Penarrow101 » Hibernal Den » Rift

Rift

(#60966671)

Level 1 Spiral

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

2.66 m

Wingspan

2.91 m

Weight

62.73 kg

Genetics

Black
Clown

Black
Hypnotic

Black
Scales

Hatchday

Apr 27, 2020
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Spiral

Eye Type

Plague
Common

Level 1 Spiral

EXP: 210 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

Rift
Gender (Pron/ouns) + Spiral
JOB | ROLE | TITLE

Element

Allegiance

Theme Song: X
Playlist: X
Voice Claim: X

Description:
To some in the Wasteland, performing comes easy. They feel songs in their maws, see pictures in blood, can feel the savagery of words. And Rift considers themself no different; the first time they heard an engine, something in them pushed that sentimental thing some would call love into their heart, and seeing the way the twisted, bouncing vehicles could dance in their mechanical ferocity assured Rift of the direction they'd take their life.

Pit-racing was simple enough to get into- if someone has a vehicle that can take a beating, racing around an amateur track and smashing into some other hobbyists isn't exactly rocket science. If they're lucky, there's a ramp or mound or two to get some "king of the hill" action going. But that's only half of it. What Rift really craved was the theatrics- the larger than life characters, the stories, the detached fame and accompanying glory. "Drift" was an easy enough alias to adjust to, and getting pretty damn good at the maneuvers to back it up wasn't too much of a chore either. Not when it promised so much. Rising through the ranks of official arenas and copping themself a manager just took making a few connections and getting some well-deserved wins under their belt.

"The big leagues," one could say (their manager, specifically). Over drinks, their manager told them that the car just needed a new paint job, and Rift would be set to become a regular at the Blackclaw Arena. Didn't sound too bad, though they were warned that the owner was a little more involved with the racers than the managers. Images, images, sure, whatever- Rift understood that, so they happily toasted. They'd do it.

Rift nurses the forming bruise on their forearm with some rations from their stolen bandages, carefully tucked away in their vehicle to keep other racers from taking it. They'd love to help if they could, really, but... They can't afford it. Loss after loss. Eliminated in the first heat almost every time. They don't even have friends here, they don't know what they're doing wrong, they don't- no, no, no use getting worked up over it. They twist their arm around, checking that the bandages are taut, and turn to inspect their car. It's hard to tell what dents are new and what aren't, though the garage lights don't help. A sigh almost escapes them, but the jangling of chains causes Rift to turn towards the entrance of the stall to see the sashaying figure approaching.

The glint of a too-enthusiastic smile forces Rift to look into the multitude of eyes the Gaoler surveys them with.

Holding back their fear, Rift can only nervously chuckle at the arena owner's presence, especially as the Gaoler leans against the wall and lets out a more confident chuckle in response. "Heyyy, c'mon, you know I don't bite. Just checking in."

Sure. The Spiral tries to compose themself and not let those eyes get to them. "You don't usually walk through here, is all."

Another laugh escapes the Gaoler, only jolting Rift more, as her smile and focus don't waver one bit. "We all like to shake things up from time to time," she almost seems to shift her shoulders a bit, "-and I just wanted to say something one-on-one, no pesky businessfolk, you know?" Laughs escape again. "Like I'm not one though, right? But you know what I mean, you know what I mean..." She slows to a pause, but the first indication that Rift's ready to hear it gets her going again. "'Cause managers, they don't like to hear how it really is. Don't have your best interests at heart!" Her smile finally wavers somewhat. "Like to think they do. But they don't like frank conversations like this, they like paperwork and all that. Boring as ****!"

Rift can't think of what to do as the Gaoler dismisses another laugh with a shake of her head. So they stand still. "Yeah. Is... Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

A foot stomps against the ground as the Gaoler refocuses. "Right! There is." One overgrown claw starts tapping. "You've not been placing well. No secret there."

****. If Rift weren't still holding out hope of something good- getting fired, maybe- they'd cry. The way their face feels numb, slack makes them worry they might be without even noticing. "Uh-huh," they breathe out.

"Mother above, don't give me that ****. It's obvious." The tapping ceases as the smile wavers for a moment. "Not the end of the ****ing world. Happens sometimes." Something in the Gaoler's grin shifts. Like she knows Rift is barely holding it together, like the grin isn't for them anymore. "But it upholds the hierarchy."

Rift's fear is momentarily broken by confusion as they breathe clearly for the first time in what feels like hours. Hours crammed into minutes. "I- I'm sorry, I don't-"

"I've not explained it well," is all it takes for the arena owner to silence Rift. "I have top earners here. Regular winners and underdogs that folks aren't wise to yet. Because I know my arena's trends, Drift. I know who to sweet-talk those spenders into betting on. I can't guarantee winners, I'm not about to rig something I don't have to- gods, the effort of it all, folks catch on to that sort of ****- but I can guarantee my top earners. All racers are part of trends."

Great. Don't get why you're telling me. Rift tries to focus. "So you're telling me I'm... part of a trend?"

"Listen, I'll cut it to size for you. Your consistent ranking is really helping me out. No one bets on you, but, hey, I don't care! That's not what you're here for. You kind of... Fill space. Strong at first, but now that you're consistently dropping early, you're ensuring that my winners do just that. Win, I mean! You don't threaten them, but you do fill my rosters."

The fear hasn't entirely left yet, but the confusion is slowly turning to clarity. "Oh."

"And I'd like to keep it that way! Stop trying, you know?" Her head tilts like she's just given Rift something. It's hard to tell if she actually considers this... A gift? "I'll get you a higher cut for doing a few more races with consistent performances. If you start placing higher... Well, we can reconsider, but- heh heh- c'mon, I don't really see that ha- HA!- happening, do you?"

Mind somehow blank and racing all at once, Rift just nods. "Yeah. Sounds good. I'll, uh... I'll just tell my manager I'll be taking on some more races."

The Gaoler nods again. "Glad to hear it. Knew I could trust you."

And then she leaves, as performatively nonchalantly as she came.

Rift sits in silence for who-knows-how-long. Paid to lose. To be the favorite of nobody. It'd have been a lie to say they didn't expect their losses catching up to them, but... It wasn't supposed to happen like this. They'd just... Be fired or something. Get told their manager was focusing on a different racer. But this was business, wasn't it? Cheating without breaking the rules. When had racing become business, though? When did racing, the thing that birthed Drift, become the thing to kill them?

Rift runs a claw across their face and glances to their vehicle. If Drift is dead, then Rift will drive. Escape with their dignity, at the very least, and with the hope that they meant little enough to the arena for this loss to not catch up to them.

They slip into their vehicle, strapping in tight. Heading south would be the best choice, then driving until there's some form of refuge. Maybe... Maybe sell the old machine. Get a better, less flashy way of getting around. But they'll figure that out as they go. They can't take the risk that they'll be pursued, and, even if they aren't, it'll take some running just to be sure.

But, soon enough, they'll be able to get back to performing. Whether it's reviving Drift, or embracing Rift.

{by Drakessis}

After leaving racing behind and moving into a clan that lived in the Southern Icefield, she discovered that several of the odball members had the itch to travel abroad. Although they could fly, the thrill of exploration and adventure on the high seas beckoned to them.

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