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After an hour out at the high 80 weather, he finally finished waxing his car. The flat black 1970 Charger was once something that came out of the dump lot, originally burnt orange with a dark olive green cover. Since picking up the car, improving not only the exterior but the interior and transmission as well, he's done well to keep it alive to be road-healthy. The new color was kept has it once was for another Charger: black with while detail on the back with a black cover. It has improved in stats as well aside the color; transmission kept at manual, improved horsepower and speed, increased velocity majorly, everything. Mostly everything. He struggled on with his acceleration, but tries to find ways to overcome it with it slowing down on him.

It was barely 2 in the afternoon on Friday, and there was nothing else to do. He simply went inside back in his one story house, leaving the car out to shine on.

Compton's life has nothing exciting in it, except improving his '70 Charger, to be happy about it. Most people know the white malamute, but he doesn't know any back. Work he does, but no excitement comes out of it. He works for money; simple as that. For now, he has Friday, and the weekend, off for his "enjoyment". What enjoyment?

He turned on the television, seeing what was on. A show barely went out for commercials to come. He did have other channels to watch, but something on the first commercial kept him on track with the channel. Cars. Most of them being exotic, cruiser, and muscle cars.

"Car shows have been around for a long time," the announcer started with a bass tone, "in many different areas of the city, but none of them lasting more than a few hours. Why not go to one that can last for a real day? Why not 3 days, the whole weekend?

"For the first time ever around the city, the first ever car convention: the Midwest Motorsport Association--MWMA! Supported by some of the several people who started some of the good car shows around: 'Spyder Gun', 'Sincontra', and 'Solstice'." For every name the announcer has said, it showed a clip of the person and their unique car behind.

Who the hell is 'Spyder Gun'? Compton wondered. The announcer went on with what he had to say.

"There will be food, drinks, beer, cars, foreign cars, tracks to race on, famous destroyed cars, F1 racers for specific days, and much, much more!!" It sounded like a person from the radio who's talking about liquidation on a bankrupt store. "Since this is the first car convention around the city, you have to come around to keep this event alive and driven. On Ashbury Field and Reservation Road, on IH-49, this weekend only. Midwest Motorsport Association!!"

Compton thought about it for a minute, thinking if it was legitimate. It was its first year alive in for the people, so things may be lacking. Not only that: it is the first car convention, or any convention, to be near his area. It is the closest, even if it is only 12 hours away. The Ashbury Field and Reservation Road was on IH-49, and an hour away from an intersection with IH-35. It was still within the state, so what's there to lose?

He decided to go later that day.

Off the distance, someone different just came out walking from the local store, family owned. He came out with a Coke, a drink from the walk from work to his home. He doesn't talk much, nor does he make much eye contact to anyone.

Most of the people Se' Roh meets avoid eye contact, looking the other way, or some people just stare at the fennec fox for an excess amount of time. He knows why they do what they do with eye contact, and he doesn't make much of a big deal for it; no offense to him. He can't help it and doesn't bother to change it. So what if his eyes just "stand out" more than anything else?

His house was only a few blocks away. Just a turn ahead and a straight walk ahead. He didn't have to work till next Tuesday, so he didn't have much to rush.

When he reached the turning point, he stopped at the usual wooden pole he comes by when walking to the same store and looks at it. There were several posters on it, some torn from past events, but one stood out more than the other ones already pasted on the pole, aside the yellowing: a poster, made out of cardstock, saying something about a car convention.

_ Hm...maybe from last year..._ Se' Roh wondered. He looked at the poster closer, and noticed that the convention was from the current year. Not only that, it didn't pass yet; it was starting the next day.

He decided to go to finally use his car to something he can get recognized with...other than his eyes.

After a quick stop to the auto store, Bonvodo drove back to his house to fix up his thirty-year old car he's kept since he was eighteen. The only thing that keeping the meerkat to keep the car he could've sold for a few bucks, is that it's the first car that his dad gave him before he died of the flu a few days before. Well...he had the flu...he just got run over by a drunken driver in broad daylight.

Now, he tries to keep his memory alive by keeping the car alive. He had found a better performance car, but to keep the gift car alive will mean everything to him.

He drifts through the road, being only a black (and slightly red) blur across the road. He bought the Viper from a friend because he wanted another car. What made this car more special other than just a regular Viper is that it was an ACR. It was his first sports car to be driving and it kept him on the speed on the road. Thought it was street legal, it didn't satisfy his hunger to drive as fast as he can, or at least drift around it. He couldn't go up more than 3 gears, his car going up to 6 gears max.

On the way, he looked up to a highway billboard, seeing what it had to say. He usually ignored the billboards, like most people, but there's something there that's doing a good job of having him look up. Car convention... Bonvodo thought M.W.M.A. this weekend...no risks. He found out what he was going to do with his weekend, delaying to fix his car. He has all the time in the world to fix it up; now, he has to satisfy his hunger for speed.

He closed down the hood of his Mustang Boss, something he had recently bought. Keeping what was already given in the Mustang, he tried to vamp it up into something better. The fixes were made, the oils were changed, and now there's nothing more to do but to test out the car and see how it flows through.

...If he had the nerve to do it.

Sikari walked back inside his home, tired from working in his garage most of the midday. The grey cougar could've done more, greater things in life that he could've done in the instant. The only problem is that he lives out in the country; the nearest neighbor of his being an acre away. He could've have been living in a different area, if the country side didn't offer a private road.

Slipping through his couch, he picks up the remote and flips the television on and sees what's on. Hardly anything has caught his attention, not even the racing programming. He doesn't know why he keeps flipping the channels for.

He stopped flipping to a random channel, unknown to what the channel is because it's apparently showing a commercial. It was the same commercial that Compton watched.

It caught Sikari's attention throughout the whole commercial; wondering if he should go.

Hm... he wondered, thinking if he should go. After a minute or so, he decided, throwing the remote to the other side of the couch.

"Screw it."