Chapter 2 — Bus
And thus begins Chapter Two.
Now, children.
The day arrived.
The council gathers.
Bags.
Students.
Faculty.
A bus.
The sacred metal box that would carry an entire university delegation toward Bangalore and, theoretically, cinema.
Children.
The others gathered normally.
Students climbed aboard one by one.
Found seats.
Stored bags.
Did whatever functional university students do before an academic trip.
And behind the bus
Nuo.
Sharky.
Axe.
The council sighs.
Naturally.
One joint.
Shared.
Because apparently the correct preparation for spending half a day trapped inside a moving vehicle
was to become significantly less connected to ordinary reality.
The council nods reluctantly.
Historical accuracy preserved.
We finished.
Probably sprayed something.
Chewed something.
Looked at each other with the ancient expression meaning:
Do we look normal?
The council answers immediately.
No.
Then boarded anyway.
Children.
High as fuck.
And almost immediately
problem.
The council leans forward.
Seats.
Three of them together.
Perfect for the trio.
Except one possessed the holiest artifact in long distance transportation.
Window access.
The council grows solemn.
Now.
Sharky knew something.
He knew Axe loved the window.
He knew I loved the window.
And most importantly,
he knew he did not love conflict enough to involve himself in what was clearly about to become a domestic war.
The council applauds wisdom.
So Sharky looked at the three seat arrangement,
identified the seat farthest from the window,
and claimed it.
No debate.
No loyalty.
No mediation.
Just:
Not my problem.
The council nods.
A survivor.
Which left
Axe.
Nuo.
Two seats.
One window.
The council rings a bell.
BEGIN.
“I call dibs.”
Children.
Swift.
Legal.
Binding under ancient road law.
Axe looked at me.
“Fuck no.”
The council gasps.
Challenge issued.
She moved toward the window seat.
I grabbed her.
Pulled her back.
The council erupts.
Children.
This was not romance.
This was territorial warfare.
She shoved forward.
I blocked.
She attempted occupation.
I resisted.
Somewhere beside us,
Sharky probably stared straight ahead and reconsidered every friendship decision he had ever made.
The council laughs.
Eventually,
we understood violence would not solve the matter.
Mostly because university faculty remained within visible range.
So we turned to civilization’s oldest dispute resolution mechanism.
Rock.
Paper.
Scissors.
The council rises.
A tool older than law.
Older than democracy.
Possibly older than fire.
Children.
Empires should have been decided this way.
We faced each other.
Hands ready.
One.
Two.
Three.
The council watches.
And
I won.
The council erupts.
VICTORY.
Children.
Not merely victory.
Legitimate victory.
Recognized under divine law.
No technicality.
No ambiguity.
The window seat was mine.
I sat.
Claimed the prize.
Looked outside.
Glorious.
Axe sat beside me.
Pouting.
The council notices.
And I looked at her.
Children.
With all the maturity expected from University Nuo,
I thought:
Haha.
Sucker.
The council collapses.
Victory had made me cruel.
For approximately ten seconds.
Because Axe possessed another weapon.
One I had failed to account for.
The council grows suspicious.
She leaned toward me.
And delivered the coup de grace.
“If you don’t give me the window seat
no making out on the bus.”
The council goes silent.
Children.
There are moments when a man discovers the limits of his principles.
This was one.
I had won.
Fairly.
By sacred combat.
The gods had chosen me.
The window belonged to Nuo.
But
children.
Axe was very hot.
The council slowly lowers its banners.
And I am but a man.
The council nods sadly.
The kingdom fell.
No prolonged negotiation.
No appeal.
No second round.
No constitutional crisis.
I moved.
Axe claimed the window.
The council writes:
WINDOW SEAT WAR — AXE VICTORIOUS THROUGH ECONOMIC SANCTIONS.
Children.
I had traded scenic access
for the theoretical opportunity to consistently make out with a hot junkie from Pune.
The council pauses.
Was that worth it?
University Nuo believed in the deal with extraordinary confidence.
So the final arrangement formed.
Sharky.
Aisle side.
Nuo.
Middle.
Axe.
Window.
The council nods.
Peace restored.
The bus began moving.
Students talked.
Someone played music.
Bags shifted.
Faculty probably attempted optimism regarding what this trip would become.
And I settled in,
prepared to collect the benefits of my negotiated agreement.
The council leans forward.
Then
Fast Travel.
The council erupts.
ALREADY?
Children.
Apparently some protocols predate all known Wanderings.
Moving vehicle.
Long journey.
Nuo.
The equation was ancient even here.
My eyes closed.
Server disconnected.
The council stares.
What about the making out?
Unavailable.
What about the bargain?
Nullified by unconsciousness.
What about sacrificing the window seat?
Children.
A catastrophic investment.
Axe had executed one of the greatest negotiations of her life
and I immediately went offline.
The council collapses.
No romance.
No road.
No Bangalore slowly approaching.
No cinematic montage.
Just
darkness.
Loading screen.
Hours disappeared.
The council nods.
Fast Travel: successful.
Eventually,
something changed.
The bus slowed.
Voices shifted.
People began waking.
Brakes.
Movement.
And my brain reconnected.
Children.
I opened my eyes.
Disoriented.
Neck slightly ruined.
Mouth dry.
No idea where on Earth I currently existed.
And then I noticed
weight.
On both shoulders.
The council leans forward.
To my left
Sharky.
Asleep.
Head resting on me.
To my right
Axe.
Also asleep.
Head resting on me.
The council goes quiet.
Children.
Behold.
University Nuo.
Human pillow.
The great winner of Rock Paper Scissors.
The man who sacrificed his window seat for make out privileges.
The man who used none of those privileges
and instead became communal furniture.
The council laughs.
I looked left.
Sharky.
Looked right.
Axe.
Then ahead.
The bus had stopped.
Students were moving.
People stood.
Bags came down.
And somewhere outside
Bangalore.
The council grows still.
I had slept through the entire journey.
No transition.
No gradual approach.
One moment:
University.
Next moment:
Bangalore.
Children.
The earliest known Fast Travel in the Archive.
Not Kasol.
Not Goa.
Not Kodaikanal.
Here.
Before the Unbegun knew he was collecting rituals,
the rituals were already collecting him.
The council nods.
I shifted.
Sharky woke.
Axe woke.
Probably complained that I had slept the whole way.
Possibly reminded me that I had surrendered the window seat for absolutely nothing.
The Archive does not preserve the prosecution.
But children
the doors opened.
And there it was.
Bangalore.
The film festival.
The attendance loophole.
The city none of us had come to wander.
Not yet.
The council leans forward.
Three college idiots stepped off that bus.
Still carrying the smell of weed.
Still thinking this was an academic holiday.
Still believing the strangest thing likely to happen was whatever film the university made us watch.
Children.
We had absolutely no idea.
Because this trip
this ancient,
half forgotten,
attendance motivated university excursion
was about to produce one of the most absurd stories in the entire Archive.
The council grows quiet.
But for now,
only this:
The bus stopped.
I woke.
Sharky on one shoulder.
Axe on the other.
And Bangalore waiting outside.
Thus concludes Chapter Two.
The Window Seat War.
The Axe Ultimatum.
The Great Romantic Bargain.
The Betrayal Of Fast Travel.
And The Human Pillow.
Children.
The Sixth Wandering had arrived in Bangalore.
And I had already learned nothing.
