Major Tags: none. Other Tags: i made noya-san a nissan because, u know, waves hands. asahi gets to keep his name because that really is an old (defunct) jpn car manufacturer. also i was just gonna c&p 'honks seductively' 'honks back shyly' until i hit 400w tbh Word Count: 460
***
Of all the places in the world to be trapped in, Radiator Springs is the worst in the world. It's brown, and dusty, and hot, and it's nothing like the glamour of the nicer raceways Nishinoya's run so far. It grinds his gears to know that he's stuck here, of his own accord, mostly because he did tear up the interstate, but only because there still is no way that the Lightning himself would be contained by some strips of asphalt.
Of course, Nissan's newest Angel-model race car was going to be more than just any old vehicle. He was primed and ready to win the Piston Cup (something that the denizens of this run-down town hadn't ever even heard of), and he was a top contender for the grand prize.
He daydreams about it as he works, fiddling with the radio to find a song he's actually heard of, when he sees another car coming down the other side of the road.
Time stops. The radio suddenly is less weird-sounding, and Nishinoya thinks he might be seeing an extra light, an ambient glow wreathing the car. His engines were warm in a different way now, and there was something about that broad grille and the long, curved fins of that car's body just made his serpentine belt stutter.
"Holy Porsche," Nishinoya whispers, all thought of work forgotten. The car looks like he'll just roll on by, but Nishinoya wasn't called "Lightning" for nothing.
He honks, in a friendly way, and scoots up fast in the next lane to the other car. It's tight going, but he does his best not to scrape against the careful paint job as he honks again, grinning.
"Hey!"
The other car looks back at him, surprised, and hesitantly says, "hello."
Oh, sweet Ferrari. The voice was a warm purr, like a fine, hand-tuned engine rumble. If they weren't engineered to not do just that, Nishinoya's wheel axles would wobble.
He'd like to hear more of it. Nishinoya keeps smiling, hoping that his own paint job is suddenly up to scratch, and continues in his best just-trying-to-chat voice, "What kinda model are you?"
Yes, Nishinoya is definitely not imagining that delicious, powerful bass of his engine when he hears the small reply, "asahi."
"Wow, Asahi," Nishinoya repeats. "I've never heard that before. That's awesome." He zips ahead a bit, dabs at the handbrake and performs a little j-turn, just for show. Asahi's eyes are wide and fascinated, and Nishinoya loves how warm the lamps look in them. "I'm Nishinoya."
"nice to meet you," Asahi says, and Nishinoya drives back next to Asahi, settling down for a smooth, slow drive.
"You know," he says cheerfully, "I know this great tree we can both park under."
FILL: TEAM PRINCE OF TENNIS, G
Other Tags: i made noya-san a nissan because, u know, waves hands. asahi gets to keep his name because that really is an old (defunct) jpn car manufacturer. also i was just gonna c&p 'honks seductively' 'honks back shyly' until i hit 400w tbh
Word Count: 460
***
Of all the places in the world to be trapped in, Radiator Springs is the worst in the world. It's brown, and dusty, and hot, and it's nothing like the glamour of the nicer raceways Nishinoya's run so far. It grinds his gears to know that he's stuck here, of his own accord, mostly because he did tear up the interstate, but only because there still is no way that the Lightning himself would be contained by some strips of asphalt.
Of course, Nissan's newest Angel-model race car was going to be more than just any old vehicle. He was primed and ready to win the Piston Cup (something that the denizens of this run-down town hadn't ever even heard of), and he was a top contender for the grand prize.
He daydreams about it as he works, fiddling with the radio to find a song he's actually heard of, when he sees another car coming down the other side of the road.
Time stops. The radio suddenly is less weird-sounding, and Nishinoya thinks he might be seeing an extra light, an ambient glow wreathing the car. His engines were warm in a different way now, and there was something about that broad grille and the long, curved fins of that car's body just made his serpentine belt stutter.
"Holy Porsche," Nishinoya whispers, all thought of work forgotten. The car looks like he'll just roll on by, but Nishinoya wasn't called "Lightning" for nothing.
He honks, in a friendly way, and scoots up fast in the next lane to the other car. It's tight going, but he does his best not to scrape against the careful paint job as he honks again, grinning.
"Hey!"
The other car looks back at him, surprised, and hesitantly says, "hello."
Oh, sweet Ferrari. The voice was a warm purr, like a fine, hand-tuned engine rumble. If they weren't engineered to not do just that, Nishinoya's wheel axles would wobble.
He'd like to hear more of it. Nishinoya keeps smiling, hoping that his own paint job is suddenly up to scratch, and continues in his best just-trying-to-chat voice, "What kinda model are you?"
Yes, Nishinoya is definitely not imagining that delicious, powerful bass of his engine when he hears the small reply, "asahi."
"Wow, Asahi," Nishinoya repeats. "I've never heard that before. That's awesome." He zips ahead a bit, dabs at the handbrake and performs a little j-turn, just for show. Asahi's eyes are wide and fascinated, and Nishinoya loves how warm the lamps look in them. "I'm Nishinoya."
"nice to meet you," Asahi says, and Nishinoya drives back next to Asahi, settling down for a smooth, slow drive.
"You know," he says cheerfully, "I know this great tree we can both park under."