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no_true_pairTitle: Tribute [Here on AO3]
Fandom: Automobile Stories - Eleanor M. Ingram
Pairing/Characters: Ralph Stanton & Frank Laurence
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Content Notes: Mild horror vibes
Prompt: September Three - Frank Laurence & Ralph Stanton "just what I needed"
"Do you ever think," began a pensive voice in the darkness, quite close to Stanton's ear.
He started from where he'd stood in a brown study by the gate, watching the mechanics pushing the black car to the paddock under harsh spot-lights, and, glaring, turned to the other driver. "What?" he demanded. "If you have something to say to me, Laurence, go on."
The younger man leaned on the gate, his gaze, too, on the black car he was to drive in the morning's contest. "I just wondered," he said slowly. "You've been at this longer than I have. Do you ever think, sometimes, the cars…" He paused a long moment, long enough for Stanton to shoot him a look of irritation, before he continued, low: "Sometimes, they want things from us? Our blood, our pain, our devotion and worship—like old gods, demanding tribute from the faithful. And we make these roads their temples, the spectators their congregation chanting for blood, and we racers rush to volunteer as the sacrifices—and when we die on the course, are they satisfied—?"
"They're machines," Stanton interrupted him flatly. "They can't want. We are their masters, not they ours, and any one who thinks such nonsense should be tossed in a lunatics' hospital. Go 'phone a psychiatrist or a priest, if you like; I never asked you to talk to me, and I wonder that you should."
Laurence gazed at him for a moment; then he gave a sharp smile. "Thanks, Stanton dear," he replied sweetly; "that's just what I needed."
"What is?"
"You being so intensely disagreeable to-night. It gives me yet more incentive to beat you to-morrow," Laurence told him with a flashing look of his dark eyes—and went on his way, following his black car into the night.
Fandom: Automobile Stories - Eleanor M. Ingram
Pairing/Characters: Ralph Stanton & Frank Laurence
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Content Notes: Mild horror vibes
Prompt: September Three - Frank Laurence & Ralph Stanton "just what I needed"
"Do you ever think," began a pensive voice in the darkness, quite close to Stanton's ear.
He started from where he'd stood in a brown study by the gate, watching the mechanics pushing the black car to the paddock under harsh spot-lights, and, glaring, turned to the other driver. "What?" he demanded. "If you have something to say to me, Laurence, go on."
The younger man leaned on the gate, his gaze, too, on the black car he was to drive in the morning's contest. "I just wondered," he said slowly. "You've been at this longer than I have. Do you ever think, sometimes, the cars…" He paused a long moment, long enough for Stanton to shoot him a look of irritation, before he continued, low: "Sometimes, they want things from us? Our blood, our pain, our devotion and worship—like old gods, demanding tribute from the faithful. And we make these roads their temples, the spectators their congregation chanting for blood, and we racers rush to volunteer as the sacrifices—and when we die on the course, are they satisfied—?"
"They're machines," Stanton interrupted him flatly. "They can't want. We are their masters, not they ours, and any one who thinks such nonsense should be tossed in a lunatics' hospital. Go 'phone a psychiatrist or a priest, if you like; I never asked you to talk to me, and I wonder that you should."
Laurence gazed at him for a moment; then he gave a sharp smile. "Thanks, Stanton dear," he replied sweetly; "that's just what I needed."
"What is?"
"You being so intensely disagreeable to-night. It gives me yet more incentive to beat you to-morrow," Laurence told him with a flashing look of his dark eyes—and went on his way, following his black car into the night.