highoctanebelle

[highoctanebelle]

savannah glanced over her shoulder at the mention of the old man in the booth, poor thing looked like he was one sip away from nodding off into his glass. a smirk tugged at her lips as she turned back to the man beside her, her voice sweet as iced tea but laced with a knowing spark. “well, i do aim to please,” she said, that slow southern drawl wrapping around each word. “we Southern belles have a way of makin’ ourselves memorable, if not by charm, then by leavin’ a little fire in our wake.”

with practiced grace, she slipped up onto the booth beside him, crossing one leg over the other with ease, her posture relaxed but unmistakably poised. she didn’t need to accept the drink, lord knew she could afford her own, but sometimes it was about the gesture, not the price tag. “i’ve been in the city a few years now,” she continued, fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. “though I’m hardly ever still. work’s got me livin’ out of a suitcase more often than not. long days at the track’ll do that." especially switching from stock cars to open-wheel. she tilted her head, eyes curious beneath thick lashes. “what about you, darlin’? you a native, or just passin’ through like the rest of us chasin’ somethin’?”

Halil can't help the chuckle that falls from his lips. He had a certain love for watching women put men in their place, especially in bars and education - this particular night was no exception. Firmly planted at the bar, muling over his thoughts and making small talk with the bartender who was familiar to him, he'd only been half paying attention to the commotion around him and half lost to the woes of a man in love and in the dog house for teaching their eldest son to curse in Spanish. Eberado would be proud of him, he thought with a gentle smile. "I applaud your bravery." Halil says, "You're the only person in this bar who was able to make the old guy in the booth stop talking out of his ass for a night." Although he doesn't say it, the look he gives the bartender, Cartel to Cartel, clears the woman's tab (or at least, until she left, rendered all of her drinks free). "Have you been in the city long?"

[highoctanebelle]

a normal woman might’ve been put off by the man sitting beside her, all ego, charm, and whiskey-laced bravado. but savannah, she found it downright entertaining. she’d grown up with the kind of lessons you didn’t learn in school. daddy always said: don’t wait on nobody to hand you your worth, earn it, wear it, walk tall in it. even at five-foot-three, she learned how to stand her ground. heels helped. so did grit.

her gaze swept over the man slowly, the corners of her mouth curling into a honey-sweet smile, all southern sugar with just enough bite to keep things interesting. “well bless your heart, sugar,” she drawled, setting her clutch on the bar like she owned the place. “here i was thinkin’ gentlemen were extinct in new york city.” The sarcasm danced light and easy beneath her charm.

She slid onto the stool beside him. "truth be told,” she added, eyes flicking to his glass, “i was feelin’ a little sorry for ya. sittin’ all alone like that. looked like you could use some decent company.” then she leaned in just enough to let her voice drop into something low and velvet-soft. “now, don’t take this the wrong way, but I do like my men a little less afraid of their masculinity takin’ a bruise when a lady offers to pick up a drink.” she flagged the bartender with a flick of two fingers. “but since you insist, i’ll take mine neat, same as him. least we’ll be on even ground when i drink you under the table.”

As grown as he could claim himself to be, Hans still senses the girl's presence before it's even clear that the spot next to him is where she's headed. A meeting room with millions dealt across the table; a darkened corner where secrets become currency; a bar seat with a pretty girl across from him. All places where this shark feels most at ease.

"Yeah, no," Hans says, not to her, but the barman. "Everything stays on my tab, buddy. Whatever she gets, ring it up too." No matter how attractive, he would need more than a few lobotomies before allowing a girl to reverse such roles on him. "What, is that a new feminist thing? Paying for guys' drinks at the bar? Color me fucking old fashioned," — which also happens to be his choice liquor tonight — "but I'm more used to batting eyelashes and playing hard to get."

[highoctanebelle]

this was the moment savannah had been waiting on. she’d rehearsed the whole speech in her head more times than she’d care to admit, all the reasons why he oughta mentor her, why she was worth the time. but the second he sat down across from her, all that practiced confidence flickered under the weight of his presence. heath morgan. the man whose legacy she aimed to build her own name beside. and tonight, one way or another, she was gonna make sure he saw that too.

a slow smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned back in her chair, letting her accent stretch out warm and easy. “well now, at least with me 'round, maybe it’ll feel a bit like sittin’ on the porch back home, glass sweatin’ in your hand, crickets singin’, nothin’ but time and good company,” she drawled, eyes gleaming. “we oughta.”

she paused, lips pursing in thought before she added, quiet but steady, “daddy always told me, never let fear hold your reins. You feel it, sure, but you don’t let it steer.” she gave a nod to the waiter without lookin’, as if she’d done this dance before. “bourbon. straight.” today wasn’t about comfort , it was about bein’ taken seriously.

“seems we’re already speakin’ the same language,” she said, knowing the indulgence prior to their meeting. then she locked eyes with him. “you know why you’re here, mister morgan. we can talk shop first and let the meal settle us after, or fill our plates and let the business come when it’s ready. i’ll leave that up to you.”

as an eight time f1 world champion and global ambassador for the sport, heath has long been a respected commanding voice both on and off the track. his advocacy reaches beyond racing: championing driver safety, both physical and mental, as well as pushing for greater inclusivity, social justice, and environmental responsibility within motorsport. he was among the earliest backers of the f1 academy, helping pave the way for young female drivers to move from karting into higher single seater categories. while mentoring up and coming talent has always come naturally to him, the idea of getting involved with nascar had never seriously crossed his mind. it simply wasn’t his world, he’d turned down the offer more than once but everything shifted after he secured the triple crown, a milestone that broadened not only his horizons but also the scope of his platform, ultimately leading him toward indycar - and unexpectedly, to her

he had seen savannah race before, never more than brief glimpses, and always through the lens of third parties. the interaction had been short, professional, abstract. his management had been pushing him to take the opportunity to meet her, eventually he agreed, mostly to shut the noise, since most of his focus was already locked on mentoring kimi antonelli through his f1 rookie season. still, there they were: face to face for the first time, no intermediaries, no distractions. just the two of them

"well now, did ya reckon i was just some made up story floatin' 'round the internet?" heath joked, letting a soft grin soften the edges of his face. he skipped the handshake when she motioned for him to sit, taking the chair across from her with a nod "i’ll admit it, i gave yer folks a rough time. but i’ll say this much it’s damn good to finally meet ya and hearin’ that fluent cowboy twan’ come outta yer mouth just makes 'veryrhin' better. feels like i have to translate my words 'very damn day" it was true; hearing a familiar accent had a way of grounding him, bringing him back to something that felt like home

"as we oughta" he replied with a casual but playful tone "ya tell me what’s yer poison and i’ll fix us somethin’ fierce. bonus if ya ain’t scared of a lil burn" he chuckled, tilting his head slightly, eyes not leaving hers "also, confession time - i like bein’ two steps ahead. so i may’ve fixed myself a lil sippin' somethin' before i even left the house"

[highoctanebelle]

where: the modern who: @heath-morgan

it had taken months of back-and-forth with her agent to make this dinner happen. months of wrangling just for a chance to sit across from heath morgan, lay out her case, and, if she had her way, not let him leave until he agreed to train her. savannah wasn’t used to waiting, and she sure wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

a private table had been arranged; she wanted this conversation kept under wraps, at least until he was on board. shifting from NASCAR to the Indy 500 wasn’t going to be easy. but savannah was nothing if not ready for a challenge.

she stood as the host led him over, smoothing the pink dress down over her hips with a practiced grace. “well, bless my heart, heath morgan,” she said with a bright, knowing smile. “i was startin’ to think this day’d never come.”

with a graceful sweep of her hand, she motioned for him to sit, then settled back into her seat. “let’s start with a drink,” she said, her tone warm but steady, like someone about to close a deal.

[highoctanebelle]

where: dealer's choice, but a bar who: savannah & open

savannah knew damn well she was playin’ those boys like a fiddle. they took one look at her—petite frame, sweet smile—and figured she couldn’t hold her liquor. bless their hearts. that kind of mistake was gonna cost ‘em. clearly, they’d never tossed back drinks with a real Southern belle before.

“well now, boys, that was a hoot,” she drawled, a sly little smirk tugging at her lips as she gathered up the cash scattered across the table. a bit of gamblin’ never hurt nobody. with a wink and a wave, she turned and sauntered up to the bar, hips swayin’ like she had all the time in the world.

“suga, I’ll take a bourbon sidecar,” she said, leaning one elbow on the counter. then, with a glance to her side and a grin that could melt butter, she added, “and whatever they’re havin’, put it on me.”

[highoctanebelle]

— BASICS

Name: savannah "savvy" mcrae Age / D.O.B.: 30 & May 31st Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: cisfemale, she/her, bisexaul Hometown: birmingham, alabama Affiliation: civilian Job position: race car driver Education: some college Relationship status: single Children: n/a Positive traits: determined, charismatic, hardworking, resilient, & loyal Negative traits: stubborn, impulsive, risk taker, impatient, & reckless

— BIOGRAPHY

born and raised just outside birmingham, alabama, savannah mcrae came into the world with a V8 engine practically purring in her blood. her daddy ran the only garage in town worth a damn, and from the time she could walk, she was shadowing him through the shop like a grease-streaked shadow. while the other girls were playing dress-up, savvy was learning to tear down carburetors and rebuild engines. her southern charm was unmistakable — all soft smiles and sugar-sweet drawl — but so was her grit. she didn’t just inherit her father’s talent with machines, she inherited his unshakable fire to win. savvy started racing go-karts at 12, and by 16, she was sneaking onto dirt tracks with a fake ID and nerves of steel. at 20, she made her NASCAR debut — one of the youngest women to do so — and spent the next decade earning her place on the circuit. known for her aggressive racecraft and fierce determination, she clocked multiple wins and a reputation as the one to watch. sponsors loved her clean-cut looks and charisma, but on the track, she was anything but gentle. she raced like she was born to — fast, focused, and fearless. but now, at 30, savvy’s hunger isn’t satisfied by just turning left. she’s set her sights on IndyCar — sharper cars, tighter tracks, higher stakes. It’s not just a career shift; it’s a whole new game. she’s trading in stock car muscle for open-wheel precision, and she knows she can’t fake her way through it. that’s why she’s turning to heath — the man who just cemented his legacy with the triple crown of motorsport and a dominant Indy 500 win. if anyone can help her make the leap and thrive, it’s him. savvy’s never been afraid to be the only woman in the room, and she sure as hell isn’t scared to be the rookie again. what she lacks in IndyCar experience, she makes up for in adaptability and pure racing instinct. she doesn’t just want to keep up — she wants to lead the pack. and even though she’s stepping into heath’s world, she’s not coming in to ride coattails. she’s coming to compete, to learn, and eventually, to win. on the surface, she’s still got that southern belle polish — blonde curls, bright blue eyes, and a wardrobe that somehow mixes boots and fireproof suits — but underneath it all, she’s steel. she’s had to fight her way through every assumption, every patronizing pat on the head, every whispered doubt. And she’s done it all with a smile, a wink, and her foot hard on the gas. now standing on the edge of a new chapter, savannah mcrae is more than just a crossover story. she’s a racer with legacy in her hands, ambition in her heart, and a fire that refuses to burn out. IndyCar might be a different kind of battlefield, but make no mistake — she didn’t come to play. she came to take the checkered flag.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS ~~coming soon~~