Charioteers (Private)

Laure saw Lorne charging up with scary determination. A golden laurel crown had appeared on his head -- a blessing from his mother? A magic item? Laure didn't know, but she didn't want to stick around to find out.

"Come on!" she shouted at her horses, jolting the reins. They doubled their speed but Lorne was still gaining on them.
The pole was coming up. Laure shortened her reins, calculating, preparing. She pulled the reins around at exactly the right moment, leaning into the turn so much the outer wheel lifted up... and slammed back down on the other side of the lap. The axle creaked dangerously. Don't you dare, she thought, as if she could convince it of not breaking.

Lorne was closing in now. The Roman kept her eyes ahead, allowing herself a glance back every five or so seconds to check. After the next pole, they would be on their last lap. She couldn't afford to keep playing any half-@ssed cards now. She was out for blood.
Alright what else do you have in store? she wondered, glancing over the gleaming chariot. There was a lyre, a tree, a raven... She randomly gave the lyre a tap. Immediately, a Justin Bieber song assailed her ears, coming out of invisible speakers. She winced. Did Apollo children race with earbuds?

"What? You piece of..." The spirits of victory shot towards her chariot, slamming against it and denting it in. "Graecus scum!" she shouted as her vehicle jolted left and right. Her hand found the symbol again and another jet of arrows sprung out. Two hit a Nikè, which exploded. Another shot through a golden sphere and into the median wall, skewering it away. Laure regained mastery of the reins and urged her horses faster as the last Nikè danced between her wheels, hitting the pieces holding the chariot to the horses. A glance over her shoulder told her Lorne was dangerously close. She pulled her lips back over her teeth. A symbol glowed up in front of her... a conch? Out of impulse and ADHD, she pressed it.
Immediately, a deafening sound emanated from the chariot. Laure almost lost the reins to cover her ears. It was as if someone was hitting a giant saxophone against a dying accordion. Even the Nikè cringed and momentarily fled. Her horses seemed unphased though. They were probably used to it. None bolted, reared, flattened their ears or tried turning around.