Andy Turnbull | Helena Campbell (forthemask) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2011-03-11 18:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | andy turnbull, dart hatton |
Who: Andy Turnbull and Dart Hatton
What: Bumping into’s
Where: A bus from Renton to Seattle, WA.
When: We’ll say today. >_>
Warnings: References to drug usage, alcoholism, racism, and likely swearing at the least. Oh and semi-completeness.
Time and time again, Andy had found herself relieved she didn’t own a car anymore. Beyond the small issue of the idea of being behind a wheel was enough to send her into a cold sweat, it had it’s economical benefits. Oh sure, it meant that she didn’t have any monthly payments for a hunk of metal that was likely to break down on her or insurance to take care of. But being responsible for others was no longer her concern, even if the trials of public transportation were highly annoying. Even for someone who relied on it. She’d travelled across the country on Amtrak and Greyhounds, mainly but it didn’t stop her from detesting regular old buses.
Unfortunately, she could no more afford a ride in a taxi (which had it’s downsides as well) from Renton then she could afford a new jacket. Her ratty old denim thing was pulled tighter about her as Andy climbed into the Mears bus. It barely kept the wind from biting at her, which said something. She shivered on the top step for a moment before getting a push to move further down. Right. She adjusted her backpack, moving towards the row before the backseat. Less likely to end up with someone next to her there. Bag got shoved under the seat in front of her and her head rested against the cold glass of the window. Voices carrying from the row behind said that gas prices were up - bitterly, she guessed the car was even less of an economic venture. No luxuries or fights from a stinky, claustrophobic bus, bumping across the highway.
Frankly, Andy was ready to begin questioning if coming out to Renton was even worth the price of the round-trip bus ticket. No luck on that second job. Answering that ad had been for bust. People needed to specify when they were only looking to hire tall blondes who wouldn’t talk back when you mentioned their breasts. She tugged her jacket a little closer unconsciously. She shouldn’t have been bothered, but then again little things did. Constantly.
She kicked her booted feet up onto backpack for something to rest them. Making sure no one was coming to her row - unsurprising and again, her intention. People didn’t like coming into the back and she didn’t necessarily want to see people coming towards her and then refusing to even sit next to her. High school all over again. Not something she felt like reliving. - As no one was coming though, she felt comfortable with adjusting her mid-thigh skirt over leggings. No one to give her a ‘what the fuck, do it in private’ look here. The wrinkling would drive her insane during the ride. She had a right to adjust it, thank you very much.