(Design Credit: Yume)
As Snowdrift took a long and deliberate breath the contours of their mind began to sharpen. The fuzzy edges of their frenzied flurry towards the finish line became clearer and cleaner. There was no single fatal mistake, but they simply hadn’t kept up in such a field of four that was enough to guarantee elimination.
It wasn’t a medal. But it was progress. Something to show for their efforts. And for next time, they would just have to train more and try harder.
It was Snowfall who came to visit them behind the scenes before the medal order matches played out. A smile wide on their face, they drew Snowdrift into a tight and enthusiastic hug.
“You were amazing,” they proclaimed, “absolutely amazing.” All of their cheering had made their voice hoarse and squeaky.
“Not amazing enough,” Snowdrift mumbled. “Thanks, though.”
“At least one of us has to be a credit to the team.” Snowfall winked and beckoned them to the exit. “If we hurry, I can get you to our viewing box for the rest of the matches.”
“I want popcorn,” Snowdrift whined. Now all the adrenaline of the event was wearing off, they were suddenly conscious of just how hungry they were. “Do you have popcorn?”
Snowfall grinned and nudged them affectionately. “Of course. As much popcorn as you want.”
In the spectator box reserved for the other athletes and their teams, Yellah made themself comfortable in the spacious seats as they watched Gloomo and Rojo Uno be hurried to the starting gate by race officials. With the event over and their teams’ congratulations issued they could finally take a breather; a welcome change from another exhausting track run, even if not being able to move higher up the podium stung somewhat.
“So, who do you think’s going to win?” Yellup asked them, leaning over from their own seat.
Yellah was used to them insisting on these sorts of (in their opinion, pointless) wagers. “I don’t know,” they replied. “Either Rojo Uno or Gloomo.”
Unimpressed, Yellup dangled a bag of freshly-roasted pistachios out in front of them. “Fine, if you’re not going to play along I’ll sweeten the deal. Pick correctly and I’ll give you these.”
It was a tempting proposition. “But you already have them, so what’s the catch if I’m wrong?”
Yellup smiled smugly at them. “I get to be real annoying about it.”
This is the dumbest thing ever, Yellah thought to themselves. “You’re on,” they replied. “I pick Uno.”
The smug smile only grew. “I’ll take Gloomo.”
Each trap now reset and the gate primed for opening, Yellah counted the ticks until release in time with their breaths. When it finally broke free Uno and Gloomo sprung from the basin with characteristic speed and competitiveness, seemingly unfettered by the gauntlet of exhausting races they’d just passed through. Through the first few lengths of the course they were almost neck-and-neck. Yet as it continued Yellah watched with vague disappointment as Gloomo increasingly held the lead.
“Told you,” Yellup laughed as Gloomo plunged downwards into the final portion seemingly unabated.
But just as the satisfaction rose in their voice, Gloomo rolled back against a ball bearing chute and was momentarily lodged against the track wall. All of their momentum had vanished. Gravity compelled them to keep moving downwards, but not with speed, and that was all Uno needed. A brief gap opened between them and the wall was swiftly taken advantage of in the form of a final lunge; a single fluid straight-line move that propelled Uno across the line a few fractions of a second faster than Gloomo.
As Yellup remained stunned by what had just unfolded, Yellah seized the pistachios from underneath them.
A feverish mood had overtaken the Rojo Rollers fan stands since Rojo Uno’s miracle move had won them their stand-off with Gloomo at the very last second. Standing alone beneath their roaring fan section for the first time in years, watching the explosion of riotous applause grow louder as they paraded their gold in front of everyone, Rojo Uno couldn’t help but feel utterly exhilarated. They bathed in the excitement and love from their fans until they were unceremoniously bundled off by Rojo Dos and Rojo Cuatro with no word as to where they were going or why.
Even as they went along with it, Uno frowned and complained. “I was enjoying that, you know.”
“Someone special is here,” Cuatro whispered to them, clarifying nothing.
They were hurried into an area of the stadium closed to the public, intended mostly for pre-event meetings between athlete and coach. But Oro wasn’t there- Uno hadn’t seen them since the podium. A voice from behind caught them off guard before they could wonder further; one they remembered but hadn’t heard so clearly for a long time.
“You were incredible,” said Red Number 3. “I wasn’t sure whether to tell you I was here, but after that… Ah, I couldn’t help it,” they added, uncharacteristically bashful.
Uno stood and gawped. What they were seeing was hard to believe.
“I can leave if you want,” Red Number 3 offered, evidently growing nervous.
“No, you’re welcome, it’s just —” Uno began, the words coming together slowly and unsteadily, just to be interrupted by the opening of the door that Dos had shut behind them. Their fellow podium team unnoticed in the low light, Plasma’s Gloomo and Ghosto marched in with Ghost Plasma alongside them.
“-yeah, it was a tough one, but a silver’s better’n losing —” continued Gloomo from a previously unheard conversation, though their words too fell apart when they bumped into Uno once more. Confusion turned into surprise as Ghost Plasma flicked the lights on, filling the room with a fluorescent glow.
“No way,” Ghosto squeaked, “it’s like a little reunion in here!”
For a moment Ghost Plasma and Red looked between each other, bewildered until the onset of reality. Then they smiled in mutual acknowledgement.
“Happy with the silver, then?” Red teased gently.
“Of course. I’m sure you’re happy with the last minute overtake for the gold,” Plasma replied. Beside them, Uno and Gloomo exchanged a mutual eye-roll.
Uno fake-coughed loudly. “Um, it was actually us on the course, so this has nothing to do with your rivalry, alright?”
“Nice to see you both, but Uno’s right,” agreed Gloomo.
Red Number 3 smiled. “Forgive me if I implied anything different. It’s just hard not to be proud.”
Ghost Plasma nodded. “Likewise. If you’d be open to celebrating together, it’d be on me.”
Between the turning of heads and exchanging of glances, the room was awash with silent agreement.
“That settles it, then.”
The sun is just dipping below the horizon as Em enters Vespa’s Diner.
“Ah, there you are! My favorite riddle master!” Vespa chirps. “We’ve got thirty ’til the party shows!”
Em sometimes helps out at the diner, usually washing dishes, particularly around the holidays. Vespa makes sure to compensate them with an endless supply of snacks and more than a little pocket change.
Vespa ushers Em into the kitchen, where a plain vanilla cake sits on a turntable.
“I need you to decorate this thing,” Vespa explains. “I’m gonna prepare the other food, gotcha?”
Em looks at Vespa quizzically. “I can’t do that,” they protest. “Remember how many dishes I’ve dropped?”
“Eh, dishes are meant to be broken. I trust you on this.”
Em rubs their eyes, baffled by Vespa’s endless optimism, but they shakily pick up the icing bag regardless. They use a simple pattern, alternating yellow and black frosting along the sides, mimicking the times they’ve seen Vespa do the same. Finally, they create a small flower design on the top and nestle a small sugar bee inside of it.
They exhale, and look up to see Vespa grinning like a proud parent. “Looks great!”
“It’s not perfect,” Em replies.
“Who said it had to be? They’re gonna love it.”
“And who is… they?”
“Well, I have some friends that I’ve heard you wanted to meet.” With a cheeky smile, Vespa leads Em back into the seating area where three bees and a pair of hornets are waiting.
Credits
- Writers: Millim, Yume
- Copyeditor/Editor: Stynth
- Graphic Designers: Yume
- Reference: Marble League 2023 Event 13: Elimination Race | Jelle’s Marble Runs
- Release: 19/11/2024
Project Marblearth 