<div class="floatleft">(http://i46.tinypic.com/2m4qhz8.jpg)</div><br/><div style="text-align: left;"><strong>Name:</strong> Cori Adams<br/><strong>Title:</strong> The Skills<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Foulweather Bluff<br/><strong>Tags:</strong> Open <br/><hr/><br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button"> Two Fires</div><div class="spoiler_body">First things first, this car is approved by the GMs. Its not a super car, just super unique. Oh yeah, It has two V8's, one under the hood, and another in the trunk, because, yes, a Coupe De Ville's trunk is big enough.<br/>max speed: 185 MPH<br/>assumed horsepower: 470 (engines combine to almost 600, but, it's really fucking heavy, kind of a tank/car actually)<br/>total weight: 5009 lbs <br/>0-60: about five seconds, (depending on well she sync's the engines)<br/>trunk capacity: 19.6 cubic feet<br/><br/>(http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7101/7038520409_fbf60df035_z.jpg)<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u">The Specs</span><br/>1978 Cadillac Coupe De Ville body <br/>2010 paint job body work, new leather interior<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">1973 Chrysler 360 v8  that powers the front drive shaft</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br/><div class="floatright">(http://i48.tinypic.com/2iuz6ae.jpg)</div>cubic inches: 360<br/>compression ratio: 9.3:1 (adjusted to be higher than company standard.)<br/>assumed horsepower: 295hp (supercharger, and compression adjustments)<br/>-manual transmission<br/>-fitted with a Lysholm twin screw supercharger<br/>-usually used for Dodge rams and other trucks<br/></div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">1968 Chrysler 340 V8 in the trunk powering the rear drive shaft</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i48.tinypic.com/23w5too.jpg)</div>cubic inches: 340<br/>compression ratio: 10.5:1<br/>assumed horsepower: 275hp<br/>-automatic transmission<br/>-lightweight<br/>-double roller timing chain<br/>-high capacity oil pump</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">The supercharger</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br/>(http://image.absoluteastronomy.com/images/encyclopediaimages/l/ly/lysholm_screw_rotors.jpg)(http://i49.tinypic.com/15gwc48.jpg)(http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/super-charger-13.jpg)(http://i47.tinypic.com/25u0jfp.jpg)<br/><br/>Engine pumps air into blue line, blue line spins right line, right line spins belt, supercharge speed.</div></div><br/>This car would have one ignition on both sides of the steering wheel, two slim gas pedals right next to each other, one brake pedal in the traditional spot, and a clutch pedal to the far left. Add an automatic transmission switch to the right of the steering wheel with three settings: Drive, neutral, and reverse. It would be durable, getting slammed from one direction to the other. Also, a manual transmission for the engine in the front connected to the clutch pedal, and vuala, a car with two engines. With this, she is reluctant to add Nos, but she's trying to save enough money for a turbo-charger in the rear engine.</div></div><br/>There were only minutes to spare. The crowds had gathered at the finish line, the starting line, and a number of tough corners along the track. There was a hairpin south of Bremerton that had gained a fair amount of attention. The tight traffic turns of Gig harbor were packed, the wide western face at the middle of the race at never seen more people crowd into it's rest stops and restaurants. Everyone and their all of their annoying ex girlfriends were talking about this race. Half of the Seattle sub-culture was coming out to see what the big deal was. The tattooed metal heads that followed local music, the hipster kids that only came outside to be seen, The hip hop scene had made it to every race for years, the online gear heads, the teenage groupies, and geeks without wheels. Taras had started something special, and this year, everyone was out to prove it. <br/><br/>Cori had come north up the length of the track, the spectacle itself had created another spectacle... Cori bolted up the loose straight away to get to the starting line on time. She knew that if she were to come straight up the track, the traffic spotters along the way would delay the race. The stretch between Bainbridge Island and Foulweather Bluff looked like a festival on both sides of the road. They could tell by the din of her car, the fade of her brake lights, and the shine of her paint-job, they were watching a street-racer approach. She received a cheer on almost every mile, and she burned some of the rubber off of her back tires in order to drift up the corners. Surely, some one had radioed to the starting line about her Coupe De Ville. She expected to see a welcoming party as she sped into 'the pit-crew' area.<br/><br/>It was as dark inside of her machine as it was outside, and she could only see a splattered image of young girls showing a lot of skin, and boys with their hoods open, making final adjustments. <br/><br/>Cori came to a screeching halt beside a collection of experienced gear-heads. Smoke raised into the air, the sound right before an accident echoed off of the car panels that lined the road. Her loud Cadillac got yelled out by scared mechanics that she had come dangerously close to crushing. She slipped a middle finger out of her window and slowly cruised away. The barking sound of the singer from whatever band she was listening to seemed to speak for her. the words were impossible to distinguish. A vibrant sense of anger flowed off of Cori's car. She was proud to push people out of the way, slowly cruising deeper into the crowd of cars, searching for Taras and the rest of her crew.<br/><br/>Some racers were anxiously posted by their cars at the starting line. But she still had about five or ten minutes before the green flag came down. <em>'Speaking of five or ten minutes.</em>' Cori thought to herself as her hands left the wheel to fetch a smoke. Without stopping, she reached into her pocket, steered the car with her knee, and ignited the cigarette with a match. <br/><br/>Two Fires slowly maneuvered among hot little pedestrians and cool headed racers. She scowled at everyone as if they owed her money. The tumbling sound of sixteen pistons attracted attention to whoever was listening, Cori had both of her engines in 1st gear.  <br/><br/>The passing image of all the regular faces went in one ear and out of the other, even some of the Triad racers, and Rurik himself. Everyone besides her crew was a faceless member of the crowd, she didn't bother making a list of attendees. She didn't draw any concern, or plot against the odds. Cori only checked her gauges, smoked her cigarette vigorously, and turned her music down. The large frame of Taras and the epic beauty of Ally and Natalie came into view. She parked Two Fires directly next to Ryan's SLR, and climbed out of the open window like a NASCAR driver. The music came back up loudly, both engines had been set to neutral, and Cori was walking away, directly towards the heart of the group.<br/><br/><strong>"My sincerest fucking apologies ladies and grunts. I found myself enamored with a little Latina in Queen Anne for damn near five hours. I'll say this much about Mexican women, they are hard workers."</strong> Cori switched focus to the race at hand. <strong>"We're on a stage tonight, I swear to god, I saw a fucking news van Chico. I don't think that little town as ever seen <em>this</em> many stoners and gear heads before. The locals don't even know what's about to happen. "</strong> Cori laughed smoke through her nose and lips. <strong>"My clocks say that I'm right on time though."</strong> Cori took a moment to nod, allow the information to sink in and smoke. <strong>"Turn out is insane, you guys should see the "underbite" corner right before we turn away from Bainbridge, it looks like a fucking Hendrix revival concert."</strong> She spoke to the whole group the way that a doctor might behave around his nurses. <br/><br/>Cori's eyes lingered for a long while on Natalie's tight leather outfit. <strong>"Natalie..."</strong> She wanted to be polite. <strong>"If it paid well, would you ever consider wearing that costume to my birthday parties from now on?..."</strong> her eyebrows raised in place of a perverted wink, and a smile revealed her harmless intentions. Everyone knew that Cori had a natural obsession with Natalie, but she was very rarely so forward with the girls in her crew. The leather had triggered something, and Cori couldn't keep her lips sealed. She shrugged her shoulders, not even expecting an answer. <br/><br/>Smoke continued to rise away from her punked out frame.<br/><br/>She was only wearing enough to hold her cigarettes. She lit another while she had the time, standing there to absorb the energy of the crew. She had changed since her drive this morning. Cori was wearing tiny, paper thin denim shorts, and a tank top and a hard, spotless, white men's vest that cradled her smokes underneath her left breast. Her shoes were simple, black and white chuck taylors. She looked like she may have looked every day five years ago. This was just racing attire, more important than a swimsuit in the water.</div>