[Knuckle Bine]

Thread Type: Special Training
RPCs: Cho, Knuckle
Status: Private


It was all over the news, whether it be TV, radio, the world wide web. You name the media, it was there. Justing Beiber, the young musical prodigy, not to mention gayishly cute hearthrob, was coming to Japan! It was late, and time was of the essence. Knuckle had just finished a meeting with a client and was rushing towards his next destination. Several train jumps later, Knuckle arrived at the already jam packed arena of the Tokyo Dome. Everywhere he looked, kids were flocking like a school of fish, screaming ~Baby baby baby oohhhhh. It was defeaning. They were teens for christsake and their high pitched voices all the more made it unbearable to listen.


It was a damn good thing that Knuckle was freakishly tall, not to mention muscularly broad. He waded through the sea of people pushing them, although unintentionally, as he passed by. He reached the end of the line and it was really really long. As far as the eye could see. And that long of a line would make the screams of the fans of the PHENOM that is Justin Beiber grow several fold. Time plus pain nets in torture. As he bore through the pain of the shrieks, Knuckle looked up at the big screen to see flashes of Beiber clips.


They were clips from his music videos, bibliographies, and a lot more video junk that a fan could possibly create. It was breathtaking to say the least, that this Beiber fan base would cascade into what it had become. Knuckle wasn't really interested about Beiber. He had heard of his music, and even put his entire album in his Ipod but this wasn't even a slight intonation that the football behemoth like him. A few seconds grew into a minute and lo and behold, Knuckle was tapping his feet and bobbing his head to a Beiber beat. He realized this and forced it upon himself to snap out it.


Of all places, why the hell here!? Of all the concerts that could possibly take place in the city of Tokyo, why a Justin Beiber concert!? It was more than Knuckle could take. But what could he possibly do to stem the tide of annoyance that was building up insde him? He was relegated to the fact that he was noobie Strom Rider and tutelage under someone more skilled was needed for Knuckle to progress. But, hot damn, anyone within Knuckle's age bracket would think this to be utterly and inconceivably preposterous. The night was just beginning and already it was becoming a night that Knuckle would never forget.


His eyes darted, scouring the masses for that glimpse of a familiar face that he had just recently seen in the reply that he had long waited for. Amidst the ruckus that is a concert of Beiber-mania, Knuckle started to silence the crowd in his mind. This was an innate ability that Knuckle managed to create because of football. The uncanny prowess of silencing the noise and muddle of static that a cheering mob could create. Clearly, Knuckle was searching for his date for the night. The one person worth seeing in this debacle of a Justin Beiber concert. As to what will happen that night, Knuckle could only hope that it would be a fruitful one. As he continued on looking, the amps cranked up all the more to the melody of BABY BABY BABY OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

[meanlilkitty]

Fifteen minutes. Cho took in a deep breath and held it before letting it out. Even from within the confines of the backstage area she could hear the roars of the crowd as fans went nuts for this Justin Beiber. 'Music prodigy my ass' Cho thought to herself. It just wasn't her cup of tea. Despite that, she was there, ready to perform. It's not like she could have turned down the change to play for an audience of the magnitude that was present.

This would perhaps be a big break for the young musician, since she had finally decided to pursue her education and a possible career in music. At first, after graduating, she had thought about ditching any further education all together. With all that was going on in the storm riding world there really seemed to be no time or point. However, when her music teacher had come to her with a scholarship opportunity to the Tokyo University of the Arts she had taken it. After all, what happened when she could no longer stand on her own two feet as a storm rider? It wasn't exactly what one would call a life goal.

Music had always been a love. Nothing compared to sitting behind her cello, feeling the vibrations of the flow of sound as she moved the bow across the strings to create a perfect harmony. It was in those moments that the her own heart was at peace. While she didn't actually enjoy her current position as cellist to one of Justin Beiber's slower songs, she relished the idea of simply getting to perform again. She sat down in the seat that had been placed behind the curtain for her, positioning the long black dress between her legs in an attempt to be as lady like as she could, and took the neck of her cello and waited for her que.

The "Oh baby oh babies" died off and she let her eyes drift shut as she took up her bow. It wasn't quite the symphonic style she was used to but she had managed to adapt to the more more modern genre well enough. It was all a promotional whoopdeedooda anyway. Big american teen heart throb comes to win the heart of Japanese girls. Apparently it wasn't all that hard to do. Her hands moved on their own accord, knowing every note to hit. Even if the music wasn't her thing, she couldn't help but take pleasure in the feel of the more upbeat tempo and she focused on the sounds that flowed from her instrument. Soon the song was over and she had played out her part. As she bowed and carried her cello off stage she could hear all of the spectators filling the dome with cheers.

Quickly she changed into something a little less formal and lugged her Cello case to be put away with the other instruments. She stretched her arms out in front and laced her fingers together, cracking the appendages. Now on to her other plans for the evening. There was someone in the crowd who wanted her tutelage. He was probably wondering why she had asked him to an event such as a Justin Beiber concert. An diabolical grin spread across her features as she cackled, gaining a few odd looks from the people who stood around. Cho wasn't the typical instructor, and she had thought long and hard about how best to “ease” the new rider into training. Causally she strolled away from the back stage area and made her way to the tech booths.

“Hey Jeff, Paul wants to see you for a moment, he asked me to take over while you ran down there.” Rule number one of deception, act as if you're doing exactly what you're suppose to be doing. Rule number two, know enough to sound like you know what you're doing. It had been a simple matter, learning a few names. “Uh, I can't leave right now, we're in the middle of a set.” Cho shrugged, “I'm just the messenger.” The tech guy stood up, “alright, just make sure nothing goes wrong. It's all pretty much set up and the guy's down there changing so it'll be a few minutes until the next song. I'll be right back.” Jeff left in a huff, not to happy about being called away from his post. As soon as the door was closed Cho slapped her hands together and took a seat. She pulled something out of her pocket and set to work, she only had a few minutes to accomplish her goal.

On the big projection screens on either side of the stage a message popped up, “This guy called Justin Beiber a fag”, followed by a picture of the guy in the audience. It was a tall muscular guy with messy black hair with a classy kind of style. He was probably some kind of athlete judging from his build. He looked like he could bulldoze over some people. Good for him, if the crowd of crazy hormonal japanese teens reacted the way she thought they would he was in for a sticky situation. What better way to train someone than throw them to the lions. Before Cho found herself in a world of trouble she slipped out the door. Already footsteps were rushing up to the booth so she high tailed it the other way. Her Ats sat in a bag on her shoulder, safely tucked away for when she needed them. Hopefully her trainee had brought his along and was ready to make a run for it.

[Knuckle Bine]

Knuckle was still searching about for his would be date, when the corner of his eye caught the flashing teleprompter. It's mundane color glistening against the night. Yet again a Beiber song rang across the Tokyo cityscape, with its high shrilled efficacy proving its weight in gold to the world. What was peculiar, albeit infinitely interesting about this song however was the stringed section's melody that the Beiber set piece was in dire need of. Though a cello is less common in popular music than in classical music, it is sometimes, featured in pop and rock songs. The cello being rarely a part of a pop performer's standard lineup but like its cousin the violin it is becoming more common in mainstream pop. True enough, the Beiber song was tastefully done. At times, the instrumental parts of it proved to be the highlight of the song, at least, to the more sophisticated listener. As it is in the case of Knuckle, whose ears were practically fluttering in crescendo with each cadence and pulse of the strings. Therefore, upon the lapse of the song, and the freak screams that soon after followed, Knuckle was again taken aback.

Knuckle was an exception to the roar of the crowd that reverberated thereafter. If he had his way, it would have been better if the stringed part of the performance continued on. Flavour, was preferred, rather than the usual debauchery of mainstream pop. However, what could a mere pebble do, amidst a clandestine sea of blinded fans fanatically cheering on with whatever it is that they are fed with. As long as it is Beiber-ized by the media tycoons of the music industry, said individuals shall gobble it up and ingest its every fiber into their very being, no questions asked. It was a fact that was crystal clear as Beiber’s adoring fans began to chant louder into the night, more, more, more! What was in reality a brief lull, though to Knuckle was quite the passage of time so to speak, large gasps could be heard echoing, ever growing into a resounding epithet.

Necks craned wildly as darting eyes sporadically scoured the scene of the crime. Amidst curses and wild flailing, the teenie boppers that filled the Tokyo Dome continued on their search. It hadn’t occurred to Knuckle what all the fuss was about until he saw his prolific features embedded onto the projection screens that enclosed the Tokyo Dome. His sense of sight was just fine. It was his brain that sort of gave way. He could not fathom the slightest recourse as to why someone, who would look like him be projected during the concert. It was similar to an Over rev wherein the brain bogs down in processing information. Notwithstanding the fact that reality was proceeding just as it always does, time suddenly decelerates into a snails pace. Sooner or later though, the person realizes something which breaks the phenomenon of the Over rev. And in Knuckle’s case, it was the recognition of the individual projected on the projection screen. It was him. It was definitely him.

“Hey, that’s me.” A few ears picked up the faint yet definite acknowledgment of the crime, which would have been met with death had the fans been the final arbiter. As menacing eyes began to pierce the very soul of Knuckle, he instinctively backed away from the ever growing mob. The mob continued to devolve into rabid bloodthirsty individuals that only sought justice for their teen deity. It was slander by deed. An upstart, let alone someone who was supposedly loved by the Japanese masses for his achievements in the realm of football, would dare go against the tide of Beiber mania. Try as he might to explain that he uttered no such thing, it was a vain thing. All his years of training in the art of reason was rendered useless against blind buffoons who were drunk with the satiating sounds of a pop sensation. Realizing that he had his back against the wall, coupled with a notion that he was a cornered dog ready to be put to sleep, he ran for it.

His ears picked up a very a barely audible scream, that was buried beneath scrambling feet, similar to the phrase, “kill him.” It was quaint, given the circumstances that in this modern age of civility, it was a throwback to olden times where the mob ruled, all else forgone. Knuckle rammed up the double doors that led to a pillar-filled hallway enabling him to break into a hurried sprint. His small Adidas duffel bag, housing his Air Trecks, bounced in a frenzied manner as the footballer gave it his all, as his legs kicked up the cemented earth beneath him. The double doors on the left and right side, enclosing his would be escape route spewed forth legions of teens that had only one thing in mind, that is to bring Knuckle to justice. Not that it was a crime to call someone gay. But to these whimsical and capricious teens, calling their god gay meant death. Knuckle still in his sprint reached the middle of the hallway, which was somewhat encircled by the fans. The only way out was now through them. Under normal circumstances, Knuckle was not one to commence violence, and still, despite the current predicament, Knuckle stood firm in that resolve as he decided to run past the mob wall. The fact that the majority of the mob were kids also had something to do with that resolve. To run past them however meant, comparable speed and the precise know-how to avoid the obstacles that blocked his escape route.

Hawk Eye!

Spoiler!

 

Hawk eye. The skill which lets a rider see with clarity the trick pass from one place to another. By seeing the potential jumps spots, the required tricks and the route they need to take to get from point A to B as fast as possible the hawk eye is a very useful trick when racing in unknown territory. Since riders using this trick know exactly where they are going they can go forward with certainty and without hesitation and therefore the lack of wasted movements and the lack of hesitation give the illusion of an increase in speed.

Seeing the line, which only the eyes of his mind could only see, Knuckle began his intricate pattern between and among the Beiber fans. In that brief moment of brilliance, Knuckle successfully ran past the human and material obstacles. And in so doing, managed to pass by this hallway-section of the adoring mob. Beyond this section however, there could still be more of these Beiber fanatics. Or if God permits, the exit was just around the bend. It's quite fortunate that in slithering past the multitude of crazed fans, Knuckle gained just enough space and time for him to swap his pricey loafers for his Air Trecks should the need arise. Whether to put himself in more danger in putting on his Air Trecks despite the ban or proceed with his leg power alone. Only time would tell.

Fuck it. He's a lawyer, and a damn good one at that. Anything that can and will be used against him in the court of law could be thwarted through the legal process. That is, if he's caught. If he wasn't, then their is nothing to thwart. Knuckle quickly sat on the cold floor and nimbly exchanged the casual shoes into the more fitting one. Fitting as is the case at present. With the roar of the mob chanting ever nearer, Knuckle finished the swap. He propped himself up right in an instant and made his way onwards. Through the lone hallway, he picked up his speed as his new 'feet' paid its dividends.

Faster he went, not the speed which could be deemed blazing, but still fast enough to break further away from the sick mob. Air Trecks. Gott love 'em. As he reached what seemed like the final leg of his escape, Knuckle hesitated. In that span which lasts between the 'fuck' and the 'you,' Knuckles eyes lay yet another double door. At their forefront, Were two bouncers. Past the two would be freedom, and hesitation ceased just as quick as it had appeared. Knuckle sped onwards, inching his way towards the bouncers and no longer fretting the small stuff.

The bouncers came at him. Their hands seemingly realizing that a man running about in the Tokyo Dome meant something was amiss, and detaining him was almost instinctive, proceeded to grab Knuckle. As both successfully grabbed hold of Knuckle's arms, they were suddenly dwarfed by the six foot six behemoth. Momentum does the rest, as the two bouncers were successfully 'blocked' in their attempt to stop him by the sheer mass that boulder-ed them over. Knocking the fairly large bouncers as Knuckle shrugged them off as he fairly did so in the football pitch in his trademark runs towards the goal, Knuckle made it. Still slamming forwards, the double doors broke open with Knuckle at fault.

Freedom. For now. Despite the fact that he had successfully left the insides of the Tokyo Dome, the vast parking lot of the concert area still loomed. And in that death pit filled with thousands of cars alongside the numerous teens that were unfortunate enough to be denied tickets to see the show, the road to complete freedom still looked a bit distant. Knuckle, never stopping had his eyes scour the best possible route out of the hell hole that he was put in. As he did so, he realized that large screens were placed in the parking lot as gifts for those teens who lucked out in getting tickets. Great. Perfect even. So inevitably, what was seen inside, was also seen outside by more of these so-called Beiber fans. True enough as Knuckle rode past a stationary car and turned up a corner, a horde was there firmly rooted at their base, seemingly waiting for the bastard that dare decry their god.

[meanlilkitty]

Cho carefully balanced herself on the rooftop as she slipped on the worn pair of Air Treks. The plastic parts were nicked, the fabric stained with age. Each deep etching that ran along the hard surface told of a history. Not one, but two queens had placed their faith into the old treks. They may not have been as shiny as the latest, newest model, but for Cho there could be no other. Acantha had developed a soul of it's own. Each path carved throughout the wearer's body breathed more life into the device creating a unique bond between rider and regalia.

Once she had her ats on she reached up with both hands to pull goggles down and double checked to make sure her hair was safely tucked away. Being recognized was definitely not a part of the plan, since she was more than likely going to be the cause of a big mess. Well, she was already the cause, but that was a minor detail. Oh boy, fortunately there was no where to go but downhill and that's exactly where she planned to take the evening. Cho pulled a piece of cloth that she had been saving out of her pocket and made to stand. Time to get a move on.

From below the doors burst open and she could hear the sounds of the bouncers' demise. Even those gathered in the parking lot who couldn't get tickets knew of what had gone on inside. There was no escape in sight. No matter what corner Knuckle turned more Justin Beiber fanatics were in waiting, ready to pounce on the person who had dared to defile their idol. To bad for him Cho was there to come to his aid. This whole situation reminded her of another fresh young rider who she had aided, though this time she had actually planned things out to some degree. Both heels were forced down as she prepared to take flight.

There was no way Knuckle could have seen what was about to hit him. With a speed born from years of riding Cho shot forward, a blur to any onlookers. As soon as she reached the edge of the roof she was flying. It was a straight shot to where he stood facing against the Beiber fan mass. Before any one could have had time to register she had slipped the heart patterned fabric into Knuckle's hand and reached the gathered crowd. A few surprised facing looked at her, wondering where the heck she had come from, but most were focused on the their target. One girl “eeped” as Cho pulled out the megaphone she's stolen from one of the rooms. “OH MY GOD! It's the guy who stole Justin Beiber's underwear!”

(not my best work, sorry. Had a lot of distractions going on while trying to write it. >>)

[Knuckle Bine]

ooc: It's ok. I never expected an underwear to be in this thread

The anarchy that ensued was amusing to say the least. Furthermore, it was apparent that things went from a not so bad predicament to quite possibly a worst case scenario. From a simple case of mistaken identity, to slander by deed. From slander by deed, it became a case of physical assault. From then onwards, the crime that could be filed against Knuckle would be theft. Theft of underwear. What sort of buffoon would be caught in such a waste of case such a theft of underwear. Apparently, there is one buffoon this night and his name is Knuckle, since he now was the prime suspect of the Beiber underwear case.

"Now hold on just a minute, I know this looks bad, but I did no such thing." The female teens paid no heed to the hapless cry of the suspect. Heck, Knuckle with that weak refutation served as a continuation of him digging deeper his grave for tonight. Amidst this confrontation of sorts, a recurring chuckle could be heard. The unfortunate boyfriends of these female teens that were forced, nay compelled to watch the sheer brilliance of a Beiber concert were hardly able to contain their laughter.

One by one, they laughed, ever growing into a loud maniacal gathering of deep tones that made one realize that Beiber has a gay voice. Really, Beiber is really fucking gay. Knuckle, flushed as he had never been before, felt utterly helpless and words proved to be non-existent for him at the moment. Tried as he could to speak, nothing came out from his mouth. All the football prodigy could do was to slowly back himself away from the mob. The female part of the mob momentarily distracted by their boyfriends improper decorum so to speak was now a gift from the heavens to Knuckle.

As the pyscho females kept hushing their boyfriends from laughing their asses of, Knuckle steadily backed of. The females, distracted as they were, were bitching about how their boyfriends have failed in protecting their women from this hoodlum, this thief, this atheist who does not believe in the high pitched voiced God named Beiber. Slaps and nagging could now be heard and eventually, the laughter stopped. The imprisoned boys, from the confines of the Tokyo Dome area were now realizing that to end a nag such as this, they'd have to participate in the lynching. A momentary reprieve, and Knuckle darted of once again away from the mob.

Seeing their pray run yet again, the males with their chump machisimo gave chase. Knuckle was not a speed type rider, however, his Air Trecks gave him the benefit of a speed advantage against them. Gaining several more lengths as distance between them, he initiated his escape plan once again. The game of cat and mouse in the large parking lot had begun. Knuckle ducking low did his best to hide his six foot six frame underneath said cars. Amazingly, with night as an accomplice, and sheer luck as divine providence, his plan worked.

Adding more to the distance that he had already established, he continued onwards. As he did so, he randomly zigged and zagged across the parked cars, trying his best to get away from these pyscho Beiber fans. However, luck could only get one so far in this thing called life. As Knuckle randomly Trecked in and between the cars, he reached the wall that enveloped the Tokyo Dome. Still the effervescent noob, Knuckle stood up, and as he did so, his tall bulky frame was spotted.

Across the sea of cars, the mob caught sight of their prey yet again. Instantly, the shuffle of their feet grew into a roaring tempest of a mad dash. First one to get their hands on the great defiler turned thief gets dibs on his groin. The wall was now between freedom from this bullshit of a night, and a severe case of a mob beat down. Now seems a good a time as any for Knuckle to try a wall ride, and wall ride out of this dump. The beginner trick labeled as a wall ride is a classic and rather simple trick which involves using a wall to ride up its surface.

The easiest way of accomplishing that is to simply step on the wall but the upward thrust is limited. If successfully done however, it can be used to reach places one would not normally be able to reach. And so, Knuckle did exactly what he thought would be necessary for a wall ride to occur. His AT wheels spun frantically and he darted towards the wall. As he reached the wall, Knuckle placed his left leg on said wall.

As he did so, he successively placed his other leg alongside the left leg. Now, four wheels brimmed into a haze and as it pulled the two hundred ninety pound footballer up over the wall. That would have been nice had Knuckle been more skilled. Truth of the matter is, he wasn't, he wasn't even worthy to be called a novice. All Knuckle was, was someone who has learned to ride on flat surfaces.

And these surfaces are lateral as he wasn't accustomed yet to vertical flat surfaces.This being the case, a good length was achieved by the so-called Knuckle wall ride. A brief moment of happiness as the plight of this horrendous night was seemingly coming to an end. Suddenly, the forward momentum slowed, inevitably becoming a backwards momentum. Knuckle was falling. Looking like a lost cause, he pushed of against the wall towards the nearby lamp post in an attempt to grab hold of it and somehow, stop himself from falling. Call it another miracle, but Knuckle made it. He pulled himself up with his forearms and squatted on the branch of the post. The wall was still quite close and a jump from this might prove to be the last recourse to escape. Everything he had was put into his legs, and as the wheels churned, Knuckle lept from the branch of the lamp post towards the wall. His legs crossed over and eventually, his body soon followed, all the while unconsciously, still in hand was the infamous Beiber underwear. Across this wall however, the Tokyo streets glistened in anticipation as Knuckle proceeded to land in its jaws.

[meanlilkitty]

As the massive force of Justin Beiber swarmed on the framed man Cho felt a hurricane force wind sweep around her. It was like a scene out of one of those artsy action movies, where the one person is standing in the middle while everything moves fast around them. If her hair had of been free it would have blown forward with the effect. As soon as it had begun it was over, the lynching mod had moved on to give chase. Cho's methods might have been a little odd, but she did have purpose behind them. In order to see a person's full potential one had to put them in a situation where they went above and beyond what they thought themselves capable of. People only gave so much of themselves in a not threatending environment, but when faced with danger survival skills take over. Unfortunately, he was doing a bit better than she had expected. Already he had found an escape from the mob. Drats.

Kicking into gear Cho moved forward. The crowd scattered about did little to slow her momentum as she narrowly weaved and twisted through them effortlessly. With a push of her legs she lept up and found purchase on the roof of a car long enough take another spring that sent her flying through the air. She half flipped her body and found the rim of the wall with one hand. Her arm coiled and she gave herself enough of a push to flip down to the ground below. It was an easy enough move, but boy did it look fancy.

With the grace of a dancer she landed in a spin, her legs spread apart as her body turned. When she stopped she was facing the alleged criminal. A hand sat on her hip as the other lay carelessly at her side. She had never met this guy before, it had been through another party that she had ended up playing the part of mentor. She must have looked rather unimpressive, aside from her little display of riding, since she was wearing the Justin Beiber t-shrit she had snagged from backstage. Slowly she raised her hand, finger pointed out, and cocked her thumb like a gun hammer. "Pew."

[Knuckle Bine]

The wind was eerily calm as skin and clothe dabbled in its fingertips. A proverbial thud and a screech resounded as the four wheels slammed to ground. It was a bit unorthodox, but the landing was, if somehow graded by a tribunal of judges, would be barely passing. The impact of the landing were all absorbed by Knuckle's knees, never spreading itself to the other joints which were amenable to receive the force. Pain reverberates, but a steadfast facade was bravely put out by Knuckle.

He had successfully gotten himself out of trouble, and that was putting it mildly. The joy of triumph was all but engulfing as Knuckle looked up at the high wall that stood between him and a definite lynching. He had tried a couple of wall rides before, and the success rate of said trick was but a mere forty percent. Guess one could chalk up another bail from said attempt and put the success rate further lower for Knuckle. Nonetheless, despite unsuccessfully riding up the wall, he did manage to escape through a quick improve of the trick.

Taking in a deep breathe and recomposing himself, Knuckle began to stand at ease. His pulse, as he had previously done so in so many football games he had participated, calmly returned into a normal rhythm. Clearly, he was gathering his composure to sort out his next recourse of action. As the numerous possibilities ran amuck in his gradually easing mind, a blur of skill and grace presented itself to destroy whatever recourse Knuckle was slowly constructing. Flipping down quickly and finishing with a spin, the girl cocks her hand and fires. "Pew."

Notwithstanding the obvious "finger gun", Knuckle still was taken aback and froze himself stupid as the badly mimicked sound effect of a gun firing was spoken by the girl. There was no grandfather clock, no wall clock, not even an analog one in the vicinity of Knuckle and the woman. However, during that standstill, Knuckle was certain that his ears could pick up the faintest of sounds where a clock was indeed ticking. Tick tock tick tock, as it repeatedly, almost borderline crazily resounded inside Knuckle's head. What was a mere figment of imagination turned out to be really a figment of imagination as finally, like a smack dab hit on the back of the head by a frustrated teacher to a student who eventually gets the answer, Knuckle realizes.

Breaking free from a stupid mind freeze such as that one, Knuckle's eyes, were now once again free to gaze and register the girl's appearance. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary of the girl, save for the fact that her riding skill was definitely better than Knuckle. No judging panel was needed for Knuckle to acknowledge that fact. In fact, despite being the beginner rider that he was, he was adamant in recognizing a rider better than him. Maybe because of the fact that a good chunk of the Storm Rider population WAS better than him.

As such, the assessment of the difference in ability was a no-brainer. A quick realization however occurred, as the boyish and distinct features of the musical gift that is Beiber struck a chord in Knuckle's mind. Normally, he would think before acting, but given the circumstances that had been happening through out this hellish night, one could forgive his next action. Thinking that this girl was one of the mob seeking a fist and feet feast on an anti-Beiber punk, Knuckle's body instinctively reacted. His hand, still clenching the alleged underwear of Justin Beiber, quickly imitated a motion, similar to a softball pitch.

A quick upward motion of Knuckle's arm and hand, which was directed at the girl was quickly initiated by Knuckle's rotory functions. As the upward motion ceased, a releasing action subsequently took place and the alleged underwear was thrown at the girl's goggle-masked face. Not even looking back on whether or not the underwear found its target, Knuckle was again making a break for it. His back now facing the woman, his legs kicked the cemented earth once again. His form was out of whack, filled with wasteful and unnecessary movements.

The night wind once again churned as it engulfed Knuckle as he departed away from the girl. He had only given several strides with his Air Treck when he knocked a trash bin unconsciously towards the ground making a pathetic makeshift obstacle. Knuckle, with his large frame attempts to cross the street and make his way over the other side with a baby leap of the side railing. As he did so, a car horn filled the Tokyo night with a deafening scream. The natural event that usually occurs after a car horn of that magnitude was a reasoung, "ASSHOLE! Watch where you're going!!"

Narrowly missing Knuckle, another vehicle which was tailgating the first car stepped on its break and slowed down to avoid the car in front of him. Seeing yet another gift thrown by fate and chance, Knuckle immediately ducked low, pressing harder on the AT's making it go faster. As he sped towards the slowed down vehicle, he grabbed as delicately as possible the bumper and hitched a ride of that vehicle as it, passing by, began to speed up away from the near accident. Using what he could to get away as far as he could from Tokyo Dome, Knuckle was now being pulled away by the vehicle. All this, seemingly crafted by an action driven script, occurred in an instant.

From a rich aroma that only a mother could love, the would-be rescue vehicle is housing several fat pigs who happen to have finished their scrumptious dinner. As fecal matter emerged from their tightly knitted assholes, the smell erupts into a frenzy. Shit, of all the darn luck, it had to be pig shit. It was bad enough that the pigs were eating leftovers which were left for dead for almost four days now. But add shit to the mix and you get one big bag of smell that pierces the olfactory and could quite start a chemical world war. Typical. Despite this slight predicament, still not looking back from whence he came, Knuckle's eyes were cemented on the road as he peeked from the back of the truck. Seeing the open road ahead of him, he thanks the fortunate turn of events, that the usually busy Tokyo traffic jam was currently non-existent. With this, the truck, and his AT, he could, to his mind probably outrun his chasers and finally end the Beiber fiasco that night. Thinking about the events that seemingly were drawn from a nightmare, Knuckle admits to himself that his riding ability, when push came to shove, bore dividends that shocked even him. He was somewhat getting better, but outrunning someone was never a simple thing.

ooc: being a beginner storm rider is tough. there's not a lot to go by in terms of ability

[meanlilkitty]

A set of confused eyes blinked several times from behind the the heart shaped fabric of the boxers that had landed on her face. Well, that was unexpected. Slowly a hand reached up and plucked the silky material away and chucked it over the wall into the arms of awaiting fans. From the other side screams and shout erupted as from what she could tell girls began to fight over what they believed to be the pop idols underoos. Quickly the catastrophe was forgotten as she searched around for her new friend. There was the screech of tires and shouts of angry drivers close by. That was a good place to start looking. Oh yeah, there he was, in the middle of a death trap. Cho sighed. Was it the shirt?

She shot into action, burning rubber as she shot forward towards the blearing horns and stopped up traffic. With a kick off she leapt up and landed on a car and bounced off to the other side. He had found a truck to latch onto for his escape. She had watched as he had tried to make a run for it. His riding was sloppy, possibly due to panic. Many new riders had a difficult time grasping the concept of gaining speed, she had at one point. Instead of using force to push forward as one did with rollerblades or any similar device, air treks were designed to do most of the work by leaning in on the mechanism attached to the motor to accelerate. Newer riders tended to try to use their own strength to push forward. Once a person got the hang of the way ats worked it was simple, but it was difficult to overcome the instinct to use leg power. The less movement the better when trying to build speed.

Cho, a rider who had years of experience, knew this concept and had no trouble rushing forward after the truck. Her body leaned forward as he heels pressed down. Both arms remained stretched behind in an effort to make her body more streamlined and aerodynamic to reduce the drag of air moving past. In and out of cars she weaved as she kept pace with the get away vehicle. It was amazing how far technology had gone with air treks. Cho was able to out maneuver through the vehicles on the road as well as keep up with them. If traffic had been it's usual hectic self she would have already caught up to the truck. What was a truck hauling pigs around doing in the middle of the city anyway. Did that not seem odd?

“Wait!” she yelled out as she neared the vehicle. Even at the distance she was she could smell the retched stink emanating from the livestock. How was he standing it? Even if in peril she didn't think she would be capable of such a feat. He was either truly terrified or had a stomach of steel. “Just let go! It's over, I'll help you.” Now she felt kind of bad, though still thoroughly amused. Cho wasn't much for taking on trainees, but she supposed he had earned the right. At this point she owed him at least that much. “I'm the one you were suppose to be meeting!”

(ooc: Being a new rider has advantages. Everything is new and fresh, so your character is experiencing so much for the first time. I found it easier to right. After you've been doing it for so long it all becomes the same. v.v)

[Knuckle Bine]

“Wait!”

His ear caught something, something which would have easily ended the fiasco that ensued that night. However, with his luck that starry-filled night, it would never be that simple. Through the intricate system within the human body of Knuckle, as it is with every human that is, lies a vast network of sensors. And among such sensors, there is one particular sensor that regulates thought and action, blending the two into a perfectly knitted couple. Upon hearing, the mind springs into a reaction, as to what sort of reaction, only instinct and impulse could tell.

“Just let go! It's over, I'll help you.”

Something amiss was occurring inside Knuckle’s brain which none, neither God nor man could explain. At that very instant, as the words spilled over from “Just” to the word “you” his hands let go. From the tight grip he had moulded over the bumper of the truck, his hand transformed into loosely crafted five-fingered limp. As the speed of which he was previously going was reduced due to the lessening force, he drifted backwards. The cars that were trailing him began to honk wildly signalling that he was a nuisance on the road. More so, that he was an accident nuisance, just dying to happen.

“I'm the one you were supposed to be meeting!”

His lack of thought in the act of letting go was abruptly and thankfully thwarted however. His mind was now reeling from the sudden realization that occurred to him. Now, everything seemed clear to him. The unfortunate mistake that happened inside the Tokyo Dome, as well as the unfounded accusation of theft of a godforsaken underwear. Everything now seemed clearer and more reasonable as it was all connected to the person whom Knuckle was seeking. Someone who could help imbibe the ins and outs of Air Trecks into him. He spun, slowly and methodically to turn and face from where the voice came from only to see the oncoming traffic.

Car horns rung wildly and the still night became another concert hall. It was different however from the concert hall in Tokyo Dome wherein there was a high pitched screams and vaguely associated singing. This time, they were simple flat but ear piercing honks of car, truck and bus horns. A tire screech could be heard amidst them and though faint was clear enough to lay the basis of the oncoming car. Flexing his right leg, Knuckle kicks the earth and propels him sideways and avoids the car, not the least showing any sign of skill in the use of Air Trecks however.

What he simply used was instinct and the power of his legs. Brushing his shirt from the close shave of being hit by a car, he breathes a sigh of relief. Narrowly dodging was good and all but Knuckle was more of a take a hit and block it type of an individual. But in that case, he would do well with dodging as a car hit being blocked was for bricks, metal poles and the like, not of a human body as far as Knuckle is concerned. He looks to a fro as cars begin to pick up speed as the passed by, no longer fretting over some punk hitching a ride of a pig truck.

He walks over some more to the side of the road clearly making sure that he was safe from the traffic. It would really suck if one were to get hit by a car when he had just narrowly avoided one earlier. Good thing people slow down when they see a punk ass Storm Rider acting all stupid on the road. Otherwise, one would doubt how Knuckle could have avoided the car back there. The effect of slow dodge would have been destroyed in an instant had he incidentally gotten hit now. However, now safely on the side of the road, Knuckle waits for the woman to catch up. And truly enough, with effortless grace and frugality of skill she does so in a span that lasted mere moments.

“Hey,” Knuckle greets the woman who was both tall and slender, something the exact opposite of him. His eyes being rude all of a sudden began to “check out” the woman, not that he was in the colloquial definition of the term. One could say it was normal for someone to gander at the person when he or she does meet the person for the first time. Etching every curve and tracing every silhouette into his mind Knuckle registers the person coming before him. She was small, probably half his weight but not his height and quite the budding teenager.

Knuckle had a knack of guessing a person’s character, which probably stemmed from his experiences in litigation. To him, the woman who was riding towards him seemed to be a cheerful and bubbly individual with a carefree nature. Having somewhat of a childish demeanor wherein here aptitude in life was likened to an innocent child. She was a bit quirky and quite possibly clumsy at times notwithstanding her riding was light years ahead of Knuckle. She also seemed naïve which could be associated for her lack of experience due to her youth.

As the distance between the two evaporated into nothingness, Knuckle continues his greeting. “So, everything that happened back there in the Tokyo Dome was your doing? My face will be all over the news saying this, and saying that but now that my head is clear once again, I don’t think it matters. Infamy, yes, but anything else which will cause my career as a lawyer disintegrate, I doubt it. Neither my face, nor the baseless accusation in there would hold water in court.”

Knuckle cracks a laugh suddenly, “but I doubt I’ll be ever representing the Beiber fellow.” He thereafter extends his hand to give a strong and firm handshake. A gesture which would indicate that there were no hard feelings despite that fiasco. Though he slightly hesitates since he suddenly realized that he might stink. It wasn't his fault, blame the pigs and their rotten feces as well as the oddity of the truck that happened to pass by in the city. But still, Knuckle continued onwards with his greeting and hopefully, the rotten smell was not that suffocating or that it happened to not stick on his person at all.

[meanlilkitty]

Cho slowed and moved off to the side as she saw the iron grip release from the truck. Oh, apparently the poor guy was still in a state of shock, since he was just casually rolling back into the oncoming traffic. She cringed, it was too terrible to watch. Both hands covered her eyes, fearing the outcome of the situation and the possibility of the guy becoming roadkill. There was a part of her that felt a little responsible over the whole mess, since well, she had technically started it. Those were minor details though, really.

There was a moment of hesitation, before her fingers parted slowly to allow a view of the scene that she dreaded. Such was not the case though, and she dropped both hands and released a sigh of relief as the guy made his way over to the side where she stood. She ducked her head and and pulled at her collar ackwardly as he spoke, knowing full well that it had all been her doing. It's not like she had meant for him to go plowing into traffic though. Perhaps that was a slight overlook on her part, she hadn't expected him to panic like that. Oh well, what was done could not be undone. The only direction to go was forward.

One brow raised in a moment of confusion at his words. Huh? She waved her hand dismissively, she couldn't be bothered to understand what he was going on about. It could have been the tiny prickle of guilt that caused her to ignore the last part, but eh. Quickly she switched the subject as she discarded her disquise. There was no need for it anymore. Both hands reached down to lift the Beiber shirt, causing the beanie to fall off as she lifted apparel over her head. The longer locks of hair began to move lazily in the breeze moved by traffic. “You should work on that reaction time of yours,” she said as she watched the beanie fall over the side of the overpass with a scowl. She had liked that beanie. “You could have gotten yourself smashed by one of those cars, it wouldn't have been pleasant.”

Her eyes turned back to the man in front of her, he looked to be in his early to mid 20's, and smiled brightly. “I guess I should apologize for all the fuss. It was kind of fun though, yeah?” A slender hand shot out in way of greeting, “Tsukiko Chouko at your service, but most just call me Cho.” The thin framed girl was far to trusting, even in this day and age with all that she had experienced. It was just one of those traits that made her, well, her. She repremanded herself silently for giving out her full name like that. After all, she was probably a wanted criminal at this point, though she looked anything but. “So why did you want to meet me?” It was a simple question, and though she wasn't sure if it was her specifically he had sought out, she knew that he had sought an experienced rider for some sort of training or the likes.