Greyhound (Chyril 22nd, GT - CLOSED)

[Finley Ward]

Halfway across the Nevada desert on a dusty, humid, thick day in August, and the sun was such that a bus would become a mobile greenhouse. Even American aircon couldn't negotiate with this kind of exposure. The Greyhound was now an industrial oven on wheels, a travelling glass-eyed thermos flask, keeping everything inside at ten degrees hotter than comfortable, keeping it's cargo sweltering. The most expensive sauna couldn't offer a sweat like this.

It smelled of perspiration, sounded like straining fans, and felt hotter than hell.

In this mobile prison ship bound for Vegas, if somewhere on the distant and wavering horizon such a place existed, the passengers were trapped in a way quite unlike any other. Forced together through coincidence, they had gathered to share in this cheap, sweaty coffin of a journey, unintentionally sharing in this seemingly endless fate of uniform, sun-bleached horizons. A long spate of dozy dry silence shared by seven strangers trapped in a dynamic they could not know until they chose to explore it.

And near the back, his face mostly covered by a large black stetson, a short and untidy man dozed fitfully. Occasionally, in his sleep, he twitched and murmured, his dry, chapped lips moving visibly beneath the brim of his oversized hat. He was sprawled across a pair of seats, his skinny denimed legs spreadeagled as if in effort to take up more room - as if the virtually empty bus demanded more to fill it, and unconsciously he felt an urge to obey. Behind his left ear a crumpled rollup nested, matching nicotine-yellow fingers on his right hand and, when his lips moved silently in sleep-talk, stained front teeth to match. Beside him a grey duffel bag occupied the space between his jeans and the window, and one skinny, pale arm cradled it protectively even in sleep.

Finn did not enjoy this kind of travel. He'd decided long ago to cultivate a form of travel-narcolepsy, and use it to his advantage. Today, however, he was plagued by bad dreams. Today was a journey quite unlike any other.

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OOC: welcome! This is an exercise in group social dynamics, folks, set in modern day with modern day versions of your PCs. No magic please - for reasons that ought to be obvious. Six additional players ONLY may join the Greyhound, and then this thread will be closed. Please post your opening statements, and we shall begin. :)

[Jack Farrell]

It sounded like a hiss in your ears more than anything. It hovered just on the edge of perception like a whine of a mosquito. In his head, the headphones blasted passion. The fat drummer pounding the skins with all his heart, the vocals spitting blood, strings cutting fingers on the fretboard. He could remember the gig, feel the unity as four hundred people danced to the same beat screaming the same words. He opened his eyes and lifted his head from his revere, trying to shift his position to avoid the direct sunlight on his jet black wife-beater.

This sucked major ass. He twirled his thumb-ring and elbowed the denim satchel to make the bundle a little more comfortable. For a pillow it felt more like a steam-pack. Why couldn't he have just taken the hit and bought an air ticket...

Jack wiped the sweat from his brow, it was mixing with the gel in his hair, stinging his eyes. It was too hot to sleep, how did that old bastard at the back manage it? Jack couldn't have slept if the whole bus had been full of hash.

[Alexandrya L`handriel]

Another page flipped as the bus jolted from the bump. She tried her best to ignore her surroundings and hoped that this was the best idea. Alexandrya never did something so bold as to trek across the country to the Sin City to meet someone. Well someone that she knew of but not well enough. It was only in books that she found real escape. Romance novels and mystery ones usually often kept her intrigued and up at night.

This bus trip was all on a whim that there was someone out there that would be as passionate as Rolf and David, and she was tired of her boring little safe life. What could possibly go wrong on a bus ride to Vegas?

A lovely girl dressed in a soft cotton blend of a pale blue and lavender with hair the color of spun moonbeams which were tied in two pig tails and braided all the way down her back. She worked at looking unimpressive to be left alone. She wore a little bit of lip gloss and sunblock so she would not burn as well as a bit of mascara, and eyeliner.

Grey eyes observed the quizzical man across the aisle from her with the music blasting his ear drums to hell and sighed softly as she continued to try to read her romance novel. She pushed a bit of pale blond hair behind her ear and tried to ignore her surroundings once again. I hope you are worth it. She thought as she remembered that she had printed out his love letter asking her to come to Las Vegas and crossed her fingers. Please be worth it.

[Adriano Marinetti]

Ugh.

It was a ghastly affair, as rides in these hellish contraptions usually were. The heat, the stench of unwashed bodies, the constant noise, the classless people he was surrounded with. Just like fucking home. Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his sky blue silk shirt, Billy Ray (or, as he had styled himself after his robbery, Adriano) shifted in his seat, moving away from the window. He was well-groomed, in his early twenties, with dark hair tied in a neat pony tail and a neatly trimmed goatee. Sweat trickled down his face. Just a couple more hours...

He cast a surreptitious glance towards the young man at the seat across, who seemed to be trying to get some sleep, and failing abysmally. A cool kid, who had the look of a rebel, and, as Adriano had noticed earlier, the ass of a god. It was difficult to get used to the freedom to appreciate a man's form without fear of being bludgeoned to death by a bunch of testosterone-poisoned beer-addled rednecks.

God... He was glad to be away from it all, from the shitty trailer parks in shitty Louisiana, the post-apocalyptic depressive sight of a city ruined by Nature's wrath. Now, he was ready, with his new clothes and new personality, to let the good times roll. And what better place to do it than Las Vegas, capital of superficiality and play?

This whole fashionista thing was a game, a game he played with some success (for now, at least), and a game he hoped to eventually win. He could see some of the passengers would possibly try to make human contact with him (and truth be told, he wouldn't mind at all if that gelled up rockstar beefcake wanted to have a little chat), so he had to keep in character. And the character, the flambuoyant gay fashion designer from Milan, Adriano Marinetti, was in his mind much more interesting than Billy Ray Beauregard, small-time crook from the New Orleans French Quarter. Of course, he had to explain why an internationally recognized fashion mogul was riding in a Greyhound bus.

Shit...

[Fauna Winthrope]

"It's going to be a big break for you, girl!"

That's what her manager slash pimp told her a few days ago when she whole-heartedly agree to go to Las Vegas to shoot the second part of her porn movie. She'd done more than enough porn movies these past two years, more than she could count with her fingers and toes combined: Fauna in Wonderland, Moulin Splooge, Throbbin’ Hood and Have You been to URANUS? And now, she was off to Las Vegas to shoot the sequel of her last film, the nominally acclaimed porn movie, Fauna does France. The new movie, Fauna does Vegas, her manager reckoned, would catapult her to stardom and she, Flora Missanthrope, porn star/model/exotic dancer would forever be changed.

"You might even go to Hollywood, girl!"

And Flora was excited. She wanted to be a big star, not a B movie pornstar, she’d be twenty-three this coming May and she wouldn’t be young forever.

"Go to Vegas, girl. I know you can do it. Everything’s arranged. All travel expenses paid."

And now, here, inside the sweltering bus, moving so slowly across the desert sand of Nevada, Flora ruefully thought it was a big mistake, a really huge mistake, bigger than her bozangers combined. She was hot! Well, not that kind of ‘hawt’! She was sweating all over. She was wilting inside that bus for more than an hour now as if she was inside a sauna and not even the air-conditioning of the bus could not remove the sweltering oven heat blanketing inside that moving vehicle. Her skin was icky and damp and even though she had removed her t-shirt and was only wearing her faded blue, levi’s jeans that contoured her shapely legs and her black bra, the heat was still unbearable.

“Can you like so totally increase the cooler?” Flora demanded from the driver as she gracefully moved from her seat with a sensous sway of her hips and walked along the aisle up to the driver, sliding her black-tinted eyeglass up her blond, pony-tailed hair. “I’m like so hot!” Her velvety voice echoed inside the sweltering bus.

She sighed, knowing that there was nothing the driver could do against the pounding heat of the Nevada sun. Pouting, she moved gracefully back to her seat and thought about removing her jeans and bra as well, anything that could comfort her from the heat.

[Langredoc]

Yawning, Langredoc leaned back, sweat dripping from his forehead. The long haired man was moving his leather jacket further away while he sad in the back of the bus.

Mildly interested his green eyes moved towards the blonde who seemed to be focused to torment the driver of the greyhound. For a slight moment he wondered if she knew that aircon's in this area where never up to the impossible task of reducing the heat. The woman had not the behavior nor the clothing telling him that she was a genius anyway, probably earning a living the "easy" way. When she turned and peered into the bus he got a glimpse of her eyes.... pretty eyes though.

Langredoc was a very unhappy federal agent today, in stead of heaving a nice weekend with friends or better, he would have to tail a guy who should take this bus.... or not. And it was that "or not" that annoyed the man the most. If that would happen he would have to travel to Vegas in this hellish bus for nothing, and try find him there. That was not something nice to look forward too. Maybe he should take a better look at the picture of the guy. Besides, he had not seen the guy with the stetson's face....it could be him, or one of the others. Those guys changed their appearance more often then a bimbo changed her makeup.

The thought made him check out the women... it made him wonder and think about a brunet. But it also remembered about a spoiled weekend.

So while seated, he prepared to face fate as it hit him with a grin and plenty of sweat, at least the guy would go nowhere as long as this bus moved.

[Guest]

Finnegan's cross-country trek had been fairly easy until now. Catching jobs as often as he caught busses. He'd seen every state except Maine, Montana, and those bordering the pacific. He was bound for the west coast, perhaps San Francisco or possibly Seattle. One of the bigger cities might yield a place for him to finally settle down. His last job, a ranch hand under the scorching sun, had left his tender Irish complexion a rather uncomfortable shade of brick red, especially with the heat of the bus bearing down on him.

He used his maroon and gray sweatshirt as a pillow, cushioning his head against the window. His plain, black teeshirt clung to his fairly well defined torso, as he cursed his choice of color for the day. All his paler shirts were in his checked bag. At least he'd had the forethought to wear his khaki zip-off pants, leaving his lower legs and chunky leather sandals exposed. He could feel the sweat clinging to his stubbled cheeks, moreso than anywhere else on his face, but he'd been too afraid to shave that morning, when he could barely lift his arms. He'd rather be mildly uncomfortable, than have razor burn over the sunburn.

The redhead had tried reading, but sweat kept getting in his eyes. He tried to use the book as a fan, but between the dull burning sensation at even the smallest moves, and the constant ache in his muscles from bearing heavy loads, he gave up. Now he just watched the uninteresting scenery slip by outside, through his sunglasses. Seattle, definitely, he decided with a nod to himself. They had a lot of rain up there, he'd heard. Just like back home. He'd had enough of deserts.

[Finley Ward]

OOC: We are all gathered, then! :) We have a crook, a cop, a whore, a bookworm, a traveller, a fake and a rockstar! A brief note for players. The bus will not be stopping, at all, until the thread is over. The driver is basically an automaton - unless another mod chooses to step in and NPC the driver, he will not respond. And we are the only passengers on this bus - there are no other NPCs! Got the situation? Excellent... then let us begin.
[hr][/hr]
The driver ignored Fauna's demands as he would ignore everything. If the money you could make from driving this shitty route wasn't enough to send his kids to college, and it sure as shit wasn't enough to listen to orders from valley girls. It wasn't like he could do anything about the heat, anyway. He wasn't god, for fuck's sake.

He kept his eyes on the road, and his thoughts to himself.

At the back of the bus, Finn had failed to notice the federal agent barely seats away, but then he was asleep with a hat over his eyes and the fed was in plain clothes. It would be hard for any man to see through that, were he not expecting it.

Unfortunately, Finley was.

Had he told the brief story, he might have told it something like this: once upon a time he'd had a job. It hadn't be a great job, and it certainly hadn't been a legal job, but it had been a job nonetheless and had at least come with a little security of the kind jobs like that usually entail. Watching out for feds was just one of the pitfalls of such employment, just a routine thing. Of course, the job hadn't at any point involved taking almost eighty thousand dollars in crisp notes, throwing them a grey duffle bag, and then taking the nearest bus to Vegas to launder the money and then disappear.

Finn shifted slightly in his seat, mumbling something incoherent and pushing the hat down further over his face. He was only half-asleep at the best of times, and the tinny residue of the walkman four seats in front was playing at the edges of his hearing just enough, now that he'd noticed it, to keep him conscious. For a brief moment he considered the .38, wrapped in a grey t-shirt and bundled among the laundry that covered the rolls of banknotes in his bag. Stupid thought. Mmm... try an' get back ta sleep. Almost in Vegas. Almost home free, kiddo. Ain't far now.

With a muffled grunt he shifted again, pushed the hat up with a nicotine-yellow thumb to observe the bus through sleepy, red-rimmed eyes. Finley was considering being awake now, and it seemed he had little choice. Across the aisle and four seats up he could see a pale blonde head, apparently buried in a book. And sashaying down the aisle another blonde, this one buxom and with a swing in her step that completely distracted Finn. He muttered "...fuckin' desert...", a british accent tinged heavily with irish which betrayed him immediately as a foreigner, and dropped the stetson back over his eyes.

The buzzing music was still irritating. Though Finley had no desire to start a scene, particularly since he was trying to keep a low profile, his temper had begun to get the better of him. In a moment or two he'd be askin' nicely fer the kid ta shut the fuck up... or mebbe he'll get the fuckin' walkman up 'is arse, eh?

[Adriano Marinetti]

The bus dragged itself through the drab, scorched paysage of Nevada. It was still unbearably hot, and the AC was being pushed to the limits of its endurance. The trip was an utter bore, with everyone pretty much keeping to themselves, despite (or perhaps because) the bus was virtually empty save for a couple of picturesque characters, like that trashy blonde bimbo up front. He would have to amuse himself all by himself. Normally, this wouldn't present a problem, but his favourite method of self-amusement would be somewhat inappropriate in a bus.

With a sigh, "Adriano" stood up and took the bag from the compartment above his seat. Inside was the money he had liberated from one Nicholas "Nico" Alvero - or rather, one of his subordinate goons. The boss of the Big Easy's small but effective Cosa Nostra rarely got himself directly involved in such business himself. Also inside were his shades, tacky aviators he had picked up at a Wal-Mart in Texas (officially, they were Vizzini designer sunglasses, bought at a boutique in Milan) and a couple of magazines ranging from fashion rags to gay porn mags. He picked the safer option, a copy of Ultima Moda featuring the spring/summer hot picks from the Parisian and Italian catwalks. It was a conditioned reflex in him by now, a sense of unease about publically displaying his preferences instilled into him by beatings and frequent verbal threats, that kept him from choosing a more risque source of entertainment. Besides, Ultima Moda has its fair share of scantily clad young men, and he'd be cooling himself off with the magazine more than actually reading it anyway, so it didn't really matter.

Making sure nobody notices the wads of cash inside the bag, he quickly took out the sunglasses and the magazine and put the bag back up into the compartment. He huffed in exasperation, wiped off the sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief, put on his shades, unbuttoned another three buttons on his shirt and sat again, casually browsing his magazine. Lazily turning the pages, he wondered just where the fuck he was going with all this.

In reality, he didn't have anything remotely resembling a plan of action. All he had was a lot of money, taken from people from which you really shouldn't take any money, and no real clue as to what to do with it. Go to Mexico? Canada? Or simply Vegas, and blow it all in one orgiastic festival of pure jouissance, a money shot straight into the gaping mouth of the world, losing it all on roulette and baccarat and fancy shit like that. Hell, the Mafia probably held the casinos even today, so he'd in effect be giving the money back. Going out in a blaze of glory seemed an immensely attractive option. His life was a worthless series of disappointments, in any case, an utterly pointless whirlwind of sex, drugs, and soul-sucking boredom.

He was a failure, pure and simple. Draping himself in silk and affecting a cheesy Italian accent ("It's-a me, Adriano!") wasn't going to affect anything. The world would remain as barren, meaningless and uncaring as it has always been.

A wasteland. His eyes shifted back to the uniform deadness of the surrounding desert. Here he was, in this overheated can of shit travelling from nowhere to nothing. It was life laid bare, down to the very essentials. Being trapped in a shitty, malodorous bus with a bunch of strangers. Nobody knew anyone, nobody spoke to anyone.

No one here gets out alive.

He shrugged off his thoughts and waved his magazine in front of his face, desperately trying to cool off. There was no escaping the heat today. God, he could use a cold shower, a stiff drink and a stiff cock right about now. He felt his manhood throb, and crossed his legs, taking a deep breath. The punky kid on the other side was isolating himself from the world with a headphone set, so it didn't make sense to approach. He sat back in the uncomfortable seat, closed his eyes, and tried to force himself to go to sleep.

[Fauna Winthrope]

She had the two seats near the front all to herself. It was a good thing, probably the best idea her pimp had in all of his pimping years. That meant Flora had a lot of room to manuever and inside that hell bus, the porn star needed a lot of private space.

"It's hot!" She moaned after a few minutes of unbearable silence as she started fanning herself with her hand. Her two luggage were outside in the large compartment and Flora wished she could have brought one of the luggage up with her, the one with her suntan lotion. If she was to be fried and cooked inside the bus, she should at least be cooked well done.

She sighed once more, her bosom slowly moving up and down as sweat trickled down her milky skin, her perfect skin that she painstakingly take care of with milk body shampoo, exfoliant, lotions, creams and moisturizer. Slowly rummaging through her small bag beside her, she remembered she still have her bottled water.

"Water..." Flora breathed and realized that it was now warm. "Shit!" She muttered under her breath, but it was better than having none and with enough relish, she was about twist the cap yet dropped it from the jolt of the bump, the pristine bottle rolling along the isle and stopped near the front. Muttering profanities under her breath, she moved from her seat to get the bottle, swinging gracefully and expertly around one of the pole as she slowly bend, exposing the curve of her rear to the people seated at the back and took the bottled water and uncapped it.

"Oooooooooh...." She moaned out loud, still standing in the front of the isle, leaning her back upon the pole when she took a swig of her bottle, water trickling from her mouth down to her neck and down to the crevice of her bosom, mixing with her glistening sweat as the golden, Nevada sun exposed her most salient features. With another graceful swish of her hair, she lifted the bottle, letting the water trickle down her face and her exposed flesh, moaning and groaning with kittenish delight, emptying the liquid down to its last drop as she touched her naked flesh.

"Oooh noooh..." Flora now moaned disappointedly, her voice velvety and soft like a whimper of a sex kitten. "I need more water...." She turned her blue eyes to the people at the back, her bare skin glistening with her own sweat and water.

"Do you guys have water?"

[Langredoc]

The bus dragged on. And while it was amusing to see the woman complaining it quickly turned back to good old boredom. So Langredoc took the newspaper and started reading it. It was clear to him that the world had not become a better place. There was something interesting though, a advertisement with a picture.

MISSING



My dear brother Jon Aintonotty had disappeared a week ago and we want to find him back. We offer 10000$ or more reward to any tip that would lead to his safe return home.

Because Jon is under strict medication in according to his mental problem its not advised to try to discuss or talk with him. He can be dangerous and has been known to bite.

His wife and children mis him terribly and would love to see him home.

Call 062311222 and the family shall take care of it and rewards shall be give.

Nico Aintonotty.

Langredoc wondered a bit about the advertisement. Seemed more like a mob warning or worse. What made him remember that he had not paid his due's yet. A smile appeared on his face when he thought of his ex wife putting a advertisement like that in a countrywide newspaper. She would probably offer a reward of three cans of beer, four if they would beat him up first.

Langredoc sighed. He would like to have some beer. Then he realized that the guy in the newspaper was actually in the bus. He had seen him when he entered the bus..

10000$, it was a tempting idea. For a few minutes he played with the idea what he could do with that kind of money. Maybe he should give them a call and see if he could get more money out of it. With a sigh he dismissed the idea, it was not enough to get his ex killed anyway, and took a bottle of water out of his bag.

Well it was time to see if the guy he had to track was on the bus, so he took the small picture out of his pocket and checked it. With a faint smile he concluded that at least this trip would not be a total waste. The guy sitting a few seats away was clearly his target. His hair a bit different but it was him Finley Ward. Probably traveling by new name by now. He surely did not take the easy or the comfortable way out.

Langredoc wiped the sweet from his face and took a sip of water. Meanwhile the bimbo started to attract attention so he placed the bottle a bit out of sight hoping that she had not seen it. It would be a long trip, and wasting it at her face would be a bad thing.

He just checking what he should do, keep a eye on the guy and see where he drops a bag or something. They had never been very specific, and it had been before coffee. After that arrest him, or stay and keep a eye on the bag or something if there is no blue guy backup. Then the advertisement kept nagging at him, if someone had seen it prior to the guy entering the bus, he probably would be welcomed by a committee. So he flipped out his mobile phone.... just his luck, no connection, dead as a doornail. This was really the middle of nowhere. Well, he had his duties and saving insane guys where not among them, normally.

With a soft grunt he decided to ignore all the distractions and to make it as comfortable as possible and keep a eye on the guy and travel happy and relaxed,,,,,, fat hope.

[Alexandrya L`handriel]

The people on the bus was restless causing Alexandrya to be distracted. It was bad enough that the leggy blond thought it was a shoot for her own porno right here on the bus. It took all of her restraint to not roll her eyes at the woman's lame theatrics to get everyone's attention especially the males on the bus. Grey eyes noticed several unsavory people and was glad that none of them smelt bad.

The guy across from her seemed to have turned up his music a bit higher and rocking out to it as if he was at the rock concert. She sighed softly and instead of going back to her book she leaned over and tapped the guy on the shoulder. "Hey!" She mouthed as she waited for him to notice her. The jabs from her fingers probably getting his attention first before her words. "Can you please turn the music down?" Her voice was soft and melodic as she secretly hoped the guy wouldn't get belligerent. "I can hear your music from over here." She would continue if the man took off his headphones to even hear what she had to say.

[Jack Farrell]

Someone was poking his arm. Jack sighed, opened his eyes and turned his head, intent on delivering that still glare that usually told people to fuck off without having to open his mouth. He liked his image, it was something he crafted carefully and there was always some jock or redneck that thought the kid in the corner with the spikes and eyeliner would be a good sport. Jack kinda enjoyed educating them - but a bus in the middle of the desert was not the place for this. If he got kicked out, it wasn't like he could just catch the 43.

The glare quickly dropped to a smile however, a slight widening of the eyes in suprise and recognition as it turned out that his assailant was in fact a pretty girl.

He sat up abruptly, brushing his headphones off. With the speakers to the open air, Jack supposed the driver could have heard it, but he thumbed the controls and the tinny concert ended abruptly. He smiled. He had a nice smile, or at least he had been told so often enough - always a winner with his mam's friends. He tried to hold the girl's gaze and he grinned as he spoke. "How might I help you then?" He asked, his voice marking him as a foreigner. He was English, but had spent a lot of time travelling - especially as a child. His accent was hard to place, but it had traces of cockney to it. His Dad had been from London's east end. He smoothed his hands on torn urban cargo's, drying the palms in case she offered her hand.

[Finley Ward]

Finn was just on the verge of getting up to grab the kid's walkman and fling it out of a window, when the buzzing music... ceased. For a moment, the skinny crook did nothing, and then abruptly he sat up, pushed the hat to the back of his head, and peered suspiciously out at the bus - for the first time his angular, pale face revealed completely, and strands of dirty reddish hair hanging over his dark eyes. Blearily, he watched the young rock fan makin' pretty with the attractive blonde opposite him, and felt vaguely bitter about it. It was always deeply frustrating to work yourself up into a righteous anger about a thing, only to have it sort itself out, leaving you feeling somewhat impotent.

Also, the blonde was pretty in a shy, girlish sort of way. And Finley hadn't gotten any in a while.

His face twisting momentarily into something close to a sneer, Finn slouched back against a seat that had seemed comfortable when he'd first sat down, and now felt a lot like a sack full of bricks against his numb arse. Thoughtlessly, he pulled the bent rollup from behind his ear and, after a moment's fumbling for a lighter, that stretch-legged pose of one trying to get something out of a jean's pocket while sitting, he lit the thing with complete disregard for any non-smoking signs that might or might not exist.

It was a virtually empty bus, he figured, and people did not like to make a scene if they could help it. Silently, he stared out at the strangers, daring them to say anything as he blew a plume of blue smoke towards the ceiling. Just one of them had to say something, and he could feel completely justified in placing all his unspent anger directly with them. Perversely, he felt quite keen to have a good fight. It would be invigorating.

Nearer the front of the bus, that other blonde - the slutty-looking one - seemed to have spilled an entire bottle of water over herself and was now dripping all over the floor. Finn had not seen the performance or heard her request for water as he'd been far too busy working himself up into a self-important rage in the guise of trying to sleep... but now he came to look at her, he noticed she looked oddly familiar. Very familiar, though he couldn't put his finger on exactly where he knew her from.

And even stranger, it was her nipples he recognised. Through her wet shirt they were incredibly visible, and for some reason... he felt he knew them rather well.

Huh.

[Alexandrya L`handriel]

The young lady held her breath as she interrupted the rocker next to her thinking he would yell at her. Except when he realised who was trying to get his attention, a smile quickly appeared.

Her round eyes took in the details of the young man's face and she blushed when she noticed him staring. She sighed softly as the walkman was turned down but now his attention was directed fully on her. When he spoke she blinked and completely lost what she was going to say even though she would have had to repeat herself, what, something...

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I was just going to ask you to turn your music down a bit." She murmured shyly. Oh he's cute...and has an accent... She blushed as she pushed the thought aside. Are you crazy? He's a stranger and what about Joshua? The whole reason for her Vegas adventure.

Alexandrya leaned over and offered her hand, "Alexandrya, or rather Alexa." Her hand was soft and slender as it grasped Jack's in a firm handshake. "What were you listening to?" She asked trying to engage him in conversation despite her nervousness.

[Adriano Marinetti]

He was lulled into a half-sleep by the relentless heat and the slow droning hum of the air conditioning. Scenes flashed before his eyes, fading memories of a life he planned to leave behind.

Music. A throbbing beat, bodies writhing in ecstasy (and on Ecstasy) on the dance floor, an epilepsy-inducing lightshow, the peroxide-head Italian DJ lording over the gathered crowd, standing above it all like a golden god of decadence. Sweat, heat, flesh rubbing against flesh.

Silk sheets, more sweat, more heat, the peroxide-head Italian DJ behind him, whispering ridiculous things into his ear. That accent. The feel of his long, hard shaft slipping in and out, their bodies fused in a moment of perfect pleasure. The little death, a groan of final release, the word "Snookums", DJ Gino's silly pet name for his favourite little hustler, whispered softly.

The noise of Mardi Gras, the dirty streets of the Quartier Latin. Turning tricks on a shady corner, exhibited like a piece of meat. The drugs, the johns, café au lait at the Café du Monde.

A painful sensation in his head, boots stomping on him. Dirt, blood, pain, shouts of "Faggot!" and derisive laughter. The gray, dull walls of Louisiana State Pen. Showers. The unpleasant feeling of being pinned against a wall and violated. The smug face of Nico Alvero.

Drugs. Gunshots. A suitcase full of cash. Running into the night, with nowhere to go.

He opened his eyes, finding himself lying in a fetal position on the two extremely uncomfortable seats, drenched in sweat and clutching his créme suit jacket in his arms. His neck was in a very uncomfortable position. Groaning in agony, he got up and stretched. Outside, the same old dull landscape. They were getting nowhere. He had slept through the ditzy blonde's little show, and wouldn't have been impressed with it even if he had seen it. Damn trailer-trash skanks. He had enough of those desperate, usually intoxicated girls throwing themselves all over him during his youth. Looking around, he noticed the cute punky kid was chatting up a pretty blonde girl.

So much for that fantasy. He sighed and returned to flipping the pages of his copy of Ultima Moda, focusing on the men's underwear models. The ride was excruciatingly boring, and he hoped Vegas would prove less so. If they ever get there.

[Guest]

Having nothing better to do, and sitting fairly close to the back, Finnegan watched the other people on the bus, and began to feel surprisingly normal. It was a welcome feeling, after having spent so much time moving between small towns. You'd think no one had ever heard an Scottish accent, the way some people would look at him when he asked around for work, even though to his ears it sounded rather muddled these days. He tried to pretend to not be interested in the blonde's show at the front of the bus. Which became much easier once she asked for more water. The heat had made him him rather protective of the two bottles of water in his bag, and wasn't about to offer his precious supply up to someone who would waste it like that.

The sense of normalcy was overshadowed by something else, though. Two of the men on the bus made him slightly uncomfortable. The first was the one who'd fallen asleep. From where he sat, the redhead couldn't see what the man had hidden in the bag, but he had just always been a little wary of men who dressed in such a manner. They either had something to sell, or were just plain stuck up.

But the unease from Adriano was minimal compared to what sat two seats behind him. He had forgotten the man was there, until his nostrils burned from the smoke. Coughing, he turned around in his seat, cringing slightly as the twist of his neck momentarily burned from the sunburn. "I'm no' sure if ya noticed, but ya canno' smoke in 'ere." He pointed to the no-smoking symbol above Finley's head. "Anyway, it's 'ard enough to breathe in 'ere with out yer cloggin' up what little air we got in 'ere....if...ya don't mind...." he added as an after thought. The heat had made him slightly cranky, leaving him a little less polite than usual.

[Langredoc]

Suddenly the buzzing of the music stopped. It was so quiet that he could actually hear the young woman talk with the brat. That was a good thing.

But then....Smoke. The bugger started to smoke..... Langredoc really hated that. The bus was almost empty but with all the windows closed and the aircon working like shit the smell of the cigarette was carried around quickly. Putting aside the newspaper he was pulled between his irritation and his job. The heat added to his irritation of this asocial behavior and it won of duty.

So after a few seconds he got enough of it, rose slowly and stepped forward, plucked the cigarette out of the mouth of the asocial, snuffing it with his thumb.
"Hey dude, its a non smoking area. If you find me rude,,, complain to the driver.." he snarled at Fin.

Moving backwards back to his place, He felt better allready. A good fight would make him feel even better, but duty called. A bit of a challenging grin appeared on his face while he waited for the response of the guy. He probably did now want to make a scene, people rarely did.

But you never know. He could really use a cold beer now. His wife always complained that he was to eager to give justice a chance, and to hotheaded to step aside.

[Jack Farrell]

"Ah just a few songs from back home." Jack smiled. "I worked at a festival a few months back, we got a lot of free demos from the bands." Jack then realised that, rather than shaking her hand he was now just holding it. He quickly apologised, let go, and moved up offering Alexa the isle seat.

In this moment, no longer isolated from the world by his headphones, Jack became aware of the other passengers that had joined the bus after him. The tramp at the back had sparked up, one guy was immersed in a magazine and some bird at the front was either sweating like a pig or had just had some sort of accident. Pretty though, in a silicon queen kind of way. The other guys just seemed to have zoned out to the dull whine of the engine. Not that Jack could blame them, there wasnt exactly in-flight entertainment - though the bird at the front was giving it her best shot. He had not seen a bus of this quality since his dad had been stationed in Sarajevo. At least it had been cold there.

"Im Jack by the way." He added, "Come here often?" He couldn't resist the line and delivered it with a smirk, indicating the bus.

Just then one of the guys got up and walked past to the tramp, plucking the roll-up from his mouth. Jack really couldn't have given a shit, but interfering with someone's personal space never ended well. He raised one hand, indicating for Alexa to stay in her seat before she moved over. Jack wanted to be able to stand. "Hang on a sec darlin." Jack wanted to see how this would run.

[Alexandrya L`handriel]

Grey eyes looked down at her hand which was still being held by Jack, then they rose to meet his eyes as he made space to come sit by him. "Nice to meet you Jack."

She hesitated for a moment having a whole row to herself but at the same time it would be rude to ignore a friendly invitation. "I--sure!" She replied as she grabbed her purse and slowly navigating close to Jack's side of the bus. As she almost made it to the side without mishap, another bump in the road caused the bus to jump, and Alexandrya lost her balance almost falling into the stranger's lap. "Oh my god! I-I'm so sorry."

She tried to wriggle off of the Jack's lap and into the seat next to him, her face flushed with color from her embarassment. "Well, I think after this bus ride, I might have to consider an airplane ride home. If I do go back home She thought to herself as she tried to straighten out her clothes. Her shirt had ridden up a bit to show her flat pale stomach which she pulled down quickly and a bare shoulder was revealed and then hidden by the lavender cloth. "Have you ever been to Vegas before?" She asked to prevent the silence from becoming awkward. Her smokey grey eyes could not quite meet Jack's yet until she worked through her embassassment of falling on him.

[Finley Ward]

Finn was entirely preoccupied with trying to figure out where he recognised the blonde from - or perhaps more accurately, her breasts - so it was with some surprise that he reacted to Finnegan's words, refoccusing his gaze abruptly to the young, very pink man coughing in front of him.

There were few things ruder, Finley considered, than coughing deliberately around a smoker. He took another deep drag of his rollie, enjoying the way the nicotine felt as it hit his system, and eyed Finnegan for a long, silent moment before exhaling and replying, shortly, "I mind."

This kid looked like the sort that could be bullied and pushed around - the fact that he'd pointed out the non-smoking signs and followed it up immediately with placating noises shouted this louder than even his ridiculous appearance could. It did not bode well for the Scot's spine. Unfortunately for Finnegan, Finley was the kind of guy who took advantage of other people's weaknesses with relish. After a long moment of simply staring at the boy, his dark eyes oddly blank and unreadable - a gesture designed purely to make the stranger feel uncomfortable - Finn proceeded to ignore him. He intended to enjoy his cigarette without interruption, and he doubted this boy would have the balls to interrupt again.

Unfortunately, that was the moment Langredoc chose to make his own interruption, plucking the cigarette neatly from between Finn's lips and crushing it. Finley blinked - he was entirely unused to having people invade his personal space in quite such a deliberate manner - and then inhaled the mouthful he had and stood up.

Finn was a good four inches shorter than Langredoc - and had he known exactly whose shoulder he was grabbing, getting the big man to turn and face him, he might have hesitated - but sometimes wisdom wasn't his strong point. And he really wasn't to know the man was a fed.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you..." He murmured, softly, pleasantly, something dangerous flashing in his dark eyes. He was all of one step away from a fight, right up in Langredoc's face, and grinning. As he spoke, that last lungful of smoke seeped out, a little puff with every plosive. "Ya might find yer startin' somethin' y'ain't prepared ta finish, mate."

[Guest]

Finnegan shrank back slightly from the intense stare he received. He might not have been able to interpret the more subtle signals that people sometimes gave off, but there was no mistaking what a look like that implied. But that alone wasn't enough to convince him to turn away and mind his own business. He'd been about to open his mouth again, to logically explain why he should wait until the next stop to smoke, when the other man approached.

This wasn't going anywhere good. Given that the driver hadn't so much as batted an eyelash at the blonde woman's show with the water, he doubted anything would be done for a brawl at the back of the bus. Standing from his seat, he inched toward the isle. If the larger man decided to fight back, Finnegan wanted to be prepared. He had been in the states for six years, and grew up watching American movies--like bombs attached to bus engines and mobsters sending dirty men to kill other people. Though it never happened, he had always worried, deep at the back of his mind, that something like that might happen one day. He half expected Finley to pull out a semi-automatic and blow the federal agent to pieces, all over the bus.

[Adriano Marinetti]

Finally, someone snapped.

It was only a matter of time. The heat combined with the almost hermetically sealed, cramped environment was sure to drive someone insane enough to do something like that. As utterly gauche as smoking in a confined space was, something told him that messing with the ugly short fellow in the big Stetson was not a very smart idea. His attention was lifted from the magazine, and leaning over the seat he observed the two men getting into a confrontation. A ballsy move - taking the cig and crushing it like that - but awfully theatric, and possibly suicidal. Never get into a fight with an ugly person. They have nothing to lose.

Interestingly, the short (and short-tempered) man had an accent, a foreign one. He couldn't quite place the slurred brogue, but it sounded Celtic, maybe Irish or Scottish. Curiously, the handsome red-head kid who had complained about the smoking a moment before also spoke with an accent, similar but softer and more pleasing to the ear, and he could have sworn the punky kid across the aisle spoke in a sexy British accent. The blonde girl seemed to be from the States, and the other, bustier and nakeder (?) blonde was an authentically All-American classless slut. Whole lotta foreigners (and people pretending to be foreigners) on one Greyhound bus in the middle of nowhere. Life is full of bizzare coincidences, he supposed.

It seemed like fists will fly, perhaps even knives or bullets. He, like most of the others present, observed the spectacle with morbid interest, waiting to see what will come of it. He decided against getting involved. Risking his life over trivial bullshit like that was beneath him.

[Fauna Winthrope]

She was ignored and Flora has never been ignored in her entire life. Back at New York, men were even flocking just to get a full glimpse of her, or perhaps, it was her bozangers, but then, she didn't mind, as long as they were minding her. Hell, she was the cheerleader back in Highschool, the Queen of the Prom Night, the most popular girl and belonged to one of the richest family in Beverly Hills and they were completely, utterly, ignoring her!

Did I stumble upon a bad lighting? Flora thought with growing alarm. Maybe my boobs had gone flat. That was very alarming and she looked down at herself and reached for her bobbing, gelatinous boobs and gently twitched them, testing if they were still buoyant and bouncy, heck, her two floaters were her personal lifevest if she happened to be thrown off a cruise ship. Yeah, still there.

So what was the problem? Why are they ignoring her? Her dramatics could even win an award in the annual Porn Movie Awards, heck, she'd won a dozen and she wondered why her charms were not working. What do I have to do? Take off my clothes? She demanded to herself, putting her hands upon her waist and forwning at the ruckus that was happening at the rear of the bus.

Men! Flora thought exasperatedly, rolling her eyes heavenward as if asking why her. You give them what they need and they totally ignore you.

With feline grace, the exotic dancer/model/porn star carefully moved to the rear. "Boys, let's behave..." Flora tried to wiggle between Langredoc and faced Finn, her heaving breast inches away from his face.

"It's too tedious to fight inside this bus..." She trailed off and frowned as she started to sniff the air. "Wait..." Her blue eyes widened with shock. "Is that what I think it is?" Flora breathed, her flawless face showing hunger.

Oh gods! Smoke!

She had tried to quit and it has been three days and counting since she had one. "Oh no..." Flora whimpered, her bosom heaving magnanimously an inch away from Finn's face.

"Do you have menthol?" The dancer asked Finn hungrily.

[Jack Farrell]

Jack couldn't keep a straight face as Alexa fell into his lap. His hands shot out to catch her, controlling her fall a little. He tried not to laugh, but her embarrassment was obvious, tickling Jack. His one hand caught her arm, the other encircled her waist. He couldn't help but notice the contours of her body, the feel of her hip against his hand. He helped her to the adjacent seat, not missing the fact that a pretty girl was wiggling on his lap. Smiling he offered assurances, it was ok - it was a shit bus on a shit road.

"Don't worry, its not ever day a pretty lass falls into your lap. These moments must be treasured." Jack laughed, casting one glance back to the rear of the bus where the bimbo had now joined the fracas. Jack hoped things would not escalate further - he just wanted this ride over, cracking heads was thirsty work and the bimbo was not the only one who was parched. He returned his attention to Alexa who was just covering herself. Jack smiled, it had been a while since he had spent time with a nice girl. Groupies could never really be classed as nice.

"Vegas? No, not really spent a lot of time in the states to be honest." Jack noticed that Alexa was avoiding his eyes and took the opportunity to trace the lines of her face with his own gaze. "I hear you on the flight out though. I don't care if it is $100." He smiled and sat back, trying to diffuse the embarrassment. "What sends you to Vegas then?" He asked, waving his hands in mock awe.