An Indie Air Gear RP Blog, featuring the OC Cibor Hiraoka. No art belongs to me unless otherwise stated. This blog is post-canon divergent, having major events that happen after the Manga's end. Please message me if you have questions.
His alarm was going off for the fifth time that morning. This wasn’t atypical; as he set multiple alarm specifically to be sure he woke up. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but curse anyone but himself for his phone’s habit of loudly protesting the desires of anyone wishing to be asleep at 5:30am.
Sadly, he couldn’t allow it to continue. His parents would be upset if it continued to go off much longer, and he’d certainly hear about it upon returning from school today. Still, it was partially their own fault. Once he started middle school, they declined to continue taking him to school until he showed more initiative to do things other than sit in his room. He couldn’t really understand where they were coming from. Sure, he had no job, but his grades in school were what most parents wished for! Nevertheless, his parental units did not seem to be satisfied with straight A’s. No, his parents insisted that he have “a social life” and for him to “get some exercise now and then.”
Turning from the wall, he worms himself to the edge of his bed and snatches his phone as it spasms about on his nightstand, blaring a stock alarm tone. He quickly shuts it off, awarding himself the silence he, and no doubt his parents, sorely craved at the moment. However, while his mother could return to sleep, Cibor would be forced to finish stripping himself of the warmth and comfort of his plush mattress, exposing himself to the cold air of the house as he journeyed to his dresser and retrieved his uniform, donning it hastily in an attempt to keep warm in the creeping fall weather. He exits his room then, scrolling through a news feed in his phone which he’d set on the breakfast table within the kitchen as it played the local weather. Assembling the necessary amenities, he prepares a small breakfast of oatmeal and toast with a glass of orange juice, completing the task just in time to sit down to a special report.
Cibor's blades cut a clear trail on the freshly frozen pond. It was a public skate area during the winter, but he had been especially careful to bide his time and wait till a fresh freeze. He knrw they'd open the rink tomorrow, but wanted a fresh, smooth sheet of ice to practice on.
Starting ATs had opened him up to the exhilaration of athletics in a way that nothing else could, and it all lead back to his memories of going ice skating as a young child. He had convinced his parents to put him in freeskate lessons shortly after they had forced him into buying a set of ATs.
And so, here he was. Carving crisp lines along the sheet of ice that capped the pond. He take's long strides, focusing on his Edgework with each stroke. He crosses one leg in front of the other, pushing off with his now free leg, practicing his forwards crossovers, flying over the ice with more grace and fluidity than his rider tricks demanded. He pivots, now performingbhis backwards crossovers as he skates in reverse eventually pulling himself into a tight scratch spin till he loses momentum, holding his final pose, panting slightly.
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His alarm was going off for the fifth time that morning. This wasn’t atypical; as he set multiple alarm specifically to be sure he woke up. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but curse anyone but himself for his phone’s habit of loudly protesting the desires of anyone wishing to be asleep at 5:30am.
Sadly, he couldn’t allow it to continue. His parents would be upset if it continued to go off much longer, and he’d certainly hear about it upon returning from school today. Still, it was partially their own fault. Once he started middle school, they declined to continue taking him to school until he showed more initiative to do things other than sit in his room. He couldn’t really understand where they were coming from. Sure, he had no job, but his grades in school were what most parents wished for! Nevertheless, his parental units did not seem to be satisfied with straight A’s. No, his parents insisted that he have “a social life” and for him to “get some exercise now and then.”
Turning from the wall, he worms himself to the edge of his bed and snatches his phone as it spasms about on his nightstand, blaring a stock alarm tone. He quickly shuts it off, awarding himself the silence he, and no doubt his parents, sorely craved at the moment. However, while his mother could return to sleep, Cibor would be forced to finish stripping himself of the warmth and comfort of his plush mattress, exposing himself to the cold air of the house as he journeyed to his dresser and retrieved his uniform, donning it hastily in an attempt to keep warm in the creeping fall weather. He exits his room then, scrolling through a news feed in his phone which he’d set on the breakfast table within the kitchen as it played the local weather. Assembling the necessary amenities, he prepares a small breakfast of oatmeal and toast with a glass of orange juice, completing the task just in time to sit down to a special report.
“On the southern side of town, a gang battle erupted across the rooftops of our fine city causing thousands of yen in damage as well as unrest and paranoia in those citizens within the immediate area. Several eyewitness accounts described a group of at least 10 people chasing each other across the rooftops on what appeared to be Air Treks, the equipment of a new sports craze that’s been spreading amongst the youth. Who are these people, why do they fight each other, and more importantly, why use force that damages the rooftops and general housing structures of these innocent people? ”
The segment continued into a discussion on what regulations are in place to keep the dangers associated with Air Treks to a minimum, and how those policies clearly are not effective enough to keep crimes from being committed with them. He wasn’t really concerned about it. Granted, he also wasn’t in the part of town being most affected by these gangs.
The rest of the news didn’t interest him nearly enough for him to catch any of the details. He was much more occupied by the sweetness of the brown sugar in his oatmeal, one of the few sugary treats he enjoyed. Finishing his meal, he rinses his dishes and leaves them in the sink, making sure to rinse the bowl of oatmeal thoroughly, lest its remnants become a concrete mess his mother would surely nag him for later. Pocketing his phone from the table he makes his way to the front door, pulling on his jacket and shoes. He calls out to his mother, who he heard beginning her descent down the stairs. “I’m heading out, love you.” She mumbles a reciprocatory response, turning the corner to the kitchen, no doubt to fill up on coffee and regain her coherence.
Closing the door behind him, Cibor starts his two-mile walk to school promptly 6:10am. This gives him enough time to account for traffic, stopping for coffee, or other small or unexpected detours while also still ensuring he arrived at least thirty minutes before classes begin. He often utilized this time to work on assignments, or read from his textbooks, which kept himself ahead in his classes. These are all precautions he takes, solely so that he can nap through the majority of his schooling with little open complaint from his teachers. After all, who can really complain about a student who not only has complete homework, but knows the material as well? None of his teachers that’s for sure.
He’d been walking to school like this every day since he had begun middle school, but still the hues of the early morning sky never ceased to amaze him. He made his way through the quiet river town, the blue sky stretching off towards the coastline, and eventually, the horizon that was being brushed pink by the sun’s imminent approach. He appreciated the way the cool air still had hints of moisture to it, similar to the cool spring mornings he was so fond of. Frost still clung to the grass and glass of the houses and cars that he passed by, signaling the change from fall to winter. He could only appreciate these for so long before the familiar; bone-numbing beat of his feet against the concrete reminded him how much he /hated/ walking to school like this every day. Not only was he always sore when he got to school, but he was typically so tired that he’d fall asleep before class, making him frequently late. Recently, he had even missed a couple of assignments due to his more frequent sleeping fits. Of course, he was also forgetting to take the medication that he needed to help keep him awake. However, the pills only did so much. Though the doctors insisted it was because he would occasionally miss doses, which may well be the case, but they didn’t seem to help much even when he took them regularly either. This train of thought, of course, is what reminded Cibor that he had forgotten to do so this morning. Uttering a few expletives, he fishes his spare bottle from his bag, swallowing a pair of the tablets with no water.
“Well, this day’s off to a great start…” he mumbles, shuddering as he feels his medication slither and stall its way through his esophagus as the school came in to view.
His education progressed slowly, as it usually did. He slept through most of his classes, only waking when his teachers would occasionally demand his attention. As always, he disappointed them in their inability to catch him unaware. Since he had already read the chapter, or completed the work, he could answer almost any question they had. He ate his lunch on the rooftop, watching the clouds drift by as he drifted into a nap that made him miss the rest of the school day. He would’ve been upset, but he would just use the detention to work on his studies anyway.
Waking with the last bell, he mumbles to himself about setting more alarms as he leaves the building. He did feel some amount of remorse for his sleeping habits, but he simply wasn’t stimulated enough to want be awake, which exacerbated his symptoms. These thoughts tore at him today as he began his trek home. One foot in front of the other, he retraces the same boring steps he took every day to get to school and back. It was days as if today that made him wish he had the will to make some sort of change.
His thoughts are rudely interrupted by the sudden appearance of a woman, bursting forth from an alleyway. She touches down on the hood of a card, denting it slightly. She pivots on the contact point and jumps to a nearby balcony railing, and from there, to the roof across the street. “Oi!!” Cibor shouts, stumbling backwards, nearly falling on his ass. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”
Just as he goes to continue walking, three more skaters cut him off, taking clumsier and difficult routes. One crushes the hood of the same car the woman had used, power leaping to the same rooftop, making the previous ding seem like nothing. If that wasn’t bad enough, just as he tried to scream at them, his phone begins to ring. He shouts obscenities as he fishes the communication device from his bag, answering with an angry “WHAT?”
“Is that the appropriate way to address your mother after she discovers you ditched class, again?” his mother’s nagging, but well intentioned tone peals through, causing him to shrink up on himself as he realizes his mistake.
“Ah, s-sorry…” he stutters, thankful that she was just poking fun.
“Yes, well, in any case your father and I figured that if you were a little more active that you might be less tired all the time. I emailed you a coupon to use at this sports supply store; they have those new ATs in stock, and are having a sale, on top of the coupon! I’ve loaded your account with an amount that should cover the bill, so get what you like best, alright?”
Cibor knew it was best to give in and let his mother have his way, arguing with her would get him nowhere. But at the same time he couldn’t believe what he’d been told. He was 15 years old, and they were trying to force him to be more active. He had even just nearly been run over by the very people he’d been hearing about on the news, damaging property and breaking laws with these skates.
“Mother…” he sighs, “don’t you think it’d just be a better idea to save that money and out it towards a car?” he asks, clearly opposed to her idea.
“Nope. A car isn’t going to work your body. You are a young man, Cibor, you need exercise. Trust me. You’ll be a lot happier if you just /move/.” she insists, with all the motherly tone she could muster.
“I understand… Alright, I’ll check them out, just don’t expect me too occupied with it. Athletics just isn’t my thing.”
They chat for a while longer as Cibor changes course, making his way for the shopping fronts. He catches a bus for the coast side of town. He’d heard that the AT scene was large in this area, but that most of the disturbances were at night. Despite this, there were still several kids rolling along at a reasonable pace; nothing like the speedster who’d flown by him in the alley. He wondered how those thugs were able to go so much faster. Were the kids simply not trying to go fast? Keeping their speed to a level they could control? Or maybe the speed was a combined effort of motor and physical push, making older users naturally faster than the younger children.
The bus rolls along for about 20 minutes making stops every so often until it arrived a block away from the address he was told to venture to. The street was filled with shops and eateries of many varieties, including the sports store he was looking for.
Entering the shop, his eyes were assaulted by bright fluorescent lights, stressing the pupils that were previously well adjusted to the luminosity of the setting sun. The air is filled with the scent of leather, plastic, metal and polymers. The cashier is located just a few feet from the entrance, set into the right wall of the shop, which, just so happened to be the prominent display of their “TOTTALLY RAD AT DEPARTMENT.” Which was a fancy way of saying that the wall behind the counter, and to its immediate right were entirely stocked with Air Treck boots, wheels, and even basic tool kits. The rest of the store seemed to consist of Winter sports equipment.
The cashier smiles, greeting Cibor as he enters.
“Hi there, welcome to Shiawase Sports, the names Toshiko, can I help ya find something?” She asks, tossing her bangs from her eyes.
Fishing his phone from his pocket, he brings up the coupon his mother had sent him, he moves to the counter to show the attendant.
” My mother sent me in with this, she wants me to get into this but I’m not really sure that I will be any good at it or anything.” He explains, looking to the red head sheepishly.
She glances at the coupon, then back at Cibor, making him even more uncomfortable as tries his best to look as helpless as he was.
“Did you consider telling her you don’t want to do this?”
"Believe me, I tried. She says she wants me to get active, and I can’t say it doesn’t sound fun, so…” he trails off. He was hoping shed pick up on the slack, but was instead met with the stare he knew came from not understanding middle class parents. She just didn’t know how much he gave his parents that very same stare.
“Well, if you’re really gonna get started, you shouldn’t skimp out. Plus, this coupon is a pretty good deal anyway. Premium boot with a decent engine and fair wheels for half price, pretty good.” She rambles, pulling a couple of different models from the shelves above her head. She comes out from behind the counter, looking Cibor over. She pulls a chair from the corner and sits him down. “Could you take off your shoes? I wanna take some measurements.” She says, going back to the counter to retrieve a tape and a few charts.
Of course, wanting to get this over with, he complies, removing his shoes and waiting patiently as she measured the length, width and circumference of different sections of his feet and ankles, marking them on a sheet that he assumed would help her pick the right size for the boot.
“Now, when you skate, what are you looking for? Speed? Control? Jumping? Air time?” she asks, looking at him with a startling amount of seriousness.
How was he supposed to know what he was looking for? He had never skated even before ATs were a thing….
“Well…the only time I’ve been out skating, was when my grandmother would take me to the ice rink one summer when I was would visit her…”
Toshiko nods, seeming to understand. “Hmm, I think I know what’ll work. You’ll want a well-rounded boot with a little room to work with jumping.” she returns to her counter, sorting through the boxes she had pulled and selecting a few models to bring back and present to Cibor. “There’s a few variations of this model, but they all offer top quality. They’ll be really stiff for a while, because they’re top rating, so be sure to take breaks often, or you’ll hurt yourself.”
“ Yeah, I remember that the rental skates at that rink were stiff too!” He laughs softly, pointing the model that was black, with dark blue accents. It featured polymer reinforcements that cradled the boot in elegant curves and points.
“Oh…hon… Just pace yourself, kay?” She says, trying not to snicker as she disappears into the back of the store, leaving him to sit and wait.
“Didn’t know I looked so pathetic that i needed someone to catch me…” he huffs, blushing in embarresment.
Pushing himself to his, feet, brushing off his backside, he turns away from the man.
“I’m fine so unless you’d like to find some other ways to insult me, I’ll be going.”
It seemed Crow had really hurt the guy’s feelings. “Heh, don’t take it like that. If anything I’m just throwing out excuses because I was curious about how Riders do stuff. I think you’re doing fine.”
((okay, so it might be bhm but i really dont need the banner, staff post, /and/ a featured post for the staff post, right in a row >m> thats just annoying to scroll through))
My muse is blindfolded and listening. Go on anon and whisper something into their ear. It can be anything you like, a confession, a secret, a memory – there are no limits.
“It certainly doesn’t make anything easier.” he replies, rolling his shoulders and neck.
Cibor eyes the foreigner warily; it’d be more than possible for this guy to be a member of a different team, and he couldn’t handle any trouble right now. Exasperated, he runs his hand through his hair, holding it back as he half-sighs
“Can I help you? I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
“Ah yeah, you don’t need to worry. I’m just watching.” said the other guy, seeming very chill, while fidgeting his wheels on the ground.
“Now then, if it’s too much of a burden for you I might just go away. But you can probably need someone to pick you up if you just end up falling and injuring yourself because of those tricks.”
