<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/Mtx59.jpg)</div><br/><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><strong>Name:</strong> Allison Leclerc<br/><strong>Title:</strong> The Brains<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Somewhere along Highway 16<br/><strong>Tags:</strong> Taras</span></span><br/><hr/><br/>As they'd done before every other race that they'd both been running in, Allison and Taras had left early together so that they could scout the circuit out. Her <em>almost</em> big brother wasn't really one for homework, but Allison had also done plenty of research on the internet, scouring over Google Maps for at least an hour or two every night before bed for the past week. Still, nothing could compare to a real run-through in the flesh. She hadn't taken her Porsche down the track at full racing cadence, obviously, but her driving had still been pretty spirited, especially around the corners to give Taras and herself a pretty good idea of how they should be tackled.<br/><br/>Of course, their cars were pretty different, so it wouldn't translate perfectly over to Taras' Thunderbird, but it was better than nothing. Even though the parts were mostly new, Taras' ride retained that bare bones, oldschool muscle car quality to it. In contrast, Allison's GT2 was an amalgamation of the most cutting edge automotive technology available. The weight distribution and handling were worlds apart. And yet they could keep up with one another and race door to door or bumper to bumper, which was just one of the reasons that Allison found these sorts of street races so interesting and beautiful. <br/><br/>It had been mostly business on the way over. Allison pointed out some of the details that she was prone to noticing, like the corners where it was safe to drive outside of the lines a little bit in order to save a fraction of a second or two and the corners where it wasn't due to there being gravel or something on the side of the road which would certainly cause a lose of traction, making it more trouble than it was worth. Taras interjected with his own pieces of advice that Allison always appreciated. Just like the machines that they piloted, their driving styles were pretty much on two opposite sides of the spectrum. She was controlled and technical, he was unpredictable and relied a lot on his instincts. It made for a pretty productive analysis of the track, since they complemented each other well. <br/><br/>That was all good and well, but it was the drive back that Allison was dreading. It was a time that they reserved to discuss more personal matters and whatnot, sort of as a way to vent before a race to ensure that there was nothing bothering them at the back of their minds, and she knew that Taras was going to have questions. He'd been asking them ever since Allison had come back around half a year ago; it didn't take a licensed psychologist to notice that there was something a bit off with her.<br/><br/>The clue were abundant. Whereas she'd always been quiet, calm and very slow to anger before, Allison's temper had been flaring up pretty consistently over the past six months, often in regards to relatively trivial matters that she never would have fretted over in the past. Clubs and bars had never interested her beyond the occasional night out a couple of times per months, but twice a month had turned into several times per week and she often came back to the loft at all hours of the night - when she even came back at all. Sometimes Allison locked herself in her room without coming out for several hours straight, claiming that she was reading. She could tell that Taras hadn't believed her when she gave him that excuse, but he also didn't have the heart to openly call her out on it, at least not yet.<br/><br/>Every time it got harder and harder to lie to her friends, and especially him since they'd always shared such a close bond ever since their first meeting. It had started as such a small, stupid lie, too. Allison had just been afraid of the rejection that she'd often been faced with before, so she didn't want to tell her new 'cool' and 'dangerous' friends that she was actually a rich spoiled kid. But then it just piled on and on after that and it just felt like there was no going back.<br/><br/>Allison had managed to fend off Taras' prying with jokes and small talk for a few minutes before running out of ways to push back the inevitable. An awkward near-silence settled between them with only the rumbling of the Porsche's engine emanating from the back and a slightly eerie Vespertina track (http://www.tubelyrics.org/listen_8dt5oQxn7Wo/vespertina_stoupe_lorrie_doriza_the_girl_in_the_basement) playing through the car's audio system on low volume. What had once been an almost therapeutic experience and opportunity to share had become a nightmare, and Allison didn't know how else to stall.<br/><br/><em>Thank god</em>, she thought to herself when the bright neon gas station sign came into view. She needed to refuel if she had any intention of actually finishing the race later that night, and this was the only place on the way back or in the area in general that sold racing fuel which her GT2's H6 engine needed in order to achieve its maximal output. It was like an oasis that would give her a few more minutes to collect her thoughts before Taras made her lie to him again. <br/><br/>She pulled up to a pump, killed the engine and got out of the car before taking her jacket off and tossing it behind her seat (since there was no backseat to speak of, obviously), giving Taras his first look at the studded bustier style top (http://i.imgur.com/FdGUC.jpg) that she had on underneath. It definitely teetered on the line between sexy and slutty, leaving quite a bit of Allison's flesh bare all the way down to the waistband of her low-rising black skinny jeans. She's always used race nights as an excuse to dress up a bit and don some of her pieces that could be considered a bit more risqué, but it seemed like the envelope was being pushed further tonight.<br/><br/>She'd accessorized with a big layered necklace of silver and copper which matched the studs from her top, a thick silver bracelet that fit very snuggly around her left wrist to avoid it bothering her while she drove and a pair of dark brown fingerless net gloves which really only went from Allison's middle knuckles to just half an inch above the knuckles at the base of her fingers. She was standing a bit shorter than usual, having set aside the high heels and wedges that she usually gravitated towards in favor of some flat, knee-high boots made of grey suede. Driving casually in heels was actually not hard at all, contrary to what most people seemed to assume, but racing in them was still a bit of a stretch.<br/><br/>Having roughly approximated how much gas she'd need in order to return to the starting line and then make it all the way back to the finish, Allison pumped that amount into her car's reservoir plus a little extra just to be safe. Being a tiny bit heavier was considerably better than stalling out a couple hundred feet away from finishing the race, so trying to get overly fancy and precise wasn't really worth it in this case.<br/><br/>"Snacks?" she asked as casually as she could manage while keeping her eyes locked on the gas pump's counter, not wanting to go over the quantity that she'd calculated (or kinda guesstimated). Getting snacks was only partially an excuse to do anything except discuss what was troubling her with Taras, since she actually really did have a sudden craving for something sweet. <em>Skittles, maybe.</em> Once they were done paying and got back to the car, there would be no more possibility of delaying without being completely blatant.<br/><br/>The thought of having to pile on more lies was already making her feel queasy. She tried to will her heart into hardening long enough to get through 'the talk', but that had never been something that came easily to her, and tonight would probably not be an exception.</div>