Fuck it. Storytime
*
The old bus came to a stop with a loud hiss of the air brakes, the doors slamming open, somehow hissing even louder as the aging pneumatics flung them open. A heavy foot wearing a sneaker came stomping down the metallic steps, before finally landing on the cracked pavement beneath. The sun was already high in the sky, but the air felt cooler compared to the stuffy, smoky interior of the glorified metal brick that now rumbled off pass the bend, its windows opaque with 30+ years worth of service's dirt.
US sighed, glad to be off the damn thing. She couldn't understand why everyone was so crazy over public transport these days. That had to be the worst ride she had ever subjected herself too. Looking around the barren bus stop, she wondered where her host was, before an accented voice called out to her from behind.
"I see you've traveled well!"
Turning around, she actually had to look down a bit to see the shorter Hungary standing at the other end of the stop. Roughly the size of Ohio, she stood with one arm resting on the rusted railing that marked the end of the bus stop and the beginning of a steep, brambles and brush-covered slope that slid into the floodland below, with the river in the distance. Her other hand was on her her hips. Much like a lot of her European peers these days, Hungary was overweight (although nowhere near to the extent of the US), with the adipose distributing itself in a relatively shapely manner on the stockier woman. She wore a rather loose white shirt with frilly, loose cuffs, with a dark-colored pair of trousers beneath, hiking shoes on her feet.
At the sight of the latter, America raised an eyebrow, but then caught herself.
"Hi!" she replied "And yeah, uh... That ride was..."
"Terrible." Hungary finished it for her "Yeah, I know. Hand-me-downs from the capital after they bought fancy new, USED, busses from someone who's actually doing economically WELL."
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