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Speed Racer is Canon Crack
There is a certain aire that goes with being a secret agent.
Fast cars, beautiful women, champagne, tuxedoes. All of the things that ordinary people are not allowed to have since being ordinary is a vice that they will do or die to protect. Oh the simple bliss of getting up in the morning, griping about your feet, getting old and gaining weight, the kids screaming in their bedrooms-the burden of another day. All that liberty is at its core.
So they embrace their vices. They indulge and by god it is good and it distracts them from all the things they should be doing. Should be enjoying.
This is the way it’s always been. “Men working in the shadows to raise the government to new heights.”
---------
Cosmopolis is Neon and Chrome and a kid’s coloring book. Racer X has never noticed this, it’s always been this bright-this exciting. The curse of being born in a world that moved too fast for anyone to catch up.
His mind isn’t on that at the moment. It’s on a dozen other things and the potential that they might not be alone when he feels a slim cool hand on his shoulder.
Minx tilts her head to the side, “…Thinking deep thoughts?”
Thinking something. He had told no one about his forays into another world because in the end things move far too fast for them to catch up and follow. Who would believe him anyway? The crash and burn rate (ha ha) in this particular job was high.
He shakes his head, clearing his worry away. He could not afford to linger, “-Starting Flag?”
She nodded once and he rose from his desk, switching off his computer and following her into the living room of their private suite.
He had other things to occupy his time after all.
---------
Thunderhead is big, Thunderhead is loud. Thunderhead is a roller coaster.
It was built on the ruins of an old NASCAR track before American sensationalism bowed to European lust for death and thrill. Over the years it had risen and twisted and looked like a miniature of the Grand Prix track only a few blocks away.
[Local Favorite Speed Racer is taking Fifth position behind the pole. Thunderhead’s a tradition with the Racer Family, Rex Racer’s track record still stands as a testament to genius in this particular sport…]
He tuned the announcer’s voice out and tapped his fingers along the edge of his chair.
------------
Minx is practiced at waiting. She’s a woman in a man’s world where all bowed to the sport and it’s colorful promises. You either died or you learned to run the race.
So she knows not to disturb Rex while he watches. She contents herself with a Martini (You ran the race and you drank-that was how they coped. That was how her mother coped and how she managed) these problems that you consider acceptable.
Because there was that little thrill when the clock hit zero and the words GO! Were imprinted across all the minds involved.
[Nobody can lay a glove on this kid! He’s all over this track and-and would you look at that! He’s just taken out Snake Oiler!]
It’s ballet. Fast, loud, testosterone driven ballet. No, that’s unfair. She followed the exploits of “Gearbox” Kelly along with every other teenage girl. Dating Hollywood Superstars (Oh how the entertainment industry had fallen) racing in the Olympics (One of the only sports left in those games)
She smiles. Rex is engrossed. Lifted slightly off the chair she can almost feel his hands on the wheel, turning-twisting.
---------
Outside an advertisement for the local Cinema is showcasing trailers. Anyone worth their salt is inside ignoring said advertisements. The Celebrities of this particular era aren’t ones pretending to be heroes.
[And yes! Speed Racer comes within inches of breaking his brother’s record; I don’t think I’ve seen a display like that since Rex Racer at thunderhead ten years ago…]
Minx twists in her chair, “He’s going to be very good.”
---------
Good? Good? That wasn’t good. That was instinctual. That was poetry. That was art made living.
It hits Rex Racer halfway through his expose that it was the first time he’d seen Speed drive without his help.
He’d avoided all the other Races up to this point.
The effort that it takes for him to speak is almost painful, “…No, he’s going to be the best. If they don’t destroy him first.”
“A display like that?” Minx nodded mutely, “…You saw it too mm?”
He nodded once. They would come after him now-they were sharks and they were hungry and the blood he spilled in the water made them furious. There were times he almost wished that they had something else to distract them, something like-like-
Shit.
Minx rose out of her chair, glass swirling in her hand, “…Do you want anything?”
He shook his head. Alcohol wouldn’t help him now, “…Minx?”
She turned, form silhouetted in the doorway. Even now she reminded him of those paintings of ancient people he saw in the Cosmopolis museum. Digitalized and pixilated you could still see the ancient art shining through. He loved the life that he lived, the speed it had but the past and the things it might hold appealed as well.
He considered telling her about his psychotic break (because it must have been) the fact that he pulled people from his mined and imagined them interacting with him. She must have seen the hesitancy in him because she moved forward, putting her smooth hands on his shoulders again, “…Rex…”
Rex Racer, Racer X, shook his head, “…It’s not important. I was going to tell you that I thought I might be going crazy.”
She smirked at him, pulling gently away, “…And I’d respond the way I always do. That’s par for the course in what we do.”
“Would you accept that?”
She hesitated now, her hands helpless at her side, “…If you were actually having some sort of psychotic episode?”
She hesitated, reading his eyes before she closed her own in response, “I’d tell Inspector Detector and then I’d tell Doctor Fox down in psych about it.” She kissed the top of his head, “You have had a rather traumatic life dear. People expect you to be a little unbalanced.”
“Is that-“ He paused, grabbing her wrists and forcing her to look at him, “Is that normal though. Is that healthy?”
“…Dear, you live in a world populated by neon pink where the main event in people’s lives is car racing. The only thing stranger would be if this were a cartoon.”
He had to laugh at that. A cartoon, “What’s that make me?”
“The foil for the main character, his “potential other” if you will.” Her nails clacked on her palms, “His ID. His darker persona.”
“Thanks.”
She kissed his cheek, “…Is there something you want to talk to me about?”
He considered telling her everything before he shook his head. She shrugged, slipping off her sarong like wrap before walking into the bedroom they shared.
-------
Fast cars, beautiful women, champagne, tuxedoes. All of the things that ordinary people are not allowed to have since being ordinary is a vice that they will do or die to protect. Oh the simple bliss of getting up in the morning, griping about your feet, getting old and gaining weight, the kids screaming in their bedrooms-the burden of another day. All that liberty is at its core.
So they embrace their vices. They indulge and by god it is good and it distracts them from all the things they should be doing. Should be enjoying.
This is the way it’s always been. “Men working in the shadows to raise the government to new heights.”
---------
Cosmopolis is Neon and Chrome and a kid’s coloring book. Racer X has never noticed this, it’s always been this bright-this exciting. The curse of being born in a world that moved too fast for anyone to catch up.
His mind isn’t on that at the moment. It’s on a dozen other things and the potential that they might not be alone when he feels a slim cool hand on his shoulder.
Minx tilts her head to the side, “…Thinking deep thoughts?”
Thinking something. He had told no one about his forays into another world because in the end things move far too fast for them to catch up and follow. Who would believe him anyway? The crash and burn rate (ha ha) in this particular job was high.
He shakes his head, clearing his worry away. He could not afford to linger, “-Starting Flag?”
She nodded once and he rose from his desk, switching off his computer and following her into the living room of their private suite.
He had other things to occupy his time after all.
---------
Thunderhead is big, Thunderhead is loud. Thunderhead is a roller coaster.
It was built on the ruins of an old NASCAR track before American sensationalism bowed to European lust for death and thrill. Over the years it had risen and twisted and looked like a miniature of the Grand Prix track only a few blocks away.
[Local Favorite Speed Racer is taking Fifth position behind the pole. Thunderhead’s a tradition with the Racer Family, Rex Racer’s track record still stands as a testament to genius in this particular sport…]
He tuned the announcer’s voice out and tapped his fingers along the edge of his chair.
------------
Minx is practiced at waiting. She’s a woman in a man’s world where all bowed to the sport and it’s colorful promises. You either died or you learned to run the race.
So she knows not to disturb Rex while he watches. She contents herself with a Martini (You ran the race and you drank-that was how they coped. That was how her mother coped and how she managed) these problems that you consider acceptable.
Because there was that little thrill when the clock hit zero and the words GO! Were imprinted across all the minds involved.
[Nobody can lay a glove on this kid! He’s all over this track and-and would you look at that! He’s just taken out Snake Oiler!]
It’s ballet. Fast, loud, testosterone driven ballet. No, that’s unfair. She followed the exploits of “Gearbox” Kelly along with every other teenage girl. Dating Hollywood Superstars (Oh how the entertainment industry had fallen) racing in the Olympics (One of the only sports left in those games)
She smiles. Rex is engrossed. Lifted slightly off the chair she can almost feel his hands on the wheel, turning-twisting.
---------
Outside an advertisement for the local Cinema is showcasing trailers. Anyone worth their salt is inside ignoring said advertisements. The Celebrities of this particular era aren’t ones pretending to be heroes.
[And yes! Speed Racer comes within inches of breaking his brother’s record; I don’t think I’ve seen a display like that since Rex Racer at thunderhead ten years ago…]
Minx twists in her chair, “He’s going to be very good.”
---------
Good? Good? That wasn’t good. That was instinctual. That was poetry. That was art made living.
It hits Rex Racer halfway through his expose that it was the first time he’d seen Speed drive without his help.
He’d avoided all the other Races up to this point.
The effort that it takes for him to speak is almost painful, “…No, he’s going to be the best. If they don’t destroy him first.”
“A display like that?” Minx nodded mutely, “…You saw it too mm?”
He nodded once. They would come after him now-they were sharks and they were hungry and the blood he spilled in the water made them furious. There were times he almost wished that they had something else to distract them, something like-like-
Shit.
Minx rose out of her chair, glass swirling in her hand, “…Do you want anything?”
He shook his head. Alcohol wouldn’t help him now, “…Minx?”
She turned, form silhouetted in the doorway. Even now she reminded him of those paintings of ancient people he saw in the Cosmopolis museum. Digitalized and pixilated you could still see the ancient art shining through. He loved the life that he lived, the speed it had but the past and the things it might hold appealed as well.
He considered telling her about his psychotic break (because it must have been) the fact that he pulled people from his mined and imagined them interacting with him. She must have seen the hesitancy in him because she moved forward, putting her smooth hands on his shoulders again, “…Rex…”
Rex Racer, Racer X, shook his head, “…It’s not important. I was going to tell you that I thought I might be going crazy.”
She smirked at him, pulling gently away, “…And I’d respond the way I always do. That’s par for the course in what we do.”
“Would you accept that?”
She hesitated now, her hands helpless at her side, “…If you were actually having some sort of psychotic episode?”
She hesitated, reading his eyes before she closed her own in response, “I’d tell Inspector Detector and then I’d tell Doctor Fox down in psych about it.” She kissed the top of his head, “You have had a rather traumatic life dear. People expect you to be a little unbalanced.”
“Is that-“ He paused, grabbing her wrists and forcing her to look at him, “Is that normal though. Is that healthy?”
“…Dear, you live in a world populated by neon pink where the main event in people’s lives is car racing. The only thing stranger would be if this were a cartoon.”
He had to laugh at that. A cartoon, “What’s that make me?”
“The foil for the main character, his “potential other” if you will.” Her nails clacked on her palms, “His ID. His darker persona.”
“Thanks.”
She kissed his cheek, “…Is there something you want to talk to me about?”
He considered telling her everything before he shook his head. She shrugged, slipping off her sarong like wrap before walking into the bedroom they shared.
-------
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