#delta brakes

[velovelo]

[nothingfuture]

Campy’s finest.

[charles-leclerc-official]

hii I'm fairly new into f1 and really into data so any directions to where to find it would be really appreciated thank youu

Hi! Yes I got you.

F1 tempo - for telemetry, lap times, tyres, DRS, throttle, brakes, and lap deltas. Allows you to compare laps and full race performance. Extremely useful website. This is the main telemetry resource.

F1 race visualizer - for the order of a race, live race replay, to see who was behind who for how long when overtakes occurred etc

Pitwall - for lap times and lap time comparison. I like this better than F1 tempo specifically for lap times, it's easier to use for that.

These are the 3 main resources I use. After that it's about looking at the numbers etc.

Have fun!

[race-week]

F101:

F1 Glossary

107% rule

During Q1, any driver who fails to set a lap within 107 percent of the fastest Q1 time will not be allowed to start the race.

However, in some circumstances - which could include a driver setting a suitable time during practice, the stewards may permit the car to start (more often than not the driver is allowed to start)

Appeal

An action that a team takes on its drivers' behalf if it feels that they have been unfairly penalised by the race officials.

The window for asking for a review after an event will be shortened from the current 14 day period to four days, or 96 hours for 2024

Bottoming

When the underside of the car hits the track surface, visually producing sparks. This is usually because of a stiff suspension set up and/or a bumpy track surface

Clean air

Air that isn't turbulent. A car is in ‘clean air’ when it has a gap of at least 5 seconds to the car in front.

Clean air provides the optimum conditions for an F1 car

Degradation (tyre)

The process by which a tyre loses performance or grip, caused by the tyre going through heat cycles (getting warm and cooling down)

Delta time

A term used to describe the time difference between two different laps or two different cars.

Dirty air

Turbulent air that comes off of the back of the car in front. Being in dirty air affects the handling of a car and can cause it to overheat

Downforce

The aerodynamic force that is applied in a downwards direction as a car travels forwards (essentially it is negative lift). This is harnessed to improve a car's handling through corners.

Flat spot

The area of a tyre that is worn heavily on one spot after a moment of extreme braking or in the course of a spin or lock up.

This ruins its handling, often causing severe vibration, and may force a driver to pit for a replacement set of tyres

Ground Effect

A method of inducing downforce by manipulating airflow under the car through the use of winglets and tunnels to create a low pressure area

Handling

The car's responsiveness to driver input and its ability to negotiate corners effectively.

A car that handles well will typically be well-balanced and not understeer or oversteer to any great degree.

LiCo (Lift and Coast)

Something that the race engineer will tell the driver to do if they are burning too much fuel or overheating the car.

It means that the driver will lift off of the throttle early and coast into the braking zone - this slows down their pace so it’s not ideal

Lock-up

The term used to describe a driver braking sharply and 'locking' one or more tyres whilst the others continue rotating. Tyre smoke and flat spots are common side effects.

Marbles

The small pieces of tyre rubber that break off the tyres and then accumulate at the side of the track off the racing line. Typically these are very slippery when driven on.

Out brake

A term used to describe a driver braking either too late or too softly and subsequently overrunning a corner. A common mistake made during overtaking moves.

Oversteer

When a car's rear end doesn't want to go around a corner and tries to overtake the front end as the driver turns in towards the apex. Essentially the rear end of the car moves too much (kicks out) and could cause the car to spin

Parc ferme

A fenced-off area into which cars are driven after qualifying and the race, where no team members are allowed to touch them except under the strict supervision of race stewards.

This is where the post qualifying and post race checks take place.

Cars are under Parc Ferme conditions from the start of qualifying until the start of the race meaning that their set ups can’t be changed during this time.

Plank

A hard permaglass strip (also known as a skid block) that is fitted front-to-back down the middle of the underside of all cars to check that they are not being run too close to the track surface, something that is apparent if the plank is excessively worn.

Porpoising

An aerodynamic phenomenon caused by ground effect where the airflow under the car is suddenly stalled causing a loss of downforce resulting in the car springing upwards. This process continues with the car getting sucked towards the track due to the ground effect, the airflow stalling and then the car springing upwards. This creates a repetitive bouncing, typically on the straights.

The effect can be minimised by raising the ride height

Ride height

The height between the track's surface and the floor of the car.

Scrutineering

The technical checking of cars by the officials to ensure that none are outside the regulations.

Shakedown

A brief test when a team is trying a different car part or a new car for the first time before going back out to drive at 100 percent to set a fast time.

Teams will often run a 100km shakedown at the start of the season before pre season testing

Understeer

Where the front end of the car doesn't want to turn into a corner and slides wide as the driver tries to turn in towards the apex.

Venturi Tunnels

Channels under the floor of the car to funnel and accelerate airflow

The channels have a specific hourglass shape, wide opening and exit with a narrow centre section.

This creates a low pressure zone which will accelerate the airflow and induce downforce

[supermaks]

Austria obvi been a doozy to process but 1 part of the conversation thats always interesting to me is how people are taking Max and Lando's battle as a textbook example of 'dirty' racing and comparing it wid other battles that are seen as 'clean'. Heres the thing tho, the choices both those drivers made in those laps dont have 'clean' alternatives that wud have benefited them in that moment. It was an inevitable type of confrontation. At least for the most part.

Clean/dirty racing in this generation of very wide cars literally just a matter of is there a significant enough delta to give one of the cars lap advantage or not. If there is, u get something like George and Landos lil dance in Spain. One of the cars has better tire wear, is faster, so its just a matter of waiting for the right time to make a move and build a gap. Its clean because its a waiting game, its not a battle at all. But if the cars are more evenly matched, and more importantly, if the driver defending/attacking is actually willing to defend/attack, thats when it becomes too close for comfort and as racing drivers what ur basically saying is, I am willing to take that risk because I need to gain ((or I need to keep)) advantage.

Something thats also been interesting is how people have perceived each drivers role in this particular 'dirty' battle.

I been reading and watching a lot of analysis of those laps and one of the things that jumps out immediately is that theres this assumption that Max had to get out of the way. He just had to. The fact that he didnt is what made the battle 'dirty' and the onus of 'cleaning' it was on him. When u press that narrative, and u ask the simple question of why wud a racing driver even consider allowing another one to pass him, the argument turns into endangerment. It was dangerous that Max didn't let Lando pass. The tactics Max employed to defend his line were dangerous. Follow up question, why does it matter if they're dangerous when ur literally racing cars 200 miles per hour. Oh, because what Max did specifically is not allowed'. And what is that, specifically. Then the 3 ghosts of under braking past come into ur house to offer Max a chance of redemption. And u think, why are they here. Wheres the telemetry, the wheel input, the driver cam, the stewarding precedence, the actual rule, that allows some hypothetical idea of intentional harm to even enter this conversation. But it doesn't matter anymore, because it has set the tone for how ur gonna deal wid Max's role in a 'dirty' battle vs Lando's. Lando will, inevitably, become a victim of Max, not an active participant in a battle for the lead. Max's tactics are dangerous, while Lando's were necessary.

Ant Davidson starts his analysis on skypad by comparing Max setting up a corner to Baku 2018. Baku happened in a straight, and both drivers were reprimanded for it. I personally think Max shud not have weaved in a straight like that, but thats my opinion, its not reflective of the sporting rules. Late maneuvers are dangerous but they're not necessarily illegal, not just when it comes to defending, but also attacking. What Ant Davidson does in this opening analogy is setting the tone of HIS opinion. And its interesting to me that he finishes the segment, in which at several points he talks of Lando's choices in first person, wid 'I rest my case'. The fact that he had a 'case' at all and feels comfortable admitting it is kind of shocking until u realize that the objective of his 'stewarding' is to turn defending into a punishable act because Max was the one doing it, and Max is 'dirty'. In no instance are Lando's late maneuvers questioned because, we go the back to the original point, Lando was entitled to make them. He was entitled to pass. Max, however, is not entitled to defend.

Johnny herbert who was one of the stewards in Austria, said that they looked at Max's defensive maneuvering and it was 'clever' and made Lando's life difficult but it was not clear it was under braking. He said Max positions his car very well but sometimes goes beyond the drivers 'unwritten code'. Then, regarding specifically the incident in t3, he says some people claim Lando could have moved and yes maybe but he was right not to, because it showed Max he was prepared to 'fight back' and he can 'beat Max at his own game'. Lando did not complete a single overtake in Austria. Not once did he get ahead of Max where he didnt have to fall back again. But because they bumped and Max was penalized, this is a net positive for him. The underlying implication here is that anything that threatens Max's position on track is a net positive for the driver, and for the sport. About how this battle will affect Lando, Johnny says, 'up until Austria Max had always won. Now he is not winning. It will be interesting to see how Lando responds. He will now be in a better place after what has happened. He has realized he knows he has a chance of beating Max at his own game.' Lando finished a race pointless the day after he got fleeced in a sprint. I dont think this was a positive grand prix for him. I think he engaged in a few laps of hard racing wid Max that ended in a puncture for both. Thats not important though. He challenged Max. Johnny seems content wid just that.

The issue is not that Lando isnt a victim because Max is, nor that pundits are not allowed to be biased, or that Max shud not have been penalized. Whats been bugging me about the reaction to Austria is that once something like that happens and it involves Max, its no longer about what actually took place or the dynamic between drivers that allowed it to escalate, its about deciding whether or not the battle was dirty, and how is that dirtiness attributed to a single actor. It takes motor racing and turns it into the weighing of souls. And Max's will always be heavier.

[gayf1hoe]

Turn 7 Nightamres

Scenario: Y/N has a serious crash that sends immediate flashback of Jules to Charles.

My favourite track has always been Suzuka but I think that has something to do with the fact that I love Japan itself and as I spent my childhood racing career being endorsed by Honda I spent a lot of time in Japan and surrounded by Japanese culture so I guess I've just become accustomed to it.

There is only light rain falling on track so my car is fitted with slick tyres which will either be a massive mistake or a massive success depending on how certain parts of the track are.

“Are you ready?” Charles says snapping me out of my pre race thoughts.

Despite racing for Ferrari he doesn't seem to mind standing under my bright orange McLaren umbrella that the team have given me for no reason.

“As ready as I could be I guess and you?”

“Ready as always”

Everyone thought me and Charles dating would never last long but 3 years on we are still going strong despite everything we have been through. My engineer comes over and tells me I have to get in my car so I say goodbye to Charles and wish him luck.

I'm starting P11 today as I was the fastest in quarrying yesterday but had a 10 place grid penalty for replacing something on my car. I have the home hero Yuki Tsunoda next to me on P10 and we give each other a little wave.

Charles is on pole today so he's quite a way in front of me, it's probably the furthest we have been from each other both in the race and in person in 3 years. We have basically been joined at the hip since we first met and started dating.

The usual feeling of adrenaline kicks in the second the 5 lights go out and it eradicates any sense of nerves I was feeling less than 2 seconds ago.

The first laps are going well and I have made up 2 places, and I now have Kevin behind me and he's getting really close and he accidentally or purposefully hits my rear and the next thing I hear my engineer say is:

“Puncture. Box, Box.”

Thankfully it happens right next to the pit entry so I dive into the pits and get a fresh set of tyres and go back out on track. I emerge back in P16 in front of Pierre and get to work again. But the rain is increasing more and more by the second.

I push the car well beyond its limits to make up some places and I manage to get up to P12 by lap 23 but the rain is increasing, my trick has been not putting my foot on the brake at all really until the last millisecond.

I approach turn 7 at 300kph when the typical approach to turn 7 is 280 Kph and I don't realise how much the racing line has become saturated with water and the next thing I know as I'm trying to decelerate I'm seeing the track from the air and that's where everything turns into darkness.

Charles POV:

“Red Flag. Red Flag. Delta positive.”

These words aren't much of a surprise as the track has been getting wet so I assume someone somewhere is stuck in the gravel trap.

“What's happened?” I ask.

“Y/N has had quite a big shunt in turn 7”

“What! Is he OK?”

“We are unsure his car his upside down and we haven't heard anything on the radio”

The second I hear that It floods my brain with memories of Jules. He crashed on the same track at the same corner in the same conditions.

“Charles please come into the pit lane and leave a 5 metre gap to the car in front”

“I'm not coming into the pit lane”

“Charles if you don't you will be fined and may be banned from participating in the restart”

“I don't care about that”

I arrive at turn 7 and I freeze. I see a bright orange McLaren upside down with parts of it scattered around. I turn off my car and sprint over.

I arrive just as the stewards and medical team are turning the car back on it's right side. I try to help but one of the stewards pushes me away. When the car is back on its right side I run over to the cockpit and lean in to try and get Y/N to respond, but his eyes are shut and his visor is shattered. I can see a small slither of crimson red blood falling by his eye.

The medic asks me to move out of the way and they begin to lift him from the car and place him on a stretcher. I jump in the back of the ambulance and immediately grab a hold of Y/N's hand and it's surprisingly warm despite the cold and wet conditions he had been racing in. They eventually pull off his helmet, as he has become a little more coherent. When the helmet comes off we can see he has a slight cut above his eyebrow where his visor snapped and scratched him but other than that he looks fine.

As we arrive at the medical centre he has started talking and is saying that he's fine and keeps on trying to move but it only results in him whining in agony.

“I'm fine you are all fussing over nothing” he says as the doctor attempts to take his blood pressure.

“Y/N we are going to take you to hospital for some scans to check for any internal injuries”

One of the doctors pulls me aside and tells me that he should be fine but as a precaution Y/N is going to have some scans. Meanwhile I tell the FIA I'm not interested in being at the restart and instead I'm going with Y/N. Ferrari didn't try and stop me because they knew nothing would stop me.

I feel relieved that he's fine and being his usual self, but I know he's still not out of the woods just yet.

I think it's safe to say me and turn 7 don't have the best history.

[bunniehoneys]

Coanda Effect - JJK F1 AU

MY KOFI IS HERE! Any tips are appreciated :3

Coanda effect: noun (Co·an·da effect) (kō¦andə-, -än-) : the tendency of a fluid jet, such as airflow, to be attracted to a nearby surface. Used in motorsport and car design by aerodynamicists to help divert airflow to specific areas of the car.

“Yo, Satoru.” Getou Suguru looks older. His hair is longer. He still has the same small scar along the left side of his forehead from 2013. It’s fainter, now, than it was then. “It’s been a while.” It's been seven years, but who's keeping count?

---

Jujutsu Kaisen Formula One AU / Satosugu & Minor/Background Itafushi / Slowburn / Childhood Friends to Enemies to Lovers

FULL FIC on ao3 here!

Chapter-by-Chapter:

i - out lap

ii - lock-up

iii - camber

iv - flat spot

v - out-brake

vi - gravel trap

vii - slipstreaming

viii - parc ferme

ix - telemetry

x - apex

xi - retirement

xii - understeer / oversteer

xiii - summer break

xiv - delta time

xv - shakedown

xvi - traction control

xvii - multi 21

xviii - extrication

xix - porpoising

xx - blistering

xxi - pole position

xxii - HALO

xxiii - Blue Flags

xxiv - Winner Take All

Word Count 262,170 - 24/24 - Complete

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Australian GP 2024!

Mads' Race Recap!

Oh my jesus lord christ alive this was a goddamn good day. OK, I'll try to remain calm, but that is VERY difficult under the circumstances of my 3 best boys getting the podiums. But, I shall do this in order of constructors. Also, thanks to @lipringlrh for edging me through the entire bloody race cause she knew what happened, I swore I was going to be sick.

Red Bull - Nice qualis from Max, and I can't say I wasn't happy with Checo's three place penalty, just because I definitely think it helped the main race. Everything was all honky dory, then Carlos overtook and I was just like 'OK Carlitos, sure'. Then Max was slowing down... Then Lando and Charles passed, and the everyone else. The brakes were smoking, I was screaming out of pure joy. Now, don't take this the wrong way, I love Max. BUT, this provided my boys some very good opportunities. I reckon if Checo hadn't gotten the penalty, he could've tried to pip in front, but I won't dwell on what didn't happen.

Ferrari - WE GOT A FUCKING FERRARI 1-2 BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHEN I TELL YOU I LOST MY GODDAMN MIND IT IS UNPARALLELED! Anyway, I'll be constructive, for a moment, at least. Charles and Carlos had some mental quali pace, so how they didn't get pole is a little crazy to me. Alas, none of that matters now. The second I saw Max go, I was like 'oh fuck we've got it'. Carlos DOTD and race winner, barely 2 weeks after having his appendix out and he doesn't have a seat?! Absolutely diabolical. It was sweet how he went back to singing Smooth Operator, I was waiting for it. When I heard the commentators saying that they may swap the positions so that Charles could lead the WDC, I was shitting it. Yes, I wanted Charles to win, but I didn't want it to be because of something stupid like team orders. Charles can win without needing it handing to him, and it would've been so damn disrespectful to Carlos. Every year that a team has finished 1-2 in Melbourne, they've gone on to win both championships... It's our year, I'm telling you.

So happy to see them back at the top, both of them did incredibly, Charles was pulling pace out of God knows where for that fastest lap. And the strategy was good???? Like, bringing Charles in when he said he needed to? Listening??? Nice stuff. Hearing the Spanish and Italian anthems was absolutely amazing. Also, I feel like this really highlights how special Ferrari is. The team were screaming that Italian anthem like there was nothing more important to them, and they were all hugging and having a whale of a time. It was just so fucking nice to see Charlandos up there, so fucking good. So so so so so happy, Forza Ferrari. Everyone is a Ferrari fan.

McLaren - OK, so, quali wise, Lando kinda came out of nowhere. I feel like Oscar was just... There? We were racing, it was the 'rarri 1-2 with Oscar in P3 at his home race, it was lovely stuff. Then they swapped the positions. Can someone please tell me why they swapped the positions? Pretty sure it was something to do with either less pace or more recent pitting or something, but I'm not 100% sure. As much as I love Lando, I wanted him to stay down in P3 just for that Ferrari 1-2. I needed it. The last few laps, I was looking at the delta between Charles and Lando, and I was relieved to see that it wasn't changing. Super happy for Lando, Oscar did loads better at his home race, nice one for all.

Mercedes - What the hell is going on here? Like, Lewis' qualis weren't good, George's were fine, nothing bad but nothing spectacular. Now the race was something else. I can't really blame Lewis for his problem, since it was a mechanical issue obviously as opposed to driver error. From what I saw of George, he didn't even do anything that bad. One minute he was fine, the next he was turned on his side. I may not want Merc to get points, but I don't want a crash to be the reason why. He's OK, so that's all that really matters. But, as for the car in general, there's something wrong with it. It's not just a one week thing where it's a bit off, this has been consistent. Yes, George had a nice P3 in qualis the other week, but the pace just wasn't there at all in the race. I just don't know what's going on with them at the minute, and the fact that they're so behind the Ferraris and McLarens is concerning.

Aston Martin - Pretty mediocre all together, I've seen varied opinions on Fernando's 20 second pen. Some said he was kinda to blame for George's crash, from what I saw, he was just avoiding George after the fact. I don't really know, so I won't comment until I watch another replay. But yeah, nothing too special, but they do need to up their game.

VCARB/RB/REDBULLSHITTYEDITION - Yuki Tsunoda. Well bloody done babe. Got extra points thanks to the Fernando penalty, even if I didn't really see him during the race like... at all. But, he must've done a pretty damn good job to end up all the way in eighth before the end of the race. Now, Daniel. What is this man doing? 12th is not bad, but when your teammate with less experience in the same car is doing that much better than you in your home race, you know something's up. I love Danny Ric, but Carlos is more likely to get that Red Bull seat than he is at this rate. Slightly disappointed, I won't lie.

Haas - Both drivers getting points? OK, OK. I actually think Kevin could've gotten higher in qualis if Checo hadn't impeded, but I'm glad Checo was put down on the grid. Overall though, nice drive from both, nice to see them get points.

Williams - Right, realistically, what harm would it have done to let Logan drive? It wasn't his fault, Alex has fucked it at that circuit so many times at the same place, and Alex didn't even get points. It wasn't fair, and he took it like an absolute champ. #justiceforlogiebear #cancelwilliams

Kick Sauber - These guys need to fix their pitstops I swear to God. How many times are they going to get that wheel nut stuck on? They did 1 good one for Valtteri, but they screwed up all the others. Zhou's pitlane start was unfortunate after it looked like his front wing just... fell off. Someone said the car reminds them of a wheelie bin, I completely agree and can't see it any differently.

Alpine - Pierre 's fault for getting the 5 second penalty, but other than that, they were shit as usual. Pierre was running pretty high for a little while, then just kind of... fell back. I can't help but laugh at them, I know it's mean, I just find it so bloody comical. I think FC Versailles is just a distraction, but he has just invested in a Tier 3 league, unheard of French football team... Nice one, I guess.

[fishfingersalad]

Rvb skating hcs, bc I miss skating but I can’t figure out how to put the brake back on my blades, and where I live is rlly hilly so I need it or else I'm trapped in the cul-de-sac.

Putting a break cause its a real long list lol

Skateboards:

Alpha Church (Can’t actually skateboard, swears he can but he's sooo wobbly) Tex (Can actually skateboard, makes fun of church) Tucker (Between Church and Tex’s levels, hes decent at it) Wash (Don’t think I need to explain this one) Niner (I’ve seen a lot of wheelchair niner hcs, shed totally do wheelchair skateboarding) Palomo (Falls over a lot, but hey he just keeps on going.) Bitters (Absolutely holds it over Palomos head that he’s better at skateboarding) Theta (canon)

Rollerskates:

Kai (Dunno if this one needs an explanation, she might like derby ngl) Donut (He seems like he’d use them as transportation, just skatin around) South (She’d do roller derby and get so competitive about it) CT (Seen some videos of people doing sweet flips and tricks w skates) Ohio (She gives me the vibe of someone who’s got cool iridescent pink roller skates) Andersmith (Picked up skating cause the younger lieutenants were into it) Matthews (He’s a bit unbalanced, but he’s determined)

Rollerblades:

Carolina (Speed, blades are faster than skates) Simmons (He is shaky as hell, but he is trying. Won’t skate anywhere that’s not flat.) Kimball (Lina taught her, they race) Dr Grey (Dunno, just vibes) Jensen (Much like Simmons but with more uneven terrain) Epsilon Church (Picked blades so he could skate w Lina, and to be different from Wash n Alpha) Omega/O’malley (I'm just picturing him chasing people around at high speeds, cackling) Eta (Wanted to try something new, and to spend time w Theta)

Iceskates:

Florida (Specifically figure skating) Felix (Honestly idk, he’s cold and sharp like an ice skate) Delta (He’d ramble about why it’s an intellectual sport, but actually just thinks its fun) Sigma (He’d be rlly pretentious about it)

Scooter:

York (Guy has no balance but still wants to be included) Iota (Cheers on Eta and Theta, does sick scooter tricks)

Other:

Grif (I think he’d have a longboard that he rides around) Sarge (Quad bike) Doc (Also a longboarder) Idaho (I think he’d prefer dirt bike racing) Iowa (Quad bike, it’s like a mongoose) Caboose (Mountain bike, no real explanation, just vibes)

Doesn’t skate (or bike or anything):

Lopez (He prefers cars, might've made an electric skateboard at some point but doesn't rlly use it) Wyoming (Can’t see him skating at all ngl) North (Cheers everyone else on and records videos) Maine (First aid) Locus (Tried to skate once and fell over. Now he just broods from the benches.) Doyle (Too nervous, prefers to just watch) Gamma (I don’t think he’d go outside much ngl)

[allthecanadianpolitics]

A B.C. church has once again been targeted for what appears to be the display of Pride flags. Delta police said a man shattered two windows where Pride flags were hanging, on the night of Sept. 22 at Ladner United Church. A CCTV video has been released by police in hopes of furthering the investigation. In the video, a man can be seen riding up to the church on a bicycle before the windows were smashed. Police said the bicycle is unique, with fenders, light-coloured brake lines, front shocks and a dark frame. It is the sixth incident of similar nature at the church.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[vvatchword]

Slow Drive

Delta couldn’t get in the car. Instead, he walked beside it as Sinclair slowly drove out to the edge of town. Sinclair kept the window down and didn’t speak at first. The Sisters followed alongside, Eleanor sobbing uncontrollably. Every now and then Delta felt her questing thoughts probing at the edges of his mind before she jerked back. The other Sisters didn’t stop her—perhaps there was some sense that he was hers—and this alone rankled.

They could have stopped her, couldn’t they? And they didn’t. They let her just slide into his skull anytime she liked. Not even Cecilia said anything about it, and Cecilia always seemed to read him better than anyone else.

“So, chief,” Sinclair said, somewhere around the ten-minute mark.

Delta bristled, waiting for the inevitable.

“What kind of TV do you watch these days?”

Delta squinted in at him. Sinclair was keeping his eyes on the road. Had he always looked this old? Delta could see a reflection of his face in the glass and tried to gauge his own age. Taut skin, dark hair, no age spots. Thirties, perhaps? He hadn’t aged while he’d been dead. That seemed right.

“Do you watch TV?” Sinclair asked. “Or do you still listen to the radio?”

Delta shrugged. Sinclair took a moment to wave at another driver, who was gaping at Delta without any shame at all. They were so busy gawking that they went over the curb; in a squeal of rubber, they slammed on their brakes and smashed into a post-office box.

“You liked adventure serials, last I remember,” Sinclair said. He snapped his fingers. “You loved adventure films.”

Why had Delta wanted this, again? There was something horrible about having someone with power over you, but the kind where someone knew more about you than you did about yourself was a torture past reckoning! It was true, wasn’t it—that he was just a big kid stuck in this monster body? Maybe it was right that a girl half his age ordered him around.

“You’re lookin’ pretty down in the mouth,” Sinclair said. “Now, honey, I promise you nothing is going to happen outside the pale. All right? No lock-ups. Nothing you don’t ask for. Just a warm meal and a drink and some entertainment. Maybe a smoke. You still like cigars?”

“I’m never free,” Delta said at last. “I never get to go where I want. Even in my dreams I don’t go where I want.”

Sinclair grimaced. “Juan, honey.”

He said it low, so quietly that it could have been lost.

“I’m so tired,” Delta said. “Nobody loves me.”

Sinclair hissed through his teeth. “That’s not true. Why, look at that girl crying over there. She loves you more than life itself.”

“She wants to order me around. She doesn’t listen to me.”

“Well, that’s teenagers for you.” Sinclair laughed. “She’s starting to realize she can make decisions of her own, that’s all. She just doesn’t know where she needs to stop. No, you’re right to put your foot down. You have a right to your own life. You know what your problem is, chief?”

Delta shook his head.

“The problem is that you’re just a big softy. You get thrown into this world outside Rapture and you have to learn all its rules again. You feel off-balance. You deal with it by trying to make everyone your friend. You know how that makes me laugh?”

Delta glanced up, brows knit together. Sinclair was grinning at him like they were sharing a big joke.

“All the best scientists of the world stirred your brain up like a soup, but they couldn’t get rid of you. Back when I knew you, the minute you figured out you couldn’t make friends, you’d run for it. And here you are, over a decade later, running from your problems—like clockwork.”

Delta drooped, rubbed at his face. There was a pressure starting in the back of his mind. The memories were going to come back. He could feel it. He’d end up rocking back and forth in Sinclair’s back yard next.

“Now, what’s sad about that?” Sinclair asked. “I thought it might make you happy to realize you’re not some machine. No, you’re John Barton. You’re a hell of a worker and a good man. Many went through Rapture and came out unspeakable. You went through and became something better. Who else has done it?”

“I killed people,” Delta said. “I’m not better.”

“You had no choice. Better than those of us who did.”

Sinclair’s face had become stern. He was looking in his rearview mirror.

“Looks like ol’ Jack there is going to keep an eye on us,” he said. “Wouldn’t doubt he’s had us all figured out for weeks now. I wonder how long he’s been looking for us.”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Delta asked.

“No reason to doubt him. You two do have the same problem, all things considered.”

“What does he want with me?”

“What’d he ask you for?”

“He wanted to see Tenenbaum. That’s all.”

“Then why go to you, honey?” Sinclair asked gently. “If he needs Brigid, he should go to Brigid.”

“I’m not stupid.” Delta’s hand movements were choppy.

“I’m not saying you are. I’m saying you are a little too eager for friendship, though.”

“I have no friends.”

“Good god, John, that’s an outright lie, and frankly, I’m a bit hurt. Do you not consider me a friend?”

Delta thought about apologizing. He decided not to. Instead, he asked, “Do you think he likes me?”

Sinclair laughed. “Now, what kind of a question is that?”

“He saved me from the police. He knows what it’s like to be me.”

“So does Dr. Porter,” Sinclair said. “And so do I.”

Delta shook his head.

“Dr. Lamb was in my head.” Sinclair’s voice was low again. “She was pulling my strings like a puppeteer. Son, I went through your hell for all of a day, thinking: I may have to live like this for years if he doesn’t knock me down. Before that point, I had never wished for death in my life, but in a matter of hours I was ready to go. All that, and I hadn’t gone through even a tenth of what you did. But hell, son. Hell. When I consider what that does to a man—over weeks, over months, over years.” He took a shuddering breath. “That was your greatest fear, you know. And I’ll never be able to forgive myself for making you live it.”

Delta didn’t dare look at him. He kept his eyes on his feet. What would his old self have felt? He was too frightened to reach back where his memories were. If they started flooding through him again, here on the street… Eleanor would have to touch him again. Eleanor would probably say, “Oh, he has to go home now and sleep in his own bed.”

It did sound nice. To go home, take a shower, go to bed. All of this seemed so pointless. To run away, just to go to Sinclair’s house, where he’d probably sleep on the floor, and Sinclair would talk to him like he was pitiful the whole damn time. Tomorrow he’d probably just go home, and everything would go back to the way it was, and he’d just take it, because of course he would. Who else could love him? Where else would people make a home for him?

It startled him to realize that this was why Sinclair couldn’t love him anymore. His previous self had been a whole person—a person who could speak, who was nice to look at, who knew who he was. But his current self… what was he to Sinclair but a child, an invalid, more dog than a man? Who could love that?

“I’m tired of thinking about it,” Delta said. “I’m tired of people feeling sorry for me. I just want to feel like a person. I don’t. I scare people.”

“That’s my fault, too.” Sinclair’s voice was thick.

“I don’t care.” Delta shook his head. He still didn’t look at Sinclair. “You feeling sorry doesn’t change it. I can’t change it. It happened. I don’t care. I just want to be a person.”

“But you are a person and we can help you. It’s just a matter of time at this point.” Sinclair slapped the side of his car. “And won’t you look at that! Home sweet home.”

Delta jerked his head up. They had pulled into a residential area. A series of brick houses spread out under comfortable old shade trees. Kids were throwing frisbees for their dogs a couple of houses over. The house that Sinclair was talking about was a red-brick affair with a nicely manicured lawn and a door with a stained-glass window.

“Eleanor!” Sinclair said, waving her toward him. “Come here!”

Delta froze as Eleanor, red-eyed, shuffled up to the window.

“Sweetheart, I swear on everything true and good in this world to treat your pops like a gentleman,” he said. “You understand me? I keep him off the street a night, and he gets that guest bedroom all to himself. But, see, I need some help from you to make sure this works out.”

Eleanor’s eyes were swollen and red. She stared at him without expression.

“I need you to get some clean clothes for him,” he said. “Let’s say—two days’ worth. Something for bed, something for daytime. Maybe a toothbrush and a razor and his shampoo, things like that. If you bring that on over, I can make sure he’s comfortable, and you can see how he’s settling in. And don’t you worry. I’ll bring him back as soon as possible, hopefully in better shape than he left.”

Without a word, Eleanor turned away and disappeared in a flash of light. The kids with the frisbees started shouting about it. Equally silent, completely expressionless, the Sisters all turned together and walked back toward town.

“You know, that’s the kind of thing I’d expect to see in a horror film,” Sinclair said, watching the girls troop away.

Sinclair turned into the driveway. Delta wavered for a moment, stuck between following him and turning to follow the girls back to Tenenbaum’s. The kids and their dogs had stopped to watch now. The dogs were alert in an unpleasant way—ears up, rigid-legged, tails swaying side to side slowly.

Delta held his face. Even dogs didn’t like him. Maybe it was Eleanor’s sadness pushing in on him, but he thought he was going to cry next.

“Hey, chief, look at this,” Sinclair said, leaning out of his window. “Come’ere!”

Delta slogged up beside him, leaned down. Sinclair held a little plastic doohickey with a button on it.

“Watch,” he said, and pressed it.

The garage door grumbled and lifted. Delta jumped. He must have made some noise because the dogs started barking.

“I’m living the good life,” Sinclair said, winking at him, and pulled into a spotless garage. “Get in here before you die of heat stroke.”

Delta wished he could tell him it was fine; poison couldn’t kill him, bullets couldn’t kill him, the cold couldn’t kill him, so what was the sun? But without a word, he ducked into the garage. The door closed behind him, cutting out the light and the Sisters, until it closed with a heavy thunk.

~*~*~*~

Sinclair’s home was dark: dark paneled wood walls, dark wine-colored carpet, heavy embroidered curtains draped over the windows. Delta caught sight of a living room set up with an easy chair and a sofa and a nice TV set. Everything smelled like cigarettes. As Sinclair flicked on lights and air conditioner, he headed down the right-hand corridor into an equally dark office, all mahogany and stuffy-looking, with uncomfortable-looking high-backed chairs. Delta eyed them warily from the hallway.

The first thing Sinclair did was sink into his office chair, grab his phone, and call Dr. Tenenbaum. Delta, feeling obnoxiously large, waited at the door.

“Brigid!” Sinclair said. “Found him. Oh, he got all the way to town. I had been out of the car maybe ten minutes when you called… all I did was pull out onto 9th Street and there he was. The man’s athleticism is unreal. Nope. Well, he did have a little run-in with the police, but… well, you won’t believe who he met.” He waited a second. There was complete silence on the other end.

“Jack Wynand,” said Sinclair at last. “Don’t know what he was doing with our boy here, but apparently he wanted to speak with you abou…”

“NO,” Dr. Tenenbaum said.

“All right, good enough,” Sinclair said. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t feel good about it, either. I thought you said he was a young man?” His brows drew together as Tenenbaum spoke. “That’s not right. He can’t have been a day under sixty.”

A muttering sound.

“He’s still a big guy. I wouldn’t get in a fight with him.” Sinclair drew out his pistol, released the magazine, popped out the bullets one by one, counted them under his breath, loaded the gun again. “Say, John?”

Delta jerked upright.

“Can you do me a favor and grab my holster? It’s right in that drawer across from me. Right there. Thank you, buddy. Sit down, sit down, take the weight off.”

The couch’s legs looked delicate, and the armchairs were too narrow, so Delta sank down on the floor, folding his arms over his knees. He loomed over Sinclair despite simply sitting. He felt so strangely childish.

“My question is this,” Sinclair said, throwing off his jacket. “Do I need to be worried about Mr. Wynand?”

When Tenenbaum spoke, it was quietly, and the rhythm was too even for Delta to make out anything. Sinclair buckled his holster. His smile sank into a frown.

“All right,” he said. “Understood. I just can’t figure what use John would be to him. Might it be to get to Eleanor?”

Delta whipped his eyes up to Sinclair’s. Sinclair was staring straight into his face, eyes solemn. He tucked his pistol under his arm.

“I thought not,” Sinclair said. “Well, thank you. Let me know if anything changes in the night. I sent the girls to get John some overnight clothes.”

Dr. Tenenbaum said something short.

“Doctor, if Eleanor and the girls had gotten there first, I’m afraid John would’ve left with Wynand. Hell, there might’ve been a fight, and frankly, I shudder to think of it. I think I was a fair option.”

Dr. Tenenbaum snapped something.

Sinclair took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against his temple. “Let me make this plain. I won’t take advantage of him. I swear on my dear sweet mother. He’s barely two months out of the suit and he’s like a whole new person; god knows who he’ll be by the third. I aim to spoil him rotten and nothing more. He will stay in the guest bedroom.”

Dr. Tenenbaum started talking. Sinclair listened, lips pressed together. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. He opened it and shook it at John. John took it with a grateful nod and plucked one out. It was so tiny and delicate and soft in his hand.

“I understand. You don’t have to worry about me. If you feel like you have to check up, do. I promise it’s all above-board here at Casa de Sinclair. You don’t have to believe it, but that’ll just give you more worry than it’s worth. Go to bed with a clear conscience. I will.”

Sinclair tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and held out his lighter, the flame snapping into life above it. John lit it and sank back against the wall, one knee drawn up, one leg thrown out. He breathed in; breathed out.

“All right. Give my love to the girls. Reassure Eleanor I’ll be nothing but a gentleman. And don’t forget the man’s toiletries! Bye.”

He shook his head as he slapped the receiver on its cradle. “Good god, Juan. Your lot is going crazy without you. How do you do it?”

Delta paused, staring, before shaking his head.

“They do fine without me,” he signed.

“So you say,” Sinclair said, pushing pencils around on his desk with an idle finger. “Now, look. Brigid says you shouldn’t go out without someone from now on. I tend to agree.”

“I’m not stupid,” Delta said, hands stabbing through the motions.

“Of course you’re not stupid,” Sinclair said. “But you know Mr. Wynand killed several of your coworkers, don’t you? And those were fully kitted out. I doubt he’d hesitate for you.”

Delta growled. “I’d run away.”

“Good thinking. Do not fight him.” Sinclair rapped the table with every word. “Leave. In fact, take it one step further: you see him coming, you just run the other way.”

“What if he’s a friend?” Delta asked. “What if he wants to help?”

“Help with what?” Sinclair asked. “He’s the one who came to you. Now, although I doubt Mr. Wynand there went out today intending to catch you, he clearly wanted to use you in some way, and I’m guessing whatever it was wouldn’t have been very kind.”

“I don’t care,” Delta said. His eyes were burning.

A pencil bounced off of his forehead. He recoiled, only for Sinclair to flip a second one at him. It bounced off of the wall and against the back of his neck. Delta growled, yanked at his sleeve—only to feel the pencil tilt down his collar and slip into his shirt.

“For god’s sakes, don’t be dramatic. You’ve cared every step of the way. I should know.” Sinclair slapped another pencil down on his desk eraser first. “Now I suppose there’s no better time to address the, ah… Big Daddy in the room, as it were.”

Delta snarled and twisted his shirt out of his jeans. Crumbled leaves and dirt sprinkled onto the carpet.

“You clearly have some feelings for me.”

Delta’s breath caught in his throat. He kept his eyes down on his shirt.

“Now as touched as I am—and I will not lie, I am deeply, deeply moved—we were very different people 13 years ago. And even if we hadn’t changed as much as we have, right now is clearly a very sensitive time for you.”

Delta shook his shirt out until bits of hay filled the air.

“Do you know what you look like right now?” Sinclair asked, rising from his desk.

Delta reddened, fabric knotted up in his hands. The pencil plinked onto the floor.

“You look like a new human being every damn day,” said Sinclair. “I had no idea you were going to get this far. None of us did. It’s almost like you’re back.”

Delta smoothed his shirt out, dropping his eyes. The ash was building up on the end of his cigarette until it looked like a closed lotus.

“Tomorrow, you may realize you hate me,” Sinclair said. “I may have to call Eleanor from a payphone on the other side of town because you decided to throw my car at me. And frankly, I wouldn’t put it past you. You know what your last words to me were?” Sinclair slapped his pencil down. “You told me to go fuck myself.”

Delta squeezed his hands into a fist on his knee.

“Son, you’re about to have more ash than cigarette there. Come here, for god’s sakes.” Sinclair pushed an ashtray over the desk.

John tapped off the ash, eyes lowered. In the back of his brain, he could feel an electrical static building.

“Sorry,” he signed.

“I don’t know whether you’re apologizing for the past or for now, and either way, I don’t give a damn,” Sinclair said. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re being honest. You have nothing in you but honesty. It’s like I get to see you in your childhood.”

Delta snarled and shoved himself upright. “I’m not a child.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s a good thing. It’s you before someone beat all that fear into you.”

“What do you mean? Who beat me?”

“Don’t listen to me. It doesn’t matter.” Sinclair cleared his throat. “I just want you to know that as long as you stay here, my bedroom is off limits, as yours is from me. And you will not try to do anything beyond a handshake, you understand?”

“I’m sorry. I understand.” Delta took a deep drag of his cigarette. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the carpet.

“Again, you don’t have to apologize. You owe me nothing. But you aren’t well yet. You’re nowhere near well yet. I say you rest for a year at least before you start thinking about romance. And given what you’ve gone through, I’ll be frank: maybe it should be two or three or… lord. Five. The longer you wait, the better you’ll feel. Take some advice from an old rake.”

“I’ll go back,” Delta said. His fingers moved listlessly. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean that at all. Look at me. Look at me, Juan.”

Delta shook his head. Then he saw Sinclair’s shiny shoes up next to his beat-up sneakers. Sinclair leaned in, stared up into his face.

“I love you, Juan,” Sinclair said softly. “More than you know. But think about it this way. You need some time to understand what you really want. If you move too fast, you’re more likely to make regrets than good memories. All right?” He took Delta’s hand and clapped it between his. “Worry about recovering. Wait for Tenenbaum to collect the ADAM we need for your procedure. Learn a little about yourself.”

“Is Eleanor going to be safe?” Delta asked. He felt like his arms and hands were moving through syrup. “Should I go back?”

“Is Eleanor going… good god, honey, she nearly took the whole damn house off its foundation this afternoon,” Sinclair said. “There are 12 other Big Sisters at that house, all just as powerful as she is. I don’t like it that Wynand’s here, but I’d like to see him try and cause trouble with a house full of Supergirls. No, if there’s anyone in trouble here, it’s you.”

Delta closed his eyes. He had to go home. It was the right thing to do. The whole house full of Sisters and an enemy skulking around the perimeter! And at the same time, he couldn’t seem to move his legs.

“You okay there, chief?” Sinclair asked.

Delta shook his head, blew out a cloud of smoke, watched the patterns shift and dissipate.

“I’m glad you’re here. Do you understand? I’m pleased as punch. It doesn’t even seem real that we’re underneath the same roof again. Hell, forget about me—I think you might benefit by getting out of the house a while. Think of it as a vacation—a little time to recoup. Now come on. There’s a case of beer with your name on it and a night full of the world’s most rotten television.” Sinclair rose, throwing his jacket over his arm. “As for me, I’m going to make a roast beef sandwich. How about it? I’ve got fresh bread. As the kids today say—it’ll blow your mind.”

~*~*~*~

Delta’s bedroom was clearly not meant for someone his size. The bed was too small, the ceiling too low. If he turned on the fan and stood up, he’d get whacked in the forehead. His stomach sank. Was this the plan? To make him capitulate through discomfort?

“I don’t think I thought this through,” Sinclair said, clucking with displeasure. “Perhaps if we get the mattress on the floor of the den and lay the couch cushions at one end? That might be nice. Much roomier in there, in any case. And you can turn the television on in the morning and watch it in bed.” He winked. “Very cozy.”

“But I can’t keep you out of the living room,” Delta signed nervously.

“Oh, I won’t need to go in there past ten,” Sinclair said. “You’ll be snug as a bug in a rug, as my grandmother would say. Ah, son, cheer up!” He slapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t stand you lookin’ so sad. How many times were you making these faces under that helmet? I can’t stand the thought.”

Delta felt at his cheeks. He felt strangely naked all of a sudden. He wanted his suit again. He wanted his helmet.

“What are you feeling for up there?” Sinclair asked.

Delta shook his head. “I should go home.”

“You are home, honey.” Sinclair set a hand on his wrist. “Can you do me a favor, though?”

“Sure.”

“Can you drag the mattress yourself? I hate to ask you, but this leg makes everything a trial.”

“It’s no problem.” Delta leaned down into the bedroom, flipped on the light.

For a second, he saw the flash of a human shadow against the window. He started. Just as suddenly, he felt silly; he was seeing his own shadow thrown up against the blinds. No one could see in. Why would they want to, anyway?

“What is it, honey?” Sinclair asked.

“Nothing,” Delta said. “Bad thought.”

“You’ve been doin’ better, I thought.”

Delta was startled to realize the memories had settled back down. Was that all he had to do? Get upset and run to town? Maybe they would come back in the night.

Try not to think about it. Thinking about it will make it worse.

“Do you remember how to play gin rummy?” Sinclair asked as Delta lifted the mattress.

“I don’t know.” Delta pushed it on its side, leaned over almost double.

Sinclair sidled out of the way. “Well, we’ll bring out cards and see if you do. If you can’t remember it, well. We’ll just teach you again. Meanwhile, we’ll get you another cigarette, eh?”

Delta looked at his hands pressed against the mattress. God, they were huge.

“When will they get enough ADAM for me?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. We’d have to ask Dr. Tenenbaum that.”

“When I go crazy,” Delta said, “what will you do to me?”

Sinclair paused. “Let’s not think about that right now, honey. Besides. You’re doin’ great. Much better than we ever thought you would!”

“Something’s wrong with me,” Delta said. “I can’t think. It’s better, but it’s… worse. It should be faster.”

“You’re worried, that’s all. You haven’t been away from Eleanor this long and you did just have a fight with her. Come on, let’s get you settled down. I’ll get you a beer.”

Delta was about to ask if he thought Eleanor would forgive him when it struck him suddenly: if he wanted Sinclair not to think of him as a child, he should stop acting like one. He sounded like a child, didn’t he? Complaining all the time?

At first, he resolved to stop flapping his fingers so goddamn much. But the thought of shutting up filled him with a loneliness so complete it was a physical ache. Suddenly he completely understood Eleanor’s hatred of Sinclair. It was all his fault! It was all his fault he was like this! In the memories, he had been holding full conversations, jumping from subject to subject with ease! Even his terror in front of the whipping-man had been something—pure, almost. Since waking up, he couldn’t remember feeling anything that strongly except for his love for Eleanor and the power of his anger, and even then, both feelings made him feel tired, like there was such a frantic need to feel anything at all that he clung to them overlong.

The sheer level of work and uncertainty ahead of him squashed him so suddenly that he burst into tears. Horrified, he mashed his face into his opposite shoulder, rubbing his eyes so hard that fireworks went off behind his eyelids. But the tears wouldn’t stop, nor would the awful choking sounds. He couldn’t help it. Oh, of course he’d start crying here! Right in front of Sinclair!

Sinclair had started patting him on the shoulder.

“Shhh. Come on, John. Just get that bed all laid out so you can lie still a while.”

Delta shook his head over and over. “I didn’t mean to!” he said. “I’m sorry!” He mashed his cheeks against his shoulders, one after the other.

“You’ve had a rough day. Hell, a rough few months. You’ve cried before this; don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t remember!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sinclair said, slapping him on the back. “Look, you have plenty of very good reasons to cry, don’t you?”

Delta flung the mattress on the living room floor.

“I hate being like this!” he said. “I shouldn’t be like this! Like a baby! Giant and stupid!”

“I won’t have you insulting yourself,” Sinclair said softly. “You’re not stupid and you’re not a child. It’s just that right now it seems like too much. That’s fine. Look. Even if you could have been reverted in one go—why, look at Dr. Porter. It took him months to get to the point he’s at now. Hell, it’s taken me months just to be able to hobble around. And Dr. Porter had to deal with brain trauma on top of all of it, which, I’m told, makes the situation particularly heinous. Dr. Porter was the Alpha series right before me, wasn’t he? Second to last ever made?” Sinclair turned Delta’s chin down. “The process was standard by then, honey. He didn’t have half as much done to him as you did. You were in the pipeline for years. Not days, not weeks, not months. Years. It will take you more time to get better than either of us. And anyone who’s worth half a damn will give you that time. Do you understand me?”

“But what if I never get better?” Delta asked. “What if I’m like this forever?”

Sinclair’s hand clamped down on Delta’s wrist. His voice rose.

“Then they will give you that time,” Sinclair said, enunciating each word. “Anyone who matters will give you that godforsaken time. Do you hear me? Show me you understand.”

Delta nodded. His hand was pressed over his eyes.

“Good.” Sinclair slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll feel better if you’re clean. Come on. You’ll fit best in the master bath.”

Delta followed along, rubbing his sleeve under his nose. The fear and shame was drifting away. In its place was an aching emptiness.

I want to be worthy, he thought.

Worthy of being a man. Worthy of being respected. Worthy of being wanted. Worthy of being loved.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[burnoutgxrl]

Yesterday I went karting with local cluster. I finished 2nd, +1.8s delta vs @shame-not-shame who ended up 1st. I love you, but next time I'll improve and beat your time~.

Point is, the kart I drove had an issue when braking, it basically killed the engine I had to double press the gas pedal to not to lose all power when turning on a hairpin. Then I drove the last three laps of @pale-star and her kart was totally different to the point I literally entered the zone to the point I was an extension of the car, like it knew exactly what to do and when to turn. It was literally like Walter Rohrl talking about the 037. I could have beaten @pale-star's time if I had a few extra laps

And my brain went journaling. Like literally.

So I guess I'll try and start journaling.

[novankenn]

Reluctant Hero?

= Thirty-Three = (Chapter List)

Nora: So, to the bullhead station?

Jaune: And get on one of those death-traps? No way. We're taking the Delta.

Cardin: (From the back seat) Beacon is on the top of a cliff, how is this bucket of... (Nora shot him a glare over her shoulder, cutting him off)

Nora: So how are we getting back without a bullhead?

Jaune: (Guiding the Delta through Vale's traffic.) There's an old access road from Vale to Beacon. We're taking that.

Nora: An OLD road? Can we... even make it?

Jaune: The Classic can make it through anything, oh ye of little faith!

Cardin: How are you so sure?

Jaune: If this old gal could get me and my friends up to the... um... she just will, trust me. Nora, hit play if you please... we need some cruising music.

Nora gave Cardin a questioning look over her shoulder, only to get a shrug of his shoulders as a response. So she reached over and hit play on the old tape deck.

Jaune: Oh yeah, that's the stuff!

Nora and Cardin sat back, giving Jaune a similar look, as he started to tap the wheel with his cybernetic hand, while also singing along... very off-key.

Despite Cardin and Nora's reservations, the Delta 88, or as Jaune called it "the Classic" was easily handling the rutted and rough very unmaintained road that lead from Vale proper to Beacon. Though neither was appreciating Jaune's singing.

After the fifth repetition of the song, as apparently the tape was just the one song, Nora had had enough and reached over and ejected the tape.

Jaune: Hey! (Taking his eyes off the road and giving Nora a look) I was...

Cardin: LOOK OUT!

Jaune/Nora: SHIT!

The beowulf hit the front of the Delta, was flipped over the hood to slam into the windshield, causing it's head to burst in a spray of goo that coated the glass. A second impact caused Jaune to slam on the brakes.

Cardin: What the f...?

Nora: Where the FUCK did that come from?

Jaune: (Attempting to use the wipers to clear the windshield, so he could see) I have no... Crap baskets.

Nora: Jaune? (Looks out the smeared windshield, seeing the approaching forms of at least three more beowulf and two missing Beacon applicants.) Crap baskets.

Jaune: Well, we have a choice, Lady and Gent.

Cardin: And that would be?

Jaune: Do we get out and fight, or?

Nora: Or?

Jaune: Do I run them over?

Cardin: Are you serious?

Jaune: Ah yes, I am serious! What do you think I would joke about running people over? That's cold man, real cold.

Nora: They're getting closer!

Jaune didn't wait for any further conversation, as he put the Delta 88 into reverse and stepped on the gas.

Cardin: What are you doing?

Jaune: I need room to get up to speed!

Nora: (having rolled down her window and peeking past the goo covered windshield) I think they know what you're planning on doing!

Jaune: Too late now! (Jaune hit the brake, put the Delta into drive and stomped on the gas.)

Forty-One hundred pounds of steel met a few hundred pounds of flesh at about fifty-miles and hour. Cardin winced at the sounds of bodies being knocked aside, over and under the car. Jaune didn't even flinch as he kept the accelerator floored and the wipers going.

Cardin: Can you even...

Nora: Let go, you bitch!

Deadite Student: (Half climbing through Nora's open window. It's twisted claw like fingers tangled in Nora's hair.) I will swallow your soul!

Jaune: Cardin do something!

Cardin: You do something!

Jaune: I'm driving!

Nora: Get off me, cunt! Someone, just do something!

Deadite Student: You will all die! There is nothing you ca...

BOOM! The Delta swerved dangerously as everyone now coated in gore shook their heads trying to ease the ringing in their ears, thanks to Cardin firing his shotgun inside the cab of the car.

Nora: I GOT IT IN MY MOUTH!!!

Jaune: WHAT?

Cardin: AHHH!!! MY EARS!!!!

Jaune: WHAT?

Thirty minutes later, the goo splattered trio exited the gore covered car. Glynda sighed as she looked them over. She knew she was supposed to ask, but she really didn't want to. Really, she did not want to know what those three menaces had gotten involved in. But it was her job to keep tabs on the trio.

Glynda: Would you mind explaining?

Jaune: WHAT?

Glynda: Why are you yelling?

Nora: I NEED MOUTHWASH!!! OR BLEACH!!

Glynda: I... ah... CAN, SOMEONE, TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!

Cardin: (His hands pressed to his ears) I'LL NEVER LOOK AT ROADKILL THE SAME WAY AGAIN!!

Glynda: Roadkill?

Nora stumbled away from her teammates making a bee-line for the fountain, and as shocked students and a dumbfounded Glynda watched she dunked her whole head in to the cool clear water. Jaune stumbled about to the rear of the Delta 88 and popped the trunk. Glynda's shoulder's dropped as she watched as the young man, pulled out a six-pack of beer and proceeded to walk over to a nearby bench.

Glynda: WHAT HAPPENED? WHY ARE YOU ALL SO... SO... GOOEY?

Cardin: DID YOU SAY SOMETHING, TEACH?

[campgender]

“Lullabye for a butch” by Melinda Goodman, published in The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader ed. Joan Nestle (1992)

Saturday night November 1980

I am 23 driving a '68 Delta east on 4

to the George Washington Bridge

jockeying with other drivers

coming off routes 80 and 47

for a clear veer to the lane my lover

works, the 3-to-11 post-Thanksgiving shift

She grabs my hand as I fly

money green flags

in her direction

laughing over the moan of diesel brakes

her wool-gloved fingers pry then tangle

in my naked palm

Ignoring the blaring horns outside the booth,

our mutual radios pump the club

version of Grace's "Warm Leatherette"

as she steps out on exhausted concrete

to place an orange cone

between my bumper and the

bumper behind mine

I like her uniform:

fresh polyester dark blue

and bright white collar

topped with overcoat,

scarf and ski cap for the blizzard on the way.

If it snows the Port Authority

puts her up at a motel otherwise

she stays at my place but has to be back

by dawn or be counted AWOL

So she's up before five

folding her flowered pajamas

into the bottom drawer

of my colonial chest

with handles like rings

through a bull's snout

“You got my nose”

moaned the only teenaged woman

who ever loved me

and my tollbooth honey

reminds me of her

as I chain the door behind her

hearing steps down five flights

to the street, the bridge,

and the gunmetal morning

I always loved

gentlemanly attentive butches

even those who won't fuck

for the first five dates

'cause they “want to get to know you”

till you beg

and by that time

you're married

They want to make sure

all those free concerts

fish dinners

and stories about home

won't get thrown back

in their teeth

After all...

butches are vulnerable

It's the femmes that are fierce

with their long legs

and tight jeans

making you watch them

Butches are the sweet ones

with their clean shined shoes

and socks

and underwear

smelling of baby powder

and Camay

I loved

the way she wrote her name

in purple script

all over the top sheet

of my coloring pad

when supper was done and the dishes stacked

I wish I could kiss her now

slide my tongue through her teeth

erase the years I fell

for women as distant as Queens

is from the Bronx

Just hold this butch in my arms

make her know

It's not the 2 condominiums

she bought with rare pennies

collected on her job

but her

her strong back

and big hips

and corny sparkling eyes

when she walks around

to open the door

on my side of the car

in front of the skinny eyes

of the fat boy dealers

strutting in and out

of their customized vans

and the heads rolling in

from Jersey

She doesn't even see

the tooth-sucking teens

as she walks back around

in her ten-gallon brim

to slide behind the wheel

Doesn't tell me where we're

going till we're parked and walking

out of the lot

up the block

arms linked

to see Patti Labelle

live at the Savoy

and I'm on my heels

all night screaming

through till the last song

running my fingers up the back of her neck

till the walls come down, tables break in half,

everybody's glass explodes

ice cubes hailing the city for miles

as Patti rains on

somewhere

over the rainbow

way up high

there's a

land that I dreamed of

once in a lulla-

bye.

[sir-luz-the-brave]

oh yea and while i'm at it, everyone please look at this silly little snippet I wrote for Cogs & Gears.

We are so back.

“I haven't had to be a biotech guy in a while.

-Then what are you?”

Delta's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. It stuck to his sweat-ridden palm. He felt the claws of his malfunctioning prosthesis dig in the synth-leather. The lights of a thousand neons blurred in the edges of his vision. As many identities, as many jobs he'd taken on. Delta was a gun-for-hire. A thief. He extracted scientists from their corps, and tracked them down the very next day. Delta would have done anything so long as there were nuyens to gain from it. 

Milo da Silva was a biotechnician. And he was better off dead. 

A traffic light turned red in front of them. Delta punched the brake. He put his elbow on the backrest of his seat to look back at the AI. Its skeletal head sat there, oozing formaldehyde on the back seat of this shitty rented car. 

“Are you fucking blind?” Delta gestured at himself. “I'm a shadowrunner.

-You are avoiding the question.”

Delta dove towards the backseat, lifting up the head. “Is there a mute button on you?”

A car honked. The light was green. Delta cursed, bumping his shoulder against the seat as he took the steering wheel again.  He glanced back at the AI, two stop signs later. The thing was silent, but it's unmoving visage seemed to speak for itself. Dim green lights poured from it's eyes and caught on the dust drifting through the car. “You cannot run.” They said. “You cannot hide."

[supermaks]

Just saw a tweet saying max has never lost a position during a SC restart since he joined RB. Now idk how reliable this stat is (lol) but u sometimes mention how his restarts are crazy so I was just wondering why are his restarts so good? Like what does he do taht the rest just isn't doing?

omfg my vertsussive ((😭??)) journalism era .. The stat is very reliable. Let's TALK ABOUT ITTT ‼️‼️‼️

According to this op who checked specific time stamps for every VSC and SC deployed until 2021, available here, Max has driven behind 88 safety cars since he joined red bull, 103 total, and he never lost position on a single one. Which means he's either kept position or actually managed to overtake. He gained position 17 times. For comparison wid another yk pretty good driver, during the same period Lewis gained position 5 times, and only lost track position 3 times. All 3 to Max. Thats 2016-2021. I think Singapore 2022 ruined the record because I'm pretty sure Max lost position under the sc there. Idk how many times he's gained so far either, but I can think of a few races this year alone, so it wud be interesting to check. Hes been able to gain position for about 20% of restarts between 2016-2021, which is like .. not even comparable to other drivers numbers its his stat its definitely a Verstappen thing and the easiest way to explain it is: its a grey area, it allows for somebody wid enough nerve, skill and commitment to take ownership and use it for their own benefit. Enter the nerve, skill and commitment baddie, whos been haunting motorsport since before he cud vote.

SC restarts were cheat codes that inevitably lead to a verstappen amendment because FIA is bitches. During SCs Max liked to get his insane self right next to whoever was in front of him, and I mean RIGHT NEXT to the mf, and make them eat shit and d1e the moment they were allowed to restart. These are called 'restart tactics' I prefer 'jeddah appetizers'. Like literally he wud bully these men, run them wide or pinch them against walls like they owed him lunch money and then take off. This is still legal mind u, u can gain position after a SC, its literally racing, the updated rule last year was more of a 'fucking calm down Max' type of thing. Not the first of its kind, as we know. Even tho they kinda backtracked wid the first one and now u can twerk a lil bit under braking but not too much. I love f1. Anyway.

Article 55.14 of F1’s sporting rules states: “In order to avoid the likelihood of accidents before the safety car returns to the pits, from the point at which the lights on the car are turned out, drivers must proceed at a pace which involves no erratic acceleration, or braking nor any maneuver which is likely to endanger other drivers or impede the restart."

--- BASICALLY, yall ((max)) can drive side by side, yall can weave to warm up the tires, but those lil ((Dutch)) footsies better keep it chill until sc is gone and maintain position. Now a casual wud read this and think, oh, so they nerfed him, he cant commit the crime anymore, but Max read that and thought oh, okay, so I'll literally just keep doing it, in a different way, and I'll gaslight other drivers into letting me do it ((literally, I'm not joking)). They said cars had to stay in position, they didn’t say how. They didnt say he couldnt simply keep his delta, in a situation where its practically impossible, and gain under the VSC, for example.

Max excels at rolling starts because one, the audacity 😐((I think sharl and lewis the only 2 drivers who ever managed to beat him at his own game)) two, the timing and skill is computer level of specific. It is a very VERY meticulous process, and it takes making hands-on decisions about multiple components, racing lines, tires, acceleration, lifting, in a very, very short amount of time. So pretty much Max SC restarts are him not beating the made in a lab allegations. But most sim racers, ex drivers, engineers, will just tell you that the reason he's so good at this is because he practices more than everybody else in the world, probably. U do it enough times and it becomes second nature, u know exactly how the car is gonna behave so what seems like 'instinct' and the product we see, as fans, a bunch of slow cars suddenly going ‼️‼️AHSHSHSHDJSHF actually takes a lot of thinking on their side. Max does a lot of thinking in the car he doesn't get credit for, because the mad max narrative is also such a huge part of who he is, and it is true, to a certain extent, but its not mindless aggression, never has been. Its a deliberate choice and its got a simple purpose: gaining or maintaining position. I'm not saying he never got too reckless or that he never pushed it, but he always did it for a reason, and he had full control of his car, always.

Thats the crucial difference between Max and somebody whos just aggressive, because if Max was truly just a meathead behind the wheel, he wud not be known for mastering one of the few aspects of racing that rests entirely on strategy and skill, the restart. Thats why doctor markonstein put his ass in an f1 car when he was 17, because if a teenager wid no experience and a temper can control an f1 machine to the point he becomes an actual threat, imagine what he can do in his 20s 😐. Maybe in his 20s he can lift less than a quarter of a second before the control line to stay behind the leader and be allowed to overtake him at the restart.