Stop Changeover (SL)[Telos]

Waves of rough seas began to crash onto the forefront of Ritsuko's brain. It felt like half-foot long nails were being driven into her temples. Hangovers were the worst. Her heart felt as if it was pumping the thick margarita mix she'd been downing last night to prove a point. Even her hair ached somehow. The stress wasn't helping at all. After storming away from the bus stop from that spoiled little child she foolishly allowed to gain the upper hand on her, Ritsuko came to the realization that she had a bus pass and yen. Not cash. She couldn't purchase a train ticket if she wanted to and she was in no sort of condition mentally or physically to try to skitch the rails. Unless she wanted to walk aaaaaaaall the way back to Vista Square, she would have no other choice than to get on the bus. Just a stop down from where that insufferable brat was planning to board. She swore if he breathed one ill-perceived word she'd send him under the rolling wheels.

The bus came shortly after at the moderately populated bus stop. Thankfully no one here decided to make some kind of wisecrack. It made sense anyway. She spent the time she would've been waiting and sitting in the bus walking a few blocks down the street. It was just a 20-minute bus ride until she was close enough to her hotel anyway. Christ, her socks were soaked with sweat and she stank of liquor... what she'd give to be home in bed already. She wasn't going to get much sleep at this rate. Throwing her guitar case over her shoulder, Ritsuko lumbered aboard the bus. She swiped her bus pass with the familiar chime and went to find herself a seat.

...except the seats were all full. *Haaa...* Nothing can ever be easy, can it? At least the overheads were mostly clear. Hefting her guitar over her head weightlessly she'd haphazardly stuff it into the metal shelving. She'd rather sit with it so she was always holding it, buuuuuuut it wasn't really possible with all of the seat space taken. The only seat left was between some short kid and some older gentleman. ...Fuck it. She'd take it. It beat the hell out of standing and risking any kind of motion sickness. She'd blown enough chunks for one morning already. Sliding into the edge of the open seat, the disheveled woman sat forward with her head in her hands, attempting to reign in her incoming migraine. It was gonna be a loooooong 20 minutes...

Fuck.
Stuck on the bus with a hungover lady, judging from the smell as she sits next to me. Ugh. I hope she doesn't... oh... that'd be hell. I can't sit anywhere else since there are no more open seats, the closest pole that I can hang on to is loose enough to where it shakes slightly, and if I lose my grip at a sudden stop because of that, there's nothing blocking me from flying in either direction.
And she's cradling her head like she has a headache. Crap.

Something tells me that if I say something now, i'm in for a bad time. Experience teaches me that much.
Except I can feel the neural tug part of me that wants to... but I can't give in..
I just gotta wait a while. Yeah. Just wait. Hopefully this'll be over soon..

Her head rocked with every pothole in the street, every sharp turn sending her shoulder into the elderly man or the boy. Her skin slid over her bones, muscles aching, pleading for the sweet release of rest in a warm bed. Or any bed. She'd fall asleep in the bus seat if she wasn't concentrating on not painting the sticky floor of the bus an even stickier shade of green. Her hair draped over her gaunt face, but it was easy to tell just bey looking at the way she was hunched over her knees with her face buried in her hands how she was feeling. Terrible summed it up nicely. The worst part wasn't even how nauseous she felt, or how dizzy she was. It was the judging stares she knew she was getting. Ritsuko wasn't stupid. She knew she looked like a mess. She knew she smelled like a mixed mojito. She was very aware of the fact that she was still wearing her sunglasses on the bus. It was obvious to everyone, the last thing she needed was some self-righteous, uppity fuck pointing out what she already lived.

The air was stiff, stale. If she could've she would have jumped out of one of the windows to freedom. Buuuuuut that would involve road rash and serious personal injury. To distract herself from the twists and yaws of the bus, she'd find some music to keep her occupied. Playing guitar on the bus was out of the question. She was out of space and didn't really feel like it anyway. Her music player was much more reliable. Ritsuko stood up to dig through her guitar case. It held everything in there, pretty convenient actually. And... eventually produced her digital music device. Ritz didn't know much about technology, but she figured out how to get music on her tiny little pocket stereo because she couldn't have afforded not too. Ritz put on something to distract her and gently place herself back in her seat.

Take me away from the sickness...!:

The tunes beat into her head like a vocal hammer through her headphones, changing the nature of her headache. It made it worse, but somehow contained it. She was trapped in her head, alone, surviving the trip on her own. It was better that way. Always preferable to suffer a hundred hells alone than to undergo a single one in public.

I honestly couldn't care less about the music. What caught my eye was the guitar case she pulled out the music player from.
At that point, I can't help myself.
I tap her on the shoulder and ask her
"Excuse me, what kind of guitar do you have in there? Is that a Gibson?" I ask her.

A tense thumb grinding into her temple in a vain attempt to crush the spiky metal caterpillars digging around through her skull meat, Ritsuko's eyes drifted to the short boy on the bus beside her through half-closed lids. Her gaze was a weary, irritated one with lackluster bloodshot eyes the color of grave dirt. The tap on her shoulder felt as if she'd been beaned by a fastball, the soreness after a long night of drinking and strumming her guitar catching up to her with rapid speed. Hesitantly she would lift a cup of her noise-cancelling headphones, easily the most expensive things she's ever owned, slowly from her ear. The separation from her inner universe to this violent, abhorrent one made her want to scream and cry. It made her absolutely sick to her stomach, made her want to... not vomit. DO NOT vomit, not now! Painfully aware of the shaky motion of the bus, the piercing sounds that people would make, the all encompassing and burning light of the day, Ritsuko would need to take a hard, dry gulp to orient her senses.

"...no, it's not," she managed to rasp, coughing to clear her throat. This kid's intrusion into her personal world may have set her off under better conditions, but the throbbing of her head made it impossible to be angry. Or be anything at all, really. Ritz began to reconsider her previous idea of leaping through the windshield.
"...It's an Elitist Coronet by Epiphone, but they *gulp* look kinda the same... but the soapbar's Gibson..." Every word was pain, the movements of her throat coursing white-hot agony with every stretch of her vocal chords. She'd regret smoking a pack a day, but it wouldn't stop her. She just needed to get off the bus and into bed, with some acetaminophen and a glass of water by her bedside table. Or, y'know, pray for the merciful release of death.
"...do ya mind, kid...?" she began weakly, "...I'm not feeling too hot right now..." That was both a truth and a lie in itself. Ritz wasn't feeling well at all, but frigid and burning up both at once. Her clammy skin, slight shivers, sweaty forehead, and pained breathing broadcasted this. If she didn't reek so strongly of booze, she'd look like she were walking around out of her death bed. Ritsuko wished to God that was the case.

On second thought... maybe that wasn't such a good idea judging from how she looked. And the dry sound of her voice. And the smell. At least she answered the question. I search my bag for the one thing that he thought might be useful:
A bottle of water that I had bought for myself.
"Here. You can have it. Sounds like you need it." I say.

Ritsuko prickled... or perhaps it was her skin crawling. Muscles cramping from sweating out all of her electrolytes under her skin,and it's not as if she was being responsible with keeping up her drinks with a glass of water in-between. Being responsible wasn't a win condition in that twisted game. Being numb was. And you weren't about to get anywhere by moderating your intake. The pain was worth the comfort, a few hours of relief traded for a morning of grief. She'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. She normally did. The special sort of hell she suffered through was worth the trouble. She didn't regret drinking at all. Ritz regretted living through it to see the hangover.

She didn't want the boy's damned assistance. Needed it maybe, but wanted it? Ritsuko wouldn't be pitied. She refused. Any sympathy, empathy, care, handouts, or any variation of help. She survived a lifetime of torment that would've crushed anyone less resilient in under a year. The labs couldn't break her down, the streets couldn't break her down, and she'd be damned if a little hangover would turn her into a whiny, sniveling bitch. There were worse fates. She'd seen them. More than she'd care to remember. This was another bump in the torn-out road, no more, no less.

"Keep it. I don't want it," she rasped, putting up a hand to wall herself of from the boy. He was defrees nicer than the other teenagers she'd met that morning, but that wasn't something that mattered to Ritz. As weak as she was feeling and as much as it was showing she'd never admit to it. Admitting defeat was losing. You didn't lose as long as you kept fighting. The tragic musician was intimately familiar with that fact. Spite was her fuel, bitterness kept her feet moving, and she drew strength from vindication. The world could fuck you as much as it could but you haven't lost the fight until you stopped swinging. Life was a sore winner. Ritsuko was a sore loser. Besides, all that water wouldn't have done her any good unless she could've handed it to herself eight hours in the past. All that liquid... sloshing around in her stomach to the left and to the right with every turn of the road... would...

The hungover alcoholic shuddered and held a hand to her face as she kept a wave of nausea down. She swallowed hard as her callous fingers ran over her clammy skin. Just a few minutes more, a few minutes more and it'd all be over. She could park herself in front of the porcelain throne within the privacy of her hotel room and spew to her heart's desire, or pass out on the cushy sheets and let the sickness wash around her in the dark without the strength to feel anything but the gentle tug of exhaustion as she drifted into dreamless sleep... If she could only withstand the bus ride.
"*gulp, haaa*...I'll be fine, I don't need it." Another lie, of course. But those kept her going at the moment.

"Alright." I say. I get the feeling she's lying, but decide not to press it, lest she blows chunks.
At that point, we both descend into silence.
And then my stop comes up.
"Welp. Seeya, Miss." I say as I get off the bus to Suzie Q.
I think I'll play something to clear my mind.
Exit. Sanity Level: 75%.

The boy exited the bus without saying a word. Definitely out of the ordinary. Ritsuko expected him to be an insubordinate little shitstain like the rest of the high school kids she had the displeasure to meet that day. Well, there were exceptions. Zavie was certainly nice enough. Maybe there was hope yet. In any case, it looked like his stop. Suzy Q. Decent joint, but Ritz didn't appreciate all the government regulation in it. It left it a shell of its former self in her opinion. A lie. A sell-out lie at that. She couldn't imagine anything worse than selling out your music. Sound was supposed to be spoken with soul, with conviction and blood and agony. Now? It was nothing but another tourist attraction. Pathetic.

Vista Square wasn't terribly far away, and now Ritz had a seat to lie down on. So it wasn't all bad. The kid was nice enough, if a little shrimpy, that wasn't any of her business. She just didn't want anyone's help. It didn't matter who, or what intention, or with what purpose, Ritz was sorely convinced she could deal with her own problems by herself. It wasn't anyone else's business how she was doing, that was her own damn responsibility. Taking advantage of the situation, Ritsuko allowed herself to lay down on the adjacent freshly-evacuated bus seat. She closed her eyes, beating back waves of nausea, pain, exhaustion, and a pretty mean craving for more macaroons oddly enough in order to make it to her next stop. The bumps in the road did her no favors, of course. Nothing and no one ever did. At least none she were willing to accept.