The stands in the Thunderbolts section were shaking in excitement, the most lively they had been all season. This podium had jolted the fanbase back to life, and they were as happy as ever. Thunder rolled back to the locker room, feeling an immense amount of joy, and was greeted with a champagne shower from their teammates. They hadn’t won the race, nor had they finished second, but their bronze piece of hardware was still something to celebrate.
Bolt stood on a bench. “A toast to the Captain!”
“To the Captain!” The rest of the team cheered. Thunder and Bolt performed their special glass shake, which they called “The Static Shuffle”. Both of them had built up a strong connection over the last two seasons, bringing them together in a way they hadn’t before. Although the team was very split as a group in their first two years, the bond they had formed by now was as strong as ever.
“Thank you. Thank you,” said Thunder. “I’m just as enthusiastic as all of you. We finally got a solid result, and we are out of the bottom of the league. Now, let’s keep this up and go break some curses at Misty Mountain!”
The team erupted in cheers again. While some may say it was an over-celebration for a team still 82 points out of first, Thunder’s bronze meant so much to the team after the horrible first five races. To get a solid finish, let alone podium, was monumental to their self-esteem.
Thunder walked outside into the cold night, and just sat there, taking it all in. The cold was where Thunder felt the most at home, as they always loved playing in the Thorston winters, racing on the ice, sledding, making snowmarbles. Looking up at the beautiful stars in the sky, Thunder whispered to themself:
“Maybe this is a sign of good things to come,” and smiled.
Meanwhile, despite the organizers’ best efforts, the snow in Glidavik had again piled up to an inconvenient degree. Sand had many faults, but at least it didn’t leave Red Eye dripping water all over the floors after wading out of it.
The other racers had congregated indoors to get away from the cold. Red Eye gave them little notice, sweeping past them without a second glance: Cerulean, Rima, Speedy. Some would have said it was too arrogant a look for them this season. But victory had been so close – today’s duel replayed in their mind over and over again, too similar to last year’s.
There was one racer missing, and the rest of the paddock already knew who it was. If the Hazers weren’t barely tolerating the media, they were avoiding them altogether, and Cloudy was no exception. But as Red Eye rolled down the halls, they saw them talking on the phone with the door slightly creaked open.
“No, Misty, we have to get out of here now. That super creepy journalist is back; I thought I was seeing things but no, they’ve been there all season and they saw me and they’ll definitely be there next week, how have they not been banned yet –”
Red Eye opened the door fully. Cloudy reacted with immediate alarm, scrambling to act normal, but no amount of non-suspicious leaning could erase the accidental eavesdropping.
“Red Eye,” they greeted awkwardly. “Um, you didn’t hear anything.”
“A journalist?” This was good. They could estimate what their competition was like.
“The race was nice,” Cloudy said, ungracefully trying to redirect the conversation. “Smoggy said you were good, but it’s not the same as actually competing against you.”
“You’re similar to each other,” Red Eye remarked.
They became hard to read again, slipping back into cheerful politeness. “They gave me some tips for this track. I’ve had everyone’s support since the beginning, that’s all.”
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Red Eye made sure their frustration wasn’t audible. It couldn’t have been as simple as a few tips. “It doesn’t matter. I have a record to keep. I’ll be aiming for the top regardless.”
“I know you will,” Cloudy replied, acknowledging their declaration. “Is it lonely?”
“What?”
“The team – we’re pretty isolated, which sometimes sucks, but we always look out for each other. We try, anyway.” The hint of regret in their voice betrayed their sunny disposition. “If I win, will I become like you?”
There was no malice in the question. It wasn’t supposed to conjure up an image of Blue Eye and Yellow Eye wearing identical expressions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Never mind,” Cloudy said. The conversation had turned distant long ago. “I made a promise, and I’m going to keep it. I don’t care about your record.” A pause, then a horrified realization. “That was rude. I’m so sorry, I meant –”
“It’s fine.” So both racing and tact were similar, but was that it? What had begun as an attempt to gauge a rival had resulted in more questions than answers. They expected Cloudy to be unforthcoming and vague, but not to be a disorienting combination of cordial and unapproachable. At least the others were more straightforwardly reserved.
“It was nice talking to you, but I have to go,” Cloudy said, not that Red Eye could tell what they were actually thinking. “Oh, watch out for a journalist named…Crawlies, I think? They’re really, uh, intrusive, you should stay away from them. Maybe they’ll get lost next week. Say hi to Blue Eye for me.”
Carefully, Cloudy edged out the door, no doubt heading to the shrouded (and haunted, according to Clutter) highlands they called home. Red Eye stayed behind, ruminating on what little they had just learned. They weren’t able to get a read on them at all.
What had Crazy Cat’s Eye said to them on the dunes of Felynia? Not to let the drama of a championship get to their head? But fame, success, glory, everything they’d already done…
They’d already come so far.
Credits
- Writers: Pesky, Toffeeshop
- Editor: Stynth
- Photographer: Jelle’s Marble Runs
- Reference: Marbula One S4 GP6 Sleet Street RACE – Jelle’s Marble Runs
- Release: 09/06/2023
Project Marblearth 