[H2][center][b]Joel Nicolosi [/b][/center][/h2]

Joel came out of the hauler with a yawn and a stretch of the arms. He had a very specific ritual when it came to race days most of which involved periods of quiet and clearing his mind. He could jump right into practice and even qualifying and post hot laps almost without effort, but the race was different, [i]near sacred[/i]. He ate little, napped often and would emerge an hour or so before the lights went out on the starting board. He looked around at the paddock area. It was the same setup they had out at the airport only multiplied seventeen times and neatly arranged in a vivid barrage of colors in front of the Luna Sports Facility. Flags were out over the top of the haulers depicting various teams, countries and manufacturers. Crowds of onlookers moved about pointing, taking photos and enjoying the novelty of the transformation of downtown into a racecourse. Joel stepped down looking over his shoulder. He had to hand it to Tommy; their top flight hauler did blend in nicely with the rest of teams. The man understood the importance of presence. 

Friday practice went smoothly. They never pushed the car hard in practice, just a few laps to get familiar with the course again and get their rhythm back. Joel knew it by heart: Every bump, every sign, every shopfront banner or traffic marker that the regular citizens of Sol passed by casually each day. Landmarks he grew up with that he and Tommy used to remind them when to brake, when to be on the accelerator and when they needed to push it. With their time at the airport, they had an advantage of being able to do a little more fine tuning than the other teams who made their way in later in the week and were obliged to wait for the course to open up. The car was as right as he could make it and he’d only made a few minor adjustments since the race with Marinalia. It felt like a streamlined butterfly and Joel was beaming though trying to hide it. He’d already made a few waves.

Saturday qualifying was where he’d really put on a show splitting the time of his arch rivals: the factory backed Nissan GT-R’s and landing their two-plus decade old 300ZX on the outside pole to the shock of many. His lap was the talk of the paddock. Sol City’s tight street course only provided a few brief passing opportunities making qualifying of extreme importance. Last year, with the new engine, they’d still managed to come up through the pack in all three heats, but still finished just short of their two state-of-the-art rivals. Joel’s qualifying run had taken them from a lucky hometown sideshow to a serious contender to win. He knew if he could get around the black GT-R on pole, they’d never catch him.

Walking through the tent he returned a few familiar waves with a small grin. The sound system was pumping one of his favorites and weather was still holding clear. Life was good in these moments. He felt like he was stepping into an exam where he studied thoroughly and was completely confident in his answers. He simched the knot tighter on the top of his racing suit that was tied by the sleeves around his waste as he found Marlin and Tommy chatting. He couldn't remember a time where he'd actually seen a woman wear their team colors and the thought threw up all kinds of flashing banners in his mind that she may actually be [i]different[/i]. 

"C'mon," He said extending his arm out with a smirk for her to take underhand, "If you want to be on TV."

[@PrinceAlexus]

Joel's Playlist 
[YouTube]https://youtu.be/_qYT3-lMNto[/youtube]