"Chasing the Sun to Paradise"
I just had to write a fic with our fave furry blue mutant paying Wolfepup a visit. But, since I do not write Mary Sues, I had him come visit my home instead. So, sit back, enjoy, and yes, I did write that one part so all you curious types would be able to drive there if you wished.
I have no idea who lives in Seattle in the X-Men universe, so I made some up. ^_^;
When his friends suggested that he go out and enjoy himself for a change, Kurt had though they were all crazy. Who would accept a demon in their midst?
Kitty had booked the flight before he had the chance to argue, dropping him off at the airport with a wave and extra batteries for his inducer. He had little choice but to comply, leaving with half-hearted nervous waves and a chorus of "Happy Birthday!"
He settled into his seat, the too-small airplane window perched at his shoulder. The seats were bearable, and he had the entire row to himself. An older man with a shock of white hair leaned back in his seat in front of Kurt, sighing as he prepared for the long flight.
Kurt was supposed to meet a group of Mutants in Seattle, old friend's of Xavier's. He followed the older man's sigh with his own.
The flight was late, the sun beginning to set. The engines growled, powering up, pushing the plane onto the taxiway. They whined softly as the jet turned, their pitch increasing. The plane perched at the end of the runway, growling its impatience. Its body belonged to the ground, but it was built to soar. The plane shook softly, a vibration running through it as the engines' roared.
Kurt was pushed back slightly in his seat as the plane surged forward, the ground speeding by so far that it was a blur. Then, the shuddering lessened, and the ground pulled away, gravity as well as acceleration pushing him into his seat as the plane claimed the sky.
The flight itself was uneventful, five and a half hours of uneventful. Except for the sky. Kurt never though that he would be chasing the sunset west. The clouds scattered under him were gilt in silver and gold, the sky a deep shade of purple. Orange and red lined the vast horizon. He barely even noticed when the attendant brought him his dinner, so intent he was on the natural light show. Even if his forced vacation was a bust, the flight was worth it.
The clouds drew closer, the plane tired from its long flight. The pilot's voice spoke over the PA, "Arrival at Seatac International Airport in thirty minutes. On our starboard side is Mt. Rainier." Kurt cursed, he was on the plane's port side. With a quick glance for empty starboard seats, he darted across the aisle.
He stopped breathing. A majestic peak, capped in snow made golden by the setting sun, and larger than anything he had ever seen that he could remember, pierced the clouds.
The plane banked, reminding him to breathe and return to his seat. He did so, his eyes lingering on the mighty mountain. The man in front of him murmured. "Can't see what all those people would live in the shadow of a volcano."
Volcano! He looked at the mountain in shock, not seeing it through the hull of the plane. He would not want to be here when that one went off.
The sun had set further, casting the lands below the clouds in shadow. He settled in his seat, gasping as yet another sight filled his eyes.
It looked as though someone had taken a sheet of foggy glass and tossed crushed black velvet onto it. They had then scattered gold dust, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds upon its surface. Bits of sapphire lined up neatly to show the way home. Seatac lay beneath them, a city built around the airport. Seattle lay to the north, Bremerton a glittering of yellow to the west. (AN, And YES, you can see Seattle from Bremerton, lovely sight. When the Kona Village apartments on the tallest hill in Bremerton burned down, you could see the flames in Everett, far to the north of Seattle.)
The plane touched down with a squeal of brakes and a lowering in the engine's whine. It taxied to its terminal, the cranes of some construction project just visible over the main terminal.
He disembarked, his only luggage the small bag he swung over his shoulder.
The odd pair met him, a set of silver-haired twins from Bremerton. They had chosen the smaller city over Seattle. He heard it was a child of the military, as much as Seatac was the child of the airport. He shrugged.
The taller of the pair, a male, held his hand out in greeting, "Hello, Kurt! Welcome to Washington! I am Char, and this is my sister, Menga."
Kurt nodded his greeting to each. Char smiled, "You must be tired from your flight, and it's a long drive back to Bummertown (AN, as some of the locals call the place, Port Orchard, not too far away, is also called Poor and Tortured)."
Kurt had been in Washington for a week, and he was due to leave for New York the following day. Char and Menga had given him a whirlwind tour of only half the state, the more temperate and wet western half. The eastern half, he had been told, was more like a desert. He sighed, resting his chin on his knees, his feet burrowing into the sand.
Yesterday, the sun had rose over the majestic Mt. Rainier and its range, the Cascades. The waters of the Puget Sound were next, casting its glow on the backs of pods of Orcas. They rose to the surface, feasting on salmon. The deep, still waters were amazing to him, a great inland sea carved out by glaciers.
Then it cast it rays over the surprisingly pretty city of Bremerton, parts of it being constantly tore up in an effort to erase the dull gray of the military presence. He had seen the evidence of an entire highway that had been redone to make the entrance to the city something less than completely depressing.
The sun last caressed the Cascade's sister range, the Olympics. The smaller range hid what was in his opinion the jewel of the West Coast.
Each mountain range reached up to the sky, children of a restless Earth. Trees larger than any he had ever seen reached for the sky, moss hanging from their timeless limbs like green cobwebs. But this was not the treasure.
The sun set like a molten ball of gold over the Pacific Ocean, the gray-gold sand of Klalaloch (AN pronounced clay-loch, or, Ka-la-loch, your preference), warm under his toes. The beach was pristine, the only signs of man a few footsteps. Four hours ago, they had left Bremerton, following the highway to the Hood Canal floating bridge. They had traveled west on HWY 104, lancing through the wide spot on the highway with the fantastic carving of the woman swimming with dolphins. Discovery Bay vanished as fast as it came, and Hwy 104 became Hwy 101. Port Angeles was confusing, a brace of one-way roads. Crescent Lake was a pleasant surprise, with the trio having lunch at the beautiful Marymere Falls. This was the half-way point of the trip, two hours from Bremerton and two hours from the coast.
Forks was easy to traverse, the town dying with the cutbacks in logging. The Sol Duc River wove its way to the coast, Kurt counting the bridges as they came to them. "Ten, eleven…"
And then the highway turned, the coast peaking out from between windswept trees. Cliffs of dark rock held sway over the beaches. Heads of the same rock, as well as stacks covered with gnarled trees, dotted the ocean farther out. Destruction Island sat a sad vigil, its lighthouse warning ships away from its dangerous shoals.
The gas station at Klalaloch was a welcome respite for their car, as well as their stomachs. They had eaten at the restaurant in the middle of nowhere on the cliff, the Pacific Ocean spanning the horizon. After they had eaten, they stopped off at the little gas station store and purchased huge brownie-cookies, taking their prizes to be consumed later on.
They frolic for hours on the coast, climbing the sea stacks and forming sand into crude sandcastles.
As mush as he was in awe of Nature in all her glory, there was no place like home. It was wet here, and cold, even in the middle of August. As soon as he got home, he vowed he would plan his next trip, chasing the sun all the way to Paradise.