#sargelaw

胸がはち切れそうで - yuki/liam

Liam is so absorbed in trying to find anything resembling a restaurant that he walks face-first into a wooden hanging sign with ‘Maple Leaf Eatery’ printed on it. He’s dazed enough from his encounter with the sign that when he reads it and knows immediately what it means, he thinks that he’s magically gained the ability to read Japanese. Then he blinks a couple of times and the English words focus into place, which makes much more sense than hitting your head and randomly gaining the power to understand a new language. The word ‘eatery’ sounds like a good one to Liam’s rumbling stomach, so he pushes the door open and steps into a space that looks like someone threw Italy and Japan together and blended them into a soup. Some of the décor leans towards traditional Japanese; maple leaf kakejiku adorn the walls, sections are divided by shoji screens, and the floor is tatami, but bolder Italian colours stand out amongst neutral Japanese ones, adding highlights to important pieces, and there’s a Roman-style statue in the centre that goes nicely with the roof—also obviously Italian-inspired with its embellished patterns. The gold-framed menu displayed at the front of the restaurant is written in both Japanese and English, with Italian headings for the sections, and, perhaps best of all, Liam can smell pizza.  Feeling leagues more confidence than he did not a minute ago, he tries his best to ask for a table for one in Japanese, adjusting his tie to show that he meant business, which didn’t particularly help as both the waiters on duty blinked at him, said「英語?」and then left, leaving Liam rather confused. 「僕が何とかするから、心配しないで。」 The return of the waiters is announced with a conversation in rapid Japanese; accompanying them is a sharply-dressed young man with fluffy hair and a determined expression written across his face. He squeaks to a halt in front of Liam; he can’t help but notice that this young man is almost a whole head shorter than him. 

untitled - nyck & logan & oscar & ollie & kimi & jack & liam

Nyck knew he was going to feel out of place the moment the idea was pitched to him.  It had been Logan who had told him about it, nervously calling him up in the days after the Lone Star Le Mans, which fell on the same weekend as the Italian Grand Prix. Logan had said, hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to bother Nyck, that they were planning a sleepover of sorts for the 2023 and 2025 rookies. To welcome the newbies into F1, he said. Nyck wanted to laugh. Out of the four of them—the three ‘full-time’ rookies and Liam—only Oscar was guaranteed to have a seat next year, so they’d be welcoming people they don’t even get to race with. But Logan had pleaded, saying it would be better with him there, that he deserves something good after the shit Williams put him through, and Nyck had given in. Now, pulling up outside some random hotel their teams had paid for—in exchange for enough footage to narrate whatever story they like, of course—he almost wishes he hadn’t. He hopes that the smile he’s giving his phone camera as he walks into the hotel doesn’t convey as much nervousness as he feels. He barely knows the three rookies, and he can’t imagine having much in common with them, having an average age of nineteen next to Nyck’s twenty-nine. Even Logan, Oscar, and Liam are so much younger than him. He has a brief flash of wishing he was born in 2004—that would make their ages all in a row, nice and even; 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006. Maybe then he’d be next-generation instead of a washed-up has-been desperately trying to stay afloat in the WEC and Formula E. 

untitled - alain/ayrton

warning: mentions of AIDS.

“Have you heard? Piquet says Senna’s gay.” These rumours had shocked Ayrton the first time he had heard them, but now, about the fifteenth time he’s heard them this month, he is beginning to tire of them. That’s funny, that sure isn’t what your wife said, he had told Nelson when the rumours had started, ended the quip with a Portuguese insult to drive the point home, but he had already seized the chance to try to ruin Ayrton’s image, so this dig, low as it was, did little to dissuade him. Of course, it didn’t help that Alain Prost was also in on it. Ayrton’s rival has vehemently denied any involvement, but Ayrton reckons that Alain wouldn’t notice the concept of integrity if it danced in front of him wearing the stupid hat Ron Dennis had shown up to last week’s team meeting in.  He jolts himself back to the present, back to his sister’s house in Brazil, where Viviane is reading the newspaper and his four-year-old nephew Bruno is driving a large plastic truck across the carpet, making loud ‘vroom’ noises. Bruno looks up at Ayrton as if he wants to invite his uncle to come and play, but Ayrton’s attention is fixated on the front page of Viviane’s newspaper.  Mais Casos de AIDS no Brasil, Nova Contagem de Mortes Relatada This is why Ayrton’s still bothered by Piquet calling him gay. In this world, calling someone gay is the equivalent to telling them I want to see you die alone, of AIDS, with no-one to be by your side in your final moments because you have brought disgrace to everyone you love and they have all left you to rot away.

heat lightning, running outside the window - logan/liam