Greaseball fumed standing behind the building she always raced in, the moonlight painting her softly when she was anything but 'soft' at the current moment. She scowled, crossing her arms.

Greaseball the Union Pacific Diesel had lost a race. She'd lost at the last second, shoulder-bumped back just an inch – and it cost her the finish line. That damned Silver Bullet. Oh how she'd—

Oh. Someone was approaching her.

"Not signing autographs right now, piss off." She'd spat, maybe a little colder than she'd intended. She didn't even look up at who'd approached her.