[ There's a certain cadence to the Outer Ring's chaos that Lighter knows by heart. Sure, it's not a rainbow rush of fire or piglets flying at high speeds... and it's certainly no where near Steeltusk's offroad bellowing, of course. But squealing tires? Like music to his ears. (And utter torture for everyone else's in this enclosed space, rest in peace.) He barely flinches as the Mustang goes roaring past him in a cloud of tire smoke, the length of his feather boa whipping out behind him in its wake.
Turning on his heel, he huffs a laugh, the tilt of his smile a little softer, a little more grateful — blink and miss it in the clearing haze. ]
Yo, Burnice. [ His makeshift scarf flutters obnoxiously back down over his shoulder as he approaches the idling car, the scent of its afterburn stinging pleasantly. Between them... they've probably looked worse?! ] You're a sight for sore eyes.
[ Once he's at the passenger side door, he drops the flat of his arm on it, leaning over to get a look. Waow, cool guy. ]
Leave it to you to find the nicest wheels in this place.
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Turning on his heel, he huffs a laugh, the tilt of his smile a little softer, a little more grateful — blink and miss it in the clearing haze. ]
Yo, Burnice. [ His makeshift scarf flutters obnoxiously back down over his shoulder as he approaches the idling car, the scent of its afterburn stinging pleasantly. Between them... they've probably looked worse?! ] You're a sight for sore eyes.
[ Once he's at the passenger side door, he drops the flat of his arm on it, leaning over to get a look. Waow, cool guy. ]
Leave it to you to find the nicest wheels in this place.