open to anyone ! muse; Noah Starling. Famed ex-F1 racer. NZ & Irish descent. 32-37. Chill, quiet, impatient. Likes adrenaline rushes. Dislikes waiting in a queue. @indiestarter
There's a sharp pain shooting down Noah's spine. His ears are ringing, eyes shut as his head rests back against the seat. The bus rattles and bumps, rocking against a bumpy mountainside road. A low hum comes with another rough clunk! of the van. His nose wrinkles, lip twitching slightly. His head is throbbing, he feels like he could vomit. But he doesn't. And he won't. It's just the pain.
The sound of someone's voice cuts through the muffled, underwater feeling in his ears. An eye barely manages to peel open, blinking dizzily to clear the double-vision as he looks up. "Oh, sorry," he mumbles with a sniff, grabbing his backpack off of the seat next to him and hugging it to his chest. He shifts a little closer to the window to make room, flashing the stranger a smile. When had they stopped? He wasn't even paying attention. Shit, was he supposed to get off? He rests his head against the glass for a moment, squinting to see if he recognises anything. Nope. Not there yet.
The bus jolts forward again as it begins to move. He groans, unable to help the wince as he reaches up to cradle the back of his head, eyes squeezing shut. A heaved sigh, his leg bouncing, though he's trying not to seem too rude towards the person that's just had to share a seat beside him, so he flashes them a tense sort of smile.
