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 How Iori Became A Driffter

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Mikoto Iori



Posts : 12
Points : 3029
Join date : 2010-11-02

PostSubject: How Iori Became A Driffter   Tue Nov 02, 2010 8:09 pm

The sun seemed to have disappeared. Hidden away by the film of pitch black clouds that hung, almost heavily, within the sky, the sun was nowhere to be seen and it's warming, pleasant rays were greatly missed by the inhabitants of Toronto, Ontario. The day had not started out well and it appeared that it was not planning to get anybody. With a heavy downpour starting out in the morning, Toronto news stations had warned it's inhabitants that it was only the first stage for a future thunder storm. Now, mid-afternoon met most of the vehicle-less Toronto inhabitants desperately running towards whatever checkpoint they hoped to stay out of the rain at, some towards bus stops, others towards the stations, still others directly towards their home, and some to places most would consider unworthy of mention.


Mikoto Iori was one of those heading towards his home. His footsteps were heavy and rapid, each seemingly encountering the perfect amount of water so that it soaked just above his ankles and then scattered so that it also encountered his upper body, successfully soaking it as well. He moved swiftly as he sprinted towards the abode that he shared with his siblings and parents. He was quite the spectacle to behold. Arms pumping, almost with what appeared to be aggression, back pack rising and then slamming into his back repeatedly, wide open jacket flowing out behind him, giving it the appearance of some sort of cape. Even as the rain fell upon him, soaking straight through his clothing and causing it to cling to his frame, Iori's dark, raven black hair still billowed out behind him as he zoomed through the streets of the Toronto Sub-Urbs, having long since left the outer edges of the Tokyo City behind him.


Iori felt downright invincible as he ran. He felt amazing and unbeatable, his body felt as light as a feather whenever he ran, and even though he was actually being weighed down MORE by the rain that was soaking his clothing, this time was no different. He thought of the running as a peaceful oblivion, running through the long abandoned streets of Sub-Urban, Toronto, Iori had fallen victim to the hypnotic sound of the rain as it met the cement that made up the ground underneath and around him. Truly, Iori had found some sort of promise land where he could be free of all of life's normal problems.


Suddenly, a sharp ringing noise ripped asunder Iori's wonderland, causing him to cease running as he attempted to pinpoint exactly where the noise was coming from. Looking from left to right, Iori's expression shifted from bliss to bewilderment; he was becoming confused as to how he was hearing a telephone ringing when there could be no telephone in the middle of the streets. Finally, his eyes rest upon the payphone standing not ten meters to his right, and with confirmation from his ears, Iori was certain that the payphone was the object that had brought him back down to earth from his elation. Making a clucking noise by holding his tongue to the roof of his mouth before allowing it to fall, Iori let it be known on an auditory level that he was much less than pleased that this payphone happened to be ringing as he ran past.


Swallowing the fear that rose from his breast, Iori approached the enigmatic machinery, determined to figure out this mystery. As he walked towards the payphone, Iori dawned his most comfortable posture; shoulders held back and straight, both hands straight as rulers, expression blank and eyes showing no emotion except for calm and clarity. For the most part, it was simply a ploy, not his real emotions perse, but he kept it as such, it was for appearances, and he liked to keep up appearances. As he approached the phone, Iori raised both of his hands, fingers spread apart as he ran them through his hair, sweeping the soaking wet strands backwards and away from his eyes, where they had fallen during his journey from school towards his home. Finally reaching the phone, Iori lifted it off it's hook, pressing the receiver to the side of his face and opening his mouth to speak only to be cut off by what he thought to be pure static. As soon as the sound reached him, Iori recoiled with a wince, holding the phone away from his ear due to the sudden noise and it's volume level. As he stared at the phone receiver in his hand, Iori failed to notice the strange, ALMOST humanoid creature that stood upright in mid-air, with a phone held to the side of it's "head".


Frowning, Iori placed the receiver back upon the base, his confusion having been stroked and had newer, more vigorous life blown into it by the sudden and, he considered it, annoying noise. Just as he made to turn around and begin running again, through the rain, towards his home, Iori's eyes rested upon something he was certain wasn't there a moment before hand. A Calling Card was peeking out of the section of the Payphone dedicated for such forms of payment. "Strange, I'm sure I would have noticed this" Iori muttered to himself as he reached for the card and then ripped it free from the chamber. He frowned only more severely as he caught sight of what he thought was the name for the company who produced the phone card. "Poo- Pooo" Iori began, already screwing up in the pronunciation of the "company's" title. "Poo-shu-ruu-en" he concluded, looking all the more puzzled as he studied the card over and over, having already started to make his way home.


Last edited by Mikoto Iori on Wed Nov 03, 2010 4:56 am; edited 2 times in total
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Mikoto Iori



Posts : 12
Points : 3029
Join date : 2010-11-02

PostSubject: Re: How Iori Became A Driffter   Wed Nov 03, 2010 7:38 am

If running was Iori's favorite form of exercise, Tennis was, without a doubt, his favorite sport. His trip to the other side of the world had not changed his love for the sport, if anything, it had worked only to amplify that love. In Iori's opinion, when one played Tennis in Japan, it was one of the few times where it less about comradeship and more about competition, the tennis court was the one place where the Japanese concept of strength in numbers became strength to stand alone, and the concept did not work to draw out the best in Iori as it did for some others. In contrast, Iori found that North America, Canada, in particular, seemed to embody the theory of not so much playing against each other as it is simply playing with them, and that air of freedom during the game seem to cause his talents in the sport flourish. Truly, tennis was the game for those who wished to simply have fun, the perfect sport for someone like Iori. Since he had come to "Saint Jerome's Academy" he had only made a handful of friends, and the majority of them had come from the tennis club, the club he was currently at, playing against the president of the club in the team courts.


The game had gone in Iori's favor from the very beginning. Once he had made it to North America with his mother, Iori had been running four kilometers a day, this meant that he had developed quite a bit of stamina, so much so that playing in the blazing hot sun, as he and the captain were today, was not taking too much away from him. However, on the opposite side of the spectrum was the captain of the academy's tennis club who stood opposite Iori on the court, his body drenched in his sweat, his breath coming ragged and swift, his long blond hair messed by a mixture of perspiration, running and the day's wind, which came hot and hard, carrying little precipitation. As he glanced at him, Iori noted that the captain's weaker leg, the one on his left and Iori's right, was shuddering in response to the overwork that the captain was demanding of it. Smiling as he threw up the fuzz covered ball, Iori smacked it with his tennis racket, aiming for the right hand corner of the serving box and when the ball found his target, Iori was pleased to see the captain collapse, his left leg giving out under the strain of diving for the serve. Iori contained any of his exhilaration until the Vice President, who was acting as umpire announced "Game, Set, Match" until he let it out with a simple tucking of the elbow, hand curled into a fist as he did so.


"Well, looks like our little Japanese pal is gonna be the best in Toronto, eh?" the vice president, who's name Iori never seemed to be able to remember said jokingly as he clapped Iori on the back. Iori couldn't help but chuckle as well, for he knew, that though he had won, which was the first time in what must have been dozens by now, that he had only done so because of the weather, not truly because of his skill. But, even as he acknowledged that he had won more out of a result of the elements than his skills, he could help but feel as if today was a great day among good ones. He was doing well in school, and this victory over the president of the Tennis Club proved that he was also improving in his tennis game. After many congratulations, most of them coming from the president, who Iori detected was feeling a bit disappointed that he had been so close but had failed to deliver the final blow for victory, and from the other members of the club, Iori was on his way home, having changed into his street clothes from his Workout Clothing. As he exited the school, Iori muttered a few goodbyes, halfhearted ones that both Iori and the the recipients knew was only given to them because Iori was polite and thus thought it necessary that he did so.


As he walked home, his footsteps just a bit too hard to be quiet and a bit too uneven to be considered consistent. It was strange considering that Iori couldn't wait to get home everyday, but today, he found that he was distracted by his thoughts of uncertainty. "Mother is probably at home by now, worrying." Iori whispered to himself as he dug around the foremost pocket of his backpack. Finally, Iori felt his fingers close around the hard, plastic substance and he began to make his way towards the trio of payphones that hung from the outer wall of the bank he was swiftly approaching. Inserting his phone card into the correct slot, Iori almost began dialing before a voice began speaking in a voice that was most certainly not the automated voice he was used to. The voice said "Greetings! Your World is now Co-nnected! You've reached the Immigration offices of Psyren" the female voice exclaimed to him. As the woman said Psyren, Iori couldn't contain the gasp he let out, because he recognized the name. His father had mentioned it, stating that it was the work of cultist or something of the sort, but that didn't explain how exactly Iori had come into ownership of a phone card which, he concluded now that the woman had properly pronounced the word, must have been the p-word he could not pronounce on the card. Suddenly, the female voice broke Iori's thought process with a simple question "Are you a Canadian of age 12 or over?" "Please Press 1 for Yes and 2 For No" the voice said once more, having already said it once, Iori realized and he answered quickly.


What followed was a series of questions, many of which Iori answered absent-mindedly, as if he were barely conscious, and the truth was, he was. Iori had overworked himself during the tennis match and he was suffering from minor dehydration, so there was very little thinking involved with his answers, almost all of it was the truth, or what Iori believed was the truth. When Iori reached home that night, he would probably only remember having used the card for SOMETHING and when his mother asked why he had stayed so long, out in the sun, Iori would probably not be able to answer her, and she would feel slightly stupid, having bought him a cell phone as a reward for his good grades this term.

(The Thread is now over)
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