[center][h2]Friday june 18th, 2094, 20:30
Silverstone, United Kingdom[/h2][h3]Late Shift[/h3][/center][quote][color=#7AFFAD]”Mierda. This is a hell of a day. You must be exhausted?
Well, this is the life. Tomorrow tends to be easier. Fridays are always crazy. And Sundays? Well, if you put it on podium, you are getting hearing damage.”[/color][/quote]
[color=#1EFF24]”How long have you known me?”[/color] Bea kicked off against the wall and rolled over to Ava on her chair, [color=#1EFF24]”11 months now? A year? And you still can’t comprehend fan interactions recharging my batteries?”[/color] The Brit chuckled.
[color=#7AFFAD]”No.”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”Monaco was worse. At least we had that Argentinian brewery and the Breitling execs, they seemed to care, but most of them…”[/color] Bea held her head in her hands, [color=#1EFF24]”They are there to make sponsorship deals with AG racing teams, you would [i]think[/i] they would do some homework.
‘Why do the ships have engines on the back, doesn’t the antigravity generator push you forward?’
‘Why don’t all teams copy last year’s winning ship?’ ”[/color] She mocked with appropriately stupid-sounding voices, [color=#1EFF24]”And my [i]favourite[/i], some gossip journo asking ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to understand if they gave gaps between ships in meters rather than seconds?’ [i]That[/i] was exhausting.”[/color]
[color=#7AFFAD]”You can’t expect business people to understand the sport.“[/color] Ava shrugged, [color=#7AFFAD]”You’d be just as lost in business.”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”True, and guess what? That’s why my sister takes over the company, not me.”[/color] bea crossed her arms in defense, snapping her fingers as she remembered something. [color=#1EFF24]”But speaking of my family, my mum wants to meet my coworkers. You’re invited to dinner on Sunday at eight. Beef Wellington. Real beef. Can you make it or is it a bad time?”[/color]
[color=#7AFFAD]”I’ll be there, if you tell me where.”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”Great! I’ll drive you after we’re done here, just let me know ahead of time if you’ll be going back to your hotel or if I should set up the sofa for you.”[/color]
[color=#7AFFAD]”The sofa? I’m not good enough for the guest room to you?”[/color] Ava smiled.
[color=#1EFF24]”I don’t [i]have[/i] a guest room. I don’t need a big house, I barely spend half a year in it anyway. If you lay down by the front door, your legs will be in the neighbor’s garden.”[/color] Bea laughed, joined by Ava. [color=#1EFF24]”Anyway, I’ll get going, don’t stay up too late. I’ll pick you up at your hotel tomorrow at seven. See you then”[/color] Bea waved as she walked backwards toward the door.
[color=#7AFFAD]”Good night.”[/color] Ava waved and turned back to her terminal before Bea’s head reappeared around the doorframe a few seconds later.
[color=#1EFF24]”Oh, and you owe me 50 Pesos. Got out of that Merc under my own power. Thank you, Rocklin Augmentics, for full-length cyberarms. Back will be sore tomorrow though, I’m already starting to feel that.”[/color] Bea grinned, [color=#1EFF24]”I take payment in Frugelés or Arbolitos.”[/color]
[color=#7AFFAD]”Your pronunciation is getting better.”[/color] Ava simply chuckled before the Brit disappeared again and she plunged back into the data from her last practice session.

[hr][center][h2]Saturday June 19th, 2094, 14:00
Silverstone, United Kingdom[/h2][h3]Qualifying[/h3][/center]The number 18 Carrera Condor ship tore across the circuit, flowing gracefully through Abbey and Farm, ploughing through Luffield like an overloaded van with baking sheets under the front wheels, blasting through Copse at full throttle, wobbling through the left-right-left-right of Maggotts and Becketts while somehow gaining time on Max through there, which would spawn a short series of video edits of that section of her qualifying lap spliced together with some of her more suicidal cornering back in WRC, and charging across the Hangar Straight into Stowe, where she pulled her little stunt in the Mercedes W11 earlier in the week over which she received a sternly-worded e-mail from FIAR and made a friend of the elderly engineer looking after it and several of its siblings.

She also brought a special helmet for her home race, the unhinged Husky covered in signatures and messages from kids from the schools she’d visited earlier in the season replaced with a more serious design, split into four equal sections displaying the flags of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland.

[color=#129914]”Nice one! That’s provisional P1, we’re expecting P9.”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”Yeeees! Fueled by the crowd’s vibes, let’s go!“[/color] She hollered, fully aware that bit would be broadcast. [color=#1EFF24]”I have no clue how I didn’t bin it on entry to Becketts, the ship felt ready to roll over.”[/color] She laughed the tension of the lap away.
[color=#129914]”You know what that was?”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”What?”[/color]
[color=#129914]”[i]*BEEEEEP*[/i]ing. Spectacular.”[/color] Alistair called back to Bea’s cheer after qualifying in South Africa.
[color=#1EFF24]”Haha. Don’t jinx us. Ah, it’s better than practice, but Luffield is still painful with this understeer.”[/color]
[color=#129914]”Felix and the crew claim they’ve got a workaround, hang in there, both of you.”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”I still can’t believe our luck with that signing.”[/color]
[color=#129914]”Maybe we should send them a cake? At least a thank-you note?”[/color]

[hr][center][h2]Saturday June 19th, 2094, 21:47
London, GB[/h2][h3]Richmond, Lauderdale Drive[/h3][/center]Over the years, Bea’s bedroom had rapidly become a sim room with a bed and wardrobe. What was initially just her computer and a driving sim rig, which itself was quickly swapped out for a full motion model, was soon joined by a full motion flight sim with small changes made to it to mimic an AG ship control setup. And it was getting a lot of action that evening, with six rally mechanics each with a beverage of choice and both of the rigs hooked up to a computer each, one pair was trying to beat Bea’s personal best times in Dirt Rally 19’s driver-codriver coop mode, the rest trying to hold their pints in throughout the Dubai circuit in the official FA 2093 game in VR.

In the adjacent living room, Bea and a thin, tall man with a brown mohawk sat on the couch, drinks in hand and feet on the table, the day’s Junior Formula Antigravity race on the TV.
[color=#46BDC6]”Sae, how is yer teammate takin’ th’ fact you’re up ten points an’ leadin’ 5 tae 3 in qualifying?”[/color] Gareth Burns, Bea’s former co-driver and present co-driver and owner of the Black Isle Rally2 team, asked.
[color=#1EFF24]”If it bothers her, she’s good at hiding it. Doesn’t sound like her though, we’re both alike in that regard, say what we think.”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”Tactless? Ow!”[/color] Gazza suggested, earning himself a friendly metal elbow to the ribs.
[color=#1EFF24]”Blunt.”[/color] She finished her sentence. [color=#1EFF24]”But I don’t think she minds. We’re not that far off on actual pace. Well, I [i]hope[/i] she doesn’t mind.”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”...Soonds like her loss if she does? Think o’ everything she can learn from ye?”[/color] Gareth tried to lift the mood.
[color=#1EFF24]”Ah, who knows? Maybe I’ll get tired of FIAR and the politics soon and go elsewhere. Pro touge looks fun.”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”Ye cannae dae that tae yer poor ma’.”[/color] He objected with genuine concern.
[color=#1EFF24]”No, I can’t.“[/color] She shook hear head, [color=#1EFF24]”Rallycross then.”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”Sae no running back tae rallying either?”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”I would be lying if I said I don’t miss the co-driver. Can’t shoot the shite over the radio like that. Whenever I’m learning a new circuit, I still partition it out into pace notes and they play in your tartan twang in my head. Except now when they’re wrong, I only have myself to complain about.”[/color] She grinned past her beer.
[color=#46BDC6]”Awright now, that only happened four times, that’s less than twa times a season! How many times did ye break th’ car in impossible ways?”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”Three times… In the first year.”[/color] She had to admit defeat. [color=#1EFF24]”Worst comes to worst, I can try commentary. Though I may be a tad…”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”Blunt?”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”Tactless, for that.”[/color] She grinned.
The conversation froze as on the screen in front of them, Elise Vogel and Alice Thovex got into the mix, the battle for P10 lasting from Abbey all the way to Brooklands where Thovex’ zeal finally gave way to Vogel’s experience and the Carrera Condor junior driver pulled ahead to a cheer from Bea.
[color=#46BDC6]”Ah heard Caroline’s still a salty twat?”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”Worse than you remember.”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”Absolute cunt.”[/color]
[color=#1EFF24]”Rich people, right?”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”Word.”[/color]
The two almost stopped cackling when a loud round of cheers signalled two mechanics finishing their rally stage and actually surpassing Bea’s time by six thousandths of a second.
Bea pointed to the door. [color=#1EFF24]”Do we break the delusion?”[/color]
[color=#46BDC6]”Ye read mah mind.”[/color] Gazza sprang out of his seat.
She finished the rest of her beer. [color=#1EFF24]”A second faster or I’m taking you all to Pikes Peak next week.”[/color]

[color=gold][center][h1][i][b]DELTΔ HYPER[/b][/i][/h1][/center][/color][color=gold][center][h2][i][b]Episode Eight: The Chain[/b][/i][/h2][/center][/color]
[hr]
[center][@LadyAmber][/center]
[quote]”Bea, what's your question for Paul?”[/quote]
Bea sighed. [color=#1EFF24]”Why must you spring this on me like this, you know I’m less decisive than the parliament.”[/color] She groaned into her hands.

She took upwards of 20 seconds to think of something of any value, taking a breath to apologize for wasting Aurora’s time when it hit her.

[color=#1EFF24]”If there was one area you could expand the scope of the Mulder Foundation into, anything at all, what would it be? Or would you leave it as it is because that’s how your mother intended it?”[/color]

[hr]
[center][@MrSkimobile][/center]
“Now for your question. Turn the sheet over.” Aurora instructed.
[quote][color=orange]”How do you decide what to paint? What to share, put out there, show to others, and what to keep inside?”[/color][/quote]Bea read out loud.

[color=#1EFF24]”I think you grossly overestimate the amount of thought that goes into anything I do. At least things that only concern me.”[/color] She answered with a shake of her head immediately, the stark contrast to figuring out what to ask proving her point. [color=#1EFF24]”If I’m doing a tutorial for some specific technique, then I’ll choose things that will work best with what I’m doing. Say, when I wanted to try a different way of blending colors, I painted a big eye with central heterochromia because of the way the iris looks. Otherwise, whatever strikes my fancy is what gets painted.”[/color] She explained a bit more in detail.
“Did anyone ever come to blows over your paintings?”
[color=#1EFF24]”Not that I’m aware of, no.”[/color] Bea shook her head, momentarily taken aback by the question. [color=#1EFF24]”The odd auction aside, anything I paint that I don’t keep ends up given away to my fans, who are all well behaved, or to hospitals and I would hope no one is fighting there.”[/color]
“And did you?” Aurora sneaked in Kais’ other question.
[color=#1EFF24]”Not over paintings.”[/color] She shook her head.
This time it was Aurora who looked surprised. “The way you phrase that implies you got into a fight?”
[color=#1EFF24]”Some people lack elementary wisdom, such as not talking shite about the parents of their classmate who has titanium knuckles.”[/color] Bea shrugged, [color=#1EFF24]”[i]*BEEP*[/i] you, Lyndsey.”[/color] She added, an amused grin breaking through.

[hr]
[center][url=https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1TrLdbYUu7LJQf9_6F1zblN3WfwvCU8R3W8Xskd8b3vI/edit?usp=sharing]Carrera Condor NPCs[/url][/center]