Pretty Ridiculous. YOU!! READ THIS!!

[Sage]

So, I'm trying my hand at writing a novel.

I decided to shelve the trilogy that's been brewing in my head for years - I guess for fear I'll screw it up - and instead, I'm trying something a little bit easier first.

Inspired by Initial D (Yeah, I'm a dork, I know), I'm gonna do a novelistic interpretation of the racing world, since I can't draw. I have my own distinct vision for what should happen, but much of the storyline hasn't yet been completed.

I've basically got key plot points tossed around and I'm writing to connect the dots. I'm very, very early in this (not even done chapter one), and I might consider posting it here chapter-by-chapter if the interest is existent.

But there is something I need you to do for me:
I thought it'd be neat to use alter-egos of my friends as characters whom the main character would eventually race or whatever. But I needed more characters, and, while I'm creating some of the more important ones from scratch, I thought it'd be neat to ask you guys to create a character representing yourself to appear in the novel.

So, if you're game, what I'd need is a name for your fictional self, and for you to choose a car for your character. The reason I'm asking you to choose the vehicle is because it'll help me reflect a wider range of tastes for autos, and it'll hopefully prevent any one bias toward any particular manufacturer.

The layout is pretty simple:

Name: (eg: Joe Cool)
Car: (eg: Toyota Supra)
Strength (if applicable): (eg: Drag racing/Trail braking/Drift/Etc)
Weakness (if applicable): (eg: Relies on ABS/Is afraid of dirt racing/Etc)

Don't expect me to make your character some kind of uber super driver, cuz I won't. That's pretty much reserved for the original characters.

And also, please, please, please be realistic with a vehicle choice. I'll accept a couple of Skylines, maybe a Viper or Corvette, but don't be picking Enzos and Aston Martins and stuff. Cuz I'll hurt you. Picking a more realistic car that could be modified to become a fast car is something I'd like for you to do. A Fairlady Z, Camaro, or even an M3 is way more believable than a Lamborginhi, you know what I mean?

Finally, yeah, this might not pan out. Especially considering I'm part winging it. But, hey, it's worth a shot, right? Something to do, anyway.

[Jewtastic]

Name: Zane Cobb
Car: VW Jetta
Strenght: Point to Point, Circut
Weakness: Drift, Drag

[Aero]

Name: Matt "Hemi" Taylor
Car: 2000 Chevrolet Camaro
Strength(s): Circuit, Sprint, Drag
Weakness(es): Drift/ Hand braking

[Sage]

Why is his nickname "Hemi" if he drives a Chevy? XD
I'll have to drop the nick since it'd confuse people. =(

[Jesper]

Name: Remy Delacroix
Car: Pontiac Firebird
Strengths: Sprint, Drag
Weakness: Circuit, Drift, braking in general.

That...pretty much sums me up as a driver IRL.

[King Cold444]

Name: Silko Asad
Car: BMW M3 GTR
Strength: Quick on the clutch, Braking, Traffic
Weakness: Understeer, Long Durations, Fiend for High Stakes

[Aero]

Bra, change the name of mine to


Baron Taylor

[Sage]

Name: Silko Asad
Car: BMW M3 GTR
Strength: Quick on the clutch, Braking, Traffic
Weakness: Understeer, Long Durations, Fiend for High Stakes

That's awesome. I just... can't give you the GTR. That's a race car, and it's highly unlikely you'll ever see one parked on the street, let alone be driven along it.

I -can- give you a modified M3 that looks like a GTR?

[Sage]

So, here's the first chapter. Feel free to critique it. In fact, I encourage it. It's still under revision.

- - - - - -

C H A P T E R _ O N E

It was twilight in Kingsborough. A gentle breeze quietly made it’s way through the city, dancing haphazardly back and forth between buildings and out into the winding roads of the mountains surrounding the blazing lights of the metropolis.

All was calm. The few remaining people wandering the streets at this hour seemed to walk with a silent shuffle. Even the engines of the sparsely grouped cars and trucks seemed to chug more softly than usual.

A small group of young men had gathered at the corner of a four-way intersection. An overpass extended eastbound of the intersection, while the road to the north wound along a wide corner, disappearing behind a series of industrial buildings.

A distant sound seemed to rile up the crowd, and the men pushed toward the intersection, but none dared to step into the street. A rather short member of the group, dressed in torn jeans and a baggy, red, hooded sweater, suddenly jumped up, before pointing emphatically toward the curved road to the north.

“Dude!! They’re coming!” he exclaimed. The entire congregation suddenly erupted into a buzz, while two in attendance stepped forward, raising their cellphone cameras in front of themselves.

The sounds of engines roaring shattered the dead quiet of the city, and in moments, a silver Porsche Carrera GT shrieked out from behind the industrial buildings blocking the view of the crowd.

‘Car’ would have been an insulting term for such race-bred elegance on wheels. A swept-back nose with delicate, wrap-around headlights met with an equally laid-down windshield, while seamlessly integrated scoops protruded out from the sides of the incredibly expensive machine. All of this was met at the back of the car by a fairly large - but well-integrated - spoiler, which, along with the large, handsome wheels, completed the look as a breathtaking racing machine.

The all-aluminum V10 screamed along at beyond eight thousand RPM as the tires howled in protest. The driver of the silver German car executed a textbook perfect drift when, suddenly, from behind the buildings, rocketed a bright yellow Corvette Z06.

Much like the Porsche, this car was remarkably aerodynamic. The lines met in the front with an understated ‘beak’, which seemed to reach out to the sharply-designed, fixed headlights. Forsaking the busy additions of spoilers and scoops, the Corvette was much more streamlined. The roof rose and fell, creating two very low-profile ‘bubbles’ above both the driver and passenger seats, and the entire car abruptly ended at the rear, which was squared off and accented with the vehicle’s four signature deep-set, circular tail lights. Additionally, all of the decals and markings had been stripped from the paint.

Amazingly, the brutish, yellow American monster followed the Porsche’s line exactly, and thundered closer, nearly tapping the rear bumper of the Carrera. Jockeying for position, the ‘Vette raced up to it’s redline.

The driver threw a shift, eliciting a piercing shriek from the blow-off valves hidden beneath the carbon fiber hood of the Corvette. The rear tires chirped, and the monstrous sports car drew even closer to the Teutonic supercar.

“Holy shit!! Dude it’s Vaughn’s Corvette!! And he’s racing a-!! Is that a Carrera GT?!” came a shout from the group, while flashes from the cellphones burned into the night sky one after the other.

“That ‘Vette is the sickest thing I’ve ever seen. The whole engine’s built to the nuts, and he’s got just about the sickest tires you can get on the street.” one spectator mentioned to another.

“You really think it’ll take down that Porsche? Who is that guy anyway?” responded the other. But there wasn’t any time.

The two cars broke their rear ends loose, and the pair slid into the intersection and up onto the overpass. The Porsche leveled out, gently slowing it’s slide to the outside. Surprisingly, the Corvette kept a tighter line, and rushed through the inside lane, roaring forward.

Once the two vehicles were nose-to-nose, the driver of the yellow Chevrolet offered a courteous wave and a handsome grin from within he darkened cockpit, before thundering forth, leaving the incredibly capable German supercar behind.

An enormous group had gathered in a parking lot just ahead. Vaughn always drew a crowd when he raced. He was one of the best, bar none. The fact he so easily defeated a 605 horsepower vehicle designed to dominate the track was a testament to that.

With a final, elongated scream of the tires, the Corvette rapidly decelerated, before powering into the parking lot, sliding to a stop, with just barely enough space to keep from crushing those who came to see him.

The Porsche entered far less dramatically. Obviously dejected over his defeat - especially considering his vehicle had cost far, far more in it’s still-factory trim than Vaughn’s Corvette had cost to purchase and modify - the driver of the sleek, German supercar sat in his car, hands on the wheel, staring forward into space for a long moment.

Hopping out of the car, the victor of the match offered little more than a slight wave before gravitating toward a small gathering of men, who were poring over the details of the race, stopwatches, cellphones, and money in hand.

Vaughn was a remarkably handsome, younger driver, who almost always dressed in expensive slacks and a dress shirt. Today was no exception. His overpriced, silver Italian watch sparkled in the light of the street lamps, and his carefully-styled, short brown hair seemed immune to even the most enthusiastic gusts of wind.

Unsurprisingly, the Irish-born man was the object of several women’s attention. It was strange, however. By anyone’s account, he was single, and yet he consistently shrugged off the advances of even the most beautiful girls.

Most people were either unable or unwilling to explain the phenomenon. It was extraordinarily difficult to infer anything from his expression, as his piercing green eyes were always so consistently focused, and they never faltered.

“Yeah, it’s official,” spoke one of the stopwatch-holders. “You broke this run’s record by over eleven seconds. And I’ve never seen you run this route before.”

“That’s ‘cause I haven’t.” Vaughn replied, collecting his winnings - in cash, of course - as he spoke to the ‘officials’.

In actuality, the ones who governed the race were usually enthusiasts of the noble sport of racing, who simply couldn’t race themselves. Often they were the friends of local teams. Even more often, they were without their own cars, or with cars not well-suited to racing, which gave them incentive to involve themselves with timekeeping and other less grandiose aspects of the racing world.

“I guess this is why they call you ‘Top Gun.’” mentioned one official, who immediately received the ire of the Corvette-driver.

“They call me ‘Faoi Lánluas’, and it doesn’t mean ‘Top Gun’, you idiot,” Vaughn’s accent, while normally totally unnoticeable, always began to show through when he was getting worked up over something. “It means ‘Top Speed’, and it’s just a stupid nickname.”

“Whoa. Awesome. What is that, Irish?” replied the official. The well-dressed racer merely stared at him for a moment, with a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Sure. Why not?” he finally managed, before heading off to a waiting group of friends. Immediately recognizable, these friends were also Vaughn’s teammates, and together, their team was one of the absolute strongest in the entire region.

The Porsche driver still hadn’t exited his vehicle, and most seemed to have already forgotten about him. The talk now was on the race that had just occurred, on the Gaelic racer and his team, and on what the spectators would do now that the race was over.

One spectator, in particular, had come alone. He was standing in the crowd, breathless and dumbfounded. This had been the first race the exceptionally young boy had ever watched, and the minuscule taste of motorsports was sure to ingrain itself upon his psyche.

The boy was a mere sixteen years old, with a messy shock of brown hair and eyes of blue. He wore a pair of black cargo pants and a grey zip-up hoody, and his lack of years caused him to stand out rather glaringly.

His name was Kenneth Harris. He was a tenth-grade student and, unfortunately, had very few people he could call ‘friend.’ Naturally, without any group to call his own, he sought to join an existing one.

He had stumbled across this race rather by accident, however, after having decided to take a walk earlier this night. After leaving the local 7-Eleven with a cola in hand, he’d overheard talk of the race, and decided to go investigate, since the location turned out to be very close-by.

It was fascinating. The brown haired student was merely a teen killing time on a Friday night, but it was at that moment that he decided that he wanted to become as good as that Corvette driver.

One day, he dreamed, he would become the best racer Kingsborough had ever seen. The best the world had ever seen. But first, he needed to practice. He would find a popular route and attack it.

Of course, he needed a car first. Ken sighed, finishing the last of his Pepsi before idly discarding the bottle on the sidewalk. Nobody seemed to notice, and he didn’t care. Sighing at length, the boy shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled off.

The easiest solution to his sudden woes would be to get a part-time job, since his parents would never simply buy him a car. But even that would take ages before he could actually afford even the most pitiful set of wheels.

Somehow, he’d have to strike a deal. He wasn’t sure how to bring the issue to his mother; it was a delicate subject. But it didn’t matter right now. It was late, and it was tired, so he began the walk home, leaving the excited buzz of the crowd behind.

[Sage]

Oh!

Yeah, you can still create people for this. The more the better.

[Veritas]

Name: Brian McDougal.
Car: 2007 Nissan 350Z.
Strength: Drifting, handling, circuit running.
Weakness: Drag, close quarters racing, shifting gears in time.

Thanks for letting me participate .

[Jewtastic]

If I could possibly throw in one for a buddy of mine. He turned on drag today and this sprang to mind.

Name: Seth Trombly
Car:As you know I don't know cars, maybe you could suggest a car with "Shit I got to get the hell outta dodge" acceleration.
Strength: Drag, Balls to the wall
Weakness: Drifting

[Sage]

Yeah, it's cool. I need pretty much as many racers as I can get. Chances are I'll run out and need to create more as I go along.

[Sage]

'Fraid not much happens in this part. But you can't just randomly jump to action all the time, right?

Feel free to comment/criticize/suggesterize.

Oh! And I'm calling each part a 'chapter' for now, even though they might not be separated like this later. I'm having trouble properly creating chapters. =\

- - - - -

C H A P T E R _ T W O

Waking up to the blaring noise of a vacuum cleaner was a most unwelcome experience, and Ken made sure to let his displeasure be known with a menacing glare. Nobody was around to see it, but one could rest assured it was of quite the high caliber as far as glares went.

Tossing his pillow at the door with an exasperated moan, he threw off his covers and climbed to his feet, rubbing the fog of sleep from his eyes. He stumbled over to his dresser, having to navigate a maze of dirty clothes, chip bags and other food wrappers, along with assorted video games and CD cases lying about.

Finally, an X-box 360 controller would prove to be his downfall, as he stepped on it, twisted his ankle, and slammed into his dresser with a loud thud and a painful yelp. The vacuuming paused for a moment, and then resumed.

It was fairly common for Ken to hurt himself in the mornings, as he routinely ignored his mother’s insistence for him to clean his room. It wasn’t something he cared about, so he never bothered with it.

The boy most certainly didn’t lack respect for his mother, the two of them merely disagreed on certain issues. In most respects, Ken wasn’t lazy about the house; he couldn’t afford to be, since he and his mother were the only ones who lived there.

His father had been a police officer, shot and killed by a seventeen-year-old drug dealer when Ken was only nine. His brother had joined the air force the day after his eighteenth birthday, and was deployed immediately after he completed basic training six months ago.

The loss of his father had been an extremely painful ordeal, but there was little he could do about it. Eventually, he had gathered up the resilience he needed to push the event away and hid it in the back of his mind, but he had never truly gotten over it.

“Kenny! Get up, already! It’s one in the afternoon!!” shouted his mom from the hallway, as the damned vacuum cleaner’s drone finally died away, leaving the boy in silence. He pulled his dresser drawer open, and withdrew a pair of jeans and a white screen t-shirt with ‘Idiot-Proof’ across the front in black lettering.

Throwing his clothes on, he opened the door and stepped into the hall, totally oblivious to the chaos and disarray that was his hair. His mom, a fairly short, red haired woman, was busy putting away her cleaning supplies.

“There’s a plate for you in the microwave, Kenny,” she quietly announced. “Where were you last night? You were out pretty late.”

“Huh? Oh, uh, nowhere,” came the reply, as the boy popped open the microwave and withdrew a plate of rice and chicken. “Just took a walk.”

“For six hours?” Mrs. Harris retorted with a smirk. She had caught him. For the two of them, it was almost a game. “I doubt that very much.”

“Well, uh,” Ken sighed. “I went to go watch a street race.”

“What?! Why on earth would you do that?! Don’t you know how dangerous racing is, Ken?”

“Hey, it’s not like I was racing. I was just watching, and it was awesome! These two wicked cars were just like, ripping down the road and they were so fast!! I think one was a Porsche!” exclaimed the young teen.

“Well, I still don’t like it. You shouldn’t have been there, it’s dangerous.” his mother contested. She was a very calm, collected woman, and she always laid her points out in a cool, organized fashion. Even if her points were fairly ineffectual.

“Yeah, I guess. What are you up to today?” Ken finally stopped the argument with a change in subject.

“Not a whole lot. I might go out to Anita’s house for a cup of coffee, maybe.” replied Mrs. Harris. Anita was a friend of her’s since the two were in high school. She’d been around while Ken and his older brother grew up, and had been there for their mother after his father had been killed.

“That’s cool. I might go to Brayden’s place later. Maybe just play video games or watch a movie or something.” Ken replied. Brayden Stevenson was his best friend, and had been since soon after they met two years ago.

“Oh, good. Don’t be too late, though. We’ve got church tomorrow, and you’re gonna go, right?” his mother phrased it like a question, but it was an order.

“Yeah, I know. I won’t be gone that long,” the boy answered. “But I was thinking... since, like, we’re not doing too bad, I was wondering...”

“...What?” Mrs. Harris questioned.

“Never mind. I guess I’ll just grab a drink and take off.” Ken decided, heading toward the stairs.

“Alright, see you.” his mom replied as Ken slid down the banister to the main floor. Heading into the kitchen, he pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed an energy drink. Tossing the door shut, he headed out through the front door and into the street of his lower-middle-class suburb.

He paused, quickly chugging his drink, before tossing it into the nearby recycle bin. Breaking into a run, he pounded down the sidewalk and veered off around a corner. Pushing himself harder, he began to run faster, quickly tiring himself.

The run from his house to Brayden’s was a twenty-minute trip, and when he arrived, he was sweaty and completely out of breath. Stumbling up the stairway to the front door, he rang the doorbell and waited patiently, fighting for air with his hands on his knees.

Soon, the door swung open, and a blond teen, no older than Ken, and wearing glasses, answered the door. He was a few inches shorter than the brown haired boy, and was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a yellow t-shirt.

“Oh, hey, Ken. Come on in,” Brayden gestured, stepping aside for his friend to enter the building. “What’s up, man?”

“Not much,” the taller youth answered. “I was just bored, I guess,” he spoke while taking his shoes off, setting them near the door. “You?”

“Eh, not too much. I was playing some game online for a bit. Ate lunch, and then I just sort of... wasted time, I guess.” the blond one replied.

“Cool. Hey, speaking of games, can I borrow some racing games?” Ken suddenly inquired.

“But you hate racing games.” Brayden protested.

“Yeah, I know, but, I wanna get really good at driving really fast, and racing in a video game should help.” the Harris boy explained. Unfortunately, he was incredibly naive to assume that even the best racing simulation was anything at all like the real thing, though Brayden hardly knew any better.

“Uh, why? You just got your driver’s. It’s gonna take a while for you to get better at it. Why do you care, anyway? You’re always saying your mom never lets you borrow the car anyway.” the shorter one inquired.

“Yeah, I know. I wanna get my own car.” Ken announced.

“How’re you gonna do that? You don’t even have a job.” Brayden retorted.

“Okay, fine. I’ll get a job, and then I’ll get a car. I just need to figure out how to get my mom to borrow me the money,” Kenneth put a hand on his chin. “It’s not like I need it for anything,” suddenly, he gasped. “I know how to get it!!”

“How?” Brayden inquired.

“Don’t worry about it, I... I gotta go. I’m sorry, man. I’ll come by some other time, okay??” he excitedly stated, putting his shoes on and hurrying back out the door. His friend waved his goodbye and watched, confused, as Ken sprinted back toward his house.

“What the hell is going on...?” he wondered aloud, before finally turning back and closing the door behind him. Ken sprinted as hard as he could, heading back toward his home.

Bursting through the front door, Ken nearly tumbled over a chair on his way into his house. “Hey, mom!” he exclaimed, tearing into the living room. “Where are you?! I need to ask you something!!”

“I’m in the laundry room,” his mother replied. The boy didn’t even answer. Instead, he hastily made his way into the laundry room, bursting into the doorway and startling his mother. “What’s with the rush?” she inquired.

“Listen, um... since like, it’s so hard for me to get to school in the mornings and... and you’re using the car all the time... can... can you... maybe... help me get a car? I’ll get a job first and I’ll pay for it and-”

“No.” Ms. Harris flatly interjected.

“What?! But-!! Oh, come on! You’ve got such a kick-ass car and I got nothing! It takes me like half an hour to get home from school, plus I can’t go anywhere without getting a ride, and you’re always busy!!”

“Look. If you want to get a job, that’s one thing. But I can’t afford a car.” his mother answered, causing Kenneth’s face to collapse, as though she’d just told him he was dying of cancer.

“I don’t need a BMW like you have. It can be cheap, just as long as it doesn’t suck.” the boy insisted.

“Alright. If you get a job, we can talk about a car. No promises. Okay?” she finally decided.

“Yeah, okay. I... guess I’ll just leave you alone, then.” Ken replied, his tone suddenly devoid of the excitement it had just previously held.

With a sigh, he trudged back into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock on the microwave. Eight o’ clock. He raised an eyebrow for a moment. The day had passed him by at a surprisingly quick pace.

He headed into his computer room and collapsed into the office chair before the fairly mid-range machine. He signed into his computer account and opened his internet browser. The screen displayed a window, which immediately jumped to a search engine.

Kenneth punched in ‘corvette’ into the search bar, and hit the ‘enter’ button. The car had been in his mind since he’d seen it race last night, and he wanted to know more about it. Sadly, the first thing he learned was that it couldn’t possibly be in his price range. How someone could afford one was beyond him.

He leaned back in his chair, and frowned. He didn’t even know where to begin. He just wanted something fast and cheap. Sadly, unbeknownst to him, most vehicles offered either performance or value. Very rarely did they offer both.

The brown haired youth signed out of his account and stared at the log-in screen for a moment. He finally swivelled about in his chair and leapt to his feet, heading off to find a way to while away the rest of his night.

[Sage]

Both chapter one and two have been revised. Added a page to chapter two.

[Kami]

I dunno if you need more, but I looked at the thread so what the hell

Name: Bruce Black
Car: Honda Civic (only because I actually do drive one, but don't worry, it's not riced out)
Strengths: Handling, Shifting, Circuit
Weaknesses: Hot headed, Drag