<div class="floatleft">(http://i50.tinypic.com/2433ybd.png)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_u">GM Post</span> -Feat. Miyo Kobayashi</span><br/><span class="bbc_u">Location</span>- The Starting line<br/><span class="bbc_u">Date &amp; Time</span>-9:47 pm - May 9th,2006<br/><span class="bbc_u">Tag</span>- Pietro , Blaire, Cowboy, OPEN & ALL<br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Miyo had been lost in the smell of it, the hum of the engines as they disappeared over the hill. The uphill exhibition run would start in about nine minutes, it was scheduled to be the last exhibition run of the night. The tension was building. She had seen Blaire over by her Supra a few times before the blonde approached her. She knew that this girl was a driver, but she didn't know that she had designed the whole team. Her radio was blaring in her ear when Blaire started to speak to her, and she was still staring down the straight away- underneath the hanging mile highway-sign. She reacted quickly, but without urgency, removing her earpiece and turning herself, shifting her feet and tilting her head.<br/><br/>The slap that Blaire had delivered was exhilarating and shockingly seductive. As she shuffled away she could help but blush and heave her shoulders toward the blonde in a more than friendly flash of emotion. "Thanks," She had no accent, her tongue was raised in California.<br/><br/>Miyo ran her hand down her leg and inspected the situation of her clothing. However, she turned from modest to intimidated in an instant when Blaire sputtered out her next sentence. Miyo's eyes moved quickly. Darting up and down the frame of the driver and the approaching mechanic. Her body language showed nothing but firm resilience. Stepping back and evening her weight, straightening her legs. Their words sounded like the spit of a rifle. Jamie had been all kinds of passive, and equally rude. Miyo was applying the breaks fast.<br/><br/>The earpiece on her radio was still chattering loudly as it hung from the clip on her vest's shoulder strap.<br/><br/>"Look, I know this is a big race, but I think we can all agree that friends are easier to drive with than enemies. I've heard of you...You can cease and desist. Everyone wants their drivers to win, but most of us are going to lose. That's the spirit of this whole thing. It's impossible to boast before the race, so I'm not going to say too much about Adrian Farone's<em>Bugatti.</em>" Miyo paused for a moment. She sounded calm. A jab had been given, but it was gentle. Her words were pointed, but not entirely hostile. Her hand danced up to her forehead- it moved the hair from her eyes. She quickly put her hands down, dangling by her hips in apprehension. "You drive the Supra right? You must be Simmons...?<em> The aggressive rumor of the hills.</em>" Tires could be heard squealing in one direction or another behind the din of the music. She wasn't trying to sound catty, she was just being honest. Her next sentence was bitter by accident- "I don't even know your first name."<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Meanwhile, Michael Parker was hungry before the race, and the smell of burning beef had him in panic mode. He was the number two driver for the local racing team in Mendocino county, the North Stars. Terry had come up with the name, Michael didn't care about things like that. He had just liked to drive cars. It was all he had ever cared about. That and food- After he had scoured the starting line, searching for the source of the heavenly scent, he spotted a large pick-up truck with a grill in the back. "A fucking portal to Texas, perfect!" He spoke to himself. His pace was damn close to a jog. He had never seen a man in a cowboy hat before, not except for the television. So, obviously, he had never seen Cowboy before. He approached the young buckaroo with a tilted nod, and a backwards smile. "You charging man? or is the beef complimentary?" Michael's civic was parked and locked near the starting line, not completely out of sight, but mostly. He wasn't going to be in the first race, and he didn't worry about car theft in a crowd like this.<br/><br/>He couldn't see his team leader's Volkswagen pull into the area, mostly because he wasn't looking. The tiny Golf split the crowd like a drop of oil in a cup of water. In seconds, All of the North stars were present -strike Parker - crowded around Parker's Civic, and Coder's Nissan. The Golf parked behind both of them, trapping them out of arrogance. None of them seemed to mind the minor insult. They expected Desmares to represent them in the dead start anyway. He exchanged hands and hugs with his team, apologizing for his tardiness. All of them had arrived at a quarter passed nine, Alex, Pierce, and Steven had all piled into one Toyota 86 in order to save on gas. They each nodded and spoke like a child's Greek choir, and not many words were given in either direction. Terry didn't even ask about Michael.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Aaron Shepard's compact Nissan 180sx had yet to arrive, he typically never missed an event. But no one had spotted him at either end of the track, and he never watched a race from the middle. He was usually early, one of the first guys on the scene.<br/><br/>