<div class="floatright">(http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b52/jotunusmc/36827_421832359861_518524861_4822950_3819136_n.jpg)</div><br/><hr/><hr/><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Taras Ivan Markovski<strong>  -  Name           </strong><br/>The Muscle<strong>  -  Title              </strong><br/> Foulweather Bluff, east of Seattle<strong>  -  Location     </strong><br/> Everyone<strong>  -  Tagged         </strong></span></span></div><hr/><hr/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">     As the music blared, everything seemed to grow distant, fading off into obscurity and Taras drifted away - lost in the moment. Lost in his emotions of the night, lost in the thrill of the race that was about to start. Right now, he didn't have any responsibilities or any concerns. The underlying feelings about Allison did hang in the back of his mind, much closer than the business-related thoughts about the crew's negative direction under the triads. <br/><br/>     After a few minutes had elapsed he put his not-so-classic Firebird into gear and pulled up to the starting line next to the other racers. He pulled up next to Cori and offered her a nod - mentally wishing her good luck in his head. Then he stole a look over at Tip's vette and also gave the russian a nod - though his wishes were a bit darker for that one. There was just something about the guy that irked him, and it went beyond heritage.<br/><br/>     His eyes then turned to the road ahead and the pack of cars in front of him. There were twelve racers total, all with a legitimate chance to compete in their high-performance rides. <strong>"Hope these 'doorni' know how to drive."</strong> he said, rolling the 'r' as was customary for any Ukrainian word. In fact he rolled pretty much every one in the sentence, regardless of which language it belonged to. Taras then narrowed his eyes as he watched the single traffic light that hung from a streetlight in the parking lot upside down. He'd had it rigged up earlier that day, and in just moments the third-party accomplice would trigger the reverse timing. It currently held a steady shade of red.<br/><br/>    As he waited for the final countdown, Taras reached up and tapped a few buttons on his CD player, changing the track to a popular Ukrainian artist that nobody present had probably ever even heard of. (Pop this on for full effect) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zKy-9_KEpY&amp;feature=relmfu)<br/><br/>     <em>30</em><br/><br/>      It wasn't as heavy as what he usually listened to, but it was fitting for the moment. There was a hint of desperation in it - an unusual emotion for this particular man... but something was different about tonight. <br/><br/>      <em>29</em><br/><br/>     He was desperate to get the crew out of their current plight...<br/><br/>      <em>28</em><br/><br/>     ...desperate to figure out what was going on with Allison, and also... <br/><br/>     <em>27</em><br/><br/>     ...desperate to throw this uncomfortable flood of emotions off his shoulders.<br/><br/>     <em>26...</em><br/><br/>     As the song continued to thrum the countdown and his base reverberated every artificial heartbeat, he could feel the tension in his own veins rising. He let himself get lost in the music, so much that as the song began to reach it's end, he watched the hanging light flash yellow and hold for the longest 2 seconds ever. Taras brought up the RPMs of his big block very slowly - too slow for the green light he knew was coming. He let the engine's sound rise with the crescendo of the music he was listening to. <br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3097/2473488864_3bbe9c7c4e.jpg)</div>     It went green, but still his Firebird kept growling as the other racers shot off the line. Taras let them all take the lead and didn't even seem to care. Once the other's had already gotten several good car-lengths on him, he finally felt the music peak and he dropped his Bird' into second, letting the tires rip at the asphalt. They only spun for a second before they got hot and soft enough to catch and his car jumped forward, lifting his front axle about a foot off the ground as it forced the pavement into submission - rocking him off after the main group of racers. <br/><br/>     One area where Taras truly had an edge was in his launch. He instinctively shifted the car he'd known his whole life - changing every gear at the perfect moment and getting maximum torque to the ground quickly. He tore forward and quickly closed on the other racers - who'd probably seen him hold his launch in their rearviews'. His barely-muffled exhaust let all 8 pistons roar at the competition as he came charging up behind Cori and Tip who were the other two at the back of the pack with them.<br/><br/>     <strong>"Zaberis' asto ya tebe zaraz pishlyu!"</strong> (roughly translated: Move out of my way or I'll move you.) Of course they couldn't hear him over the sound of his engine or his music, he was just venting for his own benefit. He had an angry look in his eyes and from the way he nosed in between Cori and Tip - they were sure to get the hint. Now that everyone was picking up speed through the first couple of turns, Taras' shifting advantage would fade and the two immediately next to him would likely either slip behind or start out-gaining him. Given Cori's driving style, she'd likely let him blaze past - only to catch him later. Rurik, on the other hand, would probably fight to hold position long enough for the superior top speed of his vette to give him separation.<br/></div>