faderift | [Closed] The Fast and the Furious: Perivantium Drift

WHO: Clarisse and Vanya
WHAT: Chariot racing for a good cause
WHEN: Harvestmere
WHERE: Perivantium
NOTES: OOC info

She's never been this far from Kirkwall before, and Tevinter is wildly different to the culture she's become accustomed to. Clarisse has been fighting the temptation to stop and stare at the massive pillars and intricate architecture as they passed through the city, not to mention all the people who've travelled from all over for the chariot race; but luckily their timeline has been a little too short to allow much stopping for anything.

Clarisse wouldn't describe herself as nervous, but even she would have to admit that she's not exactly feeling at ease, and her agitation has only gotten worse in the hours leading up to the race. She and Vanya have taken a look at a map of the city and she's done her best to memorize the route the race will be taking, but now that they're here, Perivantium seems like a fucking maze stretched out ahead of them.

They're both very capable people, and Clarisse is good at this, but... these horses don't know her, and it's not even as clear cut as trying to win this race would be—instead they've got to trail Solvara's chariot and keep her alive while other people try just as hard to kill her. It's gonna be tricky.

She glances over at Vanya, looking for some hint of nerves, and wonders if her own expression gives anything away. She gives one of the horses a quick pat on the side, is rewarded with nothing other than a ripple of skin as it twitches under her fingers, and then she climbs up into the chariot and tightens her grip on the reins.

"Let's not fuck this up." It's only half directed at Vanya, seems to mostly be a quiet reminder to herself.

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"Noted," is almost wry, but it isn't at her expense. At least Clarisse has every done this before. For his part, Vanya's body language indicates that he is steady and alert more because of a lifetime of training to keep calm in stressful situations than because of any particular confidence in the plan. It's not as if he has a better one. He feels like he's been clenching his jaw mildly but consistently ever since they arrived in Tevinter.

The armor isn't his own, but he's not ungrateful to be wearing it, considering the range of things that could happen once the race starts. His sheathed blade is his own, anonymous enough that he feels he can risk using it. "If you ever need me to actually brake or do anything with the chariot, shout. Otherwise, I have your back." He speaks low so that his marked Nevarran accent doesn't draw unwanted notice. He plans mainly to leave the driving to her unless directed otherwise.

(There's a prickle along his palms as he thinks how useful it would be, here in particular, to be able to disrupt magic. He forcefully puts that thought away.)

He braces for the start of the race, one hand on the side of the chariot.

"Back atcha." Like, if he needs her to simultaneously steer and cut somebody, she's on it.

It feels like the start of the race happens way too quickly and also like it takes two whole excruciating hours. Clarisse feels sweat in her hairline, under her helmet, as she waits. She takes deep, slow breaths in through her mouth, trying to maintain an air of cool confidence.

She knows how to do this. They're going to do this.

Then they're off. Surely the crowd is cheering as the competitors begin to race, but Clarisse can't hear it past the thunderous roar of hooves. She knows this feeling well—the vibration sinking all the way into her bones as the chariot surges forward, and the exhilaration as the horses pick up speed and hit their stride.

She hopes Vanya is okay at the rear, but doesn't glance back to check on him yet; she's already searching out Solvara's chariot up ahead, and trying to vie for a spot just a little ways behind her.

The sensations are less familiar to Vanya. He's been in a chariot, but at the stately pace of a parade, not during a race. Still, he's well braced and not worried about losing his footing so far. (Small mercies.) He's also grateful that Clarisse seems to know what she's doing. They'll be in trouble if he has to take over driving, even if she would be fully capable of taking over defense.

He's mostly scanning back and to the sides for hazards, but he happens to look forward in time to see something that Clarisse, rightly focused on Solvara, presumably hasn't registered. There's a dark patch on the track. Even at speed, he can tell it's slightly too regular to be the random wear a road would accrue. "Wait," he shouts, "what's th-" but the chariot is faster than he expects. The horses avoid it, but they clip the patch with their wheel.

The plume of black, acrid smoke billows out faster and wider than it has any right to do. It can't have covered the whole city, for all that he has the brief, irrational thought it may have. It probably can't have even covered the whole neighborhood. But while they're in it, they don't have any immediate way to tell how fast it will end.

Clarisse hears Vanya's shout of alarm, but it's far too late, even for her reflexes, to avoid the trigger.

Smoke, suffocating and black, obscures her vision. Makes it impossible to take a breath in. If she didn't feel the chariot rumbling underneath her feet she wouldn't be able to say with any confidence that they were still moving, because it seems like it takes forever to clear the billowing cloud.

In reality, it can't be that long. It's only her anxiety and impatience taking several seconds and dragging them out, stretching time.

As soon as they clear the smoke, Clarisse is looking ahead, looking for Solvara. But the horses, their vision impaired for those crucial moments, have slowed down enough that the chariots ahead of them are ones she doesn't recognize.

"Shit," she yells out loud, and shakes the reins. Faster, faster. Then, to Vanya, "Do you see her?" Anywhere?

He coughs, even the realistically brief time in the smoke no better for his lungs than for his eyes. Still, he's already trying to shake it off by the time she yells her question.

It is, unfortunately, easier to take a survey of the chariots behind them than those in front by dint of their smaller number. "She has to be ahead of us," he shouts, and turns (carefully) to try to look in that direction. The speed and the distance are doing his eyes no favors, but after a few moments he points over her shoulder and into her line of vision, so she doesn't have to turn away to see what he's indicating. "That one -- she had green trim on her chariot, didn't she?"

He'd prefer not to have to take Clarisse's focus off driving, but her eyes are significantly younger than his.

It's not the easiest to follow Vanya's pointing finger and pay attention to where they're going at the same time, but Clarisse manages. She sees the flash of green trim on the chariot ahead of them and to the right, and a wave of sickening relief crashes over her. They're still in this, and so's the woman they're supposed to be protecting.

"Yeah," she calls back, "that's her." She's already urging the horses forward, steering them toward Solvara's chariot.

Just as quickly as the relief hit, it's over. Things happen fast in a race like this. She and Vanya have only crossed half the distance when she hears a low ch-thunk, and there's no time to react, no way she could possibly drive the horses out of the path of whatever's coming for them.

A crossbow bolt hits the brick wall opposite them with a cracking snap, almost obscured by the thundering of hooves, most likely shot by a racer behind them. Maybe someone in the crowd, even. There's a second ch-thunk from farther behind them now as whoever shot at them tries a second time.

It's probably the only other shot they'll have time to make.

[Closed] The Fast and the Furious: Perivantium Drift

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fml I thought I tagged this, apologies (also lmk if you want adjustments)

WE'RE DOING IT (slowly)

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rolled a 6