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The Weekly Grind
Topic Started: Apr 27 2015, 08:48 PM (1,097 Views)
CondorTalon
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SANDRA DYER - PREGAME START

Skateboard against bench.

Helmet on bench.

Butt on bench.

And Sandra was ready for her break!

She popped open the can of Coke she'd bought and took a few big gulps, as she looked out onto the park proper. It was unusually quiet Saturday at the park, as she could only count three or four other people riding around. That was two people on skateboards, and two on bikes. Well, at least they were actually using the pipes and the rails to do tricks, unlike on some occasions where there would be a bunch of kids on scooters, riding around at the bottom of the pipe.

Oh god, the kids on scooters. Some weekends, Sandra couldn't even get to use the pipes at all. Like, what was the point of the pipes if people were just going to ride at the bottom? Couldn't they... oh who knows, ride somewhere else?

Sandra wasn't hating on those kids, really, but it was just a frustrating situation.

But that was a tangent. On this occasion, there weren't that many people, which meant that Sandra was able to get good mileage out of the pipes.

Sandra fished out her phone, checking the time. It was currently 3:48 PM. She put her phone away, then dug through her bag and pulled out a sandwich.

Munch.
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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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"Yep, yep. You've done well, young grasshopper," Sandra said, before taking another bite of her sandwich. She was half tempted to pat Irene's head jokingly, but she didn't feel like getting bread crumbs in her friend's hair.

Instead she opted for a quick thumbs up.

"Please hold while I finish refueling myself," Sandra stated, with the sandwich halfway in her mouth already. She was almost done, anyway, so it wouldn't take long.

Sure enough, Sandra soon dusted her hands of crumbs before gripping her board. A quick push got her to her feet, and they began to bring her to her destination: the grind rails. She dragged the board behind her, and with a quick step she threw the board down. Upside-down, of course.

The board popped over onto its wheels, and Sandra hopped onto it, giving it another push.

"C'mon, don't get left behind!" she called out behind her.
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"I've done hoppingly well. Wait shit, that didn't come out right." Somewhere in the unfathomable depths of Irene's mind several potential references and dubiously witty statements had been cross-wired into a final result with no impact or worth. Irene braced for the condescending drum roll of fingers across the crown of her head. Her year under Sandra's wing had repeatedly proven who the superior of the art of board was. In Irene's defense, she had upped her win-loss ratio significantly. Roughly thirty percent was way better than single digits, objectively.

"Holding." Irene watched Sandra bolt down her meal with only a few odd hand gestures that may or may not have been abortive attempts at communication. She was in the middle of one when Sandra was suddenly off. "Yo, wait up you fuck!" Disrespectful as the address was it was Irene's most often used pronoun by a significant margin, along with a slew of variants on other cuss words such as 'bitch' and 'shit'.

Her board took a bit of work to retrieve, but she scooped it up and was on Sandra's heels, feet in their familiar stance atop her faithful old skateboard with it's many peeling cat stickers. Irene wasn't that far behind, a fact she happily retorted despite her need to conserve breath. "I'll leave you behind!" Nailed it.

The grind rail wasn't Irene's specialty. This was going to be a show.
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Sandra didn't believe in simply popping an ollie onto a rail. Well she did, before she got good enough to chain tricks together. But now, that stuff was for plebs.

"Alright, let's get the show started," she said, as she approached a rail.

She popped herself upward, shifting her front foot diagonally to kick the board around. As the board came back around, she brought her feet down, keeping her weight on her back foot and leaning slightly back. As she approached the end of rail, she wound up her upper body, and the instant before the back truck left the end, she twisted, bringing her body and the board around. She landed on the back wheels and shifted around to keep everything else off the ground.

There it was. A perfect... well decent, kickflip tailgrind to 180 fakie manual. Her technique could be slightly better but...

"You see that, Irene? That's how we do it in- oh shit!"

Of course, the instant Sandra's focus went anywhere other than her skateboard was the instant that another rail snuck up on her, clipping the back of her shins and sending her over the rail to land her butt on the board.

"Fuckin'... I call mulligan on that! Fuck!"
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Sandra had maybe said something. Maybe. If nobody heard the sound, did it exist? Did that classic didactic device even apply when Sandra had the obvious ability to hear herself say things? Flashpoint thoughts that evaporated as fast as they came, shunted aside by the thrill of adrenaline gouging deep into her grey matter.

Sandra's one-upping Irene however was perceived in slow motion. With each addendum to the laundry list of executed tricks Irene's heart fluttered, feeling the visceral joy of indulging in the power and skill of another. Sure she should have been feeling nervous, feeling the visceral pressure to perform against her long standing rival. From head to toe. Knees should have been weak, arms should have been heavy. But Irene only felt proud of the girl who'd been her mentor for over a year now, for the beauty and grace displayed by an expert in her craft-

Nope, fail.

"Nice one!" Smug retort flew out of Irene's gaping mouth as she neatly swerved around the grind rail and past Sandra's fallen form. "What happened to doing it or whatever you were- whoa!" Irene's vernacular was as neatly clipped as her board was by a step she had been cruising towards. Sans awareness- typical- Irene was also felled, toppling forward. Reflex born of many years of taking unwanted tumbles kicked in and she was able to pull a front roll out of her ass at the last second. A maneuver she managed to bunk up anyways when her elbow gave out, leading her to take a break fall directly to the back.

"Ouch! Fuck this gay Earth!" A strong and offensive sentiment to match the pain Irene acutely suffered in her spine, feeling like it was a step short of fragmenting into bits. Irene lay, stirred feebly. "... Kay. We both ignore. Deal?" She feebly murmured, probably not even loud enough for Sandra to hear. While her recovery from 'RIP' to 'critical condition' seemed fast it took something of an eternity, as far as Irene was concerned.
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Any frustration that Sandra may have felt from her wipe out and the subsequent teasing from Irene was erased instantly as she followed in her wake. Sandra's scowl shifted to that of a grin briefly, even as she tried not to. It seemed that karma had arrived to shift the balance of the world back in check.

Sandra got her butt off from the board and kicked it up into her hand. The stinging in her shins and the pounding of her rear did little to abate the feeling of excitement and pride she'd felt for herself. Up until she'd been sneak attacked by that pesky rail, she'd gotten it down pat. So really, it was the rail's fault. That rail was out to get her, and she would get her revenge. She kicked and yelled and pulled out a giant flaming sword and hacked the rail to bits.

In her imagination, of course.

"Come on soldier," she said as she approached her fallen comrade. She held her hand out, inviting the other girl to take it, to try again, to stare into the abyss and jump headlong screaming that she wouldn't give up, to use the lifeline that she'd been given in front of her, to use that 1-up she'd purchased from the app store for only 99 cents wow that metaphor got away from her really quickly.

"There's more work to be done."
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Irene cursed Karma, something she hadn't done since the spring playoffs of 2014's LCS season. Did she deserve this and more for her hubris and arrogance? Probably. Didn't mean it didn't hurt. If she'd somehow had the ability to summon a giant flaming sword from thin air she would have stabbed her pain. In the face. But unfortunately her pain had no face nor corporeal form, so here she was, busily resting not in peace.

"Fuck you, I'm insubordinating." Probably not a proper verb as far as Miriam-Webster was concerned. "Uuuuugh." Nor that. Irene made a spectacle of herself reaching for Sandra's hand. The fallen man reaching to his comrade desperately, gritting his teeth against the pain as violins softly swelled in the background. There was even a bit of a tremble in her hand, though that may actually have been due to pain rather than misplaced theatrics.

It still hurt more than a bit, right at the base of her tailbone. That was to say, her ass was sore as hell. Irene was tenderly rubbing at the sweet spot above her non-facial cheeks. In broad daylight. Well, as daylight as it actually was with the cloud cover.

"Can we take five? Like, five hours?"
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"Mmm... best I can do is five minutes."

Sandra hopped back on her board, cruising down back to where her stuff was. She turned her body to and fro as she made the short trip to the benches.

She waited for Irene to follow.

"That's like three minutes for your ass rub, and two minutes to mend your pride, by the way!" she called out behind her.

The bench approached. Sandra did a quick powerslide to use up the momentum of her trip, then as her board skidded to a halt she popped it up while leaning back onto the bench. Then, the last crucial step, actually catching her board with her hand.

She sat there, twirling the board, waiting for her friend to drag her humbled self back.
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Screw that. Irene continued to crank her knuckles against the sore flat of her ilium, mewling grumpily to herself as she shot Sandra the most exaggerated and theatrical of stink eyes, eyebrows virtually vanishing into her blonde locks.

"This ass needs all five, bitch! Too fat for you!" Whether or not that had been the greatest comeback ever uttered by a sentient being since the dawn of time Irene didn't care. She was in pain, dammit, she would grouse as she felt necessary. But it wasn't even fifteen seconds later that she felt a restless wave of energy snap her leg muscles to attention. Sandra was doing the whole 'you're so 2000 and late' thing again. For fucks sake, she had to pull out a powerslide. If there was any embarrassingly basic trick Irene didn't really have the finesse to pull without gaining mad and completely unintentional air it was that one. "Ripping on me, huh? This isn't over, Dyer!" She was still nursing a tenderized spine but to hell with it, she'd herniate every single disc if she had to.

With a swish and a flick her board Wingardium Leviosaed, a basic kickflip she carried right into one of Sandra's benches. There was a moment of danger where her skewed feet almost faltered before they finally remembered to stop being asleep and snap back into position so she could actually land on her board. Her board snapped onto the bench, then she rolled backwards and neatly hopped onto pavement, scooping her board up before it was similarly earthbound. Not anything to write home from a quiet Western Front about, but it would do.

She seemed to still be sore, judging by the hand already creeping around her lovehandles.
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"Now yer talkin', soldier! No pain, no gain! Can't bust a rail without bustin' a wrist."

To emphasize her point, she twirled her free wrist. Sandra had, in fact, broken both of her wrists in the past. Those were not some fun times.

It looked like Irene didn't even need the five minutes. More like five seconds.

"Alright, let's take it easy, at least. It looks like you could use some of that."

Sandra hopped back on her board.

"How about you head to where you wanna? I'm taking a break from being in the lead."
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Irene totally sympathized with the wrists thing. Felt a bit of a dull throb in her old bones reminding her of the many things she'd broken in the past. A fresh thorn into her back reminded her that some of those things had been broken all to recently.

"I'll take it easy when I'm dead, Dryer." Irene had overused that one the first time she'd come up with it. "Kay kay. Let's take this into my turf." She took off with nary a word and a double digit 'L' shot Sandra's way. Irene was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb. And a sudden, overly loud "Ahahahaha!" The thrill of the chase, of potential glory (read, failure and death) carried her on, caused an arrogant laugh to burst from her lips. But even in this moment part of Irene's mind happily meandered. She wondered what her relationship with Sandra really was, mentor-ship in board arts aside. Maybe they were mutually competitive, but that meant little besides headaches and broken bones- mostly broken bones, really- without other common ground. Maybe-

Irene returned from Wonderland just in time to respond to the looming issue of stairs in front of her. It was four or five relatively narrow steps on this particular ledge, which was perfect for what she had in mind. The trick she'd been training above all others, primarily because her house had a stoop with a few steps so practice grounds were easily accessible. She ollied up, sticking her landing with nary a wobble. That of course was the easy part. Now she had to Faker back and smoothly roll over the stairwell in a fakie firecracker. Double tricks. That would probably be something that even Sandra would have no choice to be impressed by. Praise from senpai, one could say Irene's heart went doki doki...

But. She'd forgotten to account for the fact that Sandra had probably been following her, however, not until it was already possibly too late.

"Sandy, look out! I'm being stupid again!" Irene was torn in her split-second decision, whether to bail and ruin what would probably be the most flawless set up she'd be able to get for the rest of the day, or to keep going and risk becoming a bodily projectile. No time to think. As if she would have anyways. Without a backwards glance she swerved like fuck, messily hopping off her skateboard so it sort of pathetically puttered down the steps.
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Sandra had, by this point in their friendship, gotten used to all of Irene's little quirks. She could, in fact, say that she'd embraced them. So Sandra didn't pay any mind when Irene started laughing out of nowhere. Sandra was almost tempted to laugh along, but decided against it.

As Sandra followed behind Irene to the hubba ledge, she paid close attention to what Irene was doing. Stair tricks were never Sandra's forte, so she wanted to see what Irene had in store for her.

And as she caught Irene skating back toward her, shouting something about being stupid, she could confidently say the answer was not that.

"Whoa now!"

Yes, Irene would come flying back into her arms! It would be like something from a romance novel! The scandals would spread around the school at a breakneck speed, and they'd have to hide, fugitives from the law or the man or whatever it was! They'd be hiding in dumpsters, trying to desperately continue their education from a trashed laptop that still somehow worked, leeching wi-fi from the nearby McDonald's!

Or not.

But on the plus side, Sandra got a new board!

"Man, fate is just not on either of our sides, today, huh?" Sandra called out, grabbing Irene's board.
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In her mind's eye Irene envisioned herself falling backwards into the impressively toned arms of her senpai. A look would pass between them, Irene's chest softly rising and falling against her savior's delicate hands. Irene would reach up, a tiny quiver to her mouth as her mind raced for words that could express her gratitude. 'No need'. A beautifully deep yet realistically completely non-existent masculine voice anticipated Irene's every thought. The hold that wrapped around Irene like the china doll she was tightened, gentle but firm, body heat radiating between the two as Sandra's eyes twinkled in anticipation of her just award, a gift Irene would be all too eager to plant onto those firm, juicy... And then nine months later, the first child would be presented to them swaddled in soft alpaca furs and-

Okay no, fuck Sandra. Nobody owned her board save her. It had been a nice vision while it lasted though, if totally out of left field. It was well within her mental realm, these momentary segues that took an apparent eternity to slog through despite split second resolution. Was it a sign of genius? ADHD? Time dilation since Irene happened to be as infinitely dense as a black hole?

"Pretty much. I think we've fucked up more moves than usual today." Irene strode up to the girl who she had only moments ago been mentally constructing a lesbian love scene with. A hand was held out. "Return my thingy before I cap you. Kill you, I mean. Kiss. Wait. Shit." That got Irene to take a stuttering step back, wildly confused by her own inability to say words correctly. "Kick! That's the word." A blush played roguishly over her cheeks. She wasn't actually attracted to Sandra by any means, but damn was she caught up in the completely artificial moment.
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Sandra dropped Irene's board almost as quickly as she'd picked it up, footing it over to Irene. She was confident that Irene would be able to catch it, but maybe this day really was bad for both of them and she'd catch it with her ankles or something.

"Whatever you say, Irene. I wouldn't want you do any of those things to me. Except maybe the kiss. Maybe if you were a dude," Sandra said coyly.

Sandra kicked her own board up and caught it with her hands.

"I usually don't say this, but what do you say we quit while we're ahead? Let me amend that. What do you say we quit while we still have all our bones intact?"

Really, Sandra had only wiped out once, but she was still feeling a dull pain in the back of her shins. And Irene... she didn't want to know what would happen if they kept going. Facial stitches? A broken arm? A freak thunderstorm that would zap Irene into the next life?

Okay, that last one probably wouldn't happen, but still.
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