World Grand Prix Championship 12 - everything thread

[Audioslavia]

"Fuckin' 'ell" grunted Alec Lund under his breath. He looked up at Stan, leaning over his car. The two exchanged a 'look'. Alec shook his head, whipped his helmet off and got out of the car. "Can't compete with that" he said with a conflicted grimace.
Roger Bunn's time was updated to the main console. First. First by a mile.
Alec had thought he'd gotten round quickly, hadn't been surprised when, upon coming back into the pits, he'd been first on the leaderboard, but Bunn's initial lap-time had blown him away. Lund had smiled a wry, ironic smile and hopped back into his car.
"Its working fine, nothing else to test" Stan had shouted, while gesturing for the pit crew to kill the engine. It was too late. An mechanics had lifted the jacks away and Alec was out of the gate. Two flying laps. Back up to first. He figured that was that, he'd put together a competitive time and even come out a few split-seconds ahead of his team-mate but, now, coming back into the pits and seeing Bunn finish another flying lap, it was clear that he wasn't going to get anywhere today. Bunn was worked up.
"That was stupid. Unprofessional" said Stan, as Alec took out his earpieces.
"What was?" replied Alec, trying to sound innocent.
"I told you the car was tested. We didn't need to waste the engine on two more quick laps. If your car breaks down two laps from the finish on Sunday, you're for it."
"You should have said something before I went out again" said Alec, fashioning his facial features into the most innocent shape he could muster.
"Never. Again" said Stan, sternly. Alec could tell from the man's eyes - that faint outline of his uncle Linco - that Stan was serious. Alec met the statement with a simple nod, and watched as Stan ordered the tyres to be removed and the bonnet to be opened, checking on engine wear in time for tomorrow.
Alec watched Roger's car roll into the pits. The confident Syndicatian sprang out, confidently, and had to take his helmet off in several small movements, being interrupted all the time by hearty handshakes and pats on the back.
"Well done" said Alec, approaching his team-mate. The pair exchanged a handshake and a bump of the shoulders. "You're killing it today"
"Aye, tracks good, car's good. This time is my time" he said, adding a wink. Alec smiled out of the corner of his mouth.
"We'll see... hang on where are you going?" he asked, as Bunn jogged towards the back door.
"Need a wee. Why do you think I was going so fast?"
The door closed behind him.

Alec grabbed a bottle of water and leant against the back wall, running a hand through his hair, thick with sweat after an hour in the helmet. Roger was up for this one, definitely. In truth, he always was. Alec had never seen his team-mate give less than 100% effort, but there was a fire in his eyes this week, even more so than before his home grand-prix.

That had been awkward.

Alec had thanked his lucky stars that he'd been wearing a helmet that day. His facial expression as he whizzed past the grassy-tyred #17 car of Roger Bunn, fresh from an unplanned excursion onto the track's verges that had robbed him of a vital five seconds - five seconds that would eventually mean the difference between first and third - must have been a picture. The eyes wide open, the conflicted emotions, somewhere between joy at leading a race and a sickening feeling in his stomach through empathy with his team-mate. Roger had been desperate for a win, had lead for most of the race, and had absolutely and royally messed up. Lesser drivers might have withered from the blow. Roger appeared to have come back stronger, and with his sense of humour to boot. A solitary accusation that he'd had an accident 'on purpose' to allow his title-challenging team-mate an extra few points had been quashed immediately by Bunn who had said, in the post-race press-conference, "I wouldn't yield a game of connect four to him, let alone a race" had been the answer. Short, quick, sharp, funny, and hinting at a bloody-mindedness and strong sense of competition. That was Roger in a nut-shell.

Roger returned from the toilet, finally.
"Thought you'd fell in" said Alec.
"Couldn't if I tried. It was blocked"
"Ugh" said Alec, "How?"
"Stang Crax was in there. Arm up the U-Bend. He was trying to retrieve his career"

[Astograth]

(Some info on the Iturributan Street Circuit)

A6/C4
The Iturributan Grand Prix is a glamourous race held in the very heart of the Free Republic's capital city, with a number of high-speed straights and sharp corners over a bumpy, narrow track right next to the Modraine Sea; it has a long tradition in the motorsport culture of Iturributa, and previously Astograth as well. Last season it was included in the WGPC calendar for the first time; the season's exciting opening race was won in a dominant showing by Carvenlo Motor Racing's Matthew Portland.

The start/finish straight runs on the west bank of the Urmea river, which winds through the city, and drivers are capable of building up decent speed before braking hard for turn one and continuing down Urdaneta street, slowing down just enough to turn into Izabru avenue at the second corner. Turns 3, 4, 5 are technical and treacherous, with little margin for error, before turn 6 at the Lazkano roundabout leads them up Barotza avenue, straight towards the beach. Turn 7 rounds what was once the Duke's palace, now a popular museum, and drivers must then keep an eye on the throttle as they blaze down the side of the very round Eder beach; relaxing during this section can lead to a very nasty crash at the subtle turn 9, where the track narrows as the cars plunge into a sector of fancy seaside hotels and apartment buildings.

Drivers going fast into turn 10 experience strong lateral G-force, but once they cross the bridge over Urmea river they have the longest straight of the track at their disposal, Ategorrieta avenue providing an excellent chance for overtaking maneouvres. They then turn right on 11, and face a short straight before banking left and taking on the difficult turn 13, where spinning out into the barrier is very easy. The second-longest straight of the track follows, down Ametzagania street, though it is significantly narrower and less tended than Ategorrieta; drivers should be particularly wary of bumps and maintaining traction down this straight.

The final turns are very sharp, with drivers driving past Egiaka park and into the turn 15 hairpin, from where they briefly speed down next to the Urmea, cross it by passing over the bridge after turn 16 and face a tough challenge in avoiding the barrier at turn 17 before crossing the finish line.

---

Morua climbed out of the car and pulled off his helmet, then the white balaclava. Fifth, half a second behind Bunn and a half second ahead of Kardaeri and Okendo - a solid practice session, in sum. The Lantzias and McPahans were clearly better suited for this track than the Carvenlos, but he knew the Iturributa Street Circuit better than anyone save Londoso. He'd raced for Badiola here a number of times, even taking the win once... but those were matchbox cars compared to the WGPC fare, and so his timing was slightly off in some corners. He was rusty, not having been here since last season's very first practice session, and hadn't pushed himself to the limit for the same reason, as he re-familiarised himself with the circuit.

Tomorrow he'd give it his best shot at qualifying. He was counting on a better result then, though he knew everyone would be stepping up their game. Fifth place wasn't good if he intended to sustain a title challenge that had already been badly damaged by two frustrating retirements - and that was if he even managed to retain his free practice spot!

Regardless of tomorrow, he could feel cameras crawling all over him and his car out there, more intense than ever. He'd managed his first ever podium at Talbott and improved on that at Hessington - but he still didn't quite look like championship material then. There followed fourth at Falcania and a stupid first-corner crash in Karditan and then... that glorious, golden win as he lost himself in the car, an automaton that braked, accelerated and shifted gears with the road barely registering in his thought. The track a blank stretch ahead of him littered with lapped drivers, until the checkered flag came down. He soon stood under an olive flag, lifting his trophy, grinning from ear to ear and spraying champagne on whomever crossed his path. Quite remarkable that nobody on the podium that day had a driver seat in the last WGPC season... and that he, unfancied little Sotil Morua, could yet be the world champion.

---

“Fourth! That's fourth, Alexandra! Aye, bring it in, please. Oh, and well done!”

Katzuso breathed easy and allowed himself a small pumping fist gesture. Londoso had finished 2nd - though a quarter second slower than Bunn - and Mayari had blown away all expectations and come in a very respectable 4th. It could be said the car was the main cause, but that would've been unfair on the driver who had climbed from the abyss to her home country's podium, snatching two more points finishes as well. Her latest performance, at Wozinitz, had been disappointing, but the girl had nothing if not heart and drive, no pun intended.

The team had taken a gamble by signing her and he'd been tough on her, but it worked out in the end. She'd driven seven WGPC races, had earned her first podium on her fifth try and was 14th in the drivers' championship with two events less than the others. Mayari was a prodigy, one for the future and had been the right choice over Lee Rogers in the end - that, at least, left Katzuso at peace.

The team as a whole was now officially out of contention for the constructors' championship, a hundred points behind the leaders Carvenlo. The Jaw, insisted upon by Londoso and the powers above, had at long last been installed on the Lantzia 654s ahead of the Falcanian Grand Prix, and had doubtless played a significant role in lifting the team above its previous mediocre form. Londoso leapt back into the points, and Mayari went one step further by taking her aforementioned podium in Nekoni. The Jaw, codename for the car's notorious “shark fin” upgrade, had proven controversial at first for its suspected unreliability, and it has been blamed by some for Londoso's untimely retirements in Nekoni and Paradystopia, but ultimately it stabilised and compensated for the lack of rear downforce that resulted from enabling the car to reach such breakneck speeds on the straights.

All of which meant nothing heading into the Iturributan Grand Prix - Yogutz Lantzia's “home” race. Or as close to a home race as they got in the season, for neither they nor the locals considered it particularly special. The advantage they had stemmed more from the team's familiarity with the circuit layout, having raced on it many times before at various levels. Londoso had finished 4th last time, in his and Lantzia's first-ever WGPC race; now with him being 2nd in practice and Mayari 4th, they could aspire to a lot... if the McPahans and Carvenlos didn't spoil the fun.

Which contented Katzuso but meant that, as always, his pair were getting an earful no matter what. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get Alexandra to stop calling him Latzuso.

---

Enaut Londoso lounged on his chair, dreadfully bored, watching the city move below his lofty balcony. He longed for a martini yet sipped iced tea - no alcohol on race weekends, unless you earned it. Which would mean finishing inside the top three on Sunday, which would all but require a good qualifying run. Londoso sighed and sank deeper in his seat.

It wasn't that he didn't think he could do it - he'd been second in practice, he'd finished fourth in last season's race, and he knew this track better than anyone because it was bloody home city. And it was precisely this last point that embittered him somewhat. He should be loving it, and feeling loved, at what was to Londoso the WGPC's most glamorous event of the season. Considering the rank, middle-of-nowhere places they were shepherded to for most races, including Lantzia's dreadful Lermendia headquarters and the other “cities” on the calendar, being in an actual, proper, interconnected world city was a blast of fresh air. It was his city.

And for the extent of his stay it he was confined to a carefully tended area and was only ever allowed to do what was approved by the team nutritionists and physiologists and what have you. A weekend of driving and wasted afternoons, as a lapdog for the sponsors and with instructions to do nothing but rest. Depending on how he and the team fared they could yet be in for a treat, but otherwise he scarcely caught a glimpse of the Grand Prix's glitz and glamour, with its celebrity attendees watching from hotel rooftops and harbour yachts.

He longed to be out there in the city - but such was the price to do what he loved most, where he loved most.

[Liventia]

Iturributan Grand Prix

Qualifying
Drivers had one hour to set up to ten flying laps. Drivers will start based on their best lap time.

Pos	Car	Driver			Team/Constructor		Best Lap	Invl	To best
1	4	Sotil Morua		Carvenlo Motor Racing		1:32.609		
2	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan Racing Team		1:32.627	+0.018	+0.018
3	7	Enaut Londoso		Yogutz Lantzia			1:32.628	+0.001	+0.019
4	17	Roger Bunn		McPahan Racing Team		1:32.652	+0.024	+0.043
5	27	Alexandra Mayari	Yogutz Lantzia			1:32.724	+0.072	+0.115
6	10	Victor Hall		Obeveklig-Farautoo		1:32.809	+0.085	+0.200
7	24	Donal O'Connell		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:32.827	+0.018	+0.218
8	2	Xeb Kallasdun		Goldmund-Teller			1:32.866	+0.039	+0.257
9	22	Louis Krindle		MSA-SinVal Racing		1:32.915	+0.049	+0.306
10	3	Jai Kardaeri		Carvenlo Motor Racing		1:32.937	+0.022	+0.328
11	9	Vitaliy Aaltonen	Obeveklig-Farautoo		1:32.968	+0.031	+0.359
12	25	Andreas Schroeder	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:32.997	+0.029	+0.388
13	1	Stang Crax		Goldmund-Teller			1:33.010	+0.013	+0.401
14	19	Matthew Portland	WM Barton Race Team		1:33.013	+0.003	+0.404
15	5	R.L. Cruisin		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	1:33.036	+0.023	+0.427
16	23	Lukas Forbes		MSA-SinVal Racing		1:33.299	+0.263	+0.690
17	15	iBen Toralmintii	WGPC Motorsport Two		1:33.430	+0.131	+0.821
18	18	Bartosz Macdonald	WM Barton Race Team		1:33.656	+0.226	+1.047
19	12	Shayna Barstowe		WGPC Motorsport One		1:34.101	+0.445	+1.492
20	14	Matt Hingis		WGPC Motorsport Two		1:34.217	+0.116	+1.608
21	6	Allian Marquis		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	1:34.959	+0.742	+2.350
22	11	Johannes Fagerholm	WGPC Motorsport One		1:36.697	+1.738	+4.088

[The Inevitable Syndicate]

The Itturributa Street Circuit was many things to Roger Bunn. Firstly, it was a bloody nightmare to spell, and all day his tweets had been littered with spelling mistakes. He didn't particularly care, but he was sure that someone in his troupe of 750,000 followers would mind. Secondly, it was a street circuit. The last time he'd raced on one of those, it had become a death race, with him making a mistake that ended with him slamming into a wall and scoring no points. This time, however, the fates that be had been a little nicer to him, allowing him to tear up the circuit in the free practice, and come a respectable 4th in qualifying. That would set him up rather nicely for the race.

"Second, eh?" Bunn said to his team-mate as he was coming in from his final lap.
"Aye. Seems I've siphoned some of your mojo. Like a vampire..."
"Well, in that case, Sotil Morua is your garlic! Makes sense, really, judging by the way he smells..."
The two shared a hearty laugh.
"But seriously. He beat you by a hair. However, you wiped Londoso off the first row by... Well, see for yourself."
Alec looked at the console and smiled. "That's what you want, really. I'm sure he'll be worked up into a rage now, and crash on the first lap!"
"Yeah, well, it better not be into me... But I guess by that time I would have at least passed one of you!"
"I'd watch out though - looks like you've got Mayari on your tail. That'll be another cat and mouse game between you two..." Alec gave Roger a funny look. "If you're having trouble come race day, just be sure to take a paws. It might not be purrfect, but at least it'll prevent a catastrophe!"
Roger covered his ears. "Didn't you already run these ones into the ground in Nekoni? I'm not listening, I think I'll explode if I hear any more!"
Alec mouthed some random words to Roger. Bunn took his hands away. "Eh?"
"Nekoni. Never furrget."
Stan walked over to the guys. "Nice performance today! You really one-upped the Yogutz crew! Here's hoping you hang onto that, and don't have any more grass related incidents. Also, Roger, It's a street circuit, so remember your lefts from your rights..."
"Oh, but Stan, I just can't help it sometimes, It's your voice, you know? It's just so... dreamy..." Roger said with a laugh. "So, if you want me to do well, you might have to... Shut up!"
Alec feigned shock. "Oh, he couldn't do that, you know!"
"Yeah, yeah, alright. Post Qualifying meeting. Now." Stan beckoned the drivers over to the garage.
Roger and Alec skulked on over, laughing as they walked.

[Licentiapacisterra]

Lukas had felt so much better since Rastred'madaa, which he supposed would surprise a lot of people. He had cost himself ten places on the grid at Woznintz, and he had brought himself into disrepute again. It was disgraceful. He hadn't spoken to anybody at MSA-SinVal since he walked out of the garage in Paradystopia. He had created a routine for each session since. He would travel to the destination alone. He would arrive ten minutes before the session, sober, and he would drive the course. He would leave, ignore the media and engineers around him, and get back to his hotel. Over and over, this is what he did.

He decided that today, in Iturributa, the site of his first ever WGPC race, would be the time he told the press. He had been considering it all season, after all. It had been a hard decision to come to; he loved being on the circuit, racing and hanging out with people that had the same interests as him. And he was only twenty nine years old, for Christ's sake. But it hadn't gelled this season. He had gained a single point all season, for a tenth placed finish in Paradystopia. Maybe he should punch Tyrtin more often....

It was time to throw in the towel. Retire. Get out of the game before it killed him. The way he was going, he surmised, this sport probably could kill him within the next few years. A stupid move on the track, and he was dead. A fight, a punch landed in the wrong place, and he was dead. A bottle too many, mixed with a headache tablet (he got a lot of migraines these days), and he was dead. He needed to walk away now, before it was too late.

For the first time since Rastred'madaa, he had called a press conference. The press had gathered, eager to hear what the WGPC's resident madman had to say. Would it be a scathing attack on Tyrtin ?? A drunken attack on Aaltonen ?? Or just nonsense that would add to the image of the raging lunatic that they believed Forbes was ?? They were about to be surprised.

Lukas had arrived in a black suit, much different to his attire of the last few weeks; the driving gear that he had worn at Rastred'madaa. He had a handwritten speech in his hand; his dad, shocked by the news, but supportive, had helped him write the speech back home in Hessington Island.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for taking time out to come and listen to me today. I know you expect some kind of madness, like I have become known for this season, but I'm going to give you something different."

"This has been a tough season for me. First, not being kept on by Obeveklig Farautoo. Then, having to rush around to be taken on by a new team, and having real trouble despite the fact I had an amazing first season. And all this was topped off by an absolute disaster of a season. I fell into depression. I hit the bottle hard, which most of you probably knew, from the way I was behaving."

"All this added to the fact I've been fighting all over the place, and ignoring my family all season, I've realised that this is the end of the road for me as a driver. I want to get out of driving, before I end up dead, because that is a real possibility the way that I am going."

"After the Tynealan Grand Prix, I will be officially retiring from driving in the World Grand Prix Championship. I'll be heading home, finding other work, and apologising to everybody and everything I've been neglecting for all this season. At the end of the day, there are more important things than driving. I need to find myself again. And I can't do that in the state I'm in. Thank you for everything you've given me over the years. Thanks for the cheers, the laughs, the fun. Thanks for making me realise that I need to get myself together."

"And Bart, this bit's for you. I'm sorry. I've been an absolute idiot over the last few years and I've made the both of us look like complete idiots. When we get back to Hessington Island, we're having a beer. On me. To make up for how I've been over the years. I'm sorry man. I'm sorry."

With that, Forbes left the room, with the assembled press seeming to be in a state of shock. He would return to his routine. No press, no team, no bottle. Just arriving at the race ten minutes early, getting in the car, and going home. Finally. He was going home.

[Audioslavia]

"...and most paramount is tyre temperature and wear. This is a street circuit, these roads are used by road-cars during the year, they're not as flat, not as clean as the usual tracks. Degradation of tyres is going to seriously impact on performance and so, as well as adjusting the wings to give the cars more downforce, we're running very lightly on fuel to ensure the tyres aren't straining under the pressure of a full weight. This means fuel management, strict fuel management, our primary aim is to keep ahead of our competitors, and the tight circuit is going to allow us to do that. If we manage our tyres correctly, we can pull off just a one-stopper. This stop, gentlemen, is going to be the most important of your career to date. It could be the difference between us piling the pressure on the Carvenlos or having them win the constructors championship outright, or basically hand the driver's championship to Jai Kadaeri if he gets his arse in gear. I want you guys ready to get Roger and Alec in, changed and out in the time it takes me to say 'in, change, out'. We're on the cusp here, gentlemen, we have what could turn out to be the best and most real chance at a championship we'll ever have, so GUYS ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?!"
Alec and Roger just couldn't hold it in anymore. The room full of techies, mechanics and strategists turned to look at them and, in the silence, and after desperately trying to stifle giggles for most of the meeting, they cracked up.
A few of the mechanics chuckled at the odd display from their supposedly hard-working and dedicated drivers. A few (mainly the men who hadn't minded the rule of Linco McPahan) looked on with stony faces.
"Care to share the joke?" said Stan, dead-pan, glaring through two tired looking eyes.
"No, no..." spurted Alec, in between chuckles. The effort in keeping his giggles in check was simply making him want to laugh harder, which only served to make Roger laugh even more.
"Share it. Share it so we can all get on with this meeting. I expected you two to be more professional about this."
"No, I"
"Tell. The. Joke"
Alec sighed. He had seen, again, a flicker of Linco McPahan in the new boss, nephew Stan, and never liked to argue with a man who could pull off such a scary look.
"We may have built it up too much, now" said Alec. He looked over at Roger, who had sobered up also. This wasn't nearly as funny as it had been twenty seconds ago."
"So... Julian Marquis is walking down the street, wondering how to remind Stang Crax how to drive a car. He sees this street-vendor selling lizards - geckos, chameleons, corn snakes, that sort of thing - and thinks 'I know, I'll take his mind off his socialite life, I'll give him a pet gecko. He likes geckos. They go well with brown sauce. Anyway, he tries to find the cutest gecko of them all, and sees a tiny one in the corner, looks like it only has one arm. He thinks,
'one arm? He's bound to struggle to cling onto things and fall off in an adorable way. Stang'll like him. Plus, he might even be able to outmaneuver him', so he buys this gecko and he's taking it back to the Goldmund-Teller garage. On the way, he sees Xeb Kallasdun. Xeb sees the gecko and goes
"Hey, boss, what are you doing with that tiny crippled gecko?"
Julian replies
"I got it for Stang Crax", to which Xeb replies,
"Sounds like a good trade, will he be fit for Iturributa""
Neither driver laughed. Very few of the mechanics laughed.
"It's... it's kind of one of those things that's only funny when you know you aren't supposed to laugh" said Roger.
"Well" said Stan, sighing, "I'm glad you got it out of your system".

After the meeting, Roger and Alec sought each other in the hotel.
"How did you make up that joke so quickly?" asked Roger. Alec wore a sheepish smile.
"Read it about me on the internet, back at the start of the season. Figured it'd be less offensive than the joke about Linco..."
The pair stifled another giggle. They may not be at their most professional right now, but morale was at an all-time high. At this point in the season, and after the hardships both had faced, it was hardly an unwelcome thing.

[Liventia]

Iturributan Grand Prix

Race – 56 laps

Pos	Car	Driver			Team/Constructor		Time/behind    Interval
1	7	Enaut Londoso		Yogutz Lantzia			1:29:46.251	
2	17	Roger Bunn		McPahan Racing Team		    +22.409	+22.409
3	27	Alexandra Mayari	Yogutz Lantzia			    +52.823	+30.414
4	3	Jai Kardaeri		Carvenlo Motor Racing		  +1:15.331	+22.508
5	9	Vitaliy Aaltonen	Obeveklig-Farautoo		  +1:16.592	 +1.261
6	1	Stang Crax		Goldmund-Teller			  +1:25.406	 +8.814
7	5	R.L. Cruisin		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	  +1:26.059	 +0.653
8	22	Louis Krindle		MSA-SinVal Racing		  +1:33.755	 +7.696
9	10	Victor Hall		Obeveklig-Farautoo		CF LAST LAP	
10	24	Donal O'Connell		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	     +1 LAP	    LAP

11	15	iBen Toralmintii	WGPC Motorsport Two		     +1 LAP	 +1.548
12	19	Matthew Portland	WM Barton Race Team		     +1 LAP	+36.142
13	6	Allian Marquis		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	    +2 LAPS	    LAP
14	23	Lukas Forbes		MSA-SinVal Racing		    +2 LAPS	 +3.193
15	11	Johannes Fagerholm	WGPC Motorsport One		    +2 LAPS	 +6.856
16	14	Matt Hingis		WGPC Motorsport Two		    +2 LAPS	+20.614
17	12	Shayna Barstowe		WGPC Motorsport One		 CF +2 LAPS	

DNF	25	Andreas Schroeder	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	 RET Lap 43
	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan Racing Team		 RET Lap 38
	2	Xeb Kallasdun		Goldmund-Teller			 RET Lap 38
	4	Sotil Morua		Carvenlo Motor Racing		 RET Lap 36
	18	Bartosz Macdonald	WM Barton Race Team		 RET Lap 27

Drivers' standings

Pos	Car	Driver			Team/Constructor
1	2	Xeb Kallasdun		Goldmund-Teller			102
2	4	Sotil Morua		Carvenlo Motor Racing		 97
3	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan Racing Team		 93
4	3	Jai Kardaeri		Carvenlo Motor Racing		 88

5	9	Vitaliy Aaltonen	Obeveklig-Farautoo		 76
6	7	Enaut Londoso		Yogutz Lantzia			 74
7	17	Roger Bunn		McPahan Racing Team		 73
8	24	Donal O'Connell		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	 71
9	5	R.L. Cruisin		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	 54
10	21	James Davies		BrennickSport			 40
11	27	Alexandra Mayari	Yogutz Lantzia			 38
12	19	Matthew Portland	WM Barton Race Team		 37
13	1	Stang Crax		Goldmund-Teller			 35
14	18	Bartosz Macdonald	WM Barton Race Team		 31
15	10	Victor Hall		Obeveklig-Farautoo		 24
16	22	Louis Krindle		MSA-SinVal Racing		 22
17	25	Andreas Schroeder	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	 16
18	6	Allian Marquis		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	  8
19	15	iBen Toralmintii	WGPC Motorsport Two		  6
20	11	Johannes Fagerholm	WGPC Motorsport One		  4
21	20	Johnny Boudermann	BrennickSport			  3
22	30	Juan Kermit		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	  3
23	14	Matt Hingis		WGPC Motorsport Two		  2
24	8	Lee Rogers		Yogutz Lantzia			  2
25	12	Shayna Barstowe		WGPC Motorsport One		  1
26	23	Lukas Forbes		MSA-SinVal Racing		  1

Constructors' standings

1	Carvenlo Motor Racing		185
2	McPahan Racing Team		166

3	Goldmund-Teller			137
4	Yogutz Lantzia			114
5	Obeveklig-Farautoo		100
6	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	 90
7	WM Barton Race Team		 68
8	Vilita & Turori Motorsports	 62
9	BrennickSport			 43
10	MSA-SinVal Racing		 23
11	WGPC Motorsport Two		  8
12	WGPC Motorsport One		  5

(OOC: Note that the last race event of the season follows immediately in the next three days; ICly they would also have been back-to-back races.)

[Vilita]

::: BYRNE TO GET VTF1 RACE SEAT FOR SEASON FINALE ::

Vilita & Turori Motorsports have confirmed the inevitable: Allian Marquis is out.

With just one event to go on the World Grand Prix Championships calendar, Vilita & Turori Motorsports have pulled the trigger on Marquis brief foray into the Grand Prix Circuit. Marquis will still be allowed to complete the season as the teams test driver in an effort to gain seat time ahead of the offseason free market.

Marquis will be replaced, for at least the one race, by current test driver Malachy Byrne. Byrne, a native of Ancharmunn, will be bolstered by the home town support in Ballyfeeaknock.

[Paradystopia]

The persistent appearance of the Communadi agent was taking it's toll on Xeb. Unable to shake the knowledge of his mere existence had led to distractions forcing errors and two back-to-back retirements. His strong lead atop the table had dwindled to a meagre 5 points and Goldmund-Teller were out of a chance at the constructor championship.

So it all came down to this, the final race at the Ballyfeeaknock International circuit.

The confidence he had demonstrated in the earlier races had transmuted into anxiety. To lose everything in the final race would be a devastating blow. His fearful reverie was broken by the ringing of his mobile phone.

"Hello?"
"Xebhandra?"

The line was crackly and Xeb struggled to recognise the voice. It was most likely male and sounded quite old.

"Yes? Hello? Who is this?"
"Xebhandra. I haven't time to explain. Beware the agent. He will offer many things but do not believe his lies."
"Who is this? How did you get this number? How do you know about the agent?"
"No time. Beware him Xebhandra. I love you."

There was a click and line went dead.

" ... Dad? ... "

The maelstrom of anxiety, fear and emotion intensified. Xeb couldn't think straight. He went to a window and stuck his head outside, gulping greedily upon the fresh air in the hope it would calm his nerves. He picked up his phone and recalled the number ... for what felt like an eternity, it just rang. Then someone answered.

"Who is this? If this is some sort of terrorist threat, I ain't buyin' it!"

It was the sweet tones of a cantankerous old woman

"Hello? Ermm ... Is a Mr. Viaddin Kallasdun there?"
"A who?!"
"Viaddin Kallasdun"
"Vlad Inkassbun? Is this a prank call?! You damn kids with nothing better to do than torment an old lady. If I catch you, I'll beat seven shades of shit outta ya"
"No no. I was called from this number moments ago by a Mr. Viaddin Kallasdun. Is he there?"
"... Kallasdun, you say?"
"Yes."
"... Viaddin Kallasdun?"
"Yes!"
"No. Never heard of him."
"He called me from this number."
"He probably did Sonny. This is a payphone."
"Oh. Could you please tell me where you are?"
"No, I bloody will not. You cheeky little bastard."
"No no no ma'am. Just the city, country. region"
"Oh, I see. Svhobodha, The Glorious shit-hole Commune."
"Thank you."

The woman hung up leaving Xeb with a thousand and one questions he couldn't possibly know the answers to.

[Liventia]

Aer Ancharine Tynealan Grand Prix

Free Practice session
Drivers had 90 minutes to set as many laps as they wished up to a limit of 30 laps. In free practice sessions, only lap times are recorded and not combined times.
Lap record: 1:46.405
(Note: scorinator returned a semi-wet session)

Pos	Car	Driver			Team/Constructor		Best Lap	Invl	To best
1	17	Roger Bunn		McPahan Racing Team		1:46.904		
2	24	Donal O'Connell		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:47.519	+0.615	+0.615
3	32	Malachy Byrne		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	1:47.552	+0.033	+0.648
4	2	Xeb Kallasdun		Goldmund-Teller			1:47.585	+0.033	+0.681
5	4	Sotil Morua		Carvenlo Motor Racing		1:47.670	+0.085	+0.766
6	3	Jai Kardaeri		Carvenlo Motor Racing		1:47.697	+0.027	+0.793
7	9	Vitaliy Aaltonen	Obeveklig-Farautoo		1:47.735	+0.038	+0.831
8	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan Racing Team		1:47.870	+0.135	+0.966
9	5	R.L. Cruisin		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	1:47.923	+0.053	+1.019
10	7	Enaut Londoso		Yogutz Lantzia			1:47.937	+0.014	+1.033
11	25	Andreas Schroeder	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:48.006	+0.069	+1.102
12	10	Victor Hall		Obeveklig-Farautoo		1:48.081	+0.075	+1.177
13	26	Ekain Okendo		Carvenlo Motor Racing		1:48.215	+0.134	+1.311
14	30	Juan Kermit		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:48.422	+0.207	+1.518
15	1	Stang Crax		Goldmund-Teller			1:48.608	+0.186	+1.704
16	27	Alexandra Mayari	Yogutz Lantzia			1:48.877	+0.269	+1.973
17	19	Matthew Portland	WM Barton Race Team		1:48.910	+0.033	+2.006
18	6	Allian Marquis		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	1:49.169	+0.259	+2.265
19	22	Louis Krindle		MSA-SinVal Racing		1:49.326	+0.157	+2.422
20	8	Lee Rogers		Yogutz Lantzia			1:49.817	+0.491	+2.913
21	14	Matt Hingis		WGPC Motorsport Two		1:50.000	+0.183	+3.096
22	12	Shayna Barstowe		WGPC Motorsport One		1:50.315	+0.315	+3.411
23	15	iBen Toralmintii	WGPC Motorsport Two		1:50.448	+0.133	+3.544
24	11	Johannes Fagerholm	WGPC Motorsport One		1:50.502	+0.054	+3.598
25	23	Lukas Forbes		MSA-SinVal Racing		1:50.570	+0.068	+3.666
26	18	Bartosz Macdonald	WM Barton Race Team		1:51.106	+0.536	+4.202
27	31	Victoria Gardner	MSA-SinVal Racing		1:51.663	+0.557	+4.759

[Audioslavia]

"Well done, Alec, well played" said Stan McPahan. Alec brushed past him, running a nervy hand through his hair. That hadn't been fun.
He'd been told no action would be taken, that he wouldn't be fined or docked points for 'dangerous driving', and that the WGPC were putting the 'incident' down as a rookie error - which it was - but that didn't stop Alec feeling about two inches tall during the entire meeting.
He was still thankful that the obviously upset Sotil Morua hadn't punched his lights out.
Lap thirty-five had been a desperate one. He and his team had gambled on a one-stop strategy and low fuel, meaning a 'modest' race-pace and an inability to truly push the car round the track. Tyre management would get both him and Roger safely through the race - it certainly helped in the more experienced Roger's case, the Syndicatian finished second, bringing home a good amount of points for him and the team - but with the track being not especially grippy, both drivers would have to be careful.

They had banked on the other top teams running a two or three-stop strategy that would ensure the McPahans would, at some point or other, be out in the lead on the tight street circuit, with few chances for their opponents to overtake them.

He'd been given the one-word signal - 'push' - by his team as he jinked round turn fourteen, signalling that Morua - ahead in first place - was coming in for his second stop. Alec had already had his first, and only, stop, and if he had any chance to pass Morua both in the race and in the championship, then he needed to get past his rival while he pitted and open out a solid lead. He had plenty of time to do it. All he had to do at this vital time was not making a mistake.

And.. .there it was. A high rumble strip on the inside of turn fifteen that he'd avoided all weekend, but not now, not when he needed it most. He turned in sharply, watched in horror as the front-right jumped over the rumble-strip and bounced the car out towards the wall. He banked hard right, braked, avoided the wall and only managed to spin the car ninety degrees to the right, blocking the track for anyone behind him. Thankfully, Roger Bunn in third place was a good ten seconds away, and Alec was able to spin the car back round and set off towards turn sixteen.

Two bends later, he raced over the line, braked hard for turn one, sped round the exit, and saw Morua burst out of the pit-lane. Alec had the momentum, knew his rival's tyres would be cold, and knew he had a very small window of opportunity to pass the Carvenlo.

He followed Morua through turn two, staying in the Astograthian's slipstream, and bided his time until he felt he could lunge down the inside for turn three.

He bided too long.

In all Alec's calculations, he forgot to take into account that, on cold tyres, Morua would have to brake earlier than Lund for the corner. Morua braked, Lund panicked, stamped on the brakes himself and banked right, but it was too late. His front wheel hit Morua's back-right tyre. A sickening 'crunch' from his own car. The only damage to Morua's was an eventual puncture, although that was compounded by the fact that the driver could do nothing to stop his car being lurched forward at the wrong time and having nowhere near enough time to stop his spin. The car slid and grated itself against the concrete wall, losing a tyre in the process, and that was that for the Carvenlo.

Lund carried on and drove away, his car seemingly undamaged.

He spent the next lap looking for a flag, waiting for his team to inform him he was due a ten-second stop-go penalty. Sure enough, the message came. Lund swung into the pits on lap thirty-eight, stopped in his pit , waited for the signal, saw it, floored the accelerator and watched as his left-front - the one that had collided with Morua - fail to turn. His car lurched forward, the wheel skidding pathetically along the floor. He stopped before he rejoined the main pit-lane, tried again, still no luck. The race, for him, was over.

Up ahead, he saw Morua, hands on hips, staring a hole in his helmet. Lund's lack of perception may have just cost both of them the championship. If there was any reason why Morua hadn't walked over and punched him square in the jaw - other than the fact Lund was wearing a helmet - it was the fact that news of Kallasdun's retirement meant both drivers would go into the final race with a chance to win one or both championships.

The Carvenlos were the favourites for the constructors championship. Kallasdun was the favourite for the drivers' trophy. The McPahans would be the underdogs.

[The Inevitable Syndicate]

One stop race strategies always made Roger a little nervous, especially after that incident with the wheel coming off. He and the pit crew only had one chance to pull of a successful stop, and the lack of fuel and meant he had to be hyper-conservative when it came to going around the track at a decent pace. Of course, this didn't stop him from giving his all, and starting from the second row in the grid eventually proved to be an advantage.

The lights went down, and the first four cars came roaring past the start line. Roger managed to wheel his way into third, passing Enaut Londoso, and dipped into the first corner tucked behind Alec and Sotil Morua. It was here he stayed for a good 24 laps, when he came in to pit. This pivotal moment proved successful for the team, and Roger came flying out the pits in 9th. Not bad.

Weaving his way past the big names (and Stang Crax), he found himself back up in third by lap 34. The team had instructed him to play it defensive, and keep a buffer zone between the other drivers and Alec. Seeing as he was in with a shot at the championship, Roger could understand why. He kept his distance from Alec, figuring he could fight Morua for first, and blocked any of Kardaeri's attempts to pass him. He found it rather satisfying, it had to be said.

Unfortunately, disaster struck on the very next lap, when a slight mismove from Alec set him up for problems as he pushed hard and collided with Sotil, sending the Carvelo out of the game a little earlier than he had expected. This gave him a penalty, and when it came to moving out again, his wheel just wouldn't spin. It was down to Bunn to finish the race for McPahan. Of course, he was sitting fine in first, with nobody out to get him, and Wait, where the bloody hell did Londoso come from?

Yes, the Iturributan, fuelled by both an anger of being left behind and a mastery of his home circuit, had come back on the offensive, and sped past Bunn as he exited turn 13. Roger stuck on his tail, though, staying right in his slipstream through the tight speed trap, but the Yogutz had him right down to the wire on the straight sections of the track. Of course, Yogutz had gone for a more generous fuel strategy, and this let the Iturributan speed away without having to worry about the consequences. the gap between him and Roger began to widen, until Roger admitted defeat, knowing he'd run out of fuel if he carried on, and worked on keeping second place.

Roger kept a sizeable gap between him and third place, and ended up crossing the finish line in second. He was proud of his podium position, and the fact that he'd helped close the lead on the Carvenlos. But at Balleyfeaknock, it would be all or nothing...

[Liventia]

Aer Ancharine Tynealan Grand Prix

Qualifying
Drivers had one hour to set up to ten flying laps. Drivers will start based on their best lap time.
Lap record: 1:46.405

Pos	Car	Driver			Team/Constructor		Best Lap	Invl	To best
1	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan Racing Team		1:46.627		
2	3	Jai Kardaeri		Carvenlo Motor Racing		1:46.797	+0.170	+0.170
3	24	Donal O'Connell		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:46.808	+0.011	+0.181
4	9	Vitaliy Aaltonen	Obeveklig-Farautoo		1:46.809	+0.001	+0.182
5	4	Sotil Morua		Carvenlo Motor Racing		1:46.832	+0.023	+0.205
6	27	Alexandra Mayari	Yogutz Lantzia			1:46.904	+0.072	+0.277
7	7	Enaut Londoso		Yogutz Lantzia			1:47.093	+0.189	+0.466
8	19	Matthew Portland	WM Barton Race Team		1:47.283	+0.190	+0.656
9	1	Stang Crax		Goldmund-Teller			1:47.298	+0.015	+0.671
10	5	R.L. Cruisin		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	1:47.300	+0.002	+0.673
11	25	Andreas Schroeder	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:47.366	+0.066	+0.739
12	32	Malachy Byrne		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	1:47.369	+0.003	+0.742
13	12	Shayna Barstowe		WGPC Motorsport One		1:47.427	+0.058	+0.800
14	15	iBen Toralmintii	WGPC Motorsport Two		1:47.550	+0.123	+0.923
15	11	Johannes Fagerholm	WGPC Motorsport One		1:47.619	+0.069	+0.992
16	14	Matt Hingis		WGPC Motorsport Two		1:47.686	+0.067	+1.059
17	10	Victor Hall		Obeveklig-Farautoo		1:47.840	+0.154	+1.213
18	18	Bartosz Macdonald	WM Barton Race Team		1:47.862	+0.022	+1.235
19	23	Lukas Forbes		MSA-SinVal Racing		1:47.874	+0.012	+1.247
20	2	Xeb Kallasdun		Goldmund-Teller			1:48.565	+0.691	+1.938
21	17	Roger Bunn		McPahan Racing Team		1:48.630	+0.065	+2.003
22	22	Louis Krindle		MSA-SinVal Racing		1:50.174	+1.544	+3.547

[The Inevitable Syndicate]

Roger had just managed to complete a singlr flyer before the problems at Balleyfeeaknock began to kick in. It wasn't his best lap, as it was on cold tyres on a cold morning, and he hadn't had a coffee yet. Elected by the team to be first out, Roger had given it everything, but a spate of bad luck on his second lap had knocked him out of any attempts at qualifying.
It began as soon as he turned past the Devil's Dip. Kicking the car into top gear, he sped out of the corner and under the bridge. At this point, he got a call on the radio.
"Roger, you're car appears to have some smoke coming out of it. We suggest you pit this lap. Box this lap, and we'll see what's up. Over."
Slightly annoyed, Roger decided to go on an all out attack. If he could set a good time before pitting, then he wouldn't have wasted it. As he weaved through the start of The Moy, he floored the accelerator on the small straight between the corners.

This was a huge mistake.

The engine suddenly let out a huge "BANG!", and Roger felt the car lurch forward and begin slowing down. He came rolling to a stop in the grass, and phoned through to the pits
"I'll be with you in a second. I think the car's blown up."

---

Roger sat in the garage, head in hands, while the engineers poured over his car to identify where it had all gone wrong. They'd got as far as 'the engine', when Stan walked in.
"Everything alright, Roger?"
"Not really. I was hoping to end this season on a high. Now it looks like it's going to take longer than the hour to fix the bloody car. I don't think I can climb 20-odd places..."
"You might be able to, if you race the best you ever have. If I recall, during the Falcanian Grand Prix you started from twenty-first, and managed to come 9th. That was a brilliant race for you, and I reckon you could pull it off again."
"Thanks, Stan, I appreciate the pep talk. You know, for all the things I berate you on, you're not the worst guy in the world."
"Cheers, Bunn. You're not the worst driver in the world either. Well, normally you're not." Stan shot him a cheeky smile and grabbed the attention of a nearby mechanic.
The Syndicatian returned to his train of thought. He'd been looking up race stats on his EyeGlass, and found out that he was the most successful free practice driver this season. He'd "won" 6 out of the 12, and only finished outside of the top three twice. The media claimed that he was compensating for his performance in the pre-season event in Vilita, but Roger chalked it up to the fact that he typically went out on a warm track, in a fast car. However, now, when he needed it most, McPahan had let him down. He was a little angry, admittedly, and really hoped that the engineers hadn't skimped on checking his car for faults when they knew that Alec was in with a shot for the championship. But he was sure they wouldn't do that when McPahan had a shot with the championship themselves. They were the underdogs, and this setback was send them even further under.

But would that stop Roger from trying? Not. At. All.

[Audioslavia]

Alec jumped out of his car and whipped off his helmet and balaclava, getting the latter stuck on his nose as he did so. In such embarassing situations - when a person payed handsomely for their co-ordination finds himself failing to adequately remove the most simple item of clothing its possible to wear outwith a sock - one usually prayed no-one was looking. Alec, however, didn't care. He'd just put in a barnstorming qualifying time at the fifth attempt, and in the most important race weekend of his career so far, to boot. He finally managed to untangle the balaclava and whip it off his head, before beaming a smile to what he assumed would be his adoring team.

No one was watching. A small, foreign looking man named Radoslav looked up from a pile of beakers and said 'hi', and that was it. Of the dozen or so members of the McPahan team, half were busy remonstrating with the other car in the garage - that of Roger Bunn - which appeared to be going nowhere any time soon. The others were transfixed on a TV screen.

Stan McPahan called him over.
"You'll want to look at this" he said, barely taking his eyes off the TV.. On the screen was a figure sat in a garage, hands on his head. Alec looked over at Roger, who had assumed the same position, but a look back at the TV screen showed that the televised driver was wearing different overalls. Those of Xeb Kallasdun, actually. Current championship leader and favourite for the driver's title.
"Car trouble" said Stan. "He'd been having a slow one anyway. Something on his mind maybe, pressure getting to him, I dunno. Either way, doesn't look like he's coming back out."
"What time did he do?"
"One forty-eight five" said Stan.
"What?"
"Aye. Two seconds slower than yourself, near enough, Faster than Roger, but then Roger's was on cold tyres, barely a 'feeler' lap. Xeb hasn't been at the races at all. Now his engine's gone as well. Meaning..."
"Meaning... If I stay on pole... and I get out of this race into the lead..."
"You win, you're champ. Xeb won't be able to come back from this. Stay ahead of Kardaeri, stay ahead of Morua. Fall behind them and we're putting the mathematicians into over-time."
"Glad to see I've not hogged all the bad luck" came a voice behind Alec. Roger's. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Your car went all McPahan on you, I assume?" said Alec.
"Meh, balls" said Roger, obviously having gotten over the worst of his disappointment. "Come this time tomorrow I'll be weaving through the field. Don't you worry about me. You make sure all the shit we've been through this season hasn't been in vain"
"If the car holds up its end of the bargain, I will mine" said Alec, nodding.
The trio watched the likes of Morua, O'Connell, Aaltonen and Kardaeri tear round the track. Each time one of them crossed the finish line the trio cringed, then let out a sigh of relief. No-one was matching Lund's pace.

This time, there were no jokes to be had at the post-qualifying team-meeting. Roger was relaxed, having accepted he could do nothing about his position and knowing that, aside from having a job to do in terms of keeping Kallasdun at bay and getting himself up to tenth, the pressure was completely off him for the weekend.

Various hands had slapped Alec's back before and after the meeting. Various grunted iterations of 'good luck mate' and 'go geddum champ" had been said. The pressure was all on him. Nevertheless, he didn't feel like he was racing for the world championship.He felt, merely, free. All those problems, all the shit that had plagued him and the team over the year - Linco's death, the 'bridge' incident, the huge shunt in pre-season practice, the various retirements and crashes throughout the season, the absolving run of form in the second half of the season, those two invaluable wins, further podiums - it all didn't matter now. It was all the past. He had proved himself. He was free. All he had to do was give it his best shot. Once he crossed the finish line on Sunday then, and only then, could he afford to mull over the events of the season, whether he finished first or last, whether he took home the championship or not.

He didn't feel ready to race for a world championship, but he was certainly ready to race.

[Liventia]

Aer Ancharine Tynealan Grand Prix

Race – 53 laps

Pos	Car	Driver			Team/Constructor		Time/behind    Interval
1	24	Donal O'Connell		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	1:38:09.203	
2	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan Racing Team		     +8.928	 +8.928
3	4	Sotil Morua		Carvenlo Motor Racing		     +9.744	 +0.816
4	25	Andreas Schroeder	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	    +25.262	+15.518
5	9	Vitaliy Aaltonen	Obeveklig-Farautoo		    +33.233	 +7.971
6	19	Matthew Portland	WM Barton Race Team		    +36.863	 +3.630
7	17	Roger Bunn		McPahan Racing Team		    +49.454	+12.591
8	7	Enaut Londoso		Yogutz Lantzia			    +54.081	 +4.627
9	32	Malachy Byrne		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	  +1:00.445	 +6.364
10	27	Alexandra Mayari	Yogutz Lantzia			  +1:09.976	 +9.531

11	15	iBen Toralmintii	WGPC Motorsport Two		  +1:33.469	+23.493
12	11	Johannes Fagerholm	WGPC Motorsport One		  +1:38.637	 +5.168
13	2	Xeb Kallasdun		Goldmund-Teller			     +1 LAP	    LAP
14	14	Matt Hingis		WGPC Motorsport Two		     +1 LAP	+31.175
15	23	Lukas Forbes		MSA-SinVal Racing		     +1 LAP	 +7.450
16	18	Bartosz Macdonald	WM Barton Race Team		     +1 LAP	+10.113

DNF	22	Louis Krindle		MSA-SinVal Racing		 RET Lap 41
	3	Jai Kardaeri		Carvenlo Motor Racing		 RET Lap 19
	5	R.L. Cruisin		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	 RET Lap 17
	12	Shayna Barstowe		WGPC Motorsport One		 RET Lap 11
	10	Victor Hall		Obeveklig-Farautoo		  RET Lap 7
	1	Stang Crax		Goldmund-Teller			  RET Lap 1

Drivers' standings

Pos	Car	Driver			Team/Constructor
1	16	Alexander Lund		McPahan Racing Team		111 (wins: 2)
2	4	Sotil Morua		Carvenlo Motor Racing		111 (wins: 1)
3	2	Xeb Kallasdun		Goldmund-Teller			102
4	24	Donal O'Connell		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	 96
5	3	Jai Kardaeri		Carvenlo Motor Racing		 88
6	9	Vitaliy Aaltonen	Obeveklig-Farautoo		 84
7	7	Enaut Londoso		Yogutz Lantzia			 77 (wins: 2)
8	17	Roger Bunn		McPahan Racing Team		 77 (wins: 1)
9	5	R.L. Cruisin		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	 54
10	19	Matthew Portland	WM Barton Race Team		 43
11	21	James Davies		BrennickSport			 40
12	27	Alexandra Mayari	Yogutz Lantzia			 39
13	1	Stang Crax		Goldmund-Teller			 35
14	18	Bartosz Macdonald	WM Barton Race Team		 31
15	25	Andreas Schroeder	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	 26
16	10	Victor Hall		Obeveklig-Farautoo		 24
17	22	Louis Krindle		MSA-SinVal Racing		 22
18	6	Allian Marquis		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	  8
19	15	iBen Toralmintii	WGPC Motorsport Two		  6
20	11	Johannes Fagerholm	WGPC Motorsport One		  4
21	20	Johnny Boudermann	BrennickSport			  3
22	30	Juan Kermit		Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	  3
23	14	Matt Hingis		WGPC Motorsport Two		  2
24	8	Lee Rogers		Yogutz Lantzia			  2
25	32	Malachy Byrne		Vilita & Turori Motorsports	  2
26	12	Shayna Barstowe		WGPC Motorsport One		  1
27	23	Lukas Forbes		MSA-SinVal Racing		  1

Constructors' standings

1	Carvenlo Motor Racing		199
2	McPahan Racing Team		188
3	Goldmund-Teller			137
4	Aer Ancharine Motorsport Racing	125
5	Yogutz Lantzia			118
6	Obeveklig-Farautoo		108
7	WM Barton Race Team		 74
8	Vilita & Turori Motorsports	 64
9	BrennickSport			 43
10	MSA-SinVal Racing		 23
11	WGPC Motorsport Two		  8
12	WGPC Motorsport One		  5

OOC: Season 13 will commence towards the end of 2013. Preliminary team invitations will be sent out in October.

[Audioslavia]

"That's Crax's season in a microcosm" said Stan, to no-one in particular, watching a forlorn Stang Crax depart his stricken vehicle and vault over the barriers. He was right. It had become very clear, very early on that the defending champion was going to have nowhere near the pace required to retain his championship and, with Matthew Portland simarly failing to have a real impact on the podium places, it had become apparent halfway through the season that there would be a new name inscribed into the WGPC hall of fame.

Stan would never have dreamed that it would be a McPahan car up at the top, challenging for the world title. And even then, he'd have assumed halfway through the season that, if any of his drivers were going to be racing for the ultimate prize, it sure as hell wasn't going to be Alexander Lund.

Roger Bunn's race win in Liventia on the second weekend of the season, coupled with Lund's failure to finish and his meagre showing in the opening race, had hinted that the Syndicatian - and not the Audioslavian - should have been the #1 driver at McPahan. That he failed to finish two of the next three races wasn't so much to his detriment, more the car that he'd had to drive. The hand of Linco McPahan, there, failing again in his quest to make a car light enough to be utterly unstoppable, and just flimsy enough to get exactly to the finish line - and no further - without falling apart. He hadn't quite managed it by the time of his 'untimely demise', and the controversy surrounding his quasi-deathtrap cars had been why he'd needed to hire Stan, his nephew, in the first place.

Alec Lund had come out of nowhere.

The young Audioslavian had taken a big shunt in pre-season practice - again, not his fault - but it had shattered his confidence at a vital time, and the young driver only managed to qualify for his opening grand-prix in dead last. The problems had failed to cease over the next three races, which saw two retirements either side of a tenth-place finish - his only point of the campaign.

That fourth race had gone down in history. The 'bridge incident'. A new nose and front wing on the car combining with a change to the car's belly which, when combined, and when subjected to a large gust of air, 'lost quite a lot of downforce' to put it mildy. Alec had been airborne for three seconds before landing on a bridge.

Alec had been lucky to escape that crash with only minor bruising, yet the event had changed something in the mindset of the Audioslavian. After such a shunt, he no longer seemed bothered about getting hurt, and adopted a 'devil may care' attitude to his driving. He didn't, thankfully, drive recklessly, but rather simply overcame all his fears in what enormous bound. Stan had heard a snake-owning friend of his say, once, 'that the fear of the bite is much wore than the bite'. In Alec's case the bite *should* have been a lot worse than any kind of fear he'd had, but it became difficult to tell the driver to become weary when he was just finding his feet. He was answering back to Stan, as well as Linco McPahan when the under-fire boss made a sporadic appearance. A sixth-place followed, which got a couple more points on the board for a McPahan team languishing in the bottom half of the constructors championship, before a brilliant second-place in Falcania. Not that anyone remembered. That race had been overshadowed, somewhat, by Linco McPahan's sudden and violent combustion, the reasons for which no-one outside of the McPahan team knew about - a good thing, if they wanted to avoid being docked about a thousand points for 'general idiocy'. Lund's debut win had followed in the next race, and after another second place in Nekoni it had become apparent that, far from being a nervous and limited liability, Lund was an outside bet for the championship, with Roger Bunn technically not out of the running, but only showing flashes of his early-season form and failing to match his excellent pace in practice and qualifying with points-scoring in the actual race.

Alec, annoyingly, failed to finish two of his next three races, but the one finish had been a vital win, and meant that, even from third place in the championship and nine points behind Xeb Kallasdun, Lund was in with a shot of the world championship.

Therein, lay the maths. The permutations of what needed to happen for Lund to win the world championships gave Stan a head-ache at the best of times. Luckily for him, it was about to become a little easier.

"Kardaeri's gone!" shouted an errant mechanic, punching the air. The TV monitor indeed showed the Starblaydi departing his vehicle, leaping over the very same fence over which Stang Crax had left previously.
"Where was he running?" asked race advisor Johan Johanson - friend and mentor to both McPahan drivers, well liked by the team, and very close to having been killed in that Linco McPahan explosion - approaching from the back. Johanson wasn't involving himself in the celebrations over another driver's retirement, having once been victim to a career-ending injury himself.
"Third" said Stan, drawing his colleague's attention.
"Kallasdun?" asked Johan. Xeb Kallasdun was the championship leader, but his failure to qualify in the top twenty had put pay to his realitic chances of winning the championship - he needed all of Sotil Morua, Alec Lund and Jai Kardaeri to either fail to finish or to drop down the order drastically, and he was only a third of the way through that task now.
Stan shrugged.
"Not seen any sign of him, hang on... 14th. Roger's still behind him. Looks like Xeb is holding him back, too, the guy isn't lapping too fast. Roger might try an overtake..."
"Hah" snorted Johan, "its Roger. Roger will definitely try a.... there we go". Johan was interrupted by a screen showing Bunn's name leapfrogging that of Kallasdun. Sure enough, a TV replay showed the Syndicatian swinging past his rival as Xeb failed to garner enough momentum coming out of turn four. More celebrations.
"Right" shouted Stan McPahan, his voice bringing the pit crew back into silence. "Equipment. Positions. Chop chop, three laps til the first stop"

---

The first stops went without a hitch. The second pit-stops went without a hitch, too. Alec Lund was still, as things stood, taking home the world championship. It wasn't going to be easy, though. Donal O'Connell had seen to that. The Charmunnry, on his home circuit, had forced his way past second-placed Morua. The team had rejoiced, as it put another position between himself and his biggest rival, but O'Connell was proving unstoppable. A spell dancing around in the wing-mirrors of Alec Lund had ended with the Audioslavian getting passed fair and square on the home straight, the rookie Lund almost making the mistake of rashly diving up the inside to try and take the corner back at the first corner, but wisely backing out at the last minute. Soon, O'Connell was in the distance, and Sotil Morua was gaining ground. Meanwhile, Stan McPahan had his calculator out.

---

"If things finish this way, it'll be equal which means..."
"Lund will win the title on countback" said Johanson. "You hadn't worked that out before the race?"
"Like I had time" said Stan, looking at a tired pitcrew reclining on a set of worn-out tyres. They had done their job for the day - at least so they hoped.
Kallasdun was still in the race, but well behind Roger Bunn - now in eighth and closing down on Enaut Londoso - and out of the points. Xeb would only be winning the title if both Morua and Lund crashed out. With only a handful of laps remaining, this wasn't exactly likely, though with McPahan and the occasionally erratic Lund, anything was possible.

Lund's lead over Morua shortened from four seconds to three, then to two, to one. Things were getting a little hairy.
"Fuel?" asked Stan, in the general direction of Johanson.
"Just enough. Can't afford to use any more per-lap than we are now" replied Johanson.
"And Morua?"
"Probably a little more in reserve. He'll be running a rich mixture, might have enough in the tank to do that til the end of the race. I don't know how long Lund'll last if... hang on, here we go"
On the screen, Morua zipped out of the final turn of the course before sweeping out behind Lund going down the home straight. Lund opted to maintain his position on the racing line, letting Morua have the dirty side of the track, but the Astograthian's momentum was enough to carry him through, forcing Lund to tuck in behind in time for turn one. That was all of the action the McPahan crew could see, before the television cameras cut to footage of themselves, staring forlornly at the screen, before switching to a jubilant Carvenlo crew. Carvenlo had already pretty much wrapped up the constructor's title and, if Morua could maintain this position, they'd have wrapped up the driver's title as well, doing the coveted 'double'.
The camera switched back to the race, showing the Carvenlo and the McPahan side-by-side going into turn two. Stan controlled himself amidst the pained yelps of his pit-crew as Morua closed the door on Lund, and the Audioslavian lost time in the chicane, falling a second behind his rival.
All was quiet again. But for the sound of speeding cars and screaming engines, you could have heard a pin-drop in the McPahan garage.

The laps ticked by. Four to go, three to go, two... one... the young Lund would be cruelly denied a famous championship win in his debut season. Unless... well, at this point, they needed outside help.

The gap, now half a second, closed slightly as the drivers entered into the final lap. Morua, having broken the race's lap record twice in succession, had slowed slightly. Fuel problems? It was difficult to tell. Either way, Lund had gained a fraction of pace on Morua, and things were about to get even more interesting. Dancing round turn one just in front of Lund and Morua was none other than Xeb Kallasdun. Stan thought for a second, and frowned.
"What's the penalty for.."
"More than ten points" said Johanson, reading his colleague's mind. "If Xeb tries something sneaky and bounces himself and both drivers off the track, he'll be disqualified from the race and probably the championship as well. He won't have anything to gain from causing an accident, anyway"
The second and third placed cars made ground on Kallasdun, who by all accounts had had a miserable afternoon. The three of them bounded around the chicane, swing round turn four, and sped up the big, long, curved back-straight.
"He's not slowing, he's not going to move over" said Stan,
"He will, he has to. Here we go..."

Kallasdun moved to the dirty side of the track, sportingly letting the racing drivers through, though probably not without thoughts of swinging over and shunting them both off the track. Morua kept on the racing line. Stan realised Lund was a lot, lot closer than he'd expected.
"He's going to.."
"Yep"
Lund flicked the car to the side and, using the momentum from a long slip-stream behind Morua, placed his car between Sotil and Xeb as the pair banked right for the kink in the back-straight.

A few laps ago, Morua had overtaken Lund through skill. Now, Lund was putting the question towards Sotil as to whether he had the bottle to go with it.

The three drivers stayed side-by-side as the tight right-hander approached, an interested third-party in the form of Xeb Kallasdun maintaining his pace - as he was wont to do, him having already made the important gesture of moving over to the inside to let the pair past. The corner loomed. Xeb broke first. The Paradystopi stood on the brakes, realising he was hopelessly misplaced to take the corner competitively, and that he was already on thin ice with maintaining pace with two guys who were lapping him.

Stan reasoned that, had he been allowed to, Lund would have been able to out-brake Morua and dive into the corner ahead of him. He never had the chance.

The circuit was a narrow one and, in order to get his car between that of Morua and Kallasdun, Lund had needed to put it in between Kallasdun's tyres. The sudden decelleration from the Paradystopi caught Lund out, and there was nothing the Audioslavian could do about Kallasdun's front tyre clipping his rear. The McPahan car shuddered and skittered into Morua, the tyres bouncing off one another and sending both cars spraying away from the track and into a wide, grassy run-off area. Kallasdun spun in a one-eighty in the middle of the track.

To anyone watching in a helicopter, it must have looked like the trio were immitating a motorcycle display team.

Hearts in mouths. Hands on foreheads. "Squeaky bum time". Stan and Johanson watched on, slack jawed, as Morua and Lund both managed to avoid hitting a wall or getting stuck in the grass, and both cars gingerly made their way back onto the track. Morua was back on first, ahead of Lund, but on dirty, grassy tyres, anything was possible. Lund followed Morua round The Moy complex, round a series of right-handers and into a long, narrowing left, the pair desperately trying to drum up as much speed as possible.

Morua was faster, but it would prove his downfall. Those grassy tyres screeched and complained round the penultimate left-hander, the back-end slipped away, and Lund dove up the inside. Morua managed to control the car, avoid a spin, but it was too late. The damage had been done. Lund traversed Margaret's Rise slowly, but efficiently, and once he was on the home straight and picking up pace, the bouncing began in the McPahan pit garage.

Alec Lund crossed the line to a rapturuous reception, the blue-clad McPahan team pogoing around the garage like insane tiggers, an enraptured audience applauding what was probably the most insane final lap of a grand prix they've ever seen. Had the McPahan garage had the volume turned up on their monitors, they'd probably have heard some adorably over-the-top commentary from the Audioslavian commentary team.

Johan picked up the radio.
"Champion! World Champion! I don't believe it, brilliant, just brilliant, congratulations Alec, Congratulations!"
Johan heard an answer. He frowned. He turned and gave a short, sharp order for everyone else to shut up.
"Sorry, Alec, can you repeat that?"
A short buzz. Alec answered. A short silence. Johanson frowned. He picked up the mic again.
"What do you mean the car's on fire?"

Roger Bunn crossed the line, ahead of the Yogutz of Londoso. Seventh. A glance at the score-board revealed it wouldn't be enough for McPahan to wrest the title from Carvenlo, but that was small beer compared to what he saw at the top of the leaderboard. Alexander Lund, World Champion. Jesus, the boy had only gone and done it.

Up ahead, he saw the man himself. On the side of the road. His thumb was in the air, like a hitch-hiker. Roger slowed the car from a hundred miles an hour to nearer two. Alec Lund hopped onto the side panel, wrapped an arm around the intake at the top of the car, and patted Roger on the helmet.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" shouted Roger, unsure if his colleague could hear. Whether he could or not, he didn't say. Alec merely pointed at a flaming car by the side of the road.
"How very McPahan" thought Roger.

---

to be continued

[Audioslavia]

"Quiet, quiet everyone, shush!" came Johan Johanson's voice. Alec Lund stood up, bottle of champagne in one hand, cigar in the other.
"Yyyyes" he said, struggling to maintain his balance. Roger Bunn stood up and grabbed his team-mate by the elbow, steadying the inebriated Audioslavian. "Shhhyou all need to see.... my... vvvvctry *hic*"
A smattering of sarcastic applause from the McPahan team, a few cheers, egging on their driver.

*Dum... dududum dududum dudum dmmmmm*

The familiar sounds of a bass guitar, the bridge section from a song called 'The Chain'', echoed throughout the bar of the posh hotel the McPahan team were staying in. Highlights of that day's Ancharmunn Grand Prix was starting.
"Need a pish" said Alec, turning round to Roger, who was still holding him by the elbow.
"Well you appreciate I can't keep acting as your zimmer frame all the way to the urinal" said Roger
"...why not?" replied Alec, frowning, eyes only occasionally meeting those of Roger.
"Well... good point. What I should have said was, 'I won't keep acting as your zimmer frame all the way to the urinal"
"Pfft" said Alec, stumbling out of his chair, in the vague direction of the hotel lobby and the toilets therein. Roger grimaced as Alec fell into a door, before sighing and getting to his feet. Roger, like most Syndicatians, had never been too bothered about alcohol. He'd had a glass of wine at the beginning of the evening, felt a little queasy for an hour, and decided to stick to the orange juice, after first chastising the bar's proprietor for not stocking Dandelion and Burdock.
"Gotcha, Alec, come on" said Roger, grabbing Alec by the shoulder and leading him towards the gents. He smiled apologetically at a couple of stragglers in the foyer, one of whom was taking out a camera and snapping a picture of the blind-drunk Audioslav, probably sending the pic straight to a newspaper.
Roger kicked open the swing-door to the gents toilet, lead Alec inside, kicked open a cubicle door and pushed his colleague gently into it. Alec, while pissed, still remembered to shut and lock the door behind him, which was a relief, and Roger giggled at the sound of a confused drunkard trying to take off his trousers.
"Theshe... posh fuckin' trousers" said Alec.
"Aye, they should fit velcro to the front, rather than those terribly complicated dual fastening contraptions they have. What are they called again, 'zips' and 'buttons'?"
"Shhhcomplicateted"
"It is, it is" said Roger. He made his way over to a urinal, unzipped himself in a tenth of the time it had taken for Alec to do the same, and relieved himself.
"You takin' a pish?" came Alec's voice, after a period of silence.
"Yep"
"Schagainst the roooools" blurbled the Audioslavian. Roger heard a loud *plop* from Alec's cubicle, and hoped at least that the thing that made that noise wasn't something Alec wanted to keep. He half expected a cry of 'oh no, my iPhone!' to come from the cubicle. A satisfied sigh and a muttered 'yeah, fuckoff you turd' put Roger's mind at rest. Kind of.
"Why is it 'against the rules'?" asked Roger, bewildered by the jabbering drunk.
"'cos I'm havin' a poo an' you're havin' a wee"
"What?"
"Well *you're* supposed to be the number two driver. You should be havin' the poo. I should be doin' the wee... cosh I'm the number one"
Roger and Alec maintained a dignified silence for all of three seconds before the giggling started. It only stopped when Alec started panicking about toilet roll.
"Hang on, I'll throw you some from another cubicle"
"Ow"
"Got it?"
"You 'it me on me 'ead"
"Have you got it, Alec?"
"Aye, 'shere"
More sounds from the cubicle. Roger tried to think about anything else. The toilet door opened, and in stepped Johan Johanson. He'd drunk as much as Alec had, but you couldn't tell. He was stumbling a little, but the guy had a wooden leg and the floor was slippery, so you had to make some concessions.
"Now then, guys, just checking you two hadn't popped off to the toilet for a shag."
"We did" came Alec's voice, still in the cubicle. "Just wipin' the blood off my trainers now"
Roger cringed. Johanson shrugged. Roger frowned.
"You weren't wearing trainers"
"Exshactly"
Johanson, obviously amused, went over to a urinal himself.
"You two are missing the race" he said.
"Seen it" said Roger, "well, admittedly all I saw was the exhaust pipes of various backmarkers, not the greatest view, but I can watch the highlights any time. Drunk Alec is a program that only happens once a year"
"True" said Johan, finishing up. "Well in that case, I have something do show you"
Roger looked a little perturbed as Johanson turned round, before realising, thankfully, that the old man had put himself back in his trousers.
"Show me what?"
"Both of you. It's outside. Hurry up, Alec"
"Almost done" came a voice from in the cubicle. The sounds of a lock being turned, slowly and cautiously, heralded the end of Alec's toilet adventure. The Audioslavian opened the door.
"You've tucked your shirt into your pants" said Roger, pointing at the waistband of Alec's boxers.
"Schclose enough"
"Come on" said Johanson, putting an arm round Alec's shoulder. "I've got a present for you two"
"I like presentschsh"
"Yes Alec, yes you do"

---

Outside the hotel was a large truck with the McPahan logo emblazoned on the side. Johanson unlocked the back door.
"This the truck you got trapped in?" asked Roger.
"Yup, though this insides were gutted after that race, and I put an opening mechanism in it too, just in case"
"Good thinking. What's in there now?" asked Roger.
"Take a look for yourself" said Johanson, swinging open the door and pressing a light switch.
The inside of the truck was illuminated. Roger stared, confused for a moment, before he realised what he was looking at.
"Hah!" exclaimed the Syndicatian. Even the inebriated Lund smiled, having realised what was happening at the same time as Roger.
Roger stepped into the truck.
"This tyre... third race, Polar Islandstates..."
"Yup" said Johan, "we found it buried in a tyre-wall. It was obviously yours. It was hexagonal"
"Very funny" said Roger, "and this, this is Alec's. Pre-season shunt. This shard of carbon fibre..."
"Bashtard shard" said Alec, frowning. "Almost killed me"
"So did this wing" said Roger, picking up a since-discontinued front wing. "This is from the bridge"
"Look at all thoshe gearboxes" said Alec, looking at a row of discarded transmission systems on the right hand side of the garage.
"This charred one, that's from when my car caught fire" said Roger. "And this one, from early in the season, race two, that's Alec's. There's suspension systems, four tyres... you could build a whole new car out all this"
"You could, probably, given a few extra nuts and bolts" said Johanson, nodding. "It wouldn't work, mind, and six transmission systems is probably over-egging the gear-change pudding."
"Pudding" repeated Alec, looking around. "I like pudding"
"Yes Alec" chimed Roger and Johanson. Roger stopped for a second.
"None of this is... .you know..."
"Covered in Linco? No. That all got destroyed. The empty bottle of sealant is there, though"
"Indeed it is. We won't be using that for next season"
"Indeed not" said Johanson. "Though Radoslav is staying on, so who knows what he could come up with. I, on the other hand, might not"
Roger tossed the empty bottle of Rubidove around in his hands, before frowning and looking across at Johanson.
"..what?"
"Aye. Well, I'll be around, but probably not as race advisor. Been thinking about setting up my own team. Not WGPC, not now, but maybe in a few years. Starting small."
"Wow... where are you getting the money? How long ago have you been thinking about this? What level of competition? How..."
"Hah, all in good time, Roger, I haven't finalised the deals myself, yet, nothing's set in stone. Keep it to yourself. I'll still see you next season, assuming you're still at McPahan"
"I hope so" said Roger. "The idea that I'm second best to this guy is rather galling".
Roger and Johan turned to look at Alec, who was slumped in a corner of the truck, sprawled on two tyres, fast asleep, snoring like a champion.
"He deserves it. Just." said Johan.
"He does deserve it" said Roger, "next season, though, next season is mine"
"Well, we'll see. Next season is just a few months away"