#ayz

KRYSTAL: I'm here today with Ice World's most famous racer and resident ice queen, Snow. Just yesterday, Snow came in second place in the first race of the month! If you missed that, check out our highlight reel on our website. Snow, can you tell us a little more about how these past few weeks have been?

SNOW: Thank you for having me, Krystal. These last few weeks, well, they've been pretty much the same as the start of any competition season. 

KRYSTAL: That's right, you've been racing for - how long has it been?

SNOW: Almost fourteen years, I would say.

KRYSTAL: Fourteen years. Wow. Most racers are only in it for five or six, right?

SNOW: That's right. We also see some lasting for seven or eight years, but I don't know many racers who go past an entire decade.

KRYSTAL: And do you think you're going to retire soon?

SNOW: It's up in the air. I'm playing it by ear, right now; I don't see any reason to retire just yet.

KRYSTAL: I see. Snow, can I ask you something?

SNOW: That's why I'm here.

KRYSTAL: Is there a reason you haven't dated at all for the last fourteen years?

SNOW: I don't have time to be dating. And I'd be a terrible girlfriend, anyway. I spend most of my time with S.C.

KRYSTAL: But if you could date, would you want to? Is there someone you're interested in right now?

SNOW: Not particularly. None of the men I'm around regularly are very appealing.

KRYSTAL: Ouch. They don't call you the ice queen of the industry for nothing. And the women? We’re all dying to know what the deal between you and Flower is, you know.

SNOW: It depends. Most of the women I'm around are people I work with, or other racers, which means that we're all keeping things professional. And with Flower? There isn’t much to tell. I ran into her at the Neon Demon, just the way that you’d into any other racer who’s currently competing.

KRYSTAL: I see. I gotta ask you, though, what was happening in those shots of you two at the Neon Demon last week? You've seen them?

SNOW: Yes, I have. Like I just said, nothing was happening. We were sitting in the same general area, because all the other racers from the Big Three were doing the same thing.

KRYSTAL: You weren’t trying to psych her out?

SNOW: Stars, no. Why would I do that? Who do you think I am, Nyx?

KRYSTAL: Point taken. So if you weren’t trying to psych her out, then were you flirting? Or was Flower the one who started it?

SNOW: Again - I’m not Nyx.

KRYSTAL: You saw Nyx flirting with her?

SNOW: Not that I know of. But Nyx would do something like that to piss off RISE, so I’m not putting it past her.

KRYSTAL: You seem to have something against Nyx.

SNOW: Hmm? No, not really, but she’s been around long enough that I think we all know what we can expect from her. 

KRYSTAL: That’s true. And what do you think of Supernova’s comeback? Are you worried?

SNOW: Why would I be worried? 

KRYSTAL: Do you think that she’ll be serious competition?

SNOW: It wouldn’t matter to me, if she is. She’s a good racer, and I respect that, but the industry has changed a lot since she was at her prime. I don’t really have an opinion, right now, but I guess we’ll wait and see.

KRYSTAL: Playing it by ear, huh?

SNOW: You could say that.

KRYSTAL: And Flame? You were...pretty disparaging towards her before Torrid Gorges, I must say. Where’d you hear that Iron Pegasus was modeled after S.C.?

SNOW: And what of it? I meant what I said, and I’m not one to sugarcoat things. Like you said, Krystal, fourteen years is a long time, and I don't have the patience for some of the bullshit people put out, nowadays. About Iron Pegasus, well, it was just a rumor, but I believe it, considering that S.C. and Iron Pegasus both have high power stats.

KRYSTAL: Huh. And the final scores from the judges at Torrid Gorges? I mean, nobody was expecting it. Were you?

SNOW: Oh, sure. I’ve been around long enough to be able to figure out what the judges want, based on the track. You’ll understand if I’m not allowed to go into detail about how that works? Part of my contract with TWILIGHT, and all. I’m not supposed to talk about trade secrets.

KRYSTAL: Ah. No worries. Contracts are pesky things, hmm?

SNOW: I suppose so.

KRYSTAL: And do you believe the rumors about Nyx having a hand in Councilman Abraxas’ death? I mean, that came out of nowhere. Everyone thinks that it’s her.

SNOW: Can I be honest with you, Krystal? I don’t really care. Nyx is a racer, not an assassin. I’d be more inclined to think that the rumors you heard about Nyx’s alleged role in his death were being actively floated by her PR team, and LAZER. Everyone likes a good publicity stunt, yes?

KRYSTAL: Hmm. And what about all the crashes in Torrid Gorges, then? You don’t think Nyx had anything to do with them? 

SNOW: Who writes these questions for you? They should be fired. No, I don’t think Nyx had anything to do with them. I saw one of the crashes happen; the racer from VOLCANIX literally ran straight into a wall of rock. That’s not uncommon for racers who don’t know what they’re doing, and Nyx was nowhere in sight. Again, all those sabotage rumors were probably started by LAZER themselves, just for the publicity. They love to play up Nyx’s image. I’ve been in this industry long enough to know deliberate PR moves when I see them.

KRYSTAL: I see. Well, thanks for coming in, Snow. It was a pleasure.

B walks into the museum the next evening and already he can tell Benny must be in some sort of mood. The lights are dim and the other museum workers are talking to each other in hushed tones.

B is stoic and unmoved as ever as he takes his place at the desk with his travel mug. His supervisor drops the ring of keys in front of him.

"It's been a weird day here," the supervisor says with a heavy sigh.

"Busy day?" B takes a slow sip of his coffee while a trash can crashes to the floor in the back gallery. The supevisor winces noticeably.

"You could say that," the supervisor says, edging out the door before B can get another word out of him.

And in the span of five minutes, the museum is empty.

It's quiet now that the rest of the museum workers have scurried out the door. But the air is thick and tense and it makes B uneasy. Still, he creaks up from his chair and goes about his rounds of making sure everything is locked, keys and flashlight at his belt.

"OH MY GOD CAN YOU STOP TALKING IN FUCKING RIDDLES?"

Sounds like Ben. And it sounds like he's in a foul mood.

"Ben?" B calls out, his voice echoing in the empty corridors. B's not really sure what to expect next. The atmosphere is oppressive. He wants to leave but dammit, he's not going to let Benny get the best of him.

"JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, YOU'RE NOT HELPFUL! YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE."

B looks cautiously over his shoulder but he's alone with no sign of Ben. He shakes off a chill down his spine and decides the best course of action is to head back to his desk.

He cycles through the cameras for a while, nervously sipping coffee from his travel mug. It's quieted down now save the occasional crash, but he thinks it best to leave Benny alone instead of chasing after him. He's not sure what he walked into tonight but he definitely does not want to be on the receiving end of Benny's tantrum.

It's several hours later before Benny floats his way through the front of the museum, whistling some incomprehensible pop song and acting like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Oh hey there!" he says brightly and floats up to perch on the edge of B's desk.

"Hello there Ben," B says, eyeballing him carefully. "You doin alright today?"

Benny shrugs. "I mean, I'm dead. But I really can't complain."

"Sure, Ben. You just shouting at yourself today?"

Benny stares at him with a curious expression. Pity? Anger? B can't read him.

"No, that's just Viv," Benny explains, "you don't need to worry about him."

"Wait, there's...there's...you're not the only one?" B tries to keep his voice steady.

"Oh yeah there's tons of us," Benny says brightly. "Over in the F-4 Phantom in the Vietnam gallery are Cannonball Tilly and Kanga Diaz," he counts on his fingers, "They died in 1968...uhhh...there's James Dudley in the Curtiss, we think he died in 1918 but all he tells us is his name. We guess he died a pretty violent death so I can't blame him really, but he seems like a nice guy--"

B has to cut him off. He doesn't need a catalog of every dead person in the museum. Not tonight anyway.

"Ben."

"Oh right yeah and then there's Viv. They'll talk to you when they're ready though. I mean, most of them are happy doing their own thing."

"Right. So," B massages his temples and hopes one day Benny won't give him a headache. But maybe it comes with the territory. He really did enjoy his time at work, all said.

Benny's eyes are searching B's face but again B finds those blue eyes are unreadable.

"Say, Ben, I brought some music I thought you'd might like," B offers a crooked half smile and fishes around for his iPhone and the fresh batch of late 70s rock and roll he downloaded to it earlier.

Benny's smile is incandescent. "I fucking love Elton John."

B has figured out that Benny is two things: incredibly smart and incredibly bored. He's got a story about everything and before long B finds himself looking forward to his nights with Benny, walking side by side down the museum corridors while Benny talks to him about heat shields and thrusters. B's pocket radio keeps them company.

B likes the routine of it, and he enjoys Benny's company. And while Benny chatters away, B is slowly piecing together Benny's story.

He'd been an astronaut for five years, piloted countless missions. He died when the Gemini crashed. His crew was the closest thing he had to family, and as far as B knew, they had all moved on in the afterlife. But why hadn't Benny moved on? What could be keeping him stuck in the museum?

The more B pries, the more walls Benny puts up.

"I don't want to talk about why i'm stuck here," he says with unexpected venom one night. "You think I haven't figured it out after 30 fucking years? God, you sound like Vitruvius."

B turns on his heel and sets off down the corridor without even giving Benny a backwards glance.

Benny seems shocked and it takes him a full two minutes before he materializes at B's side, scowling and surly.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

B looks forward and keeps a steady pace. "If you don't want any company, fine," he says. "I have things to do." In a few short strides he's back at his desk, settling in behind his computer and trying very hard to ignore Benny's glare.

B settles in with his coffee, watching the CCTV and making notes on his paperwork. Benny meanwhile has vanished into the depths of the museum, angrily tossing around trash cans. No matter. B could do this all night.

----- "Thirty years is a long time," Benny's finally emerged two hours later, sitting on B's desk and looking somber.

B nods. "Yes it is."

"They're planning a big shindig for the 30th anniversary of the accident," Benny says. "The museum is."

"You're not really a people person, are you Ben?" B smirks.

That brings a smile to Benny's face.

"I don't want to see their families. I don't want to see their disappointment," he says after a while. He keeps his eyes down and he's unusually quiet.

B is good at figuring things out. "It's not your fault," he offers somewhat weakly. He's not even sure the specifics of the accident but deep down it must not have been any fault of Benny's. Space travel was, and still is, very dangerous and anything could happen. Even on routine trips.

They sit in silence together for some time, B idly scribbling notes and Benny picking at the seams of his flightsuit.

"I don't know what will happen after the anniversary party. Will they tear the exhibit down? I was trapped in a basement for ten years. I can't do that again." Benny is completely despondent. The floodgates are open now and there's no use containing it.

B reaches across to pat Benny's knee in a small gesture of comfort. It feels as if he's sunk his hand into a snowbank.

Benny's sad blue eyes meet B's.