"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Viewing Single Post From: The Weekly Grind
Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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((Irene Djezari continued from Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times, you and I...))

It was kinda cold, that one day out of the other three sixty four in Kingman. Irene had thus afforded herself a wool sweater of significant thread count, Ann Taylor tag neatly crushed in the vise of her skinny jeans' waistband. Weird garb for a skater, but she totally thought it was on point as she worked at making physics bend over on her behalf. So far each nip at the stoic quarter pipe had been lazy, she'd been more busy scanning her potential audience. Irene knew, realistically, only one person there was paying attention to her.

But even without attention she was doing it. With a strong heave and contraction of her knee her quiet was broken, she hurtled up the pipe. She snapped her body at the last second, right before she'd fly over the cusp, forcing the flat of her board to mash itself against the pipe's edge; the axles of her board were now sitting proudly atop the incline they had conquered. She had to smile and gasp in thrill at that point. She could virtually hear the booming bass of her triumphant horn section announcing her ascension in so many pleasant tones.

But she wasn't done. She had momentum grinding her across the full length of the quarter pipe. The ten out of ten cards were waiting for her. With a bit of fancy footwork using her momentum she heelflipped, feet popping out and then promptly back in to snap the board. It carried her back the way she came, she smoothly returned to earth from the not-so-lofty heights she'd achieved, traveling backwards against her dominant legwork with grace nobody, least of all herself, was used to seeing from her with any regularity. A fakie, or as she styled it in honor of the League gods, a Faker.

"You see this, Sandra?!"

Irene wasn't shouting in any particular direction, in fact at the moment she was technically addressing a biker, whose potential status as a 'Sandra' was made highly dubious by the thick beard and craggy chin. Irene continued her neat backwards roll to Sandra's side, almost stuck her landing but ended up trawling backwards off her board in an awkward manner that sent the board flying away into oblivion while Irene herself nearly stumbled into Sandra's lap. She caught herself only at the last second, slamming heavily onto the bench beside Sandra.

"Fuck! Still counts." Irene still wasn't really looking at Sandra, but anyone who'd known Miss Djezari for any length of time knew that proper eye contact was sometimes elusive. "Still counts." With that reiteration she finally looked at Sandra, a friendly glare daring Miss Dyer to respond in kind. Thanks and praise was welcome, death threats were less so.
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