Previously...
"What is going on?" A voice cuts the two off, she turns to the team principal Christian and to the red bull reserve driver Pierre Gasly. The young man that is only a little of a year older then Max. She sends Jos a glare and points the screwdriver at him in a threatening way to show him to keep his bullshitting mouth closed.
———
The air is thick with the hot humidity that Singapore has to offer, the sweaty hot weather rolling through the night sky, sun heating up the unmistakable hot sweaty and humid air that has always been Singapore. The hot air feeling suffocating to most people and inhuman to be working in. It has people sweating and their clothing stench with the odour of their body sweat while turning a shade darker.
The teenage girl still holds the screwdriver threateningly in the direction of the Dutchman that she is planning to murder in his bed tonight. Keeping the glare on her face as she stares at the egotistical man that she has called on multiple occasions a wanker. Her mouth never cane with a filter on it even from the moment she learned to talk.
It had always been an inability that she had formed when she was young, her teachers always hated her when she spoke before she thought. She always had something to say to those teacher who thought that just because she was famous and the daughter of one of the spice girls. That she would be stupid, her brilliance had always been frightening to people. The amount she understood at a young age, she way she picked up things and learned cursing from the world that she grew up in.
The small toddler has his tiny chubby hands clutched in Millie's red bull jacket that she stole from her father earlier today. Breathing deeply and shallow, leaning in her side as she protectively wraps her arm around his small frame to protect him from the monster that kept him from his father.
"Princess, who's the kid?" Christian asks curiously while he looks at the infant that sleeps in her side. The teen turns her attention to the team principal that runs this entire show. She can see the curiosity dance like flames in his eyes, intrigued yet confused of the child's presences in the garage. Who he can undoubtedly see that he looks just like his teenage racing driver that is still out on the track.
The inhuman hot climate no longer affecting them in the way that another employee of this paddock would perceive it. The air feels tense for the four of them standing with the infant while Jos shifts on his feet. Nervously looking between the teenage girl that doesn't give him the pleasure of diverting her attention to anything else, the screwdriver still pointed in his direction.
The air is slowly turning unbearably tense to the point of suffocation, so tense that one could break the ice by just shifting. Nothing indicates the men that Millie is backing down and letting things go about whatever that had gone on previously to their arrival. A pin could be dropped and be heard miles away with this tension.
"Bartholomew Sem Verstappen, conceived by a Kassandra Zimmermann and Max Emilian Verstappen. Put in the orphanage by the one and only insufferable wanker of this bloody who thinks that he runs this shit show. His ego and his self-entitlement to do this to his own son is beyond monstrous and too sick for words in my opinion. Innit, senior?" Millie says harshly to the older dutchman standing next to her.
Jos had officially every last bit of respect that the teenager had for him, which was nothing more then a mere thin little hair of his head. So thin that it would have been considered a microscopic bacteria. An organism that is smaller then the human eye is capable of seeing. Her non-existing respect for this man is all thanks to himself. His insufferable pathetic mind twisting wanker makes her want to vomit.
