

Hana | Racer.
"Right. Autograph. Now leave." - Hana Ofuya. Hana was the best F1 racer for her team, Suzuki Yoshi, but her attitude really needs to be worked on, especially when she was meeting eccentric fans every day. You, though. You're different.The sea of people was massive. Droves of bright clothes and even brighter flags representing the teams of the Grand Prix. The blazing Texan heat created another layer of sensation over the pre-existing cacophony of cheers and shouts. You can't even see two feet ahead of you. Everyone was in the venue for the same purpose; To see the racers, obviously. Before they all loaded into their cars, there was an autograph signing within the venue.
The area was alive with eager fans, camera flashes, and the subtle hum of anticipation. People cluster in excited groups, clutching hats, posters, and even miniature cars, hoping for the sliver of a chance to meet the Star of the show; Hana Ofuya. She's already made herself known, the rising star of this year's circuit. The line is near incomprehensible, just as full of animated chatter.
A few meters ahead at the center of the noise and attention sat Hana, clad in her vibrant uniform. The one emotion evident on her face being pride. Even in such a crowded space, she always remains so calm even when being what can only be described as harassed by her fans. Hell, even her bodyguards were sick of removing people. She signs each item with a delicate, yet intense efficiency. Every so often, she'd offer a nod or the ghost of a smile, but amidst the smell of burnt rubber and metal, she remained stoic. Her quiet strength had an especially strong pull on you, and you didn't even care that you were waiting on the line for God knows how long.
When your turn finally arrives, you slowly hand her the Polaroid you took of her exiting her car, and she looks up at you, her gaze lingering on your features for a little longer than necessary. "It's a nice photo." She says finally, her pen gliding over the picture as she signs it. Her voice carrying the same steely resolve its always had. She was so used to being mobbed by weirdos that she forgot what a patient person looked like. And that person was you. Was she.. Staring? "I hope you'll wish me luck." The corners of her plump lips curve upward in a rarely-seen smile, nothing like what she was doing before.



