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The Weekly Grind
Topic Started: Apr 27 2015, 08:48 PM (1,101 Views)
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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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"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 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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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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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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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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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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"Gah!" A witty riposte to be sure. Irene fumbled in place for a good moment, reached for her falling board in exaggerated slow motion. Maybe actual slow motion, since Irene sometimes lacked for response time despite normally on point reflexes. It really sold her natural talents short. But then selling herself short was something Irene just did. "I- I-" Irene managed to pop up a foot and restrain the board before it escaped her yet again. "I had a hand out, Sandy!" Irene wasn't really flustered. Even if she was in pain it was probably her own fault anyways, so being annoyed with Sandra would have been purposeless.

Well alright. she was slightly miffed that her nonexistent love for Sandra had been spurned.

"Come on. Don't discriminate." Irene was maybe a bit too eager to defend her inklings of passionate make-outs with senpai.

But Sandra was right, it was the time to declare a ceasefire before the continued arbitrary degeneration of their skills left them cracking their skulls open trying to do basic ollies. "Ca-ow-ard." There was no particular reason for phonetically dividing the word up like that, it just sort of came out. "But fine. A good general knows when to retreat and fight another day. This war shall be ours, Sandra!" Time wouldn't tell any time soon, what sort of war it was they were fighting. What could be known was that Irene would unfailingly return no matter losses sustained, be they three losses in a row to Sandra or the loss of cohesive bone structure in her wrists.

"But yeah, I mean. Uh. See you in school?" An awkward hanging question to end their time together. Response was moot, Irene was already gone, breaking off into a run impressive both in speed and atrociously arm-flailing form even though she had nowhere to be that urgently.

((Irene Djezari continued in Laws Of Motion))
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