In any given Marble Rally season, the finale parties were always a highlight of the competition. This year the grounds of a small castle resort nearby to the sandhills had been rented out and made the site of the first of two celebrations. Strings of twinkling lights hung between lampposts, raised flowerbeds, and a grand central stage, waiting to shine when the afternoon turned to evening. The entirety of the field, A-League and B-League alike, were assembled there, save for three notable absences – Crazy Cat’s Eye and Wisp of Darkness, who stood atop the stage, and Blue Moon, who was nowhere to be seen and had not been seen since the previous night.
Even amongst the beautiful surroundings, most hovered impatiently around the catering table adjacent to the stage, which had been stocked with refreshments in the form of drinks and an ice cream buffet tailored to the tastes of the racers. The opening ceremony of the event was to herald its opening, but it had already been delayed ten minutes. Amongst those close enough to the stage to listen in, there was little speculation why.
“I’m not rehearsing this a second longer,” insisted Wisp of Darkness, voice barbed and hoarse. “If you don’t like what I say and how I say it, that’s your problem. Everyone else loves me.”
“Even Big Pearl and El Capitan?” sneered Crazy Cat’s Eye in return. “Whatever. Fine. Just don’t embarrass yourself.”
On CCE’s command a bell was rung by the Ghost Marble, standing behind the stage, bringing the hungry crowd to attention. A sea of eager expressions turned towards the uncooperative hosts.
“Welcome to the pre-finale party, everyone!” roared CCE. “Thank you all for attending. I’m your host, and Wisp of Darkness is here too.”
Grumbling, WOD rolled to the front of the stage. “It’s our honor to be hosting today’s festivities… even if it’s more a formality than anything.”
CCE glared daggers at WOD. “It’s something we take very seriously. Now, usually we’d begin things with inviting those who haven’t gotten a podium yet up to the stage, but at the moment, we do have someone missing, and we’ll be waiting for them to arrive.”
“Blue Moon still isn’t here?” said Wisp of Darkness. It was meant more as a whisper, but it didn’t come out like it, and soon the entire crowd was scanning the room for any sign of the championship frontrunner.
CCE rolled their eyes. “Obviously,” they whispered. They coughed and faced the crowd again. “In lieu of that, everyone, please enjoy your evening!”
A punctual clapping spread amongst the crowd, then broke as they descended ravenously upon the refreshments, leaving the hosts to their quarrels once more.
Lollipop did not stick around the celebration long. The party being partially their design, it was no coincidence that the venue was particularly artistically stimulating, containing both a botanical garden and a tall grassy hill which offered a perfect vantage point on the centuries-old main building. Once the initial announcement was over they departed to the hill and set up their easel, switching between a landscape painting of what laid before them and a congratulatory portrait of Blue Moon each time their mood changed.
For a while they were alone, but it wasn’t long before they were joined by Superball, calling out for them as they came over the crest of the hill. A particularly strong gust of wind blew as they rolled over to the peak, shaking the trees and chilling the warm summer afternoon air. Lollipop kept their sketching paper pinned, but it still protested, dancing with the strength of the blustering gale.
The two greeted each other with a friendly nudge, and Superball settled next to Lollipop, gently moving a long-forgotten bowl of rose ice cream out of the way. Having been ignored, it had melted into a strong-smelling pink soup, once-embedded pieces of lokum floating on the surface like icebergs on an alien ocean.
“Aren’t you going to eat that?” asked Superball, removing their headphones. “I think I’ve already had three bowls of peaches and cream.”
“I wanted to,” said Lollipop, returning to the white shine on Blue Moon’s uniform, “but I kept worrying about it giving me a stomach ache before the race tomorrow, and I just couldn’t.”
Superball frowned, endearingly confused. “But you’re not lactose intolerant.”
“True. I just don’t want to risk it, you know? I even ate my breakfast cereal without milk this morning.” Just remembering the parched flavorlessness of dry wheat biscuits made Lollipop shudder. “Maybe that wasn’t worth it. But I can’t stand the thought of losing my chance to autoqualify over something so petty. I mean, this party was already so stressful to put on- giving hosting rights to a random marble from each league was not the way to go.”
“Mhm.” Superball laid back, humming a tune. Reinvigorated winds dragged cotton ball clouds across the sky as Lollipop switched back to the landscape painting.
“I only have so long to paint this. This scene – this moment in time – is something that will never exist again. And before photographs, this was the only way to remember something visually, so you had to get it right.” A blot of paint formed the swollen blossom of a perfect rose. “Right now, whatever happens, I’m going to remember it forever. So, I want to get it all right.”
“I think you can go all the way,” replied Superball, wide-eyed and sincere. “I really believe in you. Honestly.”
“Even if that means I actually do beat you?”
Superball nodded. “Of course.”
“Well, when you put it like that… I’ll do my best.”
“Say pepperoni!”
A stark split second flash burst from the bulb of Reflektor’s camera. Slimer and Ducktape blinked as it hit them, but they kept their pose, leaning in to each other to both fit inside the traditional camera’s narrow frame. A thin slit near the base ejected a photo which revealed itself in front of their eyes, Reflektor stowing their camera away again in the meantime.
“Awwww, it came out so well!” exclaimed Ducktape, holding the photo up to the sun. Slimer’s face furrowed as they scrutinized it further.
“I dunno. I look a little cross-eyed.” Slimer turned to Reflektor. “Thanks for that. And sorry for the inconvenience.”
Reflektor chuckled. “Not at all, not at all. Actually, I’m getting paid for the photography tonight, so it’s really no issue.”
“Oh, really?” replied Slimer, punctuated by a sigh. “Listen… I can’t tell you what to do with your life, and it’s not something I can speak about from experience, but it’s better for your performance if you switch off for a bit with your other job while you’re here. Cameras will still exist when you get back to Cromavila.”
As the two conversed, Ducktape wandered off, still holding the photo, back in the direction of the ice cream buffet.
“A gig is a gig,” countered Reflektor. “And this is a good gig. Besides, I think my season is a little spoken for at this point.”
“If you look at it with that attitude, it will be! You’re still fighting for an auto-qualification spot; even a podium. Go on – think back to a time you were sitting in the lineup for a qualifying race and tell me you won’t fight now for a year without having to feel that.”
“The odds are fifty-fifty,” Reflektor sputtered half-heartedly.
“And my odds are zero!” scoffed Slimer. “I say this as the defending champion – you’re clearly a capable racer, and a good season is just successful races stacked on top of each other. A gold tomorrow and you could overtake Dragon’s Egg and Pollo Loco.”
“I’ll keep it all in mind,” Reflektor conceded. “I’ve been battling Blue Moon this whole season, and now they’re so far ahead… I don’t know. When someone beats you so decisively, it’s hard to be confident.”
Ducktape returned as if on cue, balancing three bowls of ice cream – black raspberry, ube, and red berry. Reflektor took appreciatively what they could only assume to be their own bowl. Getting to eat on the job right in front of everyone was a rare treat, but somewhere like this was different. Everyone knew each other. As much as marbles like WOD and CCE fought, they all shared the same values.
“I’ll be fine, though. It’s not as if I’m going to throw the race,” added Reflektor, a little more brash.
“Good,” replied Slimer. “Actually, speaking of Blue Moon… Any sign of them yet?”
In every season they competed in, Pollo Loco found time for El Capitan. The “Crazy Chicken” had the idea to step away from social events for an afternoon, so both racers could test out the helix sections at Doornse Gat. But, as both of them were atop a branch bridge for a breather, Pollo Loco’s friend was driving them up a wall.
“I can’t deal with Big Pearl!” yelled El Capitan. “You know how next to some marbles you can feel they’re up to no good? I tried to have a face to face with them the other day, so we can agree on no dirty tricks in the final race. But you won’t believe what they said–”
“Well, you want to finish up these Implausible chicken strips first?” said Pollo Loco, nudging their lunch box over. “They’re getting cold.”
El Capitan indeed held off, grabbing and practically inhaling one of the strips. “Wow, Pollo, how good of a cook are you? Nobody could tell this is a vegan dish!”
“Well, now that I have your attention,” said Pollo Loco. “Where was this hatred of Big Pearl before this season?”
“Well… To rephrase, I did not dislike them. However, I also cannot trust most competitors like I do with you,” replied El Capitan. With that, Pollo Loco kept pressing their friend over all the other legacy racers El Capitan swears are colluding with Big Pearl: Ghost Plasma, Dragon’s Egg and Summer Sky.
“Okay, that’s enough!” concluded El Capitan. “I had no grudges with any of them, and perhaps not now either. But the pressure is on. I have my title on the line. How can I trust my opponents not to take any advantage they have?”
“I’m saying this reflects more on how you think about winning,” said Pollo Loco. “Maybe you’re the unhealthy one for assuming everyone else thinks like you.”
Taking another breath, Pollo Loco raised their voice: “And maybe you should get away from Quicksilver’s venting to stop freaking out over every little thing!” Those words made El Capitan go quiet.
“Let me…” The maroon rallyist murmured twice or thrice without continuing, which made Pollo Loco think: Was that over the line?
El Capitan finally said: “Let me say that Quicksilver is not a bad marb either! You could benefit from a few pointers of theirs for your next race! I mean, gosh, now I feel like the bad one for not asking you how you’re feeling.”
“Well, a podium would be nice,” said Pollo Loco. “But the stars will shine however they will. If I lose out, it is what it is.”
“I disagree! If there is a time to go crazy, it’s now!” interjected El Capitan. “Mi amigo, take it from someone who ended the season at the top. The fans are not chanting for anyone in fourth place! Just know what it’s like when you step on the podium. It will transform you.”
Rolling forward, El Capitan looked back with some words for their friend: “Here’s some motivation! Watch how I take this last sector on this track. Then let’s catch up at the finish line.” They leapt off the branch, onto the track and off to the distance.
Pollo Loco, instead, turned around to look back up. It was the helices and chicanes over there that beckoned more for them. Just have to stick to my routine first, thought Pollo Loco. I’ll chat with friends later.
As much as Big Pearl enjoyed a bit of socializing and complimentary ice cream, tonight’s party was soured by the possibility of confrontation with their on-track rivals. In the case of Wisp of Darkness, it was practically guaranteed, and while it would probably be more bearable than another run-in with El Capitan, they didn’t want to take that chance. In the midst of an entertaining debate between Ghost Plasma and Cool Moody on the merits of white chocolate ice cream versus chocolate ice cream, they ended up slipping away to a wisteria-clad pergola in a deserted corner of the garden, followed by Dragon’s Egg.
“Do you think there’s really that much of a difference?”
Dragon’s Egg shrugged. “They taste the same to me.”
Big Pearl sighed, setting their own ice cream down on a bench. Dragon’s Egg followed suit. “Honestly, those two. It’s hard to believe the tournament’s already almost over.”
“Time flies fast,” Dragon’s Egg agreed. “Are you and El Capitan doing okay? I saw you trying to avoid Wisp of Darkness back there, too.”
“They’re just annoying,” Big Pearl dismissed, but their voice had an edge to it. “Wisp of Darkness is…fine, just unexpected. Neither of them matter. I can win.” Then, quieter, “I need to.”
Dragon’s Egg glanced at them carefully. The evening breeze rustled the wisteria above.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
The question was said so softly, it could have been lost to the wind. Big Pearl could have pretended not to hear it. Instead, they hesitated, uncertainty etched clearly in their face. Early evening moonlight dripped through the pergola lattice as Dragon’s Egg awaited their answer. Big Pearl closed their eyes, unable to bear looking at anyone or anything, and made their choice.
“I miss who I used to be,” they confessed hoarsely.
Years and years ago, when everything was new and unknown, they had sped down the sand track with wild abandon and ascended the podium with their soon-to-be lifelong friends. And then they would never reach the same heights since, dropping down, down, and despite how hard they fought, suddenly, they were deemed unworthy to participate at all.
When Lollipop had called them that night, there was a small, evil part of them that whispered: you could go back.
They’d made the right decision back then, and the right decision hurt.
“I want to go back. I want to join you guys again. To be worthy, I guess – I don’t know.”
Dragon’s Egg looked concerned. “You don’t have to prove anything to us.”
“I know!” Big Pearl glared at the ground. “This is for me.”
The evening darkness had fully set in, cloaking the two marbles in swatches of shadow and moonlight. The ice cream, long forgotten by now, had fully liquefied.
“I understand,” Dragon’s Egg said quietly. Their voice held pure sincerity. “Thank you for telling me.”
Big Pearl nodded their thanks, finally meeting their eyes again. “I’ll be rooting for you too, when you’re up against Blue Moon tomorrow,” they promised. “I know you said the odds were stacked against you, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Second championships for both of us, right?”
Dragon’s Egg hummed. “…It’s mathematically possible.”
Unlike the rest of the field, Blue Moon did not like parties. Attending was only an obligation, and where even Superball showed up and enjoyed themself nowadays, it was politeness that got them through the door. But the prospect of being the guest of honor at the second-biggest party of the season was too much to bear. The additional attention paid to them – lingering gazes, furtive whispers as they passed by, airs of reverence and defiance in equal measure – put them ill at ease.
What had gotten them to this place was a series of logical decisions. It felt surprisingly good to win a silver medal, and the only place to go from there was to win a gold medal. When you won a gold medal, the only logical step up was to win another. Or, maybe, to win the entire season. But now they had followed everything to its logical end, overcome with uncharacteristic ambition, logic had deserted them, and emotion had remained. And thus they had deserted the party and begun wandering the streets, hoping that perhaps this had all been one long, strange dream.
Cars occasionally passed, but not until a little blue vintage car pulled up beside them did they recognize one. Its driver’s window was wound down to let in the cooling air. When Blue Moon peered inside the relative darkness they saw Comet, wearing a slick pair of sunglasses, behind the wheel.
“Get in.”
It wasn’t exactly a command – and it wasn’t as if Comet could do much if they refused – but Blue Moon obeyed nonetheless. Inside the vehicle the mood was dark and still, like a half-forgotten nighttime drive from their childhood. Having taken the back seat, they couldn’t see Comet’s expression, which was already half-masked by their sunglasses. Claustrophobic, Blue Moon thought. But they didn’t leave.
“Don’t drive away yet,” Blue Moon asked. And whether Comet was honoring that or simply hadn’t planned to, they didn’t. “Are you going to take me to the party?”
“That’s the plan.”
Blue Moon sighed. “I didn’t go for a reason, you know.”
“I figured. You’re not the type to forget about something like this,” Comet sighed. “But they’re holding up all the ceremonies until everyone’s there. It’s nothing personal.”
Blue Moon exhaled. “Fine. I don’t want to cause any problems.”
Comet keyed into the ignition as Blue Moon wound their own window down. Pretty soon they were on the road. Even on a Friday night traffic was almost nonexistent, but the price of a stylishly old car was a puttering speed – and a tinny radio for one of Silver Bolt’s old songs to play over.
“I try not to presume things,” Comet began, “but you don’t seem very happy about being, uh, basically guaranteed to win the entire season tomorrow.”
Blue Moon shrugged. “I don’t want to win.” Then their brain caught up with their mouth. “Um, but don’t tell anyone else that, please.”
“Okay, well, I try not to be overly simplistic, but if you didn’t want to get this far you could have started throwing. If I can do it, anyone can.”
Blue Moon tried to form their afternoon of contemplation into an evening’s worth of explanation in their mind. “I like racing. I like winning the races. I don’t think I should be a champion.”
“Why not?” asked Comet, waiting at a light.
“Well… I came all this way, and then I realized it; a champion is more than someone who can win races. A champion can win everyone’s hearts. I don’t really have a story. I didn’t dream of this. And I don’t like attention. Is that what you have in mind when you think champion?”
“I dunno. I think a champion can be anyone. Sure, I didn’t expect it to be you, but my opinions are basically irrelevant, right?”
In the distance loomed the dark outline of the party’s stately venue.
“I don’t want my life to change. I’m happy being the ordinary marble I am. And if I was suddenly different… I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”
“Yeah, well…” Comet replied, trailing off as they drove into the carpark and drew to a stop. “Life comes at you fast sometimes. Like, say, getting really famous all of a sudden. But it doesn’t have to change who you are.”
“Now, for the first of the night’s unofficial awards, I’d like to invite up to the stage the racers who haven’t received a medal yet – from the A-League, Blazing Fireball, White Widow, and Comet, and from the B-League, Cobra.”
CCE’s voice boomed out from the stage and down to the crowd, and the four mentioned marbles took to the stage. Amethyst, in the company of Summer Sky and Grasshopper, watched the proceedings with an expression of relief, having narrowly avoided being amongst them. Deep Ocean and Marbly McMarbleface had the honor of distributing the medals, plastic replicas purchased from a nearby costume store.
Begrudgingly, CCE passed the mic to WOD, who spoke in turn.
“All of us come to the Rally for different reasons, but none of us come here to lose. Yet sometimes losing is part of reality. We all face it, and it always stings. What makes the difference is that we go through it together, good times and bad. And we represent amongst us the best of sand racing on Marblearth! This has been an amazing season, and it couldn’t have been that way without everyone here. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy the rest of our awards tonight – next up is Most Stylish.”
Uproarious applause followed the end of the speech. Atop the stage, WOD handed back the microphone to CCE.
“That was… surprisingly good. I almost can’t believe you wrote it yourself.”
WOD smiled smugly. “I’m not just a once-in-a-generation racer.”
“…Right.” CCE glanced off to the side, where the mostly-pillaged ice cream table remained. Between Quicksilver and RN3 was Blue Moon, scooping out a serving of their namesake ice cream. “Better save some of those smarts for tomorrow. After all, who knows what might happen?”
Credits
- Writers: Fouc, Millim, Toffeeshop
- Copyeditors/Editors: Evolution, Phoenix
- Artist: Toffeeshop
- Release: 10/08/2024
Project Marblearth 