The Distant Dream

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

MRS7 Memo #9: Preparations

Wisp of Darkness takes the lead after a scuffle in the catchbasin. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Wisp of Darkness was not known for their overwhelming cheer, but after two golds in a row, it was hard to be anything but happy. Across the finish line they were surrounded by the other B-League competitors, all of whom had seen the same standings WOD had – standings that guaranteed them a podium and even put them a point ahead of El Capitan. 

H2 Blue, who had come second, rolled over to them, so full of cheer that they were almost bouncing. Overtaken with excitement, the two began to spin each other around. The sky and the sandhills melted into one as they did, and they kept going past becoming dizzy and until El Capitan arrested WOD’s momentum. 

El Capitan looked unperturbed, but in a thin sort of way that seemed to mask discontent. WOD’s stomach faltered when their eyes locked. 

“Mighty impressive out there. I suppose you’ve turned this shootout into a standoff,” said El Capitan. WOD winced internally – that hadn’t really been their plan, after all. Winning races came before winning overall. 

“Uh, yeah. Hey, no hard feelings or anything,” replied WOD, unconsciously drawing a little closer to H2 Blue.

El Capitan smiled. “Of course not,” they added, before rolling away. WOD watched their departure with relief. 

They turned to H2 Blue. “Even when they’re smiling, El Capitan can be so… imposing, you know?” 

“Pssssh, it’ll be fine. Just show them the business next race, right?” chirped H2 Blue. “You’ll love being on the podium. It’s an amazing feeling – and I should know.” 

Amethyst felt the tears well up as soon as they stepped off the podium, the marbles around them scattering towards press conferences and interviews that they too were soon required to attend. In the meantime, they began to dust themselves off, taking care to avoid getting sand on their new medal.

A nudge made Amethyst snap back to attention. “Sorry! I don’t mean to get in your way.” 

“Relax, it’s just me.” Summer Sky drew up elegantly beside them. “Us third placers should stick together, right? Congratulations on the bronze. You deserve it.”

Amethyst blushed. “Thanks. It’s a shame about the rest of my season.”

“I was down in 15th in my second year,” Summer Sky reminded them. “Not to mention Ghost Plasma. I knew someone of your racing caliber would have overcome it eventually.”

The blush turned into a pout. “Why couldn’t you tell me that earlier? I could have really used it.”

The older marble contemplated their answer for a second. “I didn’t want you to base your self-esteem off of the encouragement of others,” they said finally. “Trust me, it’s not a good idea. You fought through every struggle and earned this –” they indicated Amethyst’s bronze. “– because of you.” 

Amethyst’s heart fluttered from the praise. “I… thank you.” 

“No, really! I’m glad you’ve taken to the Marble Rally so well, given how late you joined. You should be impressed with yourself.”

“Cool Moody joined late,” Amethyst pointed out, before envisioning the sunglasses-clad marble sauntering across the dunes in their debut. “Okay, Cool Moody is different.”

Summer Sky stifled a laugh. “Hey, after the interviews, do you want to wander around town? A night out with just the two of us.”

Amethyst practically sparkled with anticipation. “I’d love that.”

A little bit of decompression time after a race was always good. Usually Lollipop spent it working on paintings or updating their social media; this time, they were rewatching their race, paying the sort of close attention to it they hadn’t when they’d been running it hours earlier. At times racing itself could be instinctual rather than calculated, based on a cultivated familiarity with the sand underneath and the shape of the track. Seeing themself from a bird’s-eye view finally made it clear exactly where things had gone so very right. Smooth racing, aggressive overtaking, control on the parts of the course that had caught marbles out before and would do so again – it all came together in parts, like a painting unfolding onto the canvas. 

Of course it hadn’t been perfect – a little more and they’d have been in first. But that felt a little much to ask for after a midseason of relentless disappointment. Now they were looking at a potential autoqualification – but how potential? 

As the Lollipop on the screen came to rest in the catch basin, their phone buzzed beside them. They already knew it was a text from Superball. They had never been able to apply their brain to the art of math and equations like them, and so they’d asked Superball to run their odds. And there they were, on the screen – 14.5% to podium, 41.7% to autoqualify in fourth. 

It wasn’t Blue Moon odds, but they liked them all the same. 

Speaking of Blue Moon – where were they? For the most likely incoming champion, they sure liked to evade the cameras…

Blue Moon, Lollipop, and Amethyst on the podium for Race 9. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Credits

Out of the Rolling – Event 12: The Impossible Distance

Words. So many words. Way too many words to get through, and Shock was tired and miserable and just wanted to finish reading before they went to sleep. 

‘It was then that Romblis noticed a marble in the corner of the room. Their old friend was standing, waiting, with a smile on their face. Despite all the troubles and obstacles, it was all going to be okay in the end…‘

A big tear fell and landed with a splat onto the page as Shock remembered the events of the week. The pressure that had brought them this far, but had not allowed them any further. It was alright for Romblis; characters in books always got a happy ending. But where was Shock’s? It was too easy to put on a front of strength when racing with your team, but the competition doesn’t stop for anyone, and individual competitions like these put a spotlight on every participating marble. 

And it wasn’t like they had failed as badly as some marbles had, they reflected. They hadn’t had a DNF this week, and only came last once. But even Mandarin had so many successes that they were probably celebrating right now with the support of their entire team behind them. Where were the Thunderbolts? Off at a party, probably—that or training. But even that seemed more fun than the radiating isolation that came with being eliminated. To be honest, they had only just scraped by for most of the competition. Or that’s how it felt. 

Shock slammed the book shut and wiped their eyes. It wasn’t right to say those things, even internally. They had done their best, and it hurt an indescribable amount, but they hadn’t done awfully. They were one of the final ten teams, and that was something, right?

The moon gazed down from on high, eerily peeking through empty windows and rippling through the darkness that crept along rooms where marbles slept. But like Shock, Mandarin was not asleep. They frowned at their laptop and paused, the sudden silence echoed in the absence of frantic typing.

“This is pointless,” they grumbled, turning to gaze out of the window, where they were met with nothing but the void of night staring back at them. Mandarin hadn’t spoken to any of their teammates yet, and had refused to check their phone. They were sure that their inbox would be full of supportive and reassuring messages; that’s the sort of team that the O’rangers were. But somehow, it didn’t feel right. Mandarin couldn’t let themselves have any excuse for the tragic week that had just passed and ended in elimination. Blow after blow, they had let everyone down and were not about to let anyone convince them otherwise. This was the price of strength, the price that came with being the oldest. 

They turned back to the computer at the open document where they were writing a book. A book that was nowhere near completion, though they supposed that was somewhat comparable to their performance in the competition. So close, yet so far. Gone were the days of Mandarin’s successes, or so it seemed. What was the point? Their efforts never went anywhere, it was like walking backwards in the direction of nothing.

Mandarin rolled around the room in frustration. It was so difficult to describe the loneliness that surrounded them. Their team and family were far away, and nothing could distract them from the pain of defeat. 

“Mandarin? Are you in there?”

Mandarin spun around in surprise, staring at the door. It sounded like… but it couldn’t be.

“Clementin?” They hurried to the door and opened it to a concerned looking Clementin who paused in the doorway in silence. For a moment, neither spoke, and Clementin looked afraid.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know if…” they tried to say, but Mandarin didn’t respond and their expression didn’t change. Another minute passed in awkward silence before Clementin sighed and started speaking at great speed apologetically.

“I’m sorry, you’ve not been responding for hours and I was really worried about you so I flew over immediately and—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I’m glad you’re okay but I’ll leave if you—”

Mandarin rolled over suddenly and barrelled into Clementin for a big hug.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, too.”

Mandarin gazes out over the hills. (Art Credit: Phoenix)

Credits

MRS7 Memo #8: Light and Shadows

El Capitan overtakes Summer Sky and attempts to overtake Big Pearl in Race 8
(Photo Credit: JMR)

The post-match interviews were always more exhausting than the actual races. Ghost Plasma wondered why they were consistently surprised by that fact, as they rolled off towards Spirit and Dragon’s Egg took to the microphone.

Spirit, looking particularly cheerful, was quick to roll over and embrace them. “There’s the marble of the hour! Great work out there, champ.”

”You know me, Spirit,” the racer responded, smirking. “Back-to-back medals are kind of my thing these days.”

”Well, one of them,” Spirit replied, their tone turning slightly more serious. “Just remember not to get too caught up in that and forget about your other back-to-back reputation.”

Ghost Plasma frowned slightly, and Spirit knew them well enough to know that they’d hit home. The regular DNFs were a sensitive point, not that Ghost Plasma liked to let that on. They didn’t want to ruin the mood, though, and quickly got back to smiling. ”Doesn’t matter right now though – you won! And you’re still in the running for the title!”

”Mathematically speaking, anyway,” Ghost Plasma chuckled.

”Oh, for goodness sake Plaz, are you still banging on about that?” Dragon’s Egg rolled over, smiling. The three glanced at each other, before bursting out laughing.

Ghost Plasma was the first to recover. “Ah, who am I kidding? I’ve never fought a lead this big back from you, Eggsy.”

Dragon’s Egg smiled. “Very true. I’d be better off keeping my eyes closer behind me if I want to win the championship.”

”Your second championship,” Ghost Plasma reminded them.

Dragon’s Egg smiled, but Ghost Plasma could tell their friend was uncomfortable. “Eggsy, there’s nobody in the field who deserves a second title more than you right now, and you know it.”

Dragon’s Egg smiled back at Ghost Plasma, more genuine this time. “I know you think so. Come on, let’s go find Pearl before they get themself caught up in another tabloid headline with El Capitan.”

If there was one good thing about being in the B-League today, it was escaping the terrible sand conditions of the A-League race. Still, a post-race shower was non-negotiable, even if they were dusted with sand rather than covered with it. That, and a meal. Which would be easier if they hadn’t rolled straight out of their room, into the corridor, and into El Capitan. 

True to a movie cliche, the hallway wasn’t big enough for both of them. El Capitan had stopped in front of the door to the lobby and there was no way of getting past them without a confrontation. 

It didn’t have to come to that – yet. 

“Evening, Pearl. Fine race today.” El Capitan always had an air of confidence about them, but right now they sounded downright smug. “Always a little ahead of me, aren’t you?”

Not that they have anything to be smug about, Big Pearl thought, keeping a straight face and leaving the rhetorical question unanswered. The space between them filled with tense silence, but they were not about to let El Capitan play mind games with them. 

“Crazy Cat’s Eye got your tongue? We may be fighting for the top, but there’s no reason you can’t have a friendly conversation with me.” 

“Just let me pass,” replied Big Pearl, rolling their eyes. El Capitan grimaced, their ice-cool facade faltering briefly. 

“You don’t act like this with Dragon’s Egg or Ghost Plasma, do you?” 

Something snapped in Big Pearl. They drew close to El Capitan, using the element of surprise to back them against the wall. Two could play at this game. “The past is the past. We’re fighting for a title now. Let’s get that straight.” 

Annoyed but sufficiently intimidated, El Capitan drew back, unblocking the door. Big Pearl didn’t wait to roll out of it, hoping to forget the encounter. But what El Capitan said next sent a shiver through their glass. 

“Fine. But when someone has a confident attitude like yours… iIt only makes it more fun to grind their dreams to dust.” 

Usually, a race win meant you got to have a nice evening – or even just a pleasant conversation – with the athletes on the lower rungs of the podium. But when they were Big Pearl and El Capitan, and the B-League standings looked the way they did, that was never going to be the case. Initially Wisp of Darkness had thought themself lucky to find Phoenix similarly unoccupied;- now they weren’t so sure. 

“…because it’s completely silly, utterly embarrassing, even, for both me and them, and I’m half inclined to burn this place down. You agree, don’t you?” 

“Mhm,” Wisp of Darkness mumbled, nodding tepidly along. Truthfully they had long lost track of what tangent Phoenix had launched into most recently, picking their deflated croissant to shreds on their plate to stop them losing their mind. 

It was still all the encouragement Phoenix needed. “I’ll complain first, obviously. Something about me doesn’t gel with the tracks – or maybe it’s the starting gate. Perhaps both.” 

Oh, they’re still bemoaning their bad season. As they had been since they’d arrived at the cafe. “But you just won a bronze medal.” 

Phoenix huffed. “After seven races of humiliation. This was supposed to be my comeback season! My rebirth! Now look at it,” they whimpered. “It’s in tatters.” 

WOD glanced down at their croissant. “Not knocking eternal angst here, but you’re not the only one not getting what they want. I missed qualifying for the season to Pollo by two milliseconds. Two! I didn’t even know what a millisecond was until I started racing.” 

“So we both have problems,” Phoenix concluded. “Your point is?” 

“I dunno. Try and appreciate what doesn’t suck?” 

Phoenix began to tap the table as Wisp of Darkness watched, sneaking croissant shreds into their mouth while the gears turned in Phoenix’s head. Then something clicked, and they smiled, existentially reassured. 

“Well, if nothing else… Superball probably won’t make the podium this year.” 

Ghost Plasma, Dragon’s Egg, and Phoenix on the podium for Race 8. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Credits

Lollipop: The Visionary

The official portrait and wordmark for Lollipop.
(Design Credit: Tim Ritz)

An only child, Lollipop originates from Bewaring, the “Confectionery Capital” of Marblearth. Growing up in their family’s confectioners, Lollipop knew ingredient names and the dangers of the machines their family worked with before they could read. But on the eve of adulthood, Lollipop sought a different future than inheriting responsibility for their parents’ business. 

“I told them point blank I wanted to be an artist. It didn’t go over well.”

Faced with a choice between continued family support and their dreams, Lollipop took the plunge. Able to attend the Van Gotterdam Institute of Arts tuition-free by promising their assistance with the ongoing renovation works and just about able to earn a living from working in the on-site cafeteria, they moved away from home. 

Inspired by the complex and abstract patterns made by the candy machines that they’d spent their youth watching, Lollipop specialized in action painting. They covered themself in paint and rolled hypnotically across spare canvas sheets in a variety of patterns to produce an eclectic final image, hoping to articulate powerful emotions through art. One of their earliest pieces in this style can be seen in an Institute art show taping, also featuring Team Primary’s Prim and Mary as fellow exhibitors. 

Though dismissed by some as pure novelty, their art attracted considerable attention. A born salesmarble, Lollipop quickly sold several pieces at local art shows. By the time their graduation rolled around, they had developed their technique, built an audience, and sold their first piece to a gallery. Marble sports had not yet crossed their mind. Lollipop’s first encounter with the Rally was in 2016, one year post-graduation. Intending to paint in the sandhills not far from Van Gotterdam, they found themselves in the audience of Race 8 instead. Observing the high-stakes race made a strong impression on them, and they followed the rest of the season as it was broadcast on television. But they were never an athlete, and any thoughts of trying racing out for themself were only idle fantasies in the background of developing their art career. 

The following year’s open call for racer auditions, put out following the first season’s success, also almost passed Lollipop by. But they had found themself in a creative slump once their life had more or less stabilized around them. Seeking new, unpredictable experiences, and looking to meet marbles from outside the insular creative world they’d gotten comfortable in, Lollipop entered the auditions process on a whim, not expecting to go particularly far. 

“I definitely considered backing out a lot. I had to tell myself, ‘Well, what’s the worst that can happen? Even if you completely bomb it, you could still paint about that.'” 

That they had an aptitude for it enough to take them to the final audition rounds surprised them as much as it surprised the rest of the racers in attendance. But their art, created through extensive and tightly-controlled movement, had invisibly prepared them to succeed. Lollipop was selected to participate in a preliminary selection race held later that month. 

This preliminary selection race was unfilmed. To this day, its results are unknown. All that can be said for certain is that Lollipop emerged victorious, and they would make their debut alongside Red Number 3, Blizzard Blaster and Nemo. 

Lollipop recounted their first qualifiers experience, along with the rest of their racing career, in the 2022 documentary Lollipop: Artist and Athlete

“The first marble I talked to there was Ghost Plasma. ‘Oh, it’s nice you auto-qualifiers have come to cheer us all on.’ Well, turns out there was no auto-qualification, and I was competing with the previous season’s champion to qualify. I considered ditching there and then.”

In the race itself, a bad overhead move in the earliest sector of the sand track appeared to dash their hopes prematurely. A non-factor for the majority of the race, Lollipop only scored a qualifying position in the last few lengths. 

“I knew there was no way Ghost Plasma wouldn’t qualify, and I was actually in front of them for a while. So I decided I’d copy whatever they did. And at some point we really did start doing the same sort of thing.”

Ever-extroverted Lollipop wasted no time in acquainting themselves with the rest of the qualified racers. It was Summer Sky who became their fastest friend, and who they collaborated with creatively several times in the future. Pictures of the two together uploaded to Summer Sky’s hugely popular Rollstagram boosted the popularity of Lollipop’s art significantly. Similar pictures of Lollipop getting to know the field emerged from almost every other qualified marble. 

Lollipop held the lead in R1 for just a fraction of a second, but the Rally was already working its magic. They returned to art that night with the painting Friction, a moody artwork incorporating earthen shades and circular shapes.  Friction was well-received by fans, though also something of a creative departure.

Friction, the first of Lollipop’s paintings to be inspired by the Rally.

Inspiration continued to flow. In their second race ever, Lollipop took to the front, fought an exhilarating battle for the lead with Big Pearl, and obtained their first medal, a silver. Moved by the experience, their subsequent piece Pure Feeling featured a taupe landscape that contrasted even more starkly with their previous vibrant pieces. This divisive work was quickly purchased by a private collector and has not been exhibited publicly since. 

Also sharing an immediate bond, Lollipop and Big Pearl held a blowout celebration at a local bar post-race, not least because Lollipop was holding the provisional championship. But failure trailed success, and Lollipop met with both their first and second DNFs in Races 5 and 10 respectively, and the closest they came to another medal were two fourth places in Race 4 and Race 13. In the latter, controversial double-points scoring granted them their final tenth-place position.

Through disappointment and triumph alike, Lollipop hit the canvas, remaining prolific throughout the season. They frequently invited other competitors to collaborate, bringing a variety of unconventional influences and elements to their work. 

Confident and established as an artist, Lollipop returned to Bewaring post-season, where they were finally able to make amends with their family. Living on their own, they fell in with an influential artist’s collective, Sucrose, working out of Bewaring’s trendy central district. Outside of their own personal work and athletic training, they devoted themself to Sucrose’s ongoing gallery launching project. Though not without its difficulties, said project was a success, and the gallery’s attached studio space became indispensable to Lollipop’s art. Lollipop also took a trip to watch the 2018 Marble League in Hailfern, appearing prominently in the audience during the Snowboard Cross event.

The 2018 SMR season beckoned, where Lollipop raced alongside debuting racers Phoenix and Superball in the qualifying round and secured a third place; enough for entry into the upcoming season. 

Lollipop, Summer Sky and Nemo hosted a party post-qualifiers which was attended by all the other qualified marbles, inviting the field to cover themselves in paint and contribute to a giant collaborative painting. Not everyone participated—the specific identities of the contributors has never been confirmed—but the resultant painting Chaos is fondly remembered by fans of the Rally, and counted amongst Lollipop’s personal favourite works. It was hung in the Sucrose Collective gallery upon Lollipop’s return home.

Chaos, a turning point in the canon of Lollipop’s work.

In the interlude between qualifiers and the season, Lollipop trained in Bewaring, utilizing an artificial sandhill built recently in the city. 

Lollipop’s season began unremarkably. A tenth place, a seventh place, and a fourteenth place established a trend of middling results. During a mid-season interview, Lollipop expressed more concern about their art. 

“I love being here and I love racing, but I don’t do it to win. Do I like performing well? Sure! Do I try to do well? Of course! But you can get more from an experience like this than just points and accolades. You can meet interesting marbles and have fun like nowhere else.”

Amongst the new entrants, Lollipop quickly befriended Ducktape and Grasshopper, and Ducktape helped develop a new paint propulsion system for use in their biggest pieces. Throwing themself into the social and creative life of the rally, they would be described by their fellow racers in a birthday tribute as optimistic and sociable, at peace regardless of the results past the finish line. 

Race 4 saw Lollipop in seventh again, disadvantaged by a track split. Though, with Superball declining the customary winner’s celebration, Lollipop would win the chance to organize a small party for runners-up RN3 and Phoenix, and Race 5’s dramatic war for first between Comet and RN3 saw Lollipop releasing a cyan-and-red painting unsubtly taking inspiration from the race. 

As their artistic endeavors continued in the background, Lollipop struggled in the races, finishing second-to-last in Race 7. The sketches and concepts they shared took on a more somber atmosphere, but Lollipop insisted they were as chipper as ever. 

“I don’t have a lot of training, and I’m not a professional. I can’t expect to win. If I can have a good time and show everyone some exciting racing, that’s all I can ask for.”

Still, reporters watching the practice tracks over the following weeks reported seeing Lollipop more often than before. Fittingly, Lollipop replicated 2017’s late-season surge by taking fourth in the final race, separated from third-place finisher Big Pearl by the slimmest of margins. The slimmest of margins also separated Lollipop and Marbly McMarbleface in the standings—tied on 51 points, McMarbleface’s gold medal gave them the edge into 12th over Lollipop’s 13th. But Lollipop had no hard feelings. On the eve of the final race, the three celebrated long into the night in honor of season winner RN3. 

Lollipop returned temporarily to adjacent Van Gotterdam after the season’s end to visit with old friends from the Institute. A joint charity fundraiser between Lollipop and Team Primary was planned, then canceled due to ongoing conflicts between the team’s members. Obligations to Sucrose and the collective’s upcoming art exhibition, Blood Sugar, awaited upon return to Bewaring. Their contribution to the exhibition was Cherry Soda; a lushly-textured crimson piece in Lollipop’s traditional action painting style loosely based on RN3’s 2018 victory. 

The exhibition lasted through the release of Not a Marble. Friends with almost all involved, Lollipop held their tongue, but the scandal boosted the exhibition’s visitor numbers significantly. Realizing Lollipop’s popularity, Sucrose further integrated them into their core cast of artists, and Lollipop would in turn dedicate much more of their time to the increasingly successful collective. 

2019’s season caught Lollipop off-guard. Bound by new professional obligations, their engagement with marble sports had been limited, personally admitting in a pre-qualifiers interview that they had fallen out of practice.

“I’m a busy marb, I can’t hit the hills every day. But I’m not the only marble here who isn’t just a racer. It’s not an obstacle.”

Lollipop promised fans on social media that they would see them racing in due time, even hinting at a better placement this time around. But these hopes were dashed when they failed to qualify and were relegated to the Showdown for 2019. 

Shocked and upset at not having made the main event, Lollipop refused further press appearances and withdrew back to Bewaring. Their disappointment was channeled into art; darker and filled with sharp, jagged shapes rather than their usual fluid and dynamic composition. But Lollipop found no great solace in creating; destroying several paintings out of dissatisfaction before they reached the public eye. 

“Before then, I thought it didn’t matter to me whether I made it or not, but suddenly I was in pieces. I kept going back and imagining what might have happened if I’d trained enough. Everyone in Sucrose comforted me, saying it wasn’t my fault, that it wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt as if I was missing a part of myself.” 

After a period of withdrawal spent on solo projects and Showdown training, Lollipop burst back unexpectedly with a bright multi-coloured painting entitled Ennui. Painted in their own signature yellow-navy-red colour scheme, its explosive and distorted rendering of a pattern changed beyond recognition represented a bold vision of existential anguish. Some reacted with concern, but the work, exhibited in Sucrose’s gallery, represented rebirth as well as collapse. Lollipop showed up for the 2019 Showdown ready to excel.

An initial sixth-place finish was followed by a throwback to Lollipop’s first medal in 2017. Big Pearl dominated a long, winding track with Lollipop following just behind, finishing 1-2 as they had done back in 2017. Lollipop then doubled-up on second-place finishes, coming second to Blazing Fireball. Provisionally in first, Lollipop was within striking distance of winning the 2019 Showdown. 

It was, however, not to be. Big Pearl brought the ambition and dedication of a prior podium-sitter to the final race while Lollipop struggled along behind. A solid performance from Rastafarian allowed them to overtake for second, and Lollipop finished the Showdown with an overall third. But for Lollipop, sitting on the same step of the podium as Superball had not long ago breathed new life into their racing ambitions. Plus, with the system provisionally in place for the Rally’s next season, they were guaranteed a return to the A-League. The three Showdown podium-sitters celebrated with karaoke, not knowing that between them, only one would return next season.

Lollipop skipped returning to Van Gotterdam post-Showdown. Responsibilities at home with Sucrose had piled up during even their brief absence. Along with spearheading the launch of Blood Sugar’s sequel, Sugar Rush, Lollipop produced several paintings for the exhibition on a tighter schedule than ever before.

A photo taken at one of Sucrose’s gallery parties, Lollipop standing to the left at the front. (Art Credit: Piney)

In their rare free moments, Lollipop enjoyed the fruits of their popularity, guest-judging on candy-making competition show Champion Confectioner and helping promote the family store while working on their training for the upcoming season. Several Rally friends joined them in Bewaring for the exhibition, including Big Pearl, Summer Sky and Ducktape. 

The news of the qualifications being scrapped in favour of an invitational—and the news that they were amongst the invited—was a huge surprise to Lollipop, especially with Big Pearl and Rastafarian’s exclusion from the roster.  

“I— (laughs) maybe it was some kind of joke list, you know?”

Though the guilt of being invited over Big Pearl ate at Lollipop in private, something they confided with several Sucrose members, they continued to plan for the Rally. Intending to outperform their prior appearances and win a race for the first time, Lollipop doubled down on their commitment to training. But, in turn, tension between the two sides of their life increased, and once-invisible cracks broke to the surface. Between 2019 and 2020 Lollipop had been placed, unpaid, in charge of the studio and gallery’s financials and marketing in addition to their artistic obligations, two roles they would be unable to remain in if they were located outside of Bewaring. Though outwardly supportive, upon realizing that Lollipop’s departure would require these responsibilities to be held elsewhere, Sucrose intensified their demands on Lollipop as they sowed the seeds of self-doubt in their mind. 

At first, Lollipop willingly exhausted themself in the balancing act between the different parts of their life. But as they became more vocal about their plans and prepared to leave, passive-aggressive mentions of their lack of Rally success and how much Big Pearl probably resented them warped into outright hostility. Over several long, argumentative meetings, Lollipop was accused of attempting to abandon their position, sabotage the collective, and move back to Van Gotterdam postseason to find success solo, with some members alleging that they had said as much in private conversations and that Lollipop was feigning not remembering. No amount of insistence to the contrary from Lollipop could convince them otherwise, and Sucrose threatened to seize their currently-exhibited artwork, including Cherry Soda, Friction, and most importantly Chaos, if they did desert. But Sucrose also offered a solution: if they already felt so bad, why didn’t they stand down and give their spot to Big Pearl? 

Faced with losing three-quarters of their life’s work and rapidly losing track of reality, Lollipop buckled. That night, they called Big Pearl to bargain. 

“I recounted the situation almost verbatim to Pearlie. How I’d been saying things—or at least I thought I was saying things—and doing things that were hurtful to Sucrose, that I wasn’t appreciating what they’d done to make me successful, and that I couldn’t do the season because I’d lose all my work, but hopefully we could be friends again and everything would be okay if I gave them my spot. 

Well, when they finally got their chance to talk, they reamed me out about it hard. You’re getting played for a fool, they said. Do you really think I’d be able to take your position if I knew that you got bullied out of it in the first place? No way. You deserve better than that, and you deserve better than these marbles. 

Until that point, none of that had even registered. I had to face reality. I could agree to Sucrose’s demands all I wanted, but I’d never be able to trust them again.”

In a move that shocked Sucrose and fans alike, Lollipop broke from the collective the following day. Neither side spoke of the exact circumstances at the time, but the acrimony was clear.

Sucrose also made good on their threat, and all of Lollipop’s art exhibited in the gallery was seized, along with their supplies and studio space. 

Adrift, Lollipop pivoted heavily towards SMR and threw themselves into their most intense training regimen yet, booking out the artificial sandhill for days at a time. Fans of Lollipop and Sucrose speculated extensively on what exactly had transpired between them as Lollipop’s social media silence yawned and Sucrose continued business as usual. Unable to face the potential ire of fans and a potential retaliation from Sucrose, these questions were left unanswered as Lollipop headed to Van Gotterdam. 

Taking advantage of a partial track collapse which resulted in six fellow competitors DNF’ing to seize a lead, Season 5 Lollipop’s first race seemed as if it were run by a different marble. Lollipop could not hold on to a podium spot, but their fourth place finish was immediately promising. In preseason coverage they had publicly set themselves a goal—to win a race for the first time—and their ambitious performance proved that wasn’t just idle talk, though they overshot and DNF’d in the subsequent race.  

There’s Lollipop, looking pretty resplendent in all of those colors against the grey sand, but, I assume, would rather be down in the sand at the bottom of the course. 

Races 3 and 4 were only mid-pack finishes, but just as Lollipop appeared to be slipping back into tradition, they achieved something remarkable. What appeared to be a decent but unpromising start from the gate saw Lollipop rapidly make up ground, ascending into fourth, then third, then second. But with El Capitan at their back and a rejuvenated RN3 in front, Lollipop appeared doomed to once again repeat the circumstances of their first medal. 

RN3’s lead, is it unassailable? Can Lollipop get up there? 

With an electric burst of speed Lollipop caught RN3’s draft and rode it ahead of them, snaking back-and-forth to guard against any potential reclaim. Lollipop cleared the finish line in first, taking the victory that they had promised themselves. Exhilarated by the victory they’d waited so long for and validated in their choice to return, Lollipop exhorted their success in front of the press and threw one of the biggest parties the SMR crowd had ever seen in celebration, with everyone in the field except Superball in attendance. And unbeknownst to them then, the good times would keep rolling. A well-partied Lollipop mounted a spectacular performance in the subsequent race, fighting with Ghost Plasma and Nemo to score a third-place finish and fourth place in the overall standings.

Overcome with adrenaline and overjoyed with their success, Lollipop announced another art party with everyone invited to celebrate their unexpected medal spree. And when Superball, infamous for their isolationism, looked to sneak away from that too, Lollipop confronted them.

Lollipop: Hey, Superball! The party’s not that way.

Superball: (pause) I’m not going.

Lollipop: Everyone’s going to hang out and work on a painting to celebrate. And that means everyone.

Superball: (pause) I’m sorry, I can’t.

Lollipop: (sigh) What, so you’re going to refuse to do anything with us forever? Is it because you’re mad that someone that’s not you is allowed to be on the podium? Or is it because you think you’re better than us?

Superball: I never—

Lollipop: Whatever. I bet you wish we’d stop wasting your precious training time and let you win everything, right? Well, forget I asked.

In Superball’s absence, the party went ahead, and Lollipop painted Victory alongside the rest of the field as a sequel and replacement to Chaos

Their ascension in the standings and the completion of their first major work since disassociation with Sucrose gave the outside impression of normality. But returning to Bewaring for the season break cast into sharp relief the consequences of their split with Sucrose. With no gallery space, studio space, or art supplies, all Lollipop had to work with was the inside of their small flat. Once-beloved haunts in the city were poisoned with memories of relationships gone sour, so they eventually stopped leaving their flat for anything but necessities. All anyone but their family wanted to know was the story of what had gone sour with Sucrose. Utterly isolated in the place they’d called home, each attempt to return to art led them in circles, work after work abandoned incomplete on the canvas. Seeking catharsis, Lollipop took once more to destroying their art, a habit which Victory fell victim to. 

Little was seen of them until they travelled to Winterpeg for the Snow Rally races. Upon arrival, they attempted to apologize to Superball for their outburst months prior. 

(door knocking)

Lollipop: Hey, Superball? You in there?

(A door opens.)

Superball: What?

Lollipop: Can I come in?

Superball: (pause) Okay.

Lollipop: Hey, thanks. Listen, um, I wanted to apologize for what happened before the break. Not my best moment. But hey, I ended up destroying that painting, so I guess it doesn’t matter. Haha.

Superball: Don’t apologize. You were right.

Lollipop: What?

Superball: I don’t want to do anything with you. And I want you to leave me alone so I can train. So, you were right.

Lollipop: Uh…

Superball: There’s no point in apologizing when you were right, is there?

Lollipop: …I…. alright.

Vexed but relieved to have apologized, Lollipop put the incident out of mind. And when awoken at the crack of dawn on the 2nd of April by a knock on the door, they initially thought nothing of it. 

“Nothing sunk in until the official asked, ‘this is your voice, right?'”

In a brutal coincidence, they were the unintended target of a bug in Superball’s room. The conversation had been leaked online. Bleary and shocked, the words they’d spoken not so long ago sounded alien to them. 

“‘It’s going to be impossible to contain at this point. You probably don’t have to worry, though.'”

Lollipop was brought to see Superball, cowering and tearful in the athletes’ village lobby as the bug was uncovered in the room, but the two didn’t speak. They spent much of the subsequent race in a haze. In a cruel twist of irony, Lollipop’s 9th-place finish and Superball’s failure to score a single point tied the two on points, Lollipop winning the tiebreak. 

Lacking the context of the original argument, the recording told a clear-cut story of Lollipop being harassed almost unprovoked by rumoured bully Superball. They were inundated with sympathetic media coverage. But as they listened to the recording again and again, guilt needled at them. What Superball had said was clearly a response, but few seemed curious as to the initial issue. Their non-committal apology began to seem insufficient in light of what they’d actually said. And in assuming that they were being plotted against, refusing to drop the issue, and sabotaging something Superball by all accounts had dedicated their life to, were they doing to Superball what Sucrose had done to them?

Superball locked themselves in their room for the rest of the week, and Lollipop was only able to speak to them through their door late at night.

Lollipop: (knocking) Superball?

Superball: Go away.

Lollipop: Look, I know you want to be alone, but please at least talk to me. It’s not fair that you’re in this mess because of me, and I want to say something, but—

Superball: Just go away!

Lollipop: If I could clear things up for you—

Superball: I told you, I want to be alone! All this lying about me, stalking me, spying on me, and now banging on my door in the middle of the night. You’re the same as everyone else.

Lollipop: All I want to do is set things right, okay? I don’t—look, my life has been really weird recently and I just—

Superball: Don’t bother. You never really changed your mind, did you? You still think there’s something wrong with me for not wanting to spend time at your loud parties and get covered in paint. You just regret saying it out loud.

Lollipop: I…

Superball: So, you’re right. I’m nothing like you. It’s so easy for you to say the right thing to make everyone like you, and you never get overwhelmed, or scared, or mess it up without knowing it. But I do, and I don’t know why, and everyone’s always treated me worse for it. Racing is the only thing I’m worth anything at, and now you’ve ruined that for me!

(pause)

Superball: Now will you go away?

The direct approach had not worked. Race 8 went no better for either of them. Cool Moody continued their march up the standings with a silver while Superball and Lollipop came across the line with one and two points respectively, putting Lollipop in third, above Superball by a single point. There were no celebrations. Even those marble sports outlets which claimed to be sympathetic to what they believed Lollipop had experienced harangued them in public, including during their trip from Winterpeg back to the sandhills. 

Increasingly troubled by the situation and dwelling on Superball’s words, Lollipop refused to give up on resolving the conflict, even as Big Pearl warned them that they might be unable to gain Superball’s forgiveness. They sought the advice of Black Knight, who of the other racers had gotten closest to Superball, and who spoke sullenly of the younger racer’s isolation. Reunited with the small stock of art supplies they had left at the sandhills village before the break, Lollipop decided to do what they had joined the Rally to do; turn their feelings into art. Determined to finish something this time, they returned to the canvas. Along with a note apologizing for their previous confrontations and misunderstandings, Lollipop attempted to express through their painting both their admiration for Superball’s strength and their regret over the conflict between them. Delivered overnight to Superball’s room, Lollipop awaited a response to the message, but none came.

Race 9’s was merely disappointing for Lollipop, scoring only three points and dropping off the podium into 5th. Superball, meanwhile, derailed off the track and into the audience stands, DNF’ing dramatically. As fans and stewards alike rushed to attend to the stranded racer, Lollipop put aside their promise to themself to give Superball space and returned to the top of the sandhill to meet with them too. The two did not speak then, but Lollipop was able to use their recognizability to fend off the swelling crowd and give the on-site medical team better access. Fortunately, Superball was only slightly dazed by the incident. 

Two days later, for the first time, it was Superball who approached Lollipop. On a clear night, overlooking the sandhills, Lollipop spoke about their conflict with Sucrose and the guilt that had haunted them since, and Superball spoke about their loneliness and the bullying they had endured as a young marble and the anxiety they felt in public or around large groups. 

As the two gained a deeper appreciation for what the other had been through, they hatched a plan together; with Superball waiting in the wings, Lollipop would appear on the next edition of a popular Van Gotterdam talk show to clear the air about both Superball and Sucrose. 

Their bombshell tell-all appearance went into depth about issues of widespread fan speculation, Superball and Sucrose alike.

…about the Sucrose breakup—

It wasn’t on good terms. I did a lot of work for them for no reward; they tried to manipulate me into quitting the rally so I’d keep doing that. When I refused they took a bunch of my stuff away. It was… a harsh lesson in picking who you trust carefully. 

…but it’s not just that, it’s the argument with Superball as well. 

It’s a wiretap, you’re not getting the full story. That’s the first thing I want to say. Sure, we had a disagreement. But a lot of it was my fault. I said a lot of things that I shouldn’t have. Then we talked it out, we’ve made amends, and we’re getting along better than ever. And Superball is great—both as an athlete and as a marble—they just said something they didn’t mean. But it was a huge violation for any of that to happen regardless. It shouldn’t be unreasonable for us to have privacy in our own rooms, or not want to talk about our private lives to the press.

Their statement about Sucrose set off a firestorm in Bewaring, but the controversy about Superball calmed down immediately. Thousands of miles away from home, Lollipop’s focus was on the Rally. 0 points in Race 10 put to bed any hopes of a true breakout season, but Superball’s transformation was remarkable. Their confident racing style seemingly returned to them overnight as they took the lead early and never looked back. The two celebrated the win quietly with a documentary about the Marnaissance in the athletes’ village common room. 

Still with their own season to worry about, Lollipop picked up their performance in the next race, kept their cool during the streaker incident, and scored a healthy 10 points. Unable to win and with only a slim shot of the podium, Lollipop was still on track for their best season ever, and nonetheless content with recouping some of the places they had dropped prior. 

Though unable to win, Lollipop finished the season on a high note with a bronze medal, on the podium with race winner Superball for the first time. The two shared a hug while waiting for the championship announcement. In the end, Superball had made it—three points over Cool Moody to win. 
In celebration of their own 6th-place finish, a personal best, and Superball’s win, Lollipop did what they had longed to do again and set up a party for the champion, the podium-sitters and the season’s end. It was a quieter and more restrained outing than the previous years’ championship celebrations, but no less fun, as everyone came together to paint Love; a spiritual successor to Chaos. Superball finished the details on the painting themself.

Love, Lollipop’s most influential work to date.

In a strange limbo between sports and arts, Lollipop looked set to return to Bewaring either way until Superball made a request of them—to take them traveling around Marblearth and show them what they had missed. Lollipop gladly accepted, and for a few months afterwards the pair popped up in various popular tourist destinations, occasionally with other SMRbles, resting and relaxing and avoiding the press. But their journey concluded somewhere more familiar—Lollipop’s home city of Bewaring, where Superball had arranged a surprise to show their gratitude. 

We were always going to spend some time in Bewaring, and they insisted on coming to my flat rather than getting a hotel nearby. Well, I went to show them to the guest room, and there it was. 

Suffering from further internal conflict, Sucrose was in a difficult financial situation. Various works in their collection were being auctioned off. Chaos was not amongst them—not until they were approached by an anonymous figure willing to pay a princely sum to acquire the painting. Astonished and grateful to be reunited with their favourite work, Lollipop began to see the future just slightly more colorfully. 

Chaos and Love would eventually be exhibited together for free in Hunluen during the Marble ManiaX tournament in 2022, forming a pair entitled Higher Duality. Superball did not attend the exhibition in-person due to the large crowds, but they attended virtually and sent regards to all attendants. They also spent time with fellow attendees RN3, Pollo Loco, and Blizzard Blaster.

In the offseason, Lollipop focused on rebuilding their career as an independent artist. Returning to Van Gotterdam for an extended residency to put space between them and Bewaring, they resumed making art within a space rented to them by the Institute and mentored several new students with communication difficulties. They also met frequently with other Rallyists in the area to practice on the sandhills. The two-race 2022 Practice Round saw them achieving second overall, just below Silver Bolt. More than anything, they worked hard to develop a balance between art and their training, and as the S6 qualifiers drew closer they reported a new air of calm confidence. 

“Now that I know exactly what I’m capable of, I’ll be working as hard as possible to make sure I’m back on the roster for S6.” 

Initially lagging behind Pollo Loco, Blazing Fireball and Reflektor, Lollipop’s qualification looked shaky. But a successful lunge between Fireball and Reflektor, caught up fighting each other despite both being provisional qualifiers, made their initial uninspiring showing seem almost calculated. Lollipop celebrated the qualification in their usual fashion—with a celebration, this time a quieter and more refined affair held at the Institute itself. 

Lollipop’s start to the season was uninspiring; a single-point first race followed by two six point races and a DNF left them in last by Race 4, a far cry from the highs of Season 5. Lollipop remained confident in their capacity to improve, however, rather than merely accepting the results as they were. 

“Not everything great has to get off to the perfect start.”

True to their allusions, a fifth place finish in the subsequent race bettered their fortunes, and while R6 left something to be desired with an eighth place, R7 would see the tides begin to turn for real. Lollipop took advantage of Silver Bolt, Cool Moody and Pollo Loco all DNFing to maintain a steady third-place position behind Slimer and Ducktape for the rest of the race, snagging a bronze medal and unknowingly getting a taste of the season’s overall podium. Races 8 and 9, which saw Lollipop eliminated from win and podium contention respectively, would also see Lollipop on the bubble for the top half of the standings. They just needed a characteristically-strong final race showing to break through.

And a strong final showing Lollipop would deliver. As the championship battle roared around them, Lollipop, with nothing to play for but points, struck out to the front and remained there for most of the race. They overtook Grasshopper on the final stretch by hitting a speed boost which they had missed and won the season’s final race, capping it off with a gold. With 82 points, sandwiched between fellow 82-pointers Crazy Cat’s Eye and Pollo Loco, Lollipop staked their claim in the top half with an eighth-place finish. 

But as much as they had improved from their early days, the rally remained more than points and medals to Lollipop. More than anything, they relished the opportunity to be amongst true friends once again, adrenaline rushing as they raced downhill. Their art and sports weren’t opposing forces they needed to choose between—they were both part of a whole.

Credits

  • Writer: Millim
  • Copyeditors/Editors: Evolution, Fouc, Stynth
  • Artists: Piney, Toffeeshop
  • Graphic Designer: Yume, Tim Ritz
  • Photo Credit: Jelle’s Marble Runs
  • Release: 28/07/2024

MRS7 Memo #7: High Noon, High Tides

One track in the Marble Rally can change fortunes, and wouldn’t H2 Blue know it: two back-to-back races at Doornse Gat led to two medals. The rallyist finished first just an hour ago, and the thrill of victory still coursed through them.

All this energy, they thought, had to be shaken off: they had to act a tad normal ahead of all the schmoozing and media hits in the rest of the evening. They already sprinted up the sand dunes to an outlook over the rally track. From there, all alone, they began to sing:

A gold gives me warmth, a bronze’s not much worse,

But only two, no big deal, I want more!

I want to roll where the champions are,

I want to race down mountains and valleys –

“Hey! Are you the real H2 Blue?” said a high-pitched voice behind the rallyist. A little flushed, H2 Blue turned to see a little marble about half their size.

“This is so crazy! I don’t know if you saw me, but I was watching you from that island halfway through! You were going so fast! I’ve never seen anyone like you!”

“Oh, well… I was just in the moment there,” replied H2 Blue. “If you practice and train yourself, you can be just as fast as me.”

“Oh, but I don’t know!” said the young fan. “I was there with my best friend, and they said you’re fast because you’re really special. My friend said you have superpowers. Is that really true?”

“Well, the real world doesn’t work that way!” chuckled H2 Blue. The rallyist followed up with an offer to take the fan back to their parents.

Yet, strolling down together back to the track, the fan couldn’t stop thinking: what if H2 Blue really is different?

Almost halfway through the race, H2 Blue stretches their lead. (Photo Credit: JMR)

In any given Marble Rally season, there was only ever one constant: press conferences running over and making everyone late. Fine if you were a reporter trying to squeeze another question in – unideal if you had a dinner reservation with Superball that evening.

In the time Lollipop had spent running behind, Superball had filled their table with sheets of paper, then filled those sheets of paper with line after line of inscrutable calculations. Inscrutable to Lollipop, at least – Superball was so absorbed in them that Lollipop’s arrival went unnoticed until they spoke. 

“Sorry I’m late.” They’d texted Superball to that effect earlier too, but it never hurt to be polite. “Working on something?” 

“Just permutations.” They handed Lollipop one particularly dense sheet. “These are for my win odds.” 

A waiter placed down a starter each as Lollipop read the calcs. Superball only ever ordered their favorite, spinach anchovy dip with toasted sourdough, and Lollipop would eat whatever, so they’d probably ordered in advance. Today’s fried crab cakes were an indulgence fit for a win. 

“Yeah? How are they?” asked Lollipop eventually, fruitless attempts to understand put to rest by the complaints of an empty stomach. 

“Slightly less than two percent, give-or-take,” hummed Superball. 

Hearing that stung a little. Superball hadn’t pointed it out, but they definitely knew it; their odds to win had never been so low so close to the final. 

Lollipop nudged them encouragingly across the table. “Yeah, but you’re Superball. Numbers can’t account for that.” 

“Well, maybe…” they mused. “But I don’t know if that can bail me out anymore. Things have changed. I might not even make the top four.” 

“Supes, I-” 

“That’s why I think you could beat me this season. You’re only six points back, after all, and you were in perfect form today.” They sounded almost enthused about the prospect. 

Lollipop chuckled to themself. After all this time, Superball never stopped surprising them. “We’re optimistic about each other, then? That could work.”

Lollipop gets some airtime as a leap over the wall sends them flying into first. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Amidst the swarm of marbles, Big Pearl’s phone buzzed, a welcome distraction from the reporters around them.

sorru

best result all seasn yknow?

Further up the text history was a typo-riddled confirmation to meet up for dinner. Big Pearl raised an eyebrow and squinted at the growing crowd, which hadn’t shown the faintest sign of reduction, and decided to go bail them out.

Spotting them was easy. It was just a matter of getting there without losing track of them, a task that would be much simpler if Big Pearl’s heart didn’t melt every time a watery-eyed young marble stopped them for an autograph.

“Are you gonna win?” the child asked as Big Pearl uncapped a marker.

“I’m going to do my best,” they replied, handing the paper back. Their signature shimmered with a nacre finish. As they watched the young marble dash away, they caught a flash of red in their periphery.

“Ghost,” Big Pearl called, stepping through the crowd in their direction, and halted.

It was the wrong red marble. The crowd parted slightly to make room for the impromptu standoff.

“Pearl!” greeted El Capitan. “How’s it going?” Their boisterous cordiality was strained.

“Good.” Big Pearl’s attempt fell even flatter.

The two stared at each other, both unwilling to budge as the sound of camera shutters began to drown out the gossip around them. No doubt this was going to get plastered on every other sports article this week, Big Pearl thought, with a headline like ‘Showdown at High Noon’ even though it’s six in the evening. So be it. They stared down El Capitan even harder. 

“Yo, ‘Cap!”

The tension snapped. Pollo Loco strutted onto the scene, giving El Capitan a friendly bump. “There you are! C’mon, I booked us a table at ‘The Time and Tide.’ It’ll be great.” As they continued, Big Pearl took the opportunity to slip back into the crowd.

Unaware of what had just transpired, the bronze medalist was waving goodbye to a final fan as their friend approached.

“Hey, Ghost.” Big Pearl’s expression was unreadable. “Could you tell Dragon to cancel that reservation?” 

“Huh? But you like seafood.”

“I want to go somewhere else tonight. Please.”

Lollipop, Pollo Loco, and Ghost Plasma on the podium for Race 7. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Credits

MRS7 Memo #6: What Goes Around Rolls Around

Quicksilver leads the B-League race with half a minute to go. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Quicksilver was beginning to tire of the consequences of their actions. One kind gesture to RN3 and they were suddenly whisking them away to a quaint little meadow that nobody seemed to know about and presenting them with another box. 

Held together with a white satin ribbon, it bore on each side a logo Quicksilver didn’t recognize. When they pulled at the ribbon, it unfurled and took with it the box, which collapsed outward onto the picnic blanket. Inside was a stack of shortbreads coated with chocolate and coconut, somehow still perfectly arranged.

Quicksilver blinked slowly. “These are from Quixote.” 

“Do you like them?” 

Quicksilver took a measured bite. Crumbs scattered across the grass. Between each layer was a thick puck of gooey caramel, melting the flavors together. 

“It’s just like I remember,” they sighed. “You didn’t have to,” they then followed, sharper. 

“Well, I wanted to,” replied RN3, smiling. 

After the podium ceremony, Reflektor and Blizzard Blaster agreed to have a celebratory dinner at a nearby restaurant. As they waited for the food to arrive, they discussed how their perceptions had changed as the season progressed, joyful the whole time.

“Consistency is big in the long run, but once you pair it up with a medal, marbles take a different look at you,” the championship leader said.

Blizzard Blaster smiled and replied. “That’s true. Suddenly you’re launched up the table and into the public eye. Of course it’s everyone’s goal here, but it’s a weird feeling for someone who’s not used to this, right?”

“It’s… unique, for sure. But there’s always someone who enjoys lurking behind the champion until the opportunity comes…”

Reflektor’s expression changed, as the overtake by Dragon’s Egg on the line for second came to mind.

“What’s made you worried all of a sudden, buddy?”

“Well, it’s just that I still have some areas to improve.”

It’s a nonstop process,” Blizzard Blaster said upliftingly. “You’ve improved a lot this year already, and you and Blue Moon should be proud.”

Both of them began to smile, distracted as their dinner arrived.

Eight years they’d known them. Eight years, and even when they raced separately, they always met up again eventually. 

Big Pearl, Dragon’s Egg, and Ghost Plasma meandered together across Doornse Gat (“If we mess up the track, we’ll get in trouble,” Dragon’s Egg had warned) until the sun kissed the horizon and the evening poured its twilight hues across the sky. The trio finally settled atop a branch that straddled a split in the sand, where the wind whistled as it squeezed through gaps in the wood and the podium was a mere white speck.

“Thanks for being here,” Big Pearl said quietly. Thanks for being here even when I struggled in the Showdown last year. Even when I wasn’t invited before that. 

Dragon’s Egg smiled. “Feels like we stood on that podium together yesterday.”

“I’ll join you two again someday,” Big Pearl declared. “I just want to deal with a certain someone first.”

Ghost Plasma’s gaze slid over to them. “El Capitan?” they suggested, as if it could have been anyone else.

Big Pearl kicked at the sand. “Well, the showdown championship’s probably going to come down to us, unless someone mounts a challenge from the back.” They eyed Dragon’s Egg. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“I do.” 

“It’d be way more impressive if I pulled it off,” interjected Ghost Plasma, grinning playfully.

Big Pearl gave them a flat stare. “You?”

“It’s mathematically possible!” they protested. They nudged the marble beside them. “Eggsy, back me up.”

To Ghost Plasma’s indignation, Dragon’s Egg coughed politely and looked away. Big Pearl laughed. “C’mon, let’s go back. It’s getting chilly.”

Blizzard Blaster, Dragon’s Egg, and Reflektor on the podium for Race 6. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Credits

Out of the Rolling – Event 11: Into the Thicket of It

Jump was grateful for the extra time in Kinikolu that the Jungle Jumpers had granted them. Most eliminated marbles had returned home hastily, either knowing they were due or hoping they were due their invitations to M1, but the Jungle Jumpers had many reasons to doubt their hopes of return, and that meant they could have an extra week to themself. Right now, they were scouting out the island’s tallest, most robust trees for a round of low-stakes bungee jumping. Sometimes, extended offseasons had their perks. 

Halfway up their next conquest, a domineering coastal redwood overlooking flagging ocean tides, their focus was interrupted by movement dancing across the edge of their vision. It was not particularly unusual for something besides them to be around; Kinikolu was as rich in wildlife and nature as Lewara. But most wild animals were too skittish to go anywhere near an unfamiliar marble. And it was unlikely to be another marble, Jump rationalized, as they’d only gotten to this particular stretch of the coast through a difficult stretch of jungle terrain, and only told a select few marbles about it. Rojo Uno, who was long gone, Shelly, ditto, and –

“Oh! There it is.” 

Diego. Jump watched the cats-eye marble waltz out of the overgrowth with a certain amusement. They were about to call out from above when they realized that Diego themself wasn’t alone, either – Rezzy was following behind them. 

“It’s beautiful,” Rezzy replied, gaze cast over the waves. Neither of them had noticed Jump, naturally camouflaged amongst the leaves. “No wonder Jump said to keep it secret.” 

Oh, come on, Jump thought. 

They came to a stop together on the sand, facing the ocean. Beneath a velveteen sunset, foamy waves brushed up against the white sand. Neither of them spoke. Clearly, they hadn’t planned for company and Jump considered calling it quits for the evening – if only they could get down and leave silently. 

Rezzy spoke first between them. “I’m going to miss you,” they said, in the sort of way that already made it sound like they were barely holding back tears. As passively guilty as their foray into espionage made them feel, Jump had never heard Rezzy be anywhere near sincere before. They couldn’t help but wonder what Rezzy might sound like if they did break down crying. 

“I know,” Diego replied in the affirmative. “I’m sorry.” 

“You weren’t supposed to go so soon,” protested Rezzy, petulance masking a real hurt. “I can’t stay here without you! This stupid place – these idiots – it’s hell if you’re not here.” 

Jump side-eyed the resplendence of the setting sun. If this is Rezzy’s hell, I’d love to see their heaven, they thought. Apparently, Diego felt similarly, nudging Rezzy gently towards the view. 

“I wanted to share the final race with you,” protested Rezzy. “I wanted you to win.”

Diego’s expression became firmer. “Don’t you dare throw this away just because I’m gone.”  

Like a scolded child, Rezzy pouted but seemed to agree silently, giving up their protests and letting Diego launch into a monologue. 

“I wanted to win too! I don’t think anyone came here not caring if they won. But if I could go back to when I was considering that invitation and tell myself I’d only get eleventh, I would’ve still said yes. So I refuse to feel sorry for myself.” 

Rezzy squirmed. “It’s just unfair. It’s completely unfair, the entire stupid thing. You deserved it! And you saved me for no reason when you should have been trying to get ahead!” 

Diego shrugged. “Sure, it’s unfair. Even if me and Jump pooled our successes, we probably couldn’t even hope to touch someone like you or Mandarin. That’s not fair. But life metes out its hands without thinking about who deserves it or doesn’t.”

So they haven’t forgotten me yet, Jump thought. 

“I freed you for the same reason I freed you back then – because I want to be fair, even if the world isn’t,” they said. “And if I’m going to go out, I want to do it having stuck to my principles.” 

It was strange for Jump to hear their thoughts echoed so eloquently by someone else (save for the Rezzy ones, which was probably a Diego thing). Better to be right than successful. But perhaps it shouldn’t be so strange, they thought. It was hard to deny that the Stars and the Jumpers often played the same role. Never meeting with great failure or great success, failing to qualify but escaping relegation, fighting every day to keep competing not for the success or wealth it brought them (or didn’t) but for the love of the sport. And that was without mentioning the similarities between Lewara and Isle Hyu. Diego probably understood that just as well as they did, even if they did deserve a stern talking-to about keeping secrets. 

Diego’s case made and Rezzy’s protests exhausted, the two on the beach were serene and quiet. It was the sort of fond, private scene worthy of a painting. Crashing waves obfuscated what might be the sound of Rezzy’s tears, as if the island itself was guarding the moment. 

“Don’t give up, Rez. I’m always with you.” 

Jump shut their ears. Maybe they really didn’t need to know what someone else’s loss sounded like.

(Art Credit: Piney)

Credits

MRS7 Memo #5: It Takes Two

Slimer tries to catch Ducktape as the latter cruises to victory. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Wearing their shiny gold medal, Ducktape had spent the last few hours reveling in their resounding victory. They kept a close eye on the time, though – as soon as a hint of sundown neared, the purplish marble made their way to the hilly patches of Dopersduin, only to see that another marble had reached first.

“You’re late,” remarked Slimer with a smirk.

“It’s barely dusk! I know we promise to meet whenever we finish consecutively, but today I was occupied with, uh, winning festivities,” Ducktape replied, unable to hide a grin of their own.

The pair’s bond had strengthened considerably since both across the previous Marble Rally season and the off-season following it, as upon the wake of Season 7, Ducktape and Slimer would converse several times a week. Today, they had been reunited on the top two steps of the podium, almost as if they were reliving the eventful year they’d shared before.

“It feels different now,” sighed Slimer, as the two rolled across the mossy terrain in unison. “This year, there’s so much more attention, more scrutiny… It’s been hard to focus on the racing and… be my own marble, y’know? Do I sound pretentious saying that?” asked Slimer, after receiving a strange look from Ducktape.

“It’s not pretentious, just more… confusing. You achieved your ultimate goal, the honor we all want more than anything. In a way, isn’t that a relief?”

Slimer took a moment to ponder Ducktape’s question. They did feel that relief, but simultaneously, a new kind of pressure loomed over them — the champion-level expectation that had been tugging at them each race.

“It does, you’re right. I’ve just always preferred the lower-profile life, but that’s hard to come by now. See, even after your win, the subject is me! Today should be about you. You were great out there.”

We were great out there,” Ducktape replied candidly. “If anything, today’s race showed that you could cope with that expectation alright. Just like old times.”

“Just like old times,” repeated Slimer, feeling a nostalgic wave of comfort.

“I’ll say it as clearly as I have already – I can’t understand why you’re so obliging to CCE.”

Against the shadowed backdrop of a now-deserted fan-stand, Wisp of Darkness cracked a self-satisfied smile.. “Yeah, we’re not buds, but what you don’t understand is that since the dinner is free, I’m basically making profit off it.” 

“But you paid the last time, didn’t you?” replied Black Knight. 

“Yeah, so we’re getting even this time,” boasted Wisp of Darkness. 

“You know that the Felynian High Council is bankrolling Crazy Cat’s Eye, right? If this is a power play… well, you can’t get even, even if you tried.” 

Wisp of Darkness exhaled haughtily. “You just don’t understand.” 

Black Knight had to agree – they didn’t. They scrunched their eyes together and reminded themself that it was WOD’s right to make terribly advised decisions. 

“If you’re having fun, I won’t get in your way. But let me be frank with you – it’s not the choice that I would make. ”

Wisp of Darkness’ grin grew sharper. “I’ll be having fun when I’m eating lobster and caviar later tonight.” 

Black Knight sighed under their breath. I can’t believe someone like this is second right now… If I don’t step things up, it’ll just be Big Pearl against El Capitan. 

Late out of the press junket, it was the golden hour by the time RN3 reached the canal on their roll through town. Golden light spilled onto the lazy undulations of the slow-flowing water, occasionally scattered by a light breeze. It was peaceful – peaceful until Quicksilver showed up out of nowhere. 

RN3 readied themself for their usual complaints. But the very air around them was noticeably different, and to their side hung a fanciful pink bag.

“Come with me,” they insisted, tugging RN3 forward. Bemused but curious, RN3 obliged, following them until they arrived in a small half-walled garden with a fountain and a bench. 

When they sat down, Quicksilver handed the bag off to them insistently. It was almost cold to the touch. “I got you something,” they blurted out, so nervous they could barely stand to meet RN3’s gaze.

Inside the bag was a similarly whimsical pink box; contained within which was a neapolitan ice cream cake, perfectly portioned for two, with “500 career points – congratulations, Red” written in delicate icing on top. 

“You even remembered my favorite flavor. I can’t thank you enough,” RN3 gasped. That only embarrassed Quicksilver further, and they withdrew further into themself. 

“It’s not a big deal, so don’t make it one,” they mumbled. “I just… Ugh, forget it. Eat it before it melts everywhere.” 

RN3 smiled. “Want to share?” 

If Quicksilver had been embarrassed before, they were positively flustered now. “F-Fine. But this doesn’t mean we’re not still rivals, alright?” 

“I know, I know,” RN3 laughed, cutting half of the vanilla section away for their friend. 

Ducktape, Slimer, and Red Number 3 on the Race 5 podium. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Credits

MRS7 Memo #4: A Summer Night’s Dream

Having gotten past Blazing Fireball in the last sector, Blue Moon, Pollo Loco, and Crazy Cat’s Eye approach the finish line. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Having finally finished with the post-race circus, Blue Moon flopped onto the grass with a yawn. The gloomy skies had given way to alternating clumps of sun and cloud, periodically lightening and darkening the air around them.

Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Summer Sky wading across the meadow in their direction and sat up. Blue Moon waved as the lighter blue marble drew closer.

“I was just going to say congratulations on your first win,” Summer Sky said. The sun somehow glinted off of them at the perfect angle. “You looked great out there today battling it out at the front – but if you’re busy, I won’t bother you.”

“I’m not,” Blue Moon reassured. “Thanks, though, and same to you. You made that climb back to the front look effortless.”

It was Summer Sky’s turn to be flustered by praise. “Any plans to commemorate your first gold?” they asked, trying to deflect. Blue Moon shuffled awkwardly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get here,” they admitted sheepishly. “So I never thought about what I’d do either. I think the tradition is to be loud and go to a party? Personally I’d rather take a nap, but I’d probably get sunburnt.” Blue Moon squinted up at the drifting clouds. “Actually…it’s a good temperature for ice cream. Know any places?”

Their search led them to a local parlor who’d looked as though it hadn’t changed its décor since it opened thirty years ago. Blue Moon was delighted to see they sold their namesake ice cream, while Summer Sky settled for their award-winning vanilla in lieu of their preferred mango flavor.

“So that’s who designed your uniform,” said Summer Sky. “I talked with them last week! I can’t believe I never connected the dots.”

Blue Moon nodded, carving out another spoonful of their ice cream. It had come with crescent and star-shaped sprinkles. “I figured if anyone knew them, it’d be you or Lollipop. But enough about me. What were you up to during the offseason?”

“Oh, the usual, like you,” they replied vaguely. “I spent some time with Grasshopper; that was nice. Y’know,” they said, changing the subject, “I think Quicksilver would like this place. Maybe it’d even cheer them up! I wonder what they’re up to…”

A race day that ended with the race itself was rare. Press duty for the podium-sitters was followed with crowds of fans hanging around the sandhills, looking for autographs, or just a word with the racers. Debriefings and post-race consulting with trainers and management followed, as did any informal discussions between competitors. On a good day, everything finished two hours after the last Rallyist crossed the line. With lines of young marbles spilling out from the entrance, today was unlikely to be a good day. 

“Think you could stick around and do the meet-and-greets with us? Those kids love you, gato, and I’ll pay you back,” pleaded El Capitan. Though they tried to keep an even keel to their tone, both had seen the scenes outside, and their words were underwritten with a subtle desperation. CCE remained unmoved. 

“Afraid not. I have plans with Wisp of Darkness, and we can’t both be late.” Punctuating their unwillingness, they rolled backwards while keeping level gaze with El Capitan, whose face curdled with frustration. 

“Wisp of Darkness!?” they groaned. “You don’t even like Wisp of Darkness!”

CCE grinned. “I like anyone who’s paying for my dinner,” they corrected. “Best of luck out there, though.” They backed away fully, and El Capitan watched helplessly as they vanished over the horizon. 

Back amongst the crowd, Pollo Loco had taken responsibility for wrangling the attendant fans. That El Capitan returned to anything short of complete anarchy was a testament to their crowd management. But Pollo Loco made it look effortless, each of the bright-eyed young marbles queued up in an orderly fashion and hanging on their every word. Whenever one received their autograph, they departed cleanly and were swiftly replaced by whoever was behind them. 

“Impressive,” remarked El Capitan, nudging Pollo Loco approvingly. Another young marble wriggled to the front of the queue. 

Pollo Loco smiled nonchalantly. “It’s nothin’, really,” they laughed as they brought the next attendee closer. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“I dunno,” they squeaked. Pollo Loco and El Capitan exchanged a confused glance between them. “Hey, can you guess who my uniform is based on? It’s my favourite racer!” It was red and yellow in equal parts, streaked with white and green. 

“Phoenix?” ventured Pollo Loco. 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“It’s Rastafarian, isn’t it?” concluded El Capitan. 

That too was countered with a nuh-uh– and a callout from Quicksilver, who had been observing unnoticed from a distance. 

“The kid doesn’t look anything like either of them,” laughed Quicksilver. “Phoenix? Seriously?”

El Capitan took a sharp breath. “Very well. But if you’re so sure of yourself, you’ll have the right answer, yes?” 

For a moment Quicksilver was caught off guard. “How should I know?” they grumbled. “But if you want my opinion that badly, they look like a mix of the two of you.” 

El Capitan huffed. “Hardly an answer-” 

“Yay!” exclaimed the young marble, hopping up and down. “You got it! You’re both my favorites!” 

Quicksilver had already vanished, leaving El Capitan and Pollo Loco to turn to each other.

“Well, I’ll be,” El Capitan mumbled.

“Lookin’ good, kid,” added Pollo Loco.

Blue Moon, Pollo Loco, and Crazy Cat’s Eye on the Race 4 podium. (Photo Credit: JMR)

Credits