Post by Mitarashi Anko on Nov 4, 2007 23:17:29 GMT -5
With the heel of her hand, Anko rubbed her eyes as she slouched in her place, swinging her legs upward to dangle them over the backside of the seat directly in front of her. A slight pout was gracing her lips, making it evident that she truly didn’t want to be there. There in a rickety bus with musty, peeling, fake leather seats. The wall had initials etched into it, the markings of a young couple expressing their feelings for each other for anyone who sat there to know. Also carved into the scratched up aluminum were quotes, angst filled poems, and the occasional random swearing at someone out of pure immaturity. The din was growing louder as more people were boarding, huddling together in their gossip groups or avoiding certain people as much as possible.
Dango, she reminded herself, there would be dango. And that was all that mattered.
The kid that sat next her appeared, not preoccupied, but not caring either. His eyes were closed, but the sleep was either light or feigned. Whichever it was, she couldn’t care less. She wasn’t expecting a conversation, and frankly didn’t want one. She was not there to socialize with twerps.
But instinct took over, and reaching out she punched the boy’s shoulder, “Wake up.”
Dango, she reminded herself, there would be dango. And that was all that mattered.
The kid that sat next her appeared, not preoccupied, but not caring either. His eyes were closed, but the sleep was either light or feigned. Whichever it was, she couldn’t care less. She wasn’t expecting a conversation, and frankly didn’t want one. She was not there to socialize with twerps.
But instinct took over, and reaching out she punched the boy’s shoulder, “Wake up.”
