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Infinity Smashed: the Road to Georgia
Hi everybody! This prompt is an orphan from Journeython, where Megan requested difficult travel companions becoming friends. It was sponsored by titianblue of Mammoth! Happy writeathon, everybody!
The Road to Georgia
Word Count: 1000
Summary: M.D. and Biff embark on a forty-six hour bus ride across the South, and it turns out Biff can't sleep sitting up...
Notes: This takes place directly after Time To Go and before Homecoming. Also, the crucifix kid? Real guy. I met him on a bus to Ohio. The rat shaman is also a real person; a friend told me about him.
We couldn’t ‘just go’ to Georgia, of course. There was the whole matter of how to get there, and how to pay for it. Don’t ask where the money came from; suffice to say, Biff could pull off impressive jobs when properly motivated. He sat down to crunch numbers and peer over schedules, and after a lot of scowling and tabulating, announced that we would be taking the most colorful, memorable, cost-effective method of travel in the country: InterBus. Three of them, specifically, transferring in Amarillo, Dallas, and Atlanta, at which point we’d have to make the rest of the trip in some local rattletrap.
Total cost? Eight hundred dollars, which Biff coughed up without a single word of complaint. Total travel time? Forty-six hours. Each way. In theory. And unless he had the benefit of post-operative painkillers, Biff couldn’t sleep sitting up…
We left Vaygo before six AM on a bus filled with hungover students, crates of fruit, small children, and a couple chickens, all screechingly loud. Due to Treehouse time-lurch, I was fresh as a daisy, but Biff was a groggy, cantankerous wreck. We wedged ourselves next to a crate of lemons and tried to enjoy the view.
In Albuquerque, the lemons got off and a clean-cut young man got on. To this day, I have never seen so many crosses on one human. The front of his cap, his T-shirt, even the toes of his sneakers had them. The words JESUS LOVES were also all over. He looked at us with fervor (and a little alarm) and asked, “Have you accepted Jesus as your Lord and savior?”
“Get out,” Biff said.
He tried to give us a brochure before he did. Fortunately, I was closer to the aisle; Biff’s arms were long, but not that long, and he tripped over my knees.
We had the seats to ourselves after that.
In Amarillo, our bus was two hours late. Biff flopped on the cement to catch a few Zs while I watched over our stuff. It was getting to be my usual bedtime, but I felt a sleep-deprived me would be less awful than a sleep-deprived Biff.
In Lubbock, we found ourselves constantly stared at by a little old white lady in nice clothes who obviously didn’t know what to make of us. Biff looked like Thug #2 for a 1980s action movie, and I looked like… well, me. He ignored her; I stared back at her with a demented smile and eventually she switched seats.
Unlike Biff, I could sleep sitting up, so I dozed off somewhere around Abilene, waking up in Dallas to find Biff enthralled in conversation with a skinny guy about homelessness and divination, of all things. When we got off, I asked Biff who the guy was.
“Rat shaman,” Biff said. He was starting to weave on his feet. “Nice guy.”
“Right,” I said, and then we had to sprint for the bus, which was pulling away.
In Shreveport, we shared a row with an enormous man whose testicles were apparently of such magnitude and importance that they required at least a seat and a half’s worth of airing. I got him to move after zapping him a few times. Biff didn’t notice; I think he was starting to hallucinate by that point. He finally passed out somewhere around Vicksburg, and I fell asleep on his shoulder not long after.
I woke up sticky with drool when the driver bellowed, “Atlanta! Last stop, Atlanta! Everyone off my bus!”
I whimpered and hid my eyes against Biff’s shoulder. “If I murdered the driver, would they show mercy?”
“Kill her in Stonefall,” Biff said, shoving me off. “I want a bed.”
Might as well. We’d missed our last bus, due to all the delays.
Biff went straight for the bed. I took a shower first, since I felt absolutely disgusting after two humid days on a bus without a change of clothes. It seemed a safe bet that Biff would be dead to the world when I got out, but when I flopped on my side of the bed, he turned over and said, “hey.”
“Why are you still conscious?” I whined.
He rubbed his face. “Just… nerves. They ain’t seen me since…” vague gesture at himself.
“Huh? Oh.” His sisters.
I turned my head. In the morning light, I could see the jagged new scars on his chest, the older one from the bullet in his shoulder a couple years ago. I couldn’t imagine him looking any different, but then again, I’d never seen him before his renovations.
“I could vanish it,” he said. “My voice ain’t that deep, I could…”
I cringed. “Could you?”
He sighed, smacked his head against the pillow. “I could try.”
“They’re going to find out eventually, you know. What’s the point of finding them if you’re just going to lie to them?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know, okay? I don’t know shit. I always lie. I never don’t.”
Silence for a bit. We were both stupid with sleep-deprivation, not good for a serious conversation, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d have anything smart to say even with my full ration of rest. After all, what did I know about family? I’d never had a family that I hadn’t run away from, and I had never regretted never coming back. What could I possibly say?
It wasn’t great, but finally, I said, “You didn’t lie to me.”
He stared at the ceiling for a bit, closed his eyes. “You’re different.”
“And you’re not, Mr. ‘I Just Bought Surgery from A Tentacle-Beast’?”
He snorted. “Think it’ll be okay?”
I knew that this was the part where I was supposed to beam and chirp, “Of course!” but instead I said, “I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know either.”
We were both silent after that. There was nothing else I could think of to say. Maybe there was nothing to say.
At least we got some sleep.
The Road to Georgia
Word Count: 1000
Summary: M.D. and Biff embark on a forty-six hour bus ride across the South, and it turns out Biff can't sleep sitting up...
Notes: This takes place directly after Time To Go and before Homecoming. Also, the crucifix kid? Real guy. I met him on a bus to Ohio. The rat shaman is also a real person; a friend told me about him.
We couldn’t ‘just go’ to Georgia, of course. There was the whole matter of how to get there, and how to pay for it. Don’t ask where the money came from; suffice to say, Biff could pull off impressive jobs when properly motivated. He sat down to crunch numbers and peer over schedules, and after a lot of scowling and tabulating, announced that we would be taking the most colorful, memorable, cost-effective method of travel in the country: InterBus. Three of them, specifically, transferring in Amarillo, Dallas, and Atlanta, at which point we’d have to make the rest of the trip in some local rattletrap.
Total cost? Eight hundred dollars, which Biff coughed up without a single word of complaint. Total travel time? Forty-six hours. Each way. In theory. And unless he had the benefit of post-operative painkillers, Biff couldn’t sleep sitting up…
We left Vaygo before six AM on a bus filled with hungover students, crates of fruit, small children, and a couple chickens, all screechingly loud. Due to Treehouse time-lurch, I was fresh as a daisy, but Biff was a groggy, cantankerous wreck. We wedged ourselves next to a crate of lemons and tried to enjoy the view.
In Albuquerque, the lemons got off and a clean-cut young man got on. To this day, I have never seen so many crosses on one human. The front of his cap, his T-shirt, even the toes of his sneakers had them. The words JESUS LOVES were also all over. He looked at us with fervor (and a little alarm) and asked, “Have you accepted Jesus as your Lord and savior?”
“Get out,” Biff said.
He tried to give us a brochure before he did. Fortunately, I was closer to the aisle; Biff’s arms were long, but not that long, and he tripped over my knees.
We had the seats to ourselves after that.
In Amarillo, our bus was two hours late. Biff flopped on the cement to catch a few Zs while I watched over our stuff. It was getting to be my usual bedtime, but I felt a sleep-deprived me would be less awful than a sleep-deprived Biff.
In Lubbock, we found ourselves constantly stared at by a little old white lady in nice clothes who obviously didn’t know what to make of us. Biff looked like Thug #2 for a 1980s action movie, and I looked like… well, me. He ignored her; I stared back at her with a demented smile and eventually she switched seats.
Unlike Biff, I could sleep sitting up, so I dozed off somewhere around Abilene, waking up in Dallas to find Biff enthralled in conversation with a skinny guy about homelessness and divination, of all things. When we got off, I asked Biff who the guy was.
“Rat shaman,” Biff said. He was starting to weave on his feet. “Nice guy.”
“Right,” I said, and then we had to sprint for the bus, which was pulling away.
In Shreveport, we shared a row with an enormous man whose testicles were apparently of such magnitude and importance that they required at least a seat and a half’s worth of airing. I got him to move after zapping him a few times. Biff didn’t notice; I think he was starting to hallucinate by that point. He finally passed out somewhere around Vicksburg, and I fell asleep on his shoulder not long after.
I woke up sticky with drool when the driver bellowed, “Atlanta! Last stop, Atlanta! Everyone off my bus!”
I whimpered and hid my eyes against Biff’s shoulder. “If I murdered the driver, would they show mercy?”
“Kill her in Stonefall,” Biff said, shoving me off. “I want a bed.”
Might as well. We’d missed our last bus, due to all the delays.
Biff went straight for the bed. I took a shower first, since I felt absolutely disgusting after two humid days on a bus without a change of clothes. It seemed a safe bet that Biff would be dead to the world when I got out, but when I flopped on my side of the bed, he turned over and said, “hey.”
“Why are you still conscious?” I whined.
He rubbed his face. “Just… nerves. They ain’t seen me since…” vague gesture at himself.
“Huh? Oh.” His sisters.
I turned my head. In the morning light, I could see the jagged new scars on his chest, the older one from the bullet in his shoulder a couple years ago. I couldn’t imagine him looking any different, but then again, I’d never seen him before his renovations.
“I could vanish it,” he said. “My voice ain’t that deep, I could…”
I cringed. “Could you?”
He sighed, smacked his head against the pillow. “I could try.”
“They’re going to find out eventually, you know. What’s the point of finding them if you’re just going to lie to them?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know, okay? I don’t know shit. I always lie. I never don’t.”
Silence for a bit. We were both stupid with sleep-deprivation, not good for a serious conversation, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d have anything smart to say even with my full ration of rest. After all, what did I know about family? I’d never had a family that I hadn’t run away from, and I had never regretted never coming back. What could I possibly say?
It wasn’t great, but finally, I said, “You didn’t lie to me.”
He stared at the ceiling for a bit, closed his eyes. “You’re different.”
“And you’re not, Mr. ‘I Just Bought Surgery from A Tentacle-Beast’?”
He snorted. “Think it’ll be okay?”
I knew that this was the part where I was supposed to beam and chirp, “Of course!” but instead I said, “I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know either.”
We were both silent after that. There was nothing else I could think of to say. Maybe there was nothing to say.
At least we got some sleep.