shape your mouth made when you said his name.

"Waiting makes it sweeter," you tease, the phrase jangling something loose in his brain. He had said the same thing months ago when your roles had been reversed. If he could go back in time and slap himself upside the head for uttering those words, he would.

Pierre sits up with a huff and pulls you into his lap. "No fair. I just won a race, at Monaco no less, and you're gonna tell me I have to wait when you're sitting here looking perfectly edible?"

You tip your head back and laugh. "I am, because I know you'll enjoy it more tonight."

"But we have the drivers dinner too-"

You put a finger to his lips, which he immediately bites softly. "Be patient. I know you can do it, big boy."

Pierre groans, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall forward to rest on your sternum. "I'm going to remember this."

Your traitorous fingers wind in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "How about a massage while you wait, hmm? Would that calm some of this energy you've got built up?"

"No," he grumbles, pressing a kiss to your chest. "That'll make it worse."

"Well then I think it's a perfect idea." Pierre makes you work for it, forcing you to peel his hands off your hips one at a time before you can stand. "Fireproofs off and on your tummy, come on then."

Pierre obeys, eagerly tossing his shirt across the room. He knew he'd regret it and your teasing would leave his head spinning, but anything that got him closer to you was acceptable.

"Lay down." 

The command stirs something in his chest. He kisses you once before pillowing his arms under his head and allowing you to straddle his thighs. Your knuckles work at the stiff cords of muscle along his spine and he doesn't tamp down on the small noises of pleasure that start in the back of his throat. Once in a while you lean forward to press a kiss to his bare back, each one setting off a chain reaction in him that goes straight to his cock.

When you reach the base of his spine, he goes completely limp under your fingers. "Merde," he whispers, both a plea and a praise. "Right there, baby."

Something had been digging into his back during the race and it caused a knot to form by his left hip. A low moan escapes him before he can stop it and you hum in approval.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"So good," is all he manages to get out around the noise in his brain. His head is filled with your touch, reducing him to ash beneath you. You work at the spot until it's pliable, sweeping your thumb over it once more for good measure. You finish up with his back and move to his arms, dancing over the swells of muscle like you'd been a masseuse your entire life.

"God, where did you even learn this? You're better than Pyry."

"YouTube. And that's because it's different when it's someone you love versus your trainer. I can drag it out and let you enjoy it more."

He's completely lost track of time when the alarm on his phone goes off, signaling the end of this current round of torture.

"You know you're coming with me to the pool," Pierre says matter of factly as you climb off him. He stands and rolls his shoulders, bouncing on his toes. "I feel like a brand new man."

You guide his fireproof shirt back over his head after retrieving it from wherever you'd tossed it earlier. You zip his race suit up with a wink that almost makes hims say fuck it and miss the event entirely. "Glad I could be of assistance."

Hand in hand, Pierre leads you through the paddock and falls in with the Alpha team as they head for the swimming pool. Being around his crew again brings the excitement of his win back to the surface and he's practically buzzing with it by the time they arrive at the gate. Journalists, photographers and a few of his fellow drivers mingle about the packed space, some of them clapping him on the back and offering praise. None of it truly registers until Max, usually hot-headed after a DNF like he had suffered today, pulls him in for a hug.

"Great racing, mate. You deserved that one, that's for sure."

"You better play nice with him next year Max." You wag your finger at the Dutchman, earning you a chuckle. "Or I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

"Now that's something I'd pay to see: you versus Christian Horner. A mighty fight."

Not wanting to jinx it, Pierre doesn’t comment on your confidence that he’ll be on Max’s team next year. His win today had seen him move up comfortably into eighth, and he was closing in on Lando quickly. As long as he played his cards right and finished higher up in the points, he was starting to think he could pull it off.

Pierre doesn't note Sylvie's approach until she clears her throat and all three of you turn in tandem. Pierre picks up on the way your demeanor instantly shifts from light and playful to defensive and he puts himself between the two of you.

"Photo op time."

"Right yeah." Pierre squeezes your hand in farewell and follows Sylvie to where a spot has been cleared at the head end. Standing there before the water, Daniel's dramatic belly flop comes to mind and Pierre knows he has to top that celebration or he'll never hear the end of it.

Someone- maybe you, he couldn't quite tell- starts a chant of his name, growing louder and louder until it reaches a fever pitch. His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and he spreads his arms, his head falling back and eyes sliding shut as he lets the chant wash over him. Letting it sink in that he stood on the top step of the podium at the most legendary track in Formula 1, his name now joining the likes of Senna and Schumacher as Monaco grand prix winners.

He's drunk on it, on the screams and the shouts and the general feeling of being on top of the world and being untouchable.

Head dizzy, he searches for you, shooting you a wink when he spots you crouched right on the edge of the pool. God, you were gorgeous, wearing his hoodie with his logo splashed across the front and your cheeks flushed from the height of the moment.

Pierre takes a few steps back and gets a running start to leap into the pool, tucking his knees to his chest and cannonballing in. The water closes over his head and everything is dull for a split second before he pushes off the bottom and surfaces, cheers assaulting his senses in the best way.

Laughing, he shakes out his hair and poses for a few of the cameras pointed at him. In that moment he doesn't care what Sylvie or Christian or anyone for that matter thinks, all he wants is to share this euphoria with you, for you to be enthralled by it as he is.

The waterlogged suit makes it hard to swim but he manages, crossing to you and pushing off the concrete lip of the pool to capture your lips. Your hands immediately fly to cup his jaw as hoots and hollers surround the two of you as he irrevocably tells the world that you're his.

Alpha crew members take the kiss as their cue to jump in, splashing you with water as you laugh. Pierre doesn't give you a chance to protest, rising up and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in with him.

You squeal in his arms, shoving against his chest as you both laugh. "Pierre!" His name on your tongue does nothing to dampen the feel of your waterlogged body against his, nowhere near as chastising as he knew you'd tried to sound. He loves you more than ever at that moment, wants to live here on this Sunday forever, replaying the past twelve hours for the rest of his life.

Celebrations continue around him, but he has eyes only for you. He studies the way your nose scrunches up when Alana splashes you and how droplets of water catch on your eyelashes.

Reaching out, he tucks a wet lock of hair behind your ear, garnering your attention. You ruffle Pierre's hair and he knows that you're just as caught up as he is.

Placing a hand on the back of your neck, he draws you in for another long, drawn out kiss. “You’re my trophy.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[ducktracy]

124. alpine antics (1936)

release date: march 9th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: billy bletcher (bully), tommy bond (beans)

another beans cartoon by king, featuring his girlfriend kitty and a peg leg pete facsimile. beans plans to enter a skiing contest, and his motives for winning are pushed further when a bully brews up trouble.

open to a winter landscape, everyone skiing and skating. three snowmen sing “she was an acrobat’s daughter” as “she was an ice skater’s daughter” while a clarabelle cow facsimile skates right up against the screen, animation smooth and crisp. the singing snowmen have their own 15 seconds of fame, melting in front of a roaring fire to end the song.

more ice centered gags ensue—a dog boils some water over a fire and pours it into a hole in the ice, hoping for a quick dip. predictably, the genius pops up frozen in an ice cube. elsewhere, three horses wearing sweaters that spell out “SOS” skate in a line, a tiny dog skating beneath their legs. the entire scene is reminiscent of the opening scene in bosko in dutch. a turtle dances on the ice, when he and his reflection get separated. the gags aren’t laugh out loud hilarious, but the visuals are appealing.

enter beans and kitty. beans pushes kitty in a sled, occasionally hopping on the back for the ride. he brakes in front of a cabin (the break being a boot attached to a lever) to read a flyer posted on the wall. the flyer boasts a ski race, promoting $100,000,000 in prizes “or a cool $2.00 cash to the winner!” a classic that will appear in many a cartoon.

beans is ecstatic. he snags a pair of spare skis and declares “big race today, kitty! oh boy, watch me win that race!” a peg leg pete facsimile (more so than usual—this time he’s an actual cat, of course voiced by billy bletcher. i don’t know if i explicitly mentioned it but i’ve always implied it—bletcher also voiced pete in the original disney cartoons) hides behind a tree, menacingly chuffing on a cigar so you know he’s hot shit. he approaches beans and picks him up by the skis. he asserts his kindness by sliding beans off of the skiis and flicking him off his own pair before breaking beans’ skis over his knees. a reasonable fella.

rightfully so, beans is pissed, shaking his fist, sticking out his tongue, shadow boxing, tapping his foot, promising he’ll show him. he rips the seat portion of the sled off, and thus has his own makeshift pair of skiis. hope kitty didn’t want to do any more sledding. two conveniently placed straps are under the skiis, which he ties around his feet and shuffles off towards the big race.

porky makes a cameo at the starting line, riding a rocking horse into battle. the bully is confidently waiting for the start, yet his pride deflates as soon as he notices beans adorning new skis. he grimaces at beans, who innocently laughs in return. a turtle referee checks his clock—time is ticking. the bully also recognizes this, and thusly pulls out a rocket from his pocket. he swipes beans’ hat over his head so he can’t see, creating the perfect distraction as he ties the rocket to one of beans’ skis and lights it. and, of course, beans is sent rocketing backwards, flying right into a cabin and shooting out of the roof. he lands in the snow in a daze as the bully gives a trademark belly laugh.

the bully’s timing was just right. a fire of the pistol and the race is off. the bully speeds ahead on his skis, porky rides his horse into battle, a dog takes off with a makeshift sailboat, and another struggles to get his exercise bike through the snow. though beans is already at a disadvantage, his optimism is seldom flattened. he skis right where he is, the bully already in a steady lead.

visuals galore as we spot the racers. the biker sends snow flying right into porky’s face, a dog pumps a bellows into a sail, a duck rides a wiener dog donning skis, the essentials. beans is finally on the course, spreading his legs to avoid a tree trunk and conversely compacting his body as he passes between two trunks. the bully takes time to admire his lead, once more laughing. he shreds down a slope and jumps off, pulling a string to summon a parachute and ensure safely. as he floats lazily in the sky, he makes attempts to ski in the air.

cue the dirty tricks. the bully spins around a tree to stop himself, tying a rope to one of his ski poles. he jabs the pole into a neighboring tree and effectively creates a tripwire. one by one, his victims fall into place (literally): the cycling dog falls headfirst into the snow, spinning his bike upside down. porky’s next, he and his rocking horse both shaking their tails in the snow. next the sail boat dog, and even the three little pigs(?), also shaking their tails like porky. next is beans’ turn, who barrels into the pole with enough force that the pole is loosened and the bully’s contraption ties around him instead.

beans has now secured the lead... for now. the bully is fueled with extra motivation and vitriol to beat beans, puffing out his chest and breaking his bonds. beans slides over a hill, his skis getting lodged in the side of a mountain. and, of course, the bully flies right over his head, once more in the winning seat. to make matters worse, the duck and wiener dog duo are fast approaching. they slide UNDER the mountain, and barrel into beans from under, propelling him into the air. the duck briefly rides the dog like a tire, until a jump cut has them back in regular formation, the cut a bit discombobulated and incoherent.

the duck honks at the bully to get out of the way, who, of course, does everything but that. therefore, the duck turns the wiener dog sideways and knocks straight into the bully. their glory is hardly reveled in: they crash into a tree, the dog wrapping around the tree and pinning the duck. next comes beans, who uses the bully’s skis lodged into the snow as a ramp.

the chase is now exclusively focused on beans and the bully. beans hits a slope that flings him into the air, and once more he lands behind the bully. nevertheless, they weave in and out of trees, beans managing to pass the bully. another slope sends the bully flying forward, landing straight on beans’ shoulders. they pass a cabin, the bully riding on the roof and landing back on beans’ shoulders. they’re broken up once the bully runs into a tree branch, spiraling up the tree and back down. he’s flung forward, about to hit the finish line...

until he crashes into an ice patch, the ice propelling him underwater. beans rides over the reversible ice, skidding across the finish line. finally, a winner! yet, another ice patch (or perhaps the same one?) bucks beans forward as the bully pops his head out, clearly upset at his loss. iris out as beans pokes his head out from his own ice hole, staring incredulously at the audience.

not the most coherent beans cartoon. this is one of the rare beans cartoons i had seen before, and overall remembered nothing about it. i can see why. there aren’t many gags but moreso visuals that are all tired out and lose their punch. many times the story lapsed in coherence—at the end, the bully is clearly thrown into an ice patch that lies BEFORE the finish line, since beans skids past it and slides over the line afterwards. yet, the patch is shown to be inside the line at the end. of course, with many of these cartoons, suspension of disbelief plays an important role, but here it’s just not believable. believability can make or break a cartoon (believable does not equal realistic! stick to what you’re specializing in, no matter how absurd the plot is. a plot can be absurd but still believable). probably best to skip, but it isn’t a cartoon that’s terrible. the animation is certainly nice in some spots. just a relatively mediocre cartoon that i probably won’t be watching again anytime soon.

link!

[mutemwija]

Pridecember Day 24: Christmas/Believe

In which the dueling is done with sleighs pulled by a three-headed dragon and a thousand Kuribohs...

(This was actually written for last year’s Pridecember Prompt “Christmas” but since it fits this year’s prompt as well, I decided to post it here as well 🎅🌟)

Thanks to @siosiri so keeping me motivated enough to write it! 😘💕

I wish you all a very merry Christmas! 💝🎅

The ice-cold wind whipped around his face, stinging tears blurred his vision and his freezing hands gripped the reins frantically.

He needed to be faster than the wind, faster than the sun coming up before him. If he didn’t make it in time it would all be over. Life as he knew it would seize to exist.

It wasn’t usually like this in the night of the nights, the night he prepared a whole year for. Usually he had enough time to attend every child, to tend to them, even just a small moment. It was the best part of his existence – the waiting children, their from excitement and curiosity wide eyes as they sat with their families or stared out of the window to get a glimpse at him as he flew over them.

But not this year.

This year, the main clock that stopped the time for as long as he flew around earth, delivering presents, magic and hope had suddenly, without any prior warning sign simply resumed ticking.

And thanks to that fact there was barely time to take a breath – or a cookie for that matter. It was just aiming, striking, next and again aiming, striking. One shot off target, one second of hesitation and the plan would fail.

The only advantage was that people might mistake him for a shooting star if he dashed over the sky like that and he preferred to be mistaken for a dying star than for an UFO (which had happened before).

It was unsettling him greatly though. Never, in all those centuries he existed and did this job had the clock ever failed him – it was bound to his magic and the spell was technically impossible to break.

Now, someone had apparently found a way and he did have a very good idea of who that someone was.

He’d definitely need a very hot bath and a very hot chocolate with double caramel flavor when he got home today. If he came home unseen and impeccable as it should be and only after he’d given his new assistant a talking-to.

He was the only one he thought capable of breaking the spell of the main clock…

What was this mad man thinking? Manipulating the procedure like that?

How in the name of St. Nicholas had he even accomplished that?

Atem had many assistants over the centuries, some respectable, some ambitious, some idle, one even just a little bit too child-friendly but none of them could ever enrage, goad and fascinate him the way Seto Kaiba did.

Prideful, arrogant, bossy, gruff, infatu… no infuriating and aloof to name just a few of his dominant traits. He paced around North Pole as if he owned the place, not Atem, as if he had built it all and organized the most important night for thousands of years now, not Atem. And of course he was seeing improvements every where he looked. On more than enough opportunities he had to keep him and Mahad from kicking each other’s hands in, only to continue to argue with him himself. Granted, he was right with his suggestions from time to time but you just didn’t change century old traditions in a heartbeat.

On top of that the guy was ridiculously tall. It was a real pain in the neck that he had to look up at him all the time – literally.

But these eyes were the worst. These deep, expressive eyes, blue as the dusky night sky and clear as the ice surrounding them. He’d only barely kept himself from gasping when he’d stepped into the hall this morning, with his blue coat and white fur, looking like a very young, very handsome version of Father Frost.

He was like the forbidden fruit – ensuring misery but too appealing to resist.

And now he’d actually managed to turn Christmas Eve into a life and death race.

Atem was furious.

Partly because of the manipulated procedure, mostly because right now Seto with his monstrous dragon was in the damn lead.

Of course this wasn’t a race to determine the winner but a race to escape their discovery.

Still that didn’t mean that Atem didn’t want to win.

It was all very confusing.

He couldn’t recall the last time he had been racing the sky as fast as that, the last time he had felt so incredibly free. By now, the frosty wind burnt in his lungs, forced the tears horizontally out of his eyes and he was sure he’d lose one or two fingers if it continued like that any longer – and if the situation had been a different one he’d be crowing but now he needed to concentrate.  

When and particularly how Seto had managed to fuse his three dragons into one, Atem had no clue. The whole flight over Canada it had been three but when their paths crossed again over Russia it was just one, but with three heads. With Mahad’s help he had been able to multiply his guardian Kuriboh into a number so large, the little balls were darkening the sky before they merged them into one giant body.

The presents were spread over Scandinavia in the blink of an eye and after that all that was left was the racing duel home.

Atem glanced at his side, suppressed a smirk and set spurs so hard he was sure he’d hurt Kuriboh. He would apologize later, now he needed to get home first.

Before the sun rose, needless to say.

If only to soothe his consciousness.

The dragon’s enormous wings cut through the air beside him but Atem kept his eyes straight ahead. If he got distracted now he would definitely loose (against the sun) and he simply didn’t want that. Seto’s ego was already bursting, he didn’t need another boost.  

Gritting his teeth until they gave a cracking sound, Atem mustered the last magic he had in his body, transferred it to Kuriboh and slipped through the barrier around North Pole only by a hairsbreadth earlier than Seto’s dragons.

He heard him curse behind him but ignored the triumphant feeling inside him and concentrated on slowing the sleigh down and landing it safely.

The giddy sense of delight he’d felt in the last minutes vanished the moment the skids touched the ground and all that was left was anger and horror that Seto had dared to touch the main clock and risked not only their exposure but also and furthermost the spoiling of Christmas Eve for generations and decades!  

Seto’s sleigh was still sliding to a halt but Atem had already walked, no stomped over to him, grabbed the reins of this exaggerated, gorgeous beast and pulled harshly at it. “Are you completely mad?”

Slowly and with his head held as high as his loss obviously let him, Seto stepped out of the sleigh. He was completely unperturbed by Atem’s rage and took his hat off with a peace of mind that brought Atem even more to the edge. If he weren’t so tall, he’d probably slam him into the sleigh right here and there but instead had to crane his neck again while Seto towered over him as tall and as proud as ever. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Feign your innocence somewhere else, Seto! The main clock has never failed me until this day and you’re the only one besides me who knows how enough to sabotage it.”

Blue clad shoulders simply shrugged. “So what if I did?! We made it, didn’t we?”

“But at what cost!” Atem gestured to the still dissolving, hard breathing and kind of pale looking Kuriboh’s. He had never summoned so many of them and if it wasn’t for Mahad’s extra magic, he wasn’t sure if he’d even managed it. The poor little fluff balls were completely exhausted while Seto’s dragons still roared majestically, standing their ground as proudly as their wielder.

“I really don’t know why you’re so angry.” Seto grumbled, his blue eyes now flashing with anger as well and Atem watched closely as he forced the next words over his lips. “You won. You should be happy.”

Atem groaned exaggerated.

Again with this stupid rivalry.

“I told you so many times that this evening, this job isn’t about being best, or being first, it’s about the children. It’s about bringing them happiness. It’s about faith and hope, peace and love. It’s a magical night, where anything can and shall happen.”

“Then why are we stopping the time and hide until it’s all over?”

“We’re not hiding, we’re surprising them. Secretly.”

“It’s not a secret when they all know it’s coming.”

“That’s not the point…”

“What is it then? So many children are looking out of their windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of you – how can you say this night is about them, when you don’t even give them a chance to achieve their wish?”

Atem swallowed thickly, hoping Seto wouldn’t notice.

“It’s just a race against time if we don’t at least slow time down! You saw for yourself how we had to rush because of it. What if something had gone wrong and we’d have had to make a detour…”

“It would have only increased the suspense.”

“And then?”

“Why not make them aware of the magic around them!”

“Because they could have seen us!”

“So what? Seeing is believing. You’ve been hiding for all these centuries and still expect children to believe in you starry-eyed because their parents told them to, because it’s what kids do? What if one day they stop? What, if you fade into the dust you were made of then? Is this what you want? You have to give them something to hold onto, something to grasp, a proof, not just an old as the hills, outdated fairytale. Your life depends on their believe!”

Atem narrowed his eyes. “So, you disobey my order because you’re worried about me?”

Seto ignored the sentiment but lowered his voice and glance nonetheless. “I did not disobey your order. On the contrary, I carried your… our task out and mastered it superbly. You know, I did.”

“What did you want then?” He asked tentatively, seeing no reason to question Seto’s work today. It was superb, just like he said (overlooking the manipulating of the main clock of course…) and watched his every movement, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his side, how his jaw tensed and the reflexive blinking of his eyes as if he dared him to speak his mind. And Atem read him like an open book. “My appreciation… was it that?”

Seto said nothing, just stared at him, stared down at him defying, challenging, outraged that Atem had hit the nail on the head in his very first try.

The smaller man could only sigh. “You don’t need that.”

For just a split second disappointment flashed in Seto’s eyes but it was gone in such a quick way that Atem thought it was just a figment of his imagination and it got replaced with something akin to wrath. “Good to know.”

He was about to push past him, but Atem grabbed his forearm and stopped him, speaking gently and steady.

“You don’t need it because you already have it! Why did you think I chose you as my assistant? Just because I wanted someone to lecture and scream at from dusk till dawn?” He gave a short dismissive laugh, but actually it was partly true since he enjoyed their tiffs and arguments and the wretched fact was that he even found him, it, (damn it it, get a grip Atem!) hugely appealing. “I gave you the job because you have so much potential. You’re a real talent, Seto. In all these years, I haven’t seen anyone as studious and hardworking and thoroughly devoted to this task as you. And you take pride in everything you do and you’re absolutely sure of yourself… Just why are you striving for my appraisal so much when your self-esteem is higher than anything I’ve ever known?”

Blue colored eyes lay calmly on him belying the storm that raged behind them.

Because I admire you his mind screamed but his mouth formed the words “Because you’re the boss and everyone should strive to gain a better position than the one they already have.” instead.

Atem gave the dry, small laugh Seto always longed to hear when they argued. “I feel like I should be worried about my job…”

Seto shrugged as he stared unblinkingly at him. He could feel the cold of his fingers seeping through his thick coat and the wind-induced tears had left smeared traces at his eyes. A small part of him acknowledged this as his fault but since he had won he wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of caring enough to worry.

When Atem finally let go of his arm, he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a small step away from Seto, his eyes not once leaving his. “I admit it was fun to race across the sky like that. Actually I haven’t done that in ages; it made me feel like a whippersnapper…” He grinned, the use of this word made him feel ancient despite the fact that he didn’t age at all. “But we can’t turn Christmas day into a duel against time. We will work side by side. Are you content with that?”

The fact that he asked, made it seem like he really wanted Seto here, at his side but he wouldn’t believe him so easily and straightened his back. “We’ll see about that.”

Atem opened his mouth to protest but suddenly didn’t feel like arguing anymore.

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose so…”

He’d said what he could say, maybe not what he wanted to say, but it was better than nothing, right? It was a start. And despite the look of it now, he was sure Seto would understand sooner or later. After all, he couldn’t blame him for trying to proof himself to him. Even if his methods were a little extreme.

“Anyway, we’ve done our work for the night. Take care of your dragons, get some rest and… take a look at the joy you brought.” The last part was uttered warily since he very much hoped Seto would join him to see how the children reacted to their presents (and the left-behind sweets and drinks) but wasn’t sure if his pride allowed it. He met his gaze once more, smiled gently and nodded once. “You’re dismissed.”

Atem waited for any sign of reaction but Seto just gave a small nod himself and with a heavy sigh, he turned around and walked away slowly.

But really he wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and look at Seto some more.

Groaning inwardly at his own thoughts, he clenched his hands in his pockets.

Why was he being so stupid? They should have a professional relationship, nothing more, nothing less. He knew it and he should act like it.

But damn, it was getting harder each day.

“Actually…” Seto called out and Atem’s heart as well as his footsteps stopped but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t trust himself enough for that at the moment. A moment of silence went by and he thought Seto had changed his mind when he spoke up again. “There’s one present left.”

That sentence brought Atem back from his sentimental feelings at once and reality hit him in the face colder and harsher than the wind in the sky before.

Forgetting a present was a thousandfold worse than the damaged main clock – it meant, somewhere out there was a child waiting and hoping in vain, it meant that he failed, when he was supposed to be unfailing and perfect.

Upon returning, he’d already activated his inner compass and tracking magic to find out just where he had to lead Kuriboh but stopped deadly in his track when his eyes fell on Seto again.

The present that was left, lied in his hand – a small, neatly in purple and gold wrapped package with a ribbon on top. Atem immediately recognized that it wasn’t from his factory, that it was individual and hand-wrapped and his eyes went wide.

“A happy Christmas to you.”

His mouth dropped slightly open and a shudder ran down his spine as Seto handed him the gift, his gift and Atem looked between the package and his assistant as if he expected one or the other to disappear in a cloud of smoke in the next second.

In all these years no one had ever given him a present – occasionally Mahad had given him a bottle of glogg at the end of the year but that was all. And why would anyone give him a present in the first place? It was supposed to be the other way round after all. Delivering presents was the reason for, the sole purpose of his existence.

He’d known from the moment he first laid eyes on him that Seto didn’t give a damn about traditions and rules at all and he had proven as much well enough already but this… this took things to a whole new level.

This showed him that his talent was exceptional and that he should indeed fear for his job but all he felt right now was pride and pure, unbridled joy.

Impatience and nervousness were starting to crawl up in Seto’s mind when Atem just stared at his gift instead of opening it and he stepped from one foot to another, clearing his throat softly. That had Atem looking up at him and he lifted his eyebrows, telling him to hurry up. It was obvious that the man was astonished, perhaps even flattered but that was no excuse to turn into stone.

Finally, Atem laughed apologetically and Seto watched him closely as he unwrapped the package slowly and carefully, obviously enjoying every second of it. Seto could tell from the bright gleam in his eyes that the other was dying from excitement and struggled to maintain his dignity like that, cold, red fingers trembling slightly as they fumbled with the ribbon.

Atem gave the smallest gasp when the paper was finally gone and it was all Seto needed to know that he hit the nail on the head. He noticed him swallow again before he slowly looked up to him and Seto hold his breath.

“I… Where did you…?” Atem stammered, wondering how Seto even knew he’d always wanted to have one of these, he’s never spoken of it to anyone. A small, reasonable part of him hoped it was just a lucky coincidence but he knew that couldn’t be because Santa always chose the right gift. It was the essence of his being.

He cleared his throat to steady his voice but he still sounded a little off. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Seto nodded as if he wanted to say that he already knew that but his eyes had taken on a gentler glow and his smile was a relieved one. As much as Atem liked that look on his face though, he suddenly felt so guilty that he hadn’t thought of getting him something as well.

One of Seto’s dragons roared softly, breaking the spell between them and as Atem watched him caress the shimmering scales of his guardian, he came up with an idea that had his blood boiling already.    

“You know… maybe we could race again some time? Not… on Christmas Eve of all days but the year does have 364 other days, so…”

The smirk Kaiba shot him after these words hit him right in his core. “Prepare to lose.” He deadpanned with a low voice that Atem hadn’t heard him use until now and he shuddered again, this time from excitement.

He laughed to mask it and then smirked at Seto, throwing his words right back at him. “We’ll see about that.”

With that he turned on his heels and strutted away proudly, Seto’s gift safely enclosed in his hands, cold and exertion completely forgotten.

Seto watched him go and allowed himself to look at the other for a moment more before turning away too. He was glad it had worked out that well. Sure, it wasn’t the triumph he initially wanted but another, more amicable, sweeter kind of success. One he appreciated just the same.

And when he turned around once more to get a last look at his retrieving figure, he got the feeling that this was what Atem was talking about the whole time when he lectured him about dreams and hopes and the spirit of Christmas.

This was a magical night, where anything could and should happen.

[motogpfanpage]

ROUND 13: SAN MARINO

As we are getting closer to the end of the season, it's at Misano, near Rossi's hometown that we were racing this weekend. A weekend where Ducati was favorite but the crowd had only eyes for The Doctor.

1) Dovi's moment of proud

Andrea Dovizioso took his 3rd win of the season a Misano. A very important win as Ducati won both italian GP this season and it’s also the first time they win 3 races back-to-back since the Stoner era.

Dovi knew his main rival would be his teammate. Somehow, if he wanted to win he first had to stop Jorge from running away "à la lorenzo" but the italian was confident he had the pace to rush at the front: "my strategy was to be on front and make my rythm because i knew i had a good pace but sometimes Jorge make a special race and Marc is always very strong".

Once the mid-race mark was checked it seemed Lorenzo was coming back on Dovizioso like a repeat of the previous races but Dovi had the race under control and pushed more just when he wanted: "i was trying to play with lap times to see and understand the competitors. i had the margin to go faster and take more risks under control".

As always though, the italian adaptated his pre-race strategy to what was happening live during the race "it's important that you have your strategy but at the end you have to make some part of it during the race".

As for the championship, Andrea is up to 2nd now in the standings but there's no illusion on their real chances to win it, it's Marquez's to lose "we are focus on that (getting ready for 2019) because Marc is ahead. If we do something important this year, good, but if we can't we have to be even more ready for next year".

And next year Dovizioso will have some help! Indeed, Lorenzo's replacement, Danilo Petrucci, know he's been signed, not to win, but to help Dovi win the next title. Think i’m joking ? Nope. It’s Marca which reported this very strange and awkward line said by Domenicalli himself (link of the article here) "Petrucci will make sure that Dovizioso has a whole lots of points by the end of the year". Now i do not know how Danilo feels about playing second field but i know i wouldn’t like it!

 2) Pen already well in hand

Marc Marquez might have arrived at Misano with a comfortable lead in the championship but that doesn't mean he is not willing to take some risks if a win is a stake. After a good fight with Lorenzo that left us on the edge of our seat and salivating for next season, the spaniard saw that Dovizioso was escaping, but there was nothing he could have done to prevent that from happening: "when i saw Dovi going away i tried to be behind Jorge, to attack him in the end but i was on the limit, i was pushing too much."

Knowing a mistake was likely to be made after his crash during the qualification session (where he gave us one hell of a show running back to a scooter, rushing back to his box and going back on track on his 2nd bike in less than 5 minutes), Marquez wasn't willing to let too many points escape him: "i was fighting against the bike, i was fast but riding against myself."

In the end Marquez vs Ducati went, once again to Ducati: "i tried to follow them, to be aggressive on the first laps but today Dovi was riding perfect. I was just following the ducatis, i wasn't able to overtook them. Jorge just made a mistake and went wide, that's how i was able to pass him".

In Marc Marquez fashion though, the spaniard had to try first before giving up and settling for points: "when you never give up sometimes you get something. This time we get 20 points."

Even if the spaniard hasn't won since the Sachsenring, he can still be pretty happy to extend his championship lead after the San Marino GP: "i arrived with 59 points at the front and we leave with 67 so we're happy".

  3) Lorenzo, Ganador, Campeon, Guerrero

Jorge Lorenzo was a man with a plan this weekend in Italy. Strong from a confidence build by a very good test at Misano for the ducati team earlier this summer, the spaniard was the clear favorite even before the action started on track.

His pole position on saturday, breaking the track’s record (a record he owned as he had set it previously on Yamaha), made that cristal clear for anybody else still doubting. Lorenzo wouldn’t be happy with anything else than a race win on sunday. Fate had other plans for him though.

The hot temperatures forced Lorenzo to race a combo of medium tires which he never felt at ease with: « i have to use the medium front and rear that normally i don’t like, especially the front. I didn’t have any grip on the side and not a food grip in the center of it ». Lorenzo stated he had to use way too much of the brakes than what he likes because of this bad feeling with the tires. 

The spaniard tried to escape though but that wasn’t going to work today. Starting from pole position, Lorenzo made another rocket start only him has the secret of and, with the soft, he believed it could have made the difference at least at start even though it woudn’t have last for the whole race distance: « with the softs i think i would have had something more on Dovi and Marc but with the mediums we were on the same pace ». 

Favorite before the race thanks to a superb test earlier, the spaniard lamented the tires weren’t working the same « the softs were very constant during the tests but this weekend after 5 laps it was destroyed ».

A wrong choice of tires leading to a crash while he was chasing Dovizioso for the win. Jorge Lorenzo could have settled for the 2nd place in the race. This would have pushed him into 2nd in the championship standings but if you ask him, 2nd isn’t ever enough. He had nothing to lose, Marquez being already gone in the title chase, so he went for it, win it or bin it style. 

Lorenzo is now 4th in the standings. With 6 races to go and 24 points between him and 2nd Dovizioso, the spaniard isn’t one to stop trying easily and one can be sure, he’ll give his everything to make sure to not only finish in front of teammate Dovizioso in the standings but also to win more races than him and, like the cherry on the top of cake, try to give Ducati the constructor’s championship. Is Domenicalli still certain it was the right choice to get rid of the spaniard ? I bet Honda are rubbing their hands...

4) 22 races

The streak of shame continues for Yamaha. It is now 22 races since they've last won one. As the situation doesn't look like it's going to be solves anytime soon, riders still try to understand what is going on into what was once the best team on the grid.

Maverick Vinales seemed to have found some of his old form back being in the top spots most of the practices but the race is always another story: "i felt very strong in FP4 but we had a big drop in feeling from saturday to sunday. It's been a year and a half that we are suffering during races and we still have to understand where we lose out"

The spaniard wants to keep focus on the positive though as for once he didn't messed up his race start: "after the start i was really happy because i thought now i can take the slipstream from the fast guys".

Even a few positive notes cannot keep Vinales from worrying about Aragon though: "it will also be difficult because it's very hot and slippery there but we have some adeas to try".

Valentino Rossi, on the other hand, was clearly more downcast from having to do a very anonymous race on his home turf. He was finally back to Misano (as written on his special helmet) after having to miss last year's San Marino GP due to an injury. A comeback yes, but not a party: “difficult race, a big shame to not be competitive in Misano. I expected to be stronger because in FP4 i was not too bad. But today was more difficult for me, Maverick and also Zarco."

The italian stating he was close to being one second slower on sunday than he was on saturday is frustrated by the fact the team still hasn't found any reason behind that drop of form: "maybe it's because of moto2 rubber but honestly we don't know".

Reflecting on his last seasons, Rossi gives a great insight into what could be one of the reason behind Yamaha's form these last few years: “in the last 3 seasons we start good, i make a lot of podiums in the first par of the season but during the second par we suffer more. it looks like Ducati and Honda are able to develop their bike in a better way. This is a problem Yamaha needs to understand why."

With Lorenzo's crash, Rossi still finds himself 3rd in the standings, a result which should cheer him up but the italian knows best: "we have to stay concentrated and give the maximum because in the championship miraculously i am 3rd and i don't understand how!"

If that's not throwing shades to yamaha, then i do not know what is...

  5) Dani's future

Between good and bad memories, Misano is a track where Dani Pedrosa used to be a favorite on race day.

This year though, what ended up being an overall good weekend for the spaniard resulted in nothing better than a 6th place. Something Pedrosa cannot be proud of: "Today 6th place was the best outcome, it's positive but not enough. We're far from where we want to be."

Still motivated to end his career on a good note, Pedrosa couldn’t keep up with his main opponents on sunday: "i wasn't able to get closer to Rins and Maverick. We need to work on the bike setup to get closer to the front group".

Regarding his future, even though a possible job as a Honda test rider and ambassador isn't out of question just yet (at least officially), rumor has it Dani is talking with KTM to become the new star of the testing team.

A good news for Dani even though we can't hide the fact that we would have love to see him race for the Austrian team. Something which won't happen as it's being said that Pedrosa, even though he would gladly take on the role of test rider, has no intention of doing wildcards next season.

Valencia then might very well be the last time we will see him race... Glad i have my ticket!

  6) honorable mentions

Another disappointing weekend for Johann Zarco who couldn't take more than a 10th place finish on sunday.

Pol Espargaro made his comeback to the race tracks after his horrible crash which forced him to skip multiple races. Even though it was nice to have him back, the spaniard couldn't bare the pain and had to stop mid-race.

Morbidelli's on a flying form since the announcement of his future as a Yamaha rider in the whole new SIC-Petronas team. After a great weekend he took 12th during the race.

Petrucci might be replacing Lorenzo next season, but so far, he's not showing any championship winner material with a very disappointing 11th place during the San marino GP.

Cal Crutchlow took a podium home! A great way to celebrate his new contract with LCR.

Alex Rins' 4th place comes as both a very impressive and huge improvement on the form he was showing latelly.

Syahrin started the season so well but is now turning into a disappointement. 19th is no where near what he should get.

[powmanok]

One

The sweat burned in his eyes as he lay in the mud. The antagonizing sun was merciless. His clothes were stained with the sweat of his hard earned lead. But as he looked up at the grand statue of Sayvior, Austin realized that he couldn’t stop here. The only reason he had the privilege to be alive today was due to the sacrifice that Sayvior, the greatest hero of the superhero age, made for the good of PowManok.The statue almost seemed to look down upon him, instilling Austin with a guilty feeling. Heroes don’t quit. Time to gut it out.

It took all his might but he was not about to quit here. Austin knew he must finish this race. As he rose to his feet, he had a new drive. The adrenaline was pumping. And with that new motivation, Austin started running. Ahead he saw the high wall. A straight forward sprint up the wall could get him up top. But then he noticed the sides.

With some quick hops Austin was up the wall and going. A quick look back and no one in sight.

“Good,” thought Austin. He was in the lead and if he could just hold on to this lead, he would be a shoo in for the top cadet in his class.

The rope bridge was easy. After years of free running all across PowManok, Austin was pretty good at the hard stuff, and this was a breeze. Next was the ladder and monkey bars, and again Austin found his way with some ease. The upcoming net looked tough though, reminding him of his old game system and all the cords. Tangled in a knot that was not worth the organizing. But as he passed the statue of Kunoichi, the famed deadly female ninja, it gave him a thought. She was nimble, like he. Surely he could take his scrawny frame and with some skilled navigating, finesse his way through the web of wire.

Upon getting close he dive headfirst into the mess, making even better time than he thought getting past it.

Another glance back, no one in sight.

“I got this,” he thought.

Final stretch. A quick sprint and a long high jump and he would be champion. And with a full sprint he grabbed the pole and put his all into one final thrust. The moments in the air felt completely natural to Austin. As he flew thru the air, he noticed the stern yet protective face of Captain Pilgrim looking toward him. For some reason, on this day, it seemed to Austin like even he was proud of such a valiant effort.

As he fell down to the finish, he felt like a true hero, like his Dad. Finally, after taking a quick rest, Austin slowly pulled himself to his feet, awaiting the celebration. But he looked up to see... disappointment.

There stood Saul. With the platinum trophy held over his head. Austin came in second. How? He trained, practiced this course. Followed all the instructions. Watched the videos. Studied the superheroes advice. How could he not have done the best?

Austin sulked over to take his second place trophy. Even though he felt salty, at least he had the written portion of the exam ready. He was sure a perfect score was on the way in that, at least. Nobody in the Kingdom of PowManok could touch his encyclopedic knowledge of the Hero’s Bible. He knew it practically word for word. And yet he beat himself up a little inside. Even though they were just statues, Austin felt like he let them down.

Akira came up third with a light jog. He never seemed to take any of this seriously. If he only applied himself then maybe he could be better than third place.

The announcements didn’t even help him to feel better. As they broadcast the results by loudspeaker it seemed like the whole arena echoed the words “second place” in Austin’s ears. Like it just bounced off the wall. As he looked up at the titanic statues all around of the superhero legends, he felt all of a sudden less than.

“Don’t take it so hard, it’s only the beginning of your hero’s journey.”

Austin turned his head to see Akira’s optimistic face looking up at him. Maybe Akira was just trying to cheer him up. But what could he have to say of importance? Akira never took anything seriously, of course he’d be okay with a subpar performance.

Still, a true hero is still courteous. So Austin responded with the tact and encouragement that a hero in training should.

“No matter what the obstacle, a cadet is not here to make excuses, but to remove them. I will be fine, I just need to try harder, that’s all.”

Akira just looked at him. He seemed clueless to Austin. Always lost in a dream world. Then he turned to Saul.

Saul always seemed like he didn’t want to be there in the first place. How could he lose to someone like that? It’s such a waste of good genetics, Austin thought.

Just then, an loud cheer rang through the arena. Austin turned to see what the fuss was about, curious.

In walked Captain Pilgrim, the last remaining original Siege member. As he grabbed a microphone, Austin grabbed a front row seat, ready to feed off every word.

“Attention, young cadets.” Captain Pilgrim’s veteran voice reeked of confidence and pride. His uniform shined in the light from the sunroof, showing each battle scar and every tear from war.

“This is the first step to being one of the official peacekeepers of The Isle of PowManok. Every step you take, and with every ounce of energy you have in you, and every brain cell rattling around in your heads needs to be dedicated to the safety and order of this nation. Crime doesn’t want to follow order. Crime doesn’t want things to be safe. The evildoers of society aren’t worried about unity, or a system. What they want it to succeed the easy way. They are a cowardly lot. They don’t want to put in the work. They don’t want to sacrifice for the greater good. They don’t want the hard working citizens to feel safe, they want them in fear and servitude. They come filled with hatred and anger. And that’s why at the end of the day, WE ALWAYS WIN!!”

A rousing cheer filled the air from the crowd.

“Let me tell you guys a story,” Pilgrim continued. “Evolution favors the order that allows us all to live free. In the past, there were many countries on many lands called continents. And over time the old society let their guard down and let the the few greedy ones take over. They brought war, and enforced their will on the general public. While the common man slept, they corrupted the world and turned the law into their own private armies. Then evolution fixed the balance, granting intelligence and gifts to those with the power to change the world. But it was too late. Nuclear war swept the land. Those heroes, found that instead of taking on one city at a time, that unity was the key to their strength. And so the Siege was born. Sayvior, granted with more powers than you could even comprehend. Kunoichi, a nimble tactician with deadly accuracy and precision. The Doc, with the intelligence of a thousand men. And the Strongman, Mule; able to hold a building on his mighty shoulders. And finally myself, Captain Pilgrim with a virtue as great as my physical prowess. Together we helped found a safe land. This Isle of PowManok, where a hard working citizen can feel protected and earn a good living the old fashioned Ameri-, I mean, the old fashioned traditional way.”

As the crowd roared with approval, a steady rumbling silenced them. What was that? Suddenly, a crash broke the silence as a tank broke thru the wall, knocking the Captain to the floor.

A lone person climbed upon the top with a megaphone.

“What’s up sheep!” He said loudly. “My name is Samson. We are the Vermillionaires. Everything that man told you is nothing more than a shallow lie! This facade will end soon, and the mask will be ripped off! You are the best soldiers in all the land. Make your choice now, we will take over from this sham of a monarchy and reveal all its dirty little secrets to the public! You have one week, and then if you aren’t for us you are against us. Join the rebellion, or watch progress pass you by! The clock is ticking. And here is a sample of what we can do.”

And with that, the tank shot a ear shattering blast directly at Captain Pilgrim who was just rising to his feet. Being the hero he is, he flipped out of the way.

“That the best you got, terrorist?” He shouted.

Samson replied, calmly.

“No.”

Captain Pilgrim looked up to see his statue tipping in his direction. Within seconds, he was buried under the rubble of his giant image as it crashed down upon him.

“See? Look how feeble the old guard has become! You have one week to make your choice. We’re done here. For now.”

As the tank rolled out, the cadets ran over to clear the rubble off the fallen hero.

This could be the first real battle he faces. Samson and the Vermillionaires are a very real threat. What would a hero do? This is what he trained for his whole life. It’s time for action. But first, he needed a plan. This is messed up, but maybe it could be the thing that makes him the best hero cadet. It was time to make moves. Samson was going down.

[onthebridle]

2020 Poule d’Essai Des Poulains Preview

It’s been a while. A long while. But we are back and giving it another go!

A tumultuous year off the piste has gifted us a titanic tussle on it. When all was rosy in the Racing garden, the French Government scythed down the ParisLongchamp plan for the Poulains. Fear not as the affable, enigmatic and folically gifted Olivier Delloye cleared the table and pivoted to a charming corner of Normandy!

A straight mile for a Guineas? Wonderful idea! No UK or Irish based horses? Wonderful-(ish) idea! Not that they’ve won many recently anyway. No crowd? Well that’s pretty grim but rules are rules. 

Onto the runners!

VICTOR LUDORUM

Shamardal this, Shamardal that. Shamardal for you and Shamardal for you too! Victor Ludorum (a Shamardal colt) was an immovable object from the Winners Enclosure throughout his 2yo career. ParisLongchamp was his particular playground of choice, breaking his maiden there by 3.5L (that could have been a lot more) and having his finest hour in the G1 Jean Luc Lagardere beating Group winners Alson, Armory and Ecrivain of whom we will encounter next.

Posters were up, the word was out. Victor was back. May 11th, ParisLonghcamp - tune your TV and watch the Prince on his pathway to his crowning. 

Drawn on the Phillipe Chatrier court at Roland Garros and given his relaxed style of exiting the stalls it was not a shock to see him mid division and holding his own just off The Summit. The shock however came at the long sweeping bend at ~600-800m. Victor pulled the arms out of Mickael Barzalona’s sockets. Previously keen at this point in the Lagardere it was much more pronounced but he settled somewhat entering the straight. It would have been quite the effort to peg back The Summit who had set off with a wet sail and he was nursed home by Barza for 3rd. The crowning has been furloughed.

Undoubtedly below his best and suffering from ‘Fabre-itis’ that punished the Petit General’s yard in the opening week, an upgrade will almost be demanded from him and an upgrade he will likely give us. Barza was quoted as saying, “I’m not worried about what happens next” - so why should we be?!

ECRIVAIN

We’re blessed with 5 senses; sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing. The brothers Wertheimer know a few of these closely, nay, intimately and on a grander scale than most can imagine. Smell, the fine scent of their grandfathers Chanel No5. Taste, the vintage rouge of their Margaux & Saint-Emilion vineyards. Touch, their (ahem) tasteful swimwear and lingerie collection. Sight, the hands ticking on their Bell & Ross chronometers. The remaining sense is hearing. Hearing their name announced as the winner of the Poulains has been absent since Falco in 2008. A period too long for winners like the Wertheimers. Entraineur Carlos Laffon-Parias knows all of this well. Victory in 2008 belonged to him also. Much like their Margaux, it was a vintage year for the Poulains. Rio De La Plata simply could not get near him.

Ecrivain is his latest project. 2/2 to start his career, including a G3 on just his second run, he finished 4th in the Lagardere whilst both catching the eye and frustrating his patrons at the same time. For his comeback in the Fontainebleau, look to the previous sentence and multiply. Simon Rowlands’ Sectionals show he should have finished closer and he probably would have had he not taken the sceneic route through the Bois Du Boulogne. It was one you sensed that Maxime Guyon would want back.

He isn’t shy to the front of the field, often sitting in the passenger seat beside the pack driver so look for him to be on the scene again at Deauville. The orders from CLP were to “Wait, Finish and Not Hit” - one would imagine Max will hear different ones next time.

THE SUMMIT

Expecting Alson? Sorry not sorry. 

Henri Alex Pantall trains the son of Wootton Bassett for Jacques Cygler at his staggeringly beautiful yard in Beaupreau around 400km west of Chantilly. The name Jacques Cygler may be memorable to you thanks to his wondermare export Sistercharlie. 

The Summit does not have the sexy row of 1′s you get visiting the Victor Ludorum page or the 100,000€ fee you have to pay for a dance with Lope De Vega to produce Ecrivain but he has run, and run, and run. Up and down the distance ladder from 1300m to 1800m and another rung up to 2000m it seems the Cygler/Pantall equipe decided that the perfect spot is 1600m. 

A win on his debut over the distance at Lyon Parilly and a second in a true slug fest at Saint-Cloud on poor ground he would never die wondering. Flash out the gate and prominent throughout is the method to which he lives by. This would prove to be a perfect tactic when teamed up with crack rider PC Boudot in the Fontainebleau. Yep you guessed it, the gates were open and he was gone. Out and away he played the field in a way Ivan Hajek would have been impressed with. Relaxed around the bends when others floundered, nose forward and ears back he sauntered to the 400m pole and found himself a length clear. That length then became three at the 200m pole and PC gave him a polite tap whilst observing those behind before giving it the full betting shop punter fist pump.

Pantall made it known he had grown and “thickened” over the winter. Another duet with PC Boudot has not materialised unfortunately but fear not, Olivier Peslier has been legged up and he isn’t shy of the Winners Enclosure. A victory here would complete the Poulains/Pouliches set for Alex Pantall and in consecutive years too. A summit thoroughly achievable.

THE OTHERS

Contenders, are you rrrrready?!

Alson - The first of Andre Fabre’s two other contestants, he was 2nd in the Lagardere sandwich under Frankie Dettori before going on to on to win a farce of a G1 Criterium International at ParisLongchamp beating Armory. This will be his first run under the Masters tutelage but without a prep run and the original aim of Newmarket, could this be a stepping stone to something like the St James’s Palace Stakes at the (not so Royal) Royal Ascot? Hard to trust.

Arapaho - It wouldn’t be a Classic without the navy of Mrs Sue Magnier now would it?! Andre Fabre’s third dart at the board was given a slight headache over 1400m by Mageva but he was plenty worth his win and has one of the most wonderful actions. Untested at the distance and uncertainty around his rider makes me uneasy on his chances. It would be a special day for his breeder; Mme Elisabeth Fabre. The choice of PCB, the interest has already rocketed and his price shortened.

Celestin - Twice a winner for Fabrice Chappet including a romp of a Listed win at Toulouse on foul ground he was competent in his return at Chantilly behind Reshabar for the local owner/breeders Normandie Pur Sang. It would be the sweetest of wins for them but a shock result.

Kenway - An admirable foe if ever there was one. Frederic Rossi’s charge has put his gloves on, mouthguard in and gone through the ropes with all of the big hitters listed above. A particular distaste for The Summit would be permitted given his 5th in the Saint-Cloud slugfest and the 4th in the Prix Fontainebleau. You won’t miss him - coming late with his head in the air and thick milky noseband pressing through. A place option at best.

Reshabar - Far from a penalty kick for Markus Munch it would symbolise a rapid rise for the son of Ifraaj who defied 59/1 odds to break his maiden in a Class 1 race at Chantilly. On the day he was quite brilliant from the front but the same strategy this time will undoubtedly come with company. Field’s rag.

Shinning Ocean (Supp) - The Prix D’Escoville winner was parachuted into the race by owner/breeders Normandie Pur Sang for a tidy sum. His performance at ParisLongchamp was a mirror to The Summit with Soumillon tugging the field along at a sedate pace initially. Coming down the hill at ~650m, the Belgian decided to find 3rd gear to go a length clear. The revs at 1000m had subsided again and the paced dropped as he was joined by Warzuzu. A slap round the chops at 1200m and he was gone. Two became four and peaked at five lengths clear before the cigar and slippers were out. Soumi is back for more and he has a score to settle with Ecrivain and is a very interesting runner for Christophe Ferland who is chasing his first Poulains!

THE VERDICT

Point 1: Pace will not be an issue. The Summit, Reshabar and Shinning Ocean aren’t ones for hanging around. Mix in the potential pacemaker angle of Alson and it’s a bit of a free for all that could get out of hand. In the passenger seat you’ll have Victor and Ecrivain with possibly The Summit joining them too should the pace dial needle push towards breakneck. 

Point 2: Draw. Draw. Draw. The previous Poulains run at Deauville saw Brametot win from Stall 3 and The Gurkha from Stall 11. Helpful. Given the reduced number of horses we could see them all go to the middle or to the stand side rail or split into two groups. Given the temper of some runners and a wide track at Deauville you don’t want to be drawn next a basketcase but you wouldn’t mind a bit of pace either.

Point 3: Jockeys. Victor - check. Ecrivain - check. Kenway - check. Reshabar - check. The surprise came when Pierre Charles chose Arapaho over his Prix Fontainbleau companion The Summit who will now have the ever consistent, ever classy and evergreen Olivier Peslier on top. Alson is a gift for Cheminaud so the tactics on him still mystify.

All of these in mind I will unashamedly be sticking with VICTOR LUDORUM. Visually superb in the Lagardere and undercooked for his return expect a reinvigorated version and with the Petit General’s form turned up to 11 he is the one for me. It is difficult to see outside of the other major contenders filling the places and of the two I would count The Summit as his biggest challenger.

A Shamardal for France and maybe a Shamardal for England too?!

A final note - it was a real shame to lose Helter Skelter before this race as he would also have been a worthy adversary to those mentioned in the article.

[foreversillythings]

And the Clock Kept Ticking Chapter 15

Part 1    Part 14

Part 15-Our Hearts Beat Like Drums

Madge tries to keep her breathing regular as the hovercraft carries them to Two, her heart hammering in her ears. She holds onto Katniss and Rory, fingers knotted with theirs and please let us make it out of this okay.

Leevy sits across from her, grim faced and steely eyed, Rory whispers to himself, a litany of reminders and Katniss fidgets, her leg bouncing up and down. The air in the hover craft is tense, talk hushed and Madge runs through her training, attempts to reassure herself.

we can do this

we can

*

Theirs is one of the first hovercrafts to arrive, landing in a clearing just on the outside of town. They're met by stern looking soldiers who hurry them towards a makeshift camp hidden by the side of a cliff. The ground is rough and uneven but their pace doesn't slow, a tinge of fear in every step they take. Their guides' eyes flicker to and fro, as if expecting trouble and Madge gives up trying to calm her racing heart.

"Hurry up, this way," the man in front of them urges, herding them beneath the relative shelter of the cliff. The sky is pale, sun nearly white and illuminating pearly clouds and Madge tries to find courage in daylight, but she's old enough now to know monsters don't just hide in the dark. More hovercrafts continue to land, the morning air humming with the sound but then another noise, impossibly loud, shatters the day. It's gunfire, except not, cannon fire but worse, anti aircraft guns! someone shrieks and oh.

"Get down!" comes a scream and Madge drops, huddles by a tent pole and it's like the end of Twelve all over again, the whole world coming apart at the seams. She covers her ears with her hands and forces her eyes open, needs to make sure Rory and Katniss are nearby. Instead, Madge watches one of their hovercrafts explodes, burning in the sky like a new sun and the sound it makes is beyond words, horror settling in her stomach like a cold stone. And then another and another, hovercrafts painting the sky like fireworks and she can feel terror flowing through her, hot and scalding.

no

How many people were aboard those hovercrafts? How many people have died without even stepping foot on the battlefield?

And still the hovercrafts come, some managing to land even amidst the barrage of death but most blooming into great clouds of fire, raining ashes and debris down on District Two. She can't hear any screaming, at least not with her ears, but she can feel it in her bones, an endless screech of fear and pain. Someone grabs her arm, fingers tight enough to bruise but Madge barely registers it, body numb with panic.

"We're all going to die," someone wails or maybe that's the voice in Madge's head, but it doesn't really matter.

She's pretty sure they're right.

*

("So much for the element of surprise," someone grumbles and Madge almost vomits)

(people, so many people, are dead)

(you'd never know from the way some of these soldiers are reacting)

(maybe Snow’s winning after all)

*

Their commanding officer, Lyme, is a tall, imposing woman.

Madge feels like a little girl in her presence, a kid afraid of being scolded. Commander Lyme prowls in front of them, pacing back and forth and Madge tries her best to stand up straight, keep her spine stiff instead of wilting under the commander‘s stern eyes.

“District Two is our gateway to the Capitol. This battle will be more important than any we’ve had so far,” Commander Lyme declares as she casts shrewd eyes over each of them and stops her pacing. “Remember your training; do not bend to the Capitols machine of fear. Panem will soon be ours again, believe that.”

I do, Madge can’t help but think, I do.

*

There’s a buzzing in Madge’s ears, a rising hum of panic she forces as far down as she can. They’re moving out, finally, marching off to their positions for the siege of Two and Madge feels like her legs will give out with every quivering step.

be brave, be brave, be brave she tells herself, but still her nerves shiver and shake. Rory walks beside her, hushed voice running with constant reminders and tips, preparations for the terror to come and she remembers when she first met him, remembers it like a distant dream. He was so young, still is, and she wants to drag him home, hide him away somewhere safe. But that’s why they’re here, Rory, her brother, that little boy who’s grown up too much, too fast and her, because there is nowhere safe, not in Snow’s Panem.

Katniss stands by her other side, face drawn and eyes dark and Madge wonders if winning this war will lighten those shadows, carry away some of the weight on her shoulders. So many terrible things have already happened; can victory really wash them all away?

(she’s pretty sure she knows the answer)

They come to a stop on the southern outskirts of Two and slowly file into position to await the signal to attack. They crouch down, hidden by a natural sloping of the ground and Madge’s hands are already slippery with sweat. The grass here is sparse and yellow, the sky a dull sort of blue and Madge runs through everything she knows of District Two. They’re a mining district just like Twelve. They’re the main supplier of peacekeepers to the Capitol. They‘re the district that has always been closest to Snow, the one with the tightest binds of loyalty. Two is sure to put up a major fight and Madge swallows, her throat dry. She peeks out over their little hill, takes in the sight of The Fringe, District Two’s version of The Seam. Ramshackle wooden houses with dirty windows, scraggly lawns and chipping paint, she could almost be home.

(but home is gone, burnt away by the Capitol)

(Madge tries not to think about what she’s doing here, waiting to burn these homes to the ground, to do just what the Capitol did to her)

She prays the battle will be quick, hopes Two will surrender without much war and bloodshed. Madge isn’t very confident in that, but even so, she’s never been one to give up on hope, no matter how foolish.

*

They wait for days or minutes or years for a signal to come, but it never does.

(that soldier from earlier was right, they’d lost the element of surprise)

(and now they’d pay for it)

The only call to action they get is a hail of gunfire, spitting out from behind them. People scream, panic, run and Katniss shoulders Madge to the ground, bullets burying themselves in the hill above her. Dirt rains down on her head and Rory is shouting, voice lost in the cacophony of chaos. Their squad splinters, scrambling off in opposite directions and Madge claws her way up, knows they need to find better cover. She looks around wildly, but there’s nowhere to go, nothing but peacekeepers and open fields.

The Fringe!

The thought springs to her mind and of course, of course. There’ll be plenty of cover there, a much higher chance of losing the peacekeepers. There might be civilians though and the thought makes her wilt, but no, they don’t have a choice. She hadn’t noticed a single sign of life when she’d been watching, has to believe all the people have been evacuated.

Madge lurches upwards, driven by adrenaline and grabs the strap across Rory’s shoulder, knows he’ll never hear her if she tries to speak. She tugs hard to get his attention and gestures towards the Fringe, mouths the word run. He frowns, shakes his head, probably wants to argue but they don’t have time for that. She grabs a hold of the pack on his back with both hands and yanks, the unexpectedness of the move nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Go!” she yells and ducks down as more gunfire sprays over them. She crawls on her stomach over to Katniss, hooks a finger in the leg of her pants and pulls. Katniss flicks an eye in her direction and Madge jerks her head towards the Fringe, her lips moving in words even she can’t hear. Katniss bites her lip but then nods, sliding down so she’s level with Madge.

“Toss a grenade for cover and we’ll climb over the hill and make a run for it,” Katniss tells her, yelling but sounding like a whisper. Madge nods and reaches for one, Katniss still firing at their attackers. Madge pulls the pin and throws it, refuses to think of the people she may be catching in the blast. The explosion nearly deafens her, the ground shaking but Katniss is already standing, hauling Madge after her. They clamber over the hill and down the other side, Madge’s whole body made of pudding. Rory is waiting for them and Madge doesn’t know who says “Run!” but someone does and they’re all running, angry shouts and bullets hounding their footsteps.

The gunfire grows louder, like it‘s just behind them and Madge feels fear tighten in her chest. Just don’t stop running. Rory reaches the Fringe first and ducks between two narrow houses, Madge turning the opposite way down the main road. They’ll have to split up and find their way back to each other, can‘t risk all going the same way and having the Peacekeepers follow after. She can’t hear herself over her jackhammer heart and her body moves on instinct, dodging this way and that, hoping to lose anyone that might be tailing her.

Rory, Katniss, we’ll find each other again.

I know we will.

*

Madge whips around a corner and stops, presses her back against the wall of a nearby house. She peeks quickly back the way she came but can’t see any pursuers, may finally have shaken them off. She takes a moment to catch her breath and then pushes off, has to track down the others.

She creeps through Two, her hands clenched around her gun. Peacekeepers might be anywhere and she has to stay alert, feels like her every pore is on fire. Adrenaline is like liquid lightning, jolting through her at a million miles per second. Stay focused, stay calm, find Rory and Katniss. She hears gunfire in the distance and freezes, but then forces herself to go on. Be brave.

She walks with no sense of time, no idea how long it’s been. Where are you? she wants to scream but can’t, needs to keep looking. Hyper alert ears hear the sound of feet on gravel and Madge stops, flattening herself against the nearest wall. She quiets her breathing, eyes trained on the direction those feet are coming from and she aims, trains her weapon on the narrow opening between two houses. Who is it? Training plays on a loop in her head, every lesson running a marathon through her brain. It’s going to be okay, you can do thi-

Madge almost screams at the sight of him, not words, just sounds strangled by feeling. Instead she tumbles towards him, feet crunching over rocks and broken glass. Rory mouths her name but is smart enough not to say it and they meet in a cloud of kicked up dust, her eyes stinging from dirt and tears. It’s not so much a hug as it is a mushing of bodies, lumpy gear jabbing each other painfully. It’s quick because time is always running so far ahead of them and they hurry for cover, fingers knotted in each other’s sleeves.

Rory finds a door with a broken lock and they sneak inside someone’s hollow home, all shadows and left behind memories. They move without having to plan it out loud, Rory dragging a springless sofa in front of the door, Madge closing ratty curtains. Rory sits on the couch, sinks low into the cushions and Madge is sure the peacekeepers will trace them by the thunder beat of her heart. She shuffles over to sit beside him, the seat wilting beneath her weight and she looks at him, a smudged coal drawing in the dark.

“What’s the plan?” he whispers and Madge pushes her tongue against her teeth. What is the plan?

“Any idea how many peacekeepers are out there?” she eventually responds, the silence a bit too much like a noose. He shakes his head. Madge drums her fingers on her leg. What’s the plan? She stands and peeks out a window at the street, notes the narrow alleys at either end.

“Okay,” she starts, turning back to Rory with determination weighing in her bones. “We have a good vantage point from these windows for each end of the street. If we can lure the peacekeepers here, they’ll bottleneck and we might be able to pick them off, or at least thin them out.”

Her words are sure but her throat is dry and Rory nods, tongue running over his lips. Of course, how exactly they’re going to lure the peacekeepers is another question. Rory gives her a thoughtful look.

“How do you feel about explosions?”

*

“Ready?” Rory asks, not bothering to whisper anymore. After all, they want the peacekeepers to find them now. Madge looks at him and his face is shiny with sweat, there’s dirt beneath her nails but we can do this. She nods.

The blast rocks the street and Madge grits her teeth, crouched behind the furniture they’d pushed against the walls as extra cover. With her ears still ringing, she jumps up and pops open her window, trusts that Rory is doing the same. She trains her gun on her end of the street and tries to calm her hectic breathing. She fails.

“So now we wait,” comes Rory’s voice and Madge nods.

Now they wait.

*

They arrive on Rory’s side first.

Madge nearly jumps out of her skin when he opens fire and forces herself to stay focused on her side of the street. Her ears shake and shudder with the sounds of death and gunfire, her teeth biting down into her lip. Stay focused, don’t look. Sweat slides over her skin, stretched so tight it might snap apart any minute.

“Fuck,” Rory swears and Madge almost turns, is half a second from going to help when peacekeepers start to file in from her side of the street. Panic, so hot it’s almost cold, spills from her head into the rest of her, filling her up from top to bottom. She pulls the trigger with slick fingers and the kick back rattles her organs. Madge has never shot a real person before, tries not to focus on the fact that she’s killing someone’s child, sibling, parent, spouse. There’s a loud, angry lion roar in her ears, drowning out the world and she remembers Janah Malleefowl and a smoking gun, tries not to remember her body in the street.

The peacekeepers return fire and Madge ducks, bullets piercing weak wooden walls and lodging in her furniture barricades. Then she’s up, firing, taking cover and up again. A few bullets come so close she can feel their heat and even a few peacekeepers creep near, but she refuses to think about that, does what she needs to make it out alive. She moves like a machine, her training working without conscious thought. Don’t think, just do.

She pulls the trigger and nothing comes out, her gun empty and she drops down to her knees, tries to numb the fear in her blood as she reloads. When she stands there’s a peacekeeper so close to her window she could reach out and touch him, the white of his armour glowing in the midday sun. For a second Madge is blind from both the glare and the memory of peacekeepers in the sun, fists and boots tattooing her skin. She’s saved only because the peacekeeper in front of her didn’t expect her to stand so suddenly, isn’t quite ready to fire. Madge pulls the trigger and her bullet buries deep in his armour (his and all of theirs, all those peacekeepers she can never forget), blood spraying out and she can taste it in her mouth. Her stomach roils with heat but she doesn’t have time for that right now.

Win, you have to win

*

She could have been there for years when the last peacekeeper falls, her gun nearly slipping from trembling hands. It takes her a minute to hear it over the bang, bang, bang of her heart against her ribs but Rory’s stopped shooting too. Madge turns to him with a quivering smile, relief like water over burnt skin. We did it!

But Rory isn’t smiling as he turns and time seems to slow down, seconds stretching into hours. There’s a frown on his face, red, red, red spreading across his shirt and...no.

Madge would scream but can’t, words choked in her throat.

Rory’s been shot.

*

She can’t breathe and Rory wavers as he touches his wound, fingers coming away scarlet. He slumps sideways, shoulder knocking into the wall and slides down to the floor. Madge trips towards him, her knees cracking angrily against the floor. She ignores the pain and crawls over to him, her hands shaky as she grabs his elbow, curls one hand around his wrist.

“Rory,” she murmurs, doesn’t know what to say.

“How...how bad is it?” he mumbles, voice rising and fading. Madge swallows. She can’t tell through all his clothes, can only see the blood, so, so much blood.

“Here,” she whispers, taking his hand, “put pressure on it. I’m going to see if I can find any first aid supplies.”

Madge stands on quaking legs and has to take a moment to breathe, to relax. It’s going to be okay. Rory’s going to be okay. She goes to the bathroom first, the house here laid out similar to her own. She ignores the homesickness as she grabs every clean towel she can find, has to stay focused on Rory. They don’t seem to have any bandages or disinfectant, but Madge can’t tell if they never did or took it with them when they left. She shakes her head. Not that it really matters, what matters is there’s none. She goes to the kitchen and fills a bowl with water from the sink, needs something at least to clean him up. She settles down beside him again and can’t really tell in the gloom, but she thinks he may be getting paler.

“So?” he asks as she pulls away his hand, his fingers already stained red.

“Don’t move, I’m going to have to cut away some of your shirt.”

He nods weakly and Madge feels her rib cage tighten. She pulls out her knife and forces her hand to steady as she cuts the fabric around the gunshot wound. His blood is thick and dark, oozing steadily out of him and Madge feels a little like puking. She uses her hands to tear his shirt a bit more and then exhales loudly, the whole bloody mess exposed. It’s on his left side, just missing where she thinks his kidney should be. She puts a hand on his shoulder and gently leans him forward, but sees no exit wound on his back.

“I think the bullet’s still inside you,” she tells him, that thought like a boulder in her gut.

Rory laughs painfully. “Well, shit. You’ll have to...take it out.”

Madge shakes her head quickly, a panicky feeling filling her lungs.

“I can’t, I’ll make it worse.”

“I’ve been shot, I’m not sure...it gets worse.”

Madge bites her lip. You could die, she thinks but doesn’t say. She inhales a shaky breath and places a clean towel in his hand.

“Keep up the pressure,” she tells him and he watches her through half closed eyes. Her whole body trembles as she goes to the sink to clean her knife. She scrubs at her fingers, her nails, her knife with dish soap, eyes welling with tears. She’s no surgeon, knows only the most basic first aid and they need Prim, someone, anyone, who could save Rory. What if I make it worse? She grabs a wooden spoon on the way back and kneels in front of him smelling strongly of lemons. She takes a few deep breaths in the hopes of steadying herself. It doesn’t work.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks and he nods weakly.

“I’m not...gunna lie, I’ve forgotten most of what Prim taught me about emergency first aid, but...I’m pretty sure leaving the bullet in there’s not a good idea...And hey, if this goes terribly wrong and we should have left it in, you can...totally blame me. My bad,” Rory says and tries to smile but Madge can’t return it. He nods again and removes the towel from his wound, Madge flinching at the sight of it. She squeezes the handle of her knife, doesn’t even know where to begin.

“It’s okay,” Rory whispers, “I know...you can do it.”

Madge swallows.

“Here,” she mumbles, placing the spoon between his teeth and for the first time, she can see the worry bright in his eyes. She bends down to get eye level with his wound and leans in close, feels sick as she tries to see the bullet. It’s too far in, not to mention too dark and she leans back, stomach rolling. She scoots in closer and Rory closes his eyes, unable to watch.

“Ready?” she asks, grabbing his shoulder to steady him and he nods jerkily. Slowly, carefully, she inserts her knife into his wound, hoping she’ll hit the bullet with the blade. It’s probably a terrible idea, but she has no idea what else to do. Rory tenses under her fingers, teeth digging into the spoon. He grunts in obvious pain, eyes screwed up and nose wrinkled but Madge keeps going, can’t stop now. And then finally, she feels it.

“Got it,” she breathes in triumph and pulls out the knife, Rory wincing. “Got it,” she repeats and figures she’ll give him a minute to recover. He’s breathing heavily and she realizes there’s no way she’ll be able to dig out a bullet from his wound, it’s too small and narrow. She bites her lip.

“If you want me to take it out, I’ll have to make the opening bigger.”

He exhales loudly and leans his head back.

“Do it.”

Madge nods. She takes his shoulder again and Rory clenches his teeth around the spoon. Her knife is steady even if her heart isn’t when she starts to cut into his skin, widening the bullet wound. Rory groans, hands tightening into fists. I’m sorry.

She puts down her knife, the first part of her job done and closes her eyes for a moment. You can do this. She looks at his face, his grimace of pain and then plunges two fingers into his side. He yelps around the spoon and she frowns in sympathy, sorry running over and over through her mind. He is warm and wet, or at least his insides are and Madge fights down the rising tide of bile.

Rory needs me.

She feels it then, fingers grasping at the bullet slippery with Rory. It tries to get away from her but she doesn’t give up, forces it to come out and Rory hisses as her fingers leave his body. The bullet, so tiny but so dangerous, slips from her fingers to the floor as Rory spits out his spoon.

“Fuck” he moans, “fuck fuck fuck”.

“I’m sorry,” she says around a sob, mopping at his wound with a wet towel. There are tears in the corners of his eyes and his breath hisses out of him like steam. She takes another towel, this one clean and dry and places his hand over it.

“Come on, we need to keep up the pressure and stop the bleeding.”

Rory nods and pushes down on the towel with shaking fingers.

“Thanks,” he breathes, voice so very faint. “That fucking sucked. Don’t...don’t ever try it.”

Madge half-laughs, half-sobs.

“I won’t.”

I hope.

*

(the battle for District Two wages on, peacekeepers overwhelmed by the sheer number of rebels, all ready to die for their freedom)

(Snow receives dispatches in his Capitol, of rebel footholds, of dead peacekeepers and defectors, Two’s citizens who aren’t so keen to fight for a king they’ve never met)

(resistance members are slaughtered in droves but still they come, cannot, will not give up)

(it is a war heavy on casualties, but slowly, Two falls)

*

The sun travels to the other side of the house, casting them in even deeper shadows and Madge pulls her gaze away from a collection of family photos on the wall to check on Rory.

He’s bled through his towel again and she feels helplessness strangle her heart, because she has no idea what she’s supposed to do. She gives him a fresh one and he offers her a fragile smile, his skin graying.

“I’m...good,” he answers her unspoken question and she doesn’t believe it for a second. She touches his cheek and he coughs violently, his whole body convulsing. Madge grabs him and holds him, his horrible hacking echoing in her ear. His forehead leans on her chin and she keeps him close, tries to keep him together through the spasms. He flops backwards when he’s done, nearly boneless and Madge looks down to find almost-black blood clots in her lap.

She blinks and then stands on unsteady legs, hurries over to the bathroom. The vomit comes quick and hot, scalding its way up her throat. She grips the edge of the toilet bowl as she heaves, her insides seeming determined to be on the outside. She stays like that for a moment after she’s done and then forces herself up. Rory needs her to hold herself together and she turns on the faucet, ignores her reflection as she scrubs away his blood.

Someone’s going to find us soon, they have to.

The sun burns orange through a window as Madge makes her way back into the living room, nausea swirling in her gut. She goes to kneel beside Rory and something’s wrong. His hand is no longer applying pressure, lies useless instead, his whole body mostly limp. His head lolls a bit to the side, breathing shallow and Madge feels fear start to burst in her brain.

“Rory, hey, wake up, don’t fall asleep. Stay with me,” she begs, grabbing his shoulders and his eyelids flutter but don’t quite open. Madge almost panics but forces it down and threads her fingers through his and pushes down, won’t let him bleed out on the floor.

“Talk to me Rory, tell me a story,” she insists and he gurgles a little. She squeezes his hand and moves up against his side, presses herself as close to him as she can. “Please, Rory, talk to me,” she whispers against his ear.

“I’m o...kay” he manages, voice thin but there and Madge buries her face in his shoulder. She can feel his every shuddery breath and places a hand over his heart, needs to feel it beating. She needs to keep him awake, needs to keep him conscious.

“Keep talking, you need to keep talking, okay?”

He nods and forces his head upright, the strain clear in all his muscles.

“Sor...ry. What should I...say?” he asks, sounding exhausted.

“Anything. A secret, something nobody else knows.”

He pauses and Madge is almost afraid he’s passed out when “Birds,” he mumbles and Madge blinks.

“Birds?”

“Bi...rds freak me...freak me out,” he forces past his lips and Madge feels her eyebrows go up.

“I’ve never...never told anyone, could you...could you imagine if Vick found out?  He’d never’ve....let that go...right?”

Madge nods, a small smile touching her lips.

“He and Gale...hah, they’d have loved to know....I’d never hear the...end of it...”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promises.

“I...I told Peony,” he admits and Madge squeezes his fingers again. “I always, always wanted to...go out into the woods with Gale, but...fuck, those birds. They were...just so...creepy. She didn’t laugh though...she was terrified of...fish, can you believe it? Fish.”

He takes a pause to catch his breath, body rattling and Madge tightens her grip on him.

“I took her...to the pond when...when we were fifteen, I...I think. She spent...a half hour or something, just...standing at the edge, afraid she’d see one. She got...knee deep and then...screamed, sure she’d felt one...I’ve never...never seen someone move so quick. Fuck...she’d be so pissed I told you...”

Rory smiles a little bit and Madge feels her own widen.

“Vick...Vick would be so angry right now. He and Posy...they’d give me so much shit for getting...shot like this. Hah...they’d be so mad...”

Madge’s eyes sting with tears, her whole body sagging.

“And Peony...and Prim, they used to...do one hell of a...of a tag team. I’d be in so much...trouble...”

Madge sniffles and sits up to get a new towel, the current one soaked through with blood. Rory inhales a few times, the sound of it wet and rattling.

“I wish...I wish they were here to...yell at me,” he admits quietly, eyes downcast and Madge squeezes the towel in her hands. “I...miss them. Vick and...and Peony. I miss them...”

“I know,” she whispers, tries to stem the blood flow with a clean towel. “I know you do.”

He nods, breathing so laboured Madge can barely hear it, but she does, just, just manages to. There’s something, someone, many someones outside, footsteps carefully stepping on the dirt street. She tenses, fingers tightening on her gun but then deflates like an old balloon.

The door opens and standing there, lit up like a superhero by the setting sun, is Katniss.

Madge bursts into tears.

*

Medics swarm over Rory like buzzing bees and Madge leans against a wall with weak knees. He’ll be okay now, they’ll make him okay. Katniss comes to stand beside her and doesn’t say anything, just places a hand on Madge’s shoulder and squeezes. Madge wipes at a few tears still dribbling down her cheeks and puts her hand on top of Katniss’. We’re all okay.

“That’s one hell of a graveyard out there,” Katniss says and Madge had nearly forgotten about all the peacekeepers she’d killed, had been so entirely wrapped up in Rory. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods instead, wonders if it made any difference in the grand scheme of things.

“Most of Two is ours,” Katniss continues and Madge feels a little lightheaded. “The remaining enemy forces have gone to hide in the mines.”

Madge closes her eyes.

“Do we have any ideas how to get them out?” she asks and Katniss shrugs.

“I’m sure the people in charge are figuring it out. We’re just grunts, no one tells us anything.”

Madge nods again and peeks over in Rory’s direction. She can only make out his left foot, everything else blocked by busy medics but that foot’s enough. He’s okay she tells herself again, desperate for the reassurance.

He’s okay.

*

The next morning Rory is sent away to an impromptu hospital while Madge and Katniss march back to war, ready to stamp out the last of Two’s defenders. The rebel forces converge on the “Nut” the mining mountain where their enemies have taken refuge and Madge hopes they’ll surrender without a fight, but she isn’t holding her breath.

The columns of soldiers shift restlessly and Commander Lyme steps forward, a megaphone clamped firmly in her fist. A tense hush falls over the crowd and Madge can feel her heart pounding, beating up in her throat.

“This is Commander Lyme, representing President Coin and the United Army of Panem. We have no further wish for bloodshed and so, we are willing to offer amnesty to each one of you. Surrender now and come out without your arms and you will not be harmed. I myself am from District Two, and I promise you, I have no wish to spill anymore of our blood.”

Her words echo around the district and no one breathes, waiting for Two’s response.

“This is your last chance, if you do not come out, we will use force and show no mercy. Surrender now.”

Again, her words are met by only silence and Madge feels tight all over, her every nerve about to snap. They wait a few moments, just in case, and then Commander Lyme shakes her head. She lowers her megaphone and steps back, a grim expression on her face. Madge can feel apprehension gnawing at her, lowering over her shoulders like a blanket.

“Brace yourselves!” Commander Lyme suddenly bellows and Madge looks at Katniss in question. Brace ourselves? For what?

(for the very end of district two)

*

The Nut erupts like a volcano, fire shooting from all directions.

Madge screams and she isn’t the only one, the ground bucking beneath their feet. Dirt and rocks burst into the sky, raining down on the soldiers cowering outside, their pale faces making it clear none of them saw this coming. Blast after blast demolishes the Nut, anyone and everyone inside and no mercy Commander Lyme had said and clearly, she’d meant it.

Hovercrafts rumble in the sky, dropping more death on the Nut while bombs somehow hidden inside continue to go off, President Coin’s war machine taking no chances. Dust clouds and pebbles shower down on her and Madge can’t scream anymore, feels numb as the explosions continue, reducing the mountain to rubble and destroying the Capitol’s last allies in the Districts.

She watches fire kiss the clouds, imagines the screams of those burning away inside their sanctuary turned tomb. That’s enough she wants to wail, but doesn’t, maybe isn’t as compassionate as she wants to believe.

(that’s enough, but is it? Is it? asks the darkness in her heart)

(Madge doesn’t listen for the answer)

*

District Two is done, they’ve won and Madge is hard and cold all over.

She can’t imagine victory is meant to feel like this.

*

The so-called hospital smells like so many things Madge wishes she could ignore, lights dim and grimy. It’s understaffed, underequipped but it’s better than nothing and that’s what she keeps telling herself as she sits by a slumbering Rory’s bedside, his limp fingers clammy in hers. She’d love to sleep too, feels like she could for a whole year, but she’s afraid to close her eyes, afraid of what she might wake up to. The medics had patched him up as best they could, but he’s still breathing heavy, his skin far too pale. She kisses his grimy knuckles and please be okay Rory, please, please be okay.

“I found Leevy,” Katniss reports, coming up behind her and Madge sighs with relief.

“Is she okay?”

Katniss comes around to the end of Rory’s bed and nods. “She broke her arm, but otherwise, she’ll be okay.”

They both stare down at Rory, the struggling rise and fall of his chest.

“I heard a rumour too,” Katniss begins and Madge tears her eyes away from Rory.

“About what?”

Katniss manages a smile, tired and a little rough in the corners. “That we’ll be going home soon.”

Home

Madge feels her tiredness start to melt away.

We’re going home.

*

Madge holds Rory’s hand the whole way back to Thirteen, promises she‘ll never ever let go.

*

Everyone is herded to Thirteen’s overcrowded infirmary when they arrive, no matter how many times they protest they’re alright. Madge has no injuries that need tending, she just needs home, but no one listens. She shuffles alongside those in desperate need of care and daydreams of a shower, her own bed, her family.

Medics, nurses and doctors are waiting for them as they reach the infirmary and quickly begin sorting through them. Madge and Katniss are pushed off to one side, no immediate threats to their health while Leevy and Rory are pulled another way, in need of proper medical attention. Madge sinks to the floor between a box of bandages and a table covered in sterilized tools and leans her forehead on her knees, tired like she’s never been before. She can see Maysie against her eyelids, Gale, her father, Prim and the Hawthornes. Soon, she thinks to herself, soon we’ll be together again.

Time moves or doesn’t, Madge can’t quite be sure. Eventually nurses come to examine them, make sure they really are alright. There’s no available beds so they do their work right there in the corner and Madge keeps her eyes closed as she waits for her turn. I hope Rory’s doing alright.

“Madge,” Katniss hisses, kicking her in the ankle and Madge’s head pops up, assuming it’s her turn. But the nurse is still two people away and then Madge follows Katniss’ line of sight and feels her chest burn suddenly hot.

Gale

He’s standing in the midst of a flurry of activity, her heart pounding out his name. He says hers and she hears it even though he’s much too far away, feels invigorated and refreshed at just the sight of him. She stands and keeps her eyes locked with his, never once looks away and the whole world around them seems to blur, no longer mattering. She walks to him and straight into his embrace, folds into his chest like she’d never left.

“You’re back,” Gale whispers and Madge smiles into his shoulder.

I’m back.

*

Holding Maysilee is better than any medicine, salve or balm, soothes and reassures Madge like nothing else ever could. She feels alive again as she holds her daughter, feels courage and strength pounding through her blood.

“I love you,” she whispers though her tears and this is why she fights, why she has to win.

For Maysilee, Madge thinks she could do anything.

Anything at all.

*

There’s a heap of clothing on the floor and Madge lies on her back in bed, eyes closed and body humming. Gale lies on his side beside her, propped up on an elbow and she can feel him looking at her, kissing her all over with his eyes. The room is dim, her breathing slow and home is not so much a place as a feeling, like a fire boiling her blood.

“They started planning the Capitol invasion the second they heard Two had fallen,” Gale whispers, goose bumps following his fingertips across her skin.

“You’re going,” she murmurs, opening her eyes. Gale nods and his hands stop, a burning hot trail remembering where they’d been.

“This is it,” he tells her and she knows it, feels it like a storm in her chest. She reaches for his face and pulls him down to her, fills herself with Gale, entirely and completely. This is it his voice echoes as he touches her inside and out, this is the end her heart whispers back.

Soon, this will all be over.

(but for who?)

*

Her father stops by before breakfast the next day, eyes wet and shining.

“Madge,” he breathes when she opens the door and she smiles, her own eyes starting to fill with tears.

“Daddy.”

Neither one of them says anything else, they simply fall into each other’s arms and hold each other tight. Madge laughs into his shoulder as he squeezes her and there’s something magical in this moment, something bright and warm and right.

Are you watching Mama? Us Undersees, we’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it, I promise.

And if she listens with her heart instead of her ears, she’s pretty sure she can hear her mother say I know.

*

Madge has to settle back into her regular routine and it feels so strange, because everything is different now, but also just the same. She works and trains, nightmares nibbling at her mind, memories and could-have-beens lodging in her chest and freezing her all over like ice. Gunfire and blood, Rory’s gray skin, explosions rattling her bones, they’ve taken root inside her but outside everything goes along as it has for months and months, monotonous and never changing. Coin’s daily briefings greet them in the mornings, schedules dictate their every waking hour and everybody just plods along, even as Madge’s whole world tilts a bit on its axis.

Maybe nothing’s changed, she thinks as she stirs her pudding at dinner, maybe I’m the only one who’s different. It’s a bit disorienting, a bit like drifting out to sea but every time she needs an anchor to keep her steady, there’s Maysie tottering on unsteady legs across their room, Gale’s body warm against hers in bed, Posy’s excited whisper at supper, Prim’s gentle hands, her father’s tender smile, Katniss’ steely determination, Peeta’s silly jokes, Hazelle’s comforting eyes, Annie greeting her at breakfast with a breathless “I’m so glad you’re alright”.

There’s a storm raging inside but Madge knows it will pass, the people she loves like sunshine peeking through clouds.

We’re going to be okay.

Deep down in her heart, she believes it. That’s something not even going to war can change.

*

Madge goes with the Hawthornes to visit Rory, feels an odd sort of fear pooling in her gut. She knows he’s okay, on the road to recovery and still it builds, weighing down her limbs. Posy charges ahead of them, barging into the infirmary with determination blazing in her eyes and Hazelle follows after. Madge lags a bit behind with Gale, that odd worry chewing on her skin.

“Something wrong?” Gale asks and she shakes her heads, even as acid crashes against the walls of her stomach. Why am I so nervous? They head inside and the place is crowded with patients and their families, the cost of Two’s liberation a heavy one.

“Looking for Rory?”

Madge turns around and Prim stands behind her, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s pale too, hair dull and Madge thinks she needs a break, but then, they all do. Gale turns too and smiles at Prim.

“Yeah, hope he hasn’t been causing you too much trouble.”

Prim laughs thinly, her eyes not lighting up like they used to.

“He’s been great. Well, aside from constantly trying to convince everyone he’s fine to go home that is.”

Gale grins.

“That definitely sounds like him. So, where is the menace?”

Prim’s smile is weak as she points to their right.

“He’ll be along the wall over there. I’d go with you, but I’ve got so much work to do...”

Madge squeezes her arm.

“When are you off?”

“Umm, I don’t know, uh...I haven’t gone home in two days, but we lost so many in Two...” Prim trails off and Madge pulls her in for a quick hug.

“Get some rest Prim,” she pleads and Prim nods against her shoulder.

“I’m okay, really. Now go on, Rory’s waiting.”

Madge and Gale watch Prim as she slouches off into the crowd, hearts heavy.

“She’s an Everdeen, they’re tough. She’ll be okay,” Gale says and Madge nods, wishes she could believe it. They head in the direction Prim pointed, past so many beds of injured men and women, before they see the Hawthornes. Rory is sitting up in bed, colour back in his cheeks and Madge feels some of her tension ease. But she still can’t shake the image of him, limp and nearly lifeless in her arms. She tries to shake her head to clear it and Hazelle pulls Rory in for a hug, holds him so long it’s like she’ll never let go.

“I’m alright, Ma, really. Prim’s taken good care of me.”

Hazelle nods and releases him, except his hand, kept tight in hers. Posy glares at Rory, arms folded across her chest.

“You’re a jerk,” she pronounces and Rory grins.

“Ah, just the homecoming I dreamed of.”

“Really,” Posy insists, fighting the gathering tears in her eyes. “I’d never, ever forgive you if you got yourself killed.”

Rory’s smile softens and he reaches his hand out to hers, squeezes her fingers. “I know.”

Posy nods and bites down on her bottom lip. Her eyes blur with tears and then she flings herself on him, blubbering on his shoulder in a snotty mess.

“Ah come on Posy, I’m okay,” Rory says, patting her back.

“Shut up,” she replies and sits back, rubbing furiously at her eyes. Hazelle wraps an arm around Posy’s shoulders and Rory takes note of Gale and Madge.

“Posy’s right, you are a jerk,” Gale says shaking his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Hey, you got blown up. I don’t think this is quite as bad as that,” Rory counters with a smirk and Madge feels a knot in her chest start to loosen. This is the Rory she remembers, the one they’d missed for so long. Gale rolls his eyes and sits in a chair by Rory’s bedside.

“So, what? Every time I complain about someone doing something, you guys are gunna throw that in my face?”

“Duh.”

Posy giggles a little, Hazelle’s eyes shine and Madge feels a little like she’s floating. Rory looks over at her and smiles warmly, less the little boy who lost everything, and more the handsome young man he should’ve been allowed to be.

“I’m glad you were there with me,” he says, taking her hand and Madge feels tears build in her eyes. She wishes she didn’t always cry but this is one habit she can’t seem to break.

“Me too,” she mumbles and Rory grins, that old, old Rory grin, full of mischief and good cheer.

“My hero,” Rory teases with his voice, his eyes bright and sincere and then Madge grabs him, sobbing ridiculously into his chest. Gale laughs and then his arms are around them both, Posy and Hazelle soon joining in.

(and with her eyes closed, she could swear Vick was here too)

*

Preparations begin in earnest, plans drawn up for the final siege.

A manic energy infuses the walls of District Thirteen, breathes life into the people hemmed in underground.

(soon, soon)

*

“So, I’ll be going to the Capitol instead of Leevy,” Thom tells them with a grin over lunch a few days later, Leevy, her arm bound up in a sling, nodding along. Gale sighs dramatically.

“Guess we should say our last goodbyes now,” he tells Madge and Thom rolls his eyes.

“You’re the one who blew up last time,” he retorts, words softened by a grin. Gale opens his mouth to reply but Leevy gets there first.

“How about you watch each other’s backs,” she says and Madge can’t help but nod.

Bring each other home.

Please.

*

Days tick down into hours, their day of reckoning creeping ever closer.

Soon, soon is the promise roaring in the walls of Thirteen, their rebellion ready for its final test.

Soon

*

Gale holds Maysilee in his arms, whispers softly to her and Madge leans against him, presses her cheek to his shoulder. Maysie sleeps soundly and Gale's voice is tender as he talks to her, reassurances and promises in every word.

...when this is over, I'll teach you to swim, to lay the perfect snare...

...we'll go home to Twelve, you'll love the woods...

...I'll remind you when you're older, but always listen to your Nana's advice. You can ignore Uncle Rory and Aunt Posy though...

...I love you...

Madge sighs into his skin, wants to stretch this night out for years. Instead, they have only a handful of hours before he's gone and she closes her eyes, lets the sound of him soothe her ragged edges. He is promising Maysie a million tomorrows and Madge will hold him to it, believes in him and his coming home.

They have only tonight and then the rest of their lives, days and months and years upon years.

Madge believes that.

(she has to)

*

Madge and Gale are quiet as she walks him to the hovercraft, hands linked and bodies brushing.

They’d dropped Maysie off with Hazelle, he’d said all his last goodbyes and now there’s just this walk, this one walk before he’s gone, off where she can’t follow. There are other people walking the same way but Madge barely notices them, is entirely focused on Gale and every last second she has with him.

They reach the hangar bay and families mill about, exchanging kisses and final farewells. She can see Peeta and Katniss nearby, whispering in each other’s ears and then Gale turns to face her, hands resting on her waist. She wraps hers around his neck, hands playing with the hair at the back of his head and tries to smile. Words crowd up inside her and Gale presses his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he murmurs and Madge tilts her head up, lips ghosting over his.

"Come back to me," she breathes into him and he tightens his hold on her waist, their hearts pressed together and beating in tandem. She kisses him with breathless abandon and this is not goodbye.

She can taste a thousand words on his tongue, passed silently between their lips. He will be back and Madge gathers her courage around herself like armour as he starts to pull away. His fingers catch hers and she squeezes slightly, burns the feel of him into her flesh. She inhales and watches him walk away, off to join the others and Peeta comes up beside her, slips his arm around her shoulders. She slides hers around his waist as they watch their soldiers head off to war, the final battle of them all.

I love you Madge thinks to their backs, i love you i love you i love you.

Gale turns back for a moment and Madge smiles, wants what could be his final look at her to be something worth remembering. Leevy comes up on her other side, hand finding hers and this is it.

The end is here.

(please, please let it be the Capitol's end)

(not ours)

(please, not ours)

*

(the end is here, not only in the Capitol but in Thirteen too)

(the Rebellion is launching their last strike but so is Snow)

(and this time, it really is winner take all)

*

Only one chapter left!! Thanks for sticking with me through all this, you guys are the best! :)

[sbknews]

Binder pulls off an all-time great on KTM home turf

The South African gambles big and takes the house with a stunning wet win on slicks in Spielberg. Fortune favours the brave! That certainly rings true this Sunday but it takes more than bravery to wrestle a MotoGP™ bike around a wet track on slicks, with a race win on the line, in your factory's home race. It also takes some serious skill and talent. But Brad Binder (Red Bull KTM Factory Racing) had the perfect mixture of each to take victory in the Bitci Motorrad Grand Prix von Österreich, the South African disappearing down the start finish straight alone to hold his nerve as those around him peeled into pitlane in an all-time classic flag-to-flag. He somehow pulled it off for a second premier class win and the first for the Red Bull KTM Factory Racing team on home turf: Sunday rider, on many occasions, is the highest of compliments. Behind the sheer daring of the man in the lead, the fight for second was instead an electrifying charge from those who made the opposite gamble. In the end, it was won by Francesco Bagnaia (Ducati Lenovo Team) as the Italian put on a show that, on nearly any other Sunday, would have likely delivered him a maiden MotoGP™ win. And behind him, Styrian GP winner and rookie Jorge Martin (Pramac Racing) found some more magic, another who switched to wets and charged through to make it work. It started well for the Spaniard too and it was Martin took the holeshot, the rookie once again solid under the added pressure of pole, with Fabio Quartararo (Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP) and Johann Zarco (Pramac Racing) getting a little too close for comfort and heading wide - allowing Bagnaia through into second. And as the White Flag came out to show some spots of rain, meaning riders were allowed to change bikes, Bagnaia took over at the front and Marc Marquez (Repsol Honda Team) found himself the sole Honda in a Ducati armada at the front. Quartararo dropped down to sixth behind Jack Miller (Ducati Lenovo Team), although he did hit back as Joan Mir (Team Suzuki Ecstar) watched on behind that duel. Bagnaia pounded on at the front, with Martin trying to attack but losing out from the move. So Bagnaia it remained, with Quartararo charging back through into second and even taking the lead as the rain flags came out... again. But Bagnaia muscled back through at Turn 1, and Marc Marquez homed in on El Diablo to boot. Bagnaia, Quartararo, Marquez, Martin and Zarco marched on, with Mir then battling past Miller to become the man on the chase. And soon enough the top three started to pull away, Mir reeled in the Pramac riders, and the Brad Binder Sunday charge was well underway as the South African homed in on Miller. From tenth on the grid, the number 33 was on the way. Suddenly, drama then hit for a frontrunner as Zarco crashed out. Sliding off at Turn 9, the Frenchman's Championship charge took a dent as he couldn't get back on either. And not long after, Quartararo headed a little wide... allowing Marquez to get back on the chase after Bagnaia. And with 7 to go, the eight-time World Champion struck for the first time. Bagnaia hit back, but a few cards were on the table. With five to go, and the rain flags still out, the first gamble: Miller and Alex Rins (Team Suzuki Ecstar) pitted, rolling their dice earlier than the rest as Bagnaia continued on at the front. But what had started to seem a clear trio was fast becoming a six-man freight train as Martin and Mir homed in, and the Jaws music could start to fade in: Binder was coming. The South African didn't win on on one gamble. With 4 to go, Binder was on the scene, Martin was already past Quartararo for third, and Bagnaia headed wide at Turn 1, giving Marc Marquez the lead. In the braking zone for Turn 3, Martin screeched up the inside of Bagnaia, and then Quartararo pulled off the perfect dance between madness and excellence to shoot past both, back into second. The shuffle continued, and the rain got heavier and heavier. By the time the six-rider train reached the pit entry, there was a clear decision for five of them: it was time to change. So Marquez, Bagnaia, Martin, Quartararo and Mir headed in to swap... and a lone KTM swept round the final corner and tucked in down the main straight. Binder was going all in. Out of pitlane, the five were Marc Marquez leading Bagnaia - and both immediately hammering it - with Martin next up, Mir in fourth of the group and Quartararo losing out slightly at the rear of the train. But Bagnaia headed in hot at Turn 3 and lost out to Martin... and then Marc Marquez slid out. A lowside at Turn 1 saw the number 93 lose a shot at the podium, with Bagnaia leading Martin and both taking over in the fight back through. Mir and Quartararo also headed well wide, with the clock ticking and just under 2 laps to go. When he made the decision to stay out, Binder had been a few of seconds ahead of Aleix Espargaro (Aprilia Racing Team Gresini), who also gambled on slicks and was in second. By the time the number 33 crossed the line to start the penultimate lap, the South African was 7 clear. Starting the final lap, the gap was over 11. Bagnaia and Martin, meanwhile, started that final lap in eighth and ninth. And by halfway round, the two were cutting through Binder's fellow gamblers like there were two categories on track. Second and third were locked down well before the final corner, with the two pushing to perfection to cut the gap. Ahead of them, though, arguably the wrong decision was turned into the perfect hand in the right hands. Binder's final lap saw him suffer a couple of moments, but he had somehow pulled it off. In the rain, in KTM's backyard, with the brakes suffering in the conditions and the tyres the opposite of the weather, the South African made a little more history. And this time around, it wasn't a statistical milestone, it was pure, instant legend: add bravery and stir. Behind Binder's miracle ballet and Bagnaia and Martin's charge to the podium, there was plenty to sort out. Mir made it home in a solid fourth place to make some good gains in the standings, with Luca Marini (Sky VR46 Avintia) making some magic for fifth place on slicks. Iker Lecuona (Tech3 KTM Factory Racing) had been ahead of both and in podium contention but dropped to sixth, the Spaniard getting a little less reward for his earlier bravery than he likely hoped for, but he did hold off Quartararo as the Championship leader came home seventh. Nine-time World Champion Valentino Rossi (Petronas Yamaha SRT) was in podium contention too before the final lap and he finished eighth, but some good points for the Doctor, who was also highly entertained by the shuffle and the challenge. Alex Marquez (LCR Honda Castrol) took ninth, with Aleix Espargaro ultimately completing the top ten. Miller's early gamble didn't pay off and he finished in P11, ahead of Danilo Petrucci (Tech3 KTM Factory Racing) by almost nothing. Takaaki Nakagami (LCR Honda Idemitsu) was next up, with Rins a little further out of touch behind. The final point went to Marc Marquez, who may have gambled and lost, but still very much didn't give up. And so a new legend is written into the history books, with another win on home turf for KTM and a second premier class victory for Binder. How they did it, and how the South African forced fortune to favour the brave, will be a long time in the memory of MotoGP™ fans, and likely a few of the number 33's rivals. Quartararo remains the points leader, Bagnaia gains ground and Zarco loses some... as Mir moves onto equal points with Pecco in second. What will Silverstone bring? We'll find out in two weeks.... MotoGP™ podium 1 Brad Binder - Red Bull KTM Factory Racing - KTM - 40:43.928 2 Francesco Bagnaia - Ducati Lenovo Team - Ducati - +12.991 3 Jorge Martin* - Pramac Racing - Ducati - +14.570 *Independent Team rider Brad Binder: "When I saw everyone tipping into the pits, I saw an opportunity and I decided I'd rather risk it and crash rather than maybe get top five. It's a big Grand Prix for us, for KTM, for Red Bull. I've won here in Moto2 and I know what it's like to win here at their home GP. To do it in MotoGP is an unbelievable feeling. Huge gamble, but I'm really glad it paid off. "I knew when there were 3 laps to go, if I didn't come in when they did I wasn't going to come in at all. And yeah, I made it to the end somehow! The biggest problem was no brakes, the carbon brakes were cold and as soon as the rear tyre cooled off I couldn't open the throttle either. Somehow I made it round the track, and a couple of times I thought it was over but I kept it up straight. So happy, so happy this gamble paid off." For more MotoGP info checkout our dedicated MotoGP News page Or visit the official MotoGP website www.motogp.com Follow us on social media: Instagram: @superbikenews Twitter: @sbknews Facebook: @superbikenews SBN Directory - add your motorcycle related business here

MotoGP™ podium L-R: Bagnaia, Binder and Martin

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Martin reigns the Red Bull Ring for magnificent maiden win

The wait is over for Pramac Racing as the rookie puts in a stunner for his first premier class win and the team's first with Ducati. Ladies and gentlemen, there's a new MotoGP™ winner in town! From injury to pole position to top step of the podium, comeback stories don't get much better than Jorge Martin's (Pramac Racing) first weekend back from the summer break. The Spaniard broke the lap record for pole on Saturday and then put in an imperious performance to outpace reigning Champion Joan Mir (Team Suzuki Ecstar) on Sunday, taking his first premier class win and becoming the first Independent Team rider on a Ducati to win a MotoGP™ race. And for Pramac Racing, the wait is over as that victory with Ducati finally comes their way. Mir took second and his best result of the season so far, with Championship leader Fabio Quartararo (Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP) completing the rostrum to do some impressive damage control in the standings at a tougher venue for Yamaha. The first race start of two saw Francesco Bagnaia (Ducati Lenovo Team) take the holeshot as Mir and Martin slotted in behind, but it wasn’t long before a huge moment of drama would interrupt proceedings. A couple of laps later, MotoGP™ Legend and wildcard Dani Pedrosa (Red Bull KTM Factory Racing) slid off out of Turn 3 – and his bike was then struck by Lorenzo Savadori (Aprilia Racing Team Gresini). Both riders were up and ok after the crash, but the bikes burst into flames and the Red Flag came out immediately – leaving a clean-up job to do. Savadori headed for a check up and was found to have fractured his right malleolis, therefore out of the restart – but Pedrosa was able to get back out. After a considerable wait for the track to get cleaned and race ready, a new distance of 27 laps was set and the grid lined up again. But again, more drama hit – this time for Maverick Viñales (Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP) as the number 12 couldn’t get away on the Warm Up lap and was forced into pitlane. That left a gap on the grid, and the lights then finally went out for the second time. This time around, Martin took the holeshot but Jack Miller (Ducati Lenovo Team) struck at Turn 3, with Mir slotted into third and a gap back behind the trio already. Quartararo was on the chase, with another – after the same in the first start – moment between Marc Marquez (Repsol Honda Team) and Aleix Espargaro (Aprilia Racing Team Gresini) slightly shuffling the pack just behind as El Diablo took the inside line and the room ran out. At the front though, Miller led Martin led Mir, but Quartararo was homing in – and closest Championship challenger Zarco was the last man going with the front group. Bagnaia, meanwhile, had dropped behind both LCR Honda Castrol’s Alex Marquez and LCR Honda Idemitsu’s Takaaki Nakagami. Another rider of note was Brad Binder (Red Bull KTM Factory Racing), as the South African started to ignite his Sunday charge, up into ninth and looking like little would stop further progress. Up ahead, by the braking zone for Turn 3, Martin was into the lead and past Miller though, and Quartararo and Zarco switched and switched back. Mir then got past Miller to get on the chase for victory, and a gap started to open up behind the leading duo. By 21 to go, Quartararo moved past the Australian too, and Miller responded at Turn 4 before El Diablo elbowed his way back through. With that, the gap to the lead duo only grew... Quartararo managed to hold on in third, but then more drama hit behind him to assure it. Martin and Mir had disappeared in the distance and Miller was starting to put the pressure on the number 20 in the fight for the podium, but disaster hit for the Australian with 10 laps to go. Suddenly sliding out at Turn 7, his rostrum hopes were over and the Yamaha ahead was released into some solid breathing space. From there on out, the key question became: Martin or Mir? But as the laps ticked down, the answer became clearer. The number 89 was edging away, and then a mistake from Mir at Turn 3 just took the gap over a second… and that was that. If Martin could keep it clean, his first premier class win was there for the taking. Keep it clean he did. Mir did too from there on out, but it wasn’t quite enough as the Pramac Racing rider in the lead just pounded on. Over the line, the comeback fairytale was complete and Martin took the flag with a second and a half in hand, making some incredible history with an emotional victory, from a pole position lap record no less. Mir was forced to settle for second but was right back in the hunt – and moved up to third in the standings – with Quartararo a distant but valuable third as Ducati territory didn’t play out that way for his closest challengers in the points. Fourth place, meanwhile, looked set for much of the race. But Brad Binder had other ideas, and the South African absolutely smashed the final lap. Beginning it behind both Nakagami and Zarco, the KTM rider wanted more than sixth and that’s exactly what he got. Dispatching the Japanese rider AND the Frenchman in just one lap, the number 33 took fourth and the honour of top KTM on home turf. Sunday rider can also be a compliment! Nakagami then snatched fifth and Zarco was forced to settle for sixth, losing out some ground to Quartararo. Alex Rins slotted into seventh, with Marc Marquez able to salvage eighth after some dramas for the number 93 on Sunday. Alex Marquez faded in the latter stages to ninth but still took a valuable top ten… as did Pedrosa, in the end. Bagnaia was given a time penalty for not taking a Long Lap – he exceeded track limits – and that puts the number 26 back into the top ten in Grand Prix racing. An impressive achievement for any rider, but especially more than two years after retirement. Enea Bastianini (Avintia Esponsorama) took P12 and managed to stay ahead of Valentino Rossi (Petronas Yamaha SRT), who in turn held off Luca Marini (Sky VR46 Avintia). Iker Lecuona (Tech 3 KTM Factory Racing), after a stronger start, completed the points in P15. So that’s all she wrote for Styria… but not for the Red Bull Ring. The stunning venue welcomes MotoGP™ back for more next weekend for the Austrian Grand Prix, and there’ll be a new premier class winner lining up: Jorge Martin. Will the deck shuffle again or can he go back to back? We’ll start to see some answers on Friday! MotoGP™ podium 1 Jorge Martin - Pramac Racing - Ducati - 38:07.879 2 Joan Mir - Team Suzuki Ecstar - Suzuki - +1.548 3 Fabio Quartararo - Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP - Yamaha - +9.362 *Independent Team rider Jorge Martin: "I can't believe it, for sure I think I still don't believe it so I'm still not so excited! What I did today was amazing, I kept a really constant pace throughout the race, in the same tenth, and I was super focused. Even if I made some mistakes, my target was to win the race. Joan was impressive today too, he was behind me almost all the race but in the last laps I tried a bit more to brake a bit harder even if the front tyre was destroyed, and I could take a gap for the lead. On the last laps I was thinking a lot of things, about everything and everyone who helped me to arrive here and that's why I was a bit worse in the last laps! But I had the gap to manage. Thanks to all my family, this is one big step towards my dream of being World Champion. Today is one big step, we're a bit closer and I want to dedicate it to all the people who've helped me and also to my grandfather who is still fighting, this is for you. I hope to keep this line for next weekend, it'll be more difficult but I think we still have some margin to work and we'll try for the win again." For more MotoGP info checkout our dedicated MotoGP News page Or visit the official MotoGP website www.motogp.com Follow us on social media: Instagram: @superbikenews Twitter: @sbknews Facebook: @superbikenews SBN Directory - add your motorcycle related business here

MotoGP™ podium L-R: Mir, Martin and Quartararo

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Max Cook wins to take the fight for the Cup to the wire

Max Cook took an impressive wet weather victory in the penultimate race of the season at Valencia, recovering from a more difficult start to work his way to the front and then pull away in style. 29 points down going into the round, Cook needed to score big to stay in with a shout at taking the inaugural British Talent Cup and that he did, over four seconds clear of points leader and key rival Rory Skinner by the flag. Skinner took that sensible second and played the long game in the tough conditions to make his advantage 24 points heading into the final race – and Skinner vs Cook is now the duel that will decide the Champion after a crash for former contender Thomas Strudwick in Race 1.

Off the line it was Strudwick who took the holeshot, confident in the conditions and putting in an impressive first lap. Behind him Skinner played it a little safer to slot into second from pole, with Cook getting swallowed up into the middle of the top ten in fifth. He wouldn’t stay there long, however, putting the hammer down and making his way through as others fell foul of conditions.

The first key name to fall from the fight at the front was Fenton Seabright, with the star of Round 1 taking a lowside tumble and up and ok but out of the leading group. Then there was an even bigger shockwave that changed the colour of the race, with Strudwick suddenly falling out the lead and out of contention for the Cup. Rider ok but left to dejectedly walk away, the crash leaves him fighting for second overall in the final race of the season.

That crash had left Skinner at the front, but as the laps ticked on, Cook was free of the pack and had recovered from his tough start to get into a serious rhythm. From 3.8 seconds the gap began to shrink and shrink until Cook was tucked in behind the number 11, and the Englishman made a move the next time down the Start-Finish straight. Safely ahead, he then unleashed his rhythm once again and began to pull away until crossing the line in clear air.

Skinner didn’t fight back and took a safe 20 points to extend his lead and leave himself in the driving seat for Saturday’s season-closer, with the fight for third then lighting up the track. An incredible battle throughout much of the race saw Joshua Whatley come out on top and the 13-year-old pulled the pin to perfection. Four tenths clear of the multiple-rider scrap heading into the final lap, Whatley took the podium by eight tenths at the flag for another impressive rostrum finish.

The man to just lose out was Cameron Horsman in P4, with Jack Nixon completing the top five. Franco Bourne was a little further back to take sixth, with Brian Hart in P7. Jonathan Campbell, Harvey Claridge and Charlie Farrer completed the top ten, the latter despite a crash. The rest? Testament to the conditions, they joined Strudwick and Seabright on the list of DNFs.

24 points is Skinner’s lead now as the last race of the season gets closer on Saturday – and Cook is the only man in with a shout at stopping him. How can he do that? Simply by winning and hoping the Scot makes a mistake…find out how it plays out and who takes the inaugural crown from 16:15 local time in Valencia (GMT +1).

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