WIP Challenge #4 Entry: "Dark, Sacred Night" - FINISHED!

[Haver]

Their embrace lasted long - longer than one would expect for casual politeness as Kurt breathed in deeply of her soft Jasmine scent, but it was broken off as she clutched his arm suddenly. A sudden turn in the weather startled them both, and Kurt involuntarily shouted "Was? Sehr kalt! Kalt!"

"Come on," Christine shot out, grabbing his hand as the raced for the warmth of the mansion, an obviation to which Kurt could only mutter agreement. They soon found themselves shivering and stamping their feet and laughing at each other's antics. Kurt was digging his hands under his armpits as he waved his elbows about like a chicken, something Christine picked up on as she started making chickeny bawk-bawwking noises as she stamped her feet.

In due course, the laughing pair made their way to the study, and settled into a set of massively overstuffed chairs which flanked a low, banked fire.

As Cristine sat down with a quiet, appreciative "aaah" - her hand running down the fine leather in appreciation, Kurt shot up to grab a poker and made to bend low to stir the flames. He paused, however, prompting Christine to glance up with a questioning look.

"I forgot its gas," the dark elf muttered apologetically. "Damnably inconvenient. A guy wants to spend a long social moment in thought, keeping 'is hands busy, figuring out what to say next. And then Bang! The modern world steps in and spoils all his plans."

That bought a low, appreciative chuckle from Christine, smiling as she shifted about and draped one leg over the other. As she mirthed, Kurt found the controls and sent the flames ever higher. One dull, clanging thump later, the unused poker found itself resting back in its grate.

"Well ... you could go and fetch our drinks, that'll keep our hands busy," she said with an amused smile as she claimed ownership over his hands with her words. Her eyes half closed, she dug her head into the back of the chair, her arms gripping its arms as she sighed out loud. "Oh! Long day! Long day!" she let out, and then paused, raising her voice slightly. "Make it something that'll help me sleep on the flight out," she said, arcing her neck. "I'm not sure about what's in my glass, its rather too fruity for right now," she said, turning around to fix him with expectation.

Kurt apprised the wet bar with an experienced gaze and after some fumbling about returned with a tray holding a light red wine. He had poured their former contents into the sink and splashed a few ounces of the new wine into each, raising and lowering the bottle several times to aerate the final results. "New wine in old glasses," he nnounced, settling the tray down on a table. "I hope I don't get into trouble for that," he kidded. "I think this one has a mellow oaken flavor, nothing overpowering," he said lowly as Christina looked up to his beheld glass.

After giving the glass to her, he sat down, holding his own glass between two cupped hands as he rotated it slightly to warm its contents. Leaning forward, glass still held but not quite yet drunk from, he asked flatly without looking at her: "So ... Tucson."

She also leaned forward, eyes fixated on her own goblet as she turned it around in her right hand. She bent her head down for an appreciative sniff before replying.

"Mom's there - sis too, I miss her ... them, I guess, and I like the climate; not big on all this cold weather. Your northern cities, you drive through them and the buildings, they're all so squat and closed in, holding in the heat, holding out the cold. Its all so fortress like, it works its way into people. I need ... I think I need more openess right now in my life." She placed her glass on a side table so her hands could fold themselves into her lap.

"I'm going to try and get my old job back at that clinic. Hey! Why don't you come back with me, just for a bit, a week or two? I could use some help, getting settled back in," she asked. She picked up her drink again and dipping the edge of her index finger into it, swirling it in circles. She pulled it out and flicked the tip of her finger to her tongue for the scantest of seconds before Kurt answered. It wasn't a sensual thing at all what she did, it was just a thing.

"Just two weeks? I'm crushed!," Kurt exclaimed, with forced joviallity Still, it was ... life. His life, and a week or two uninterrupted was all he or anyone else could lay a claim to. Christine had countered unreasoning hope with one based in reality. It showed him she was serious, but it left the ball in Kurt's court with the best deal that could be hoped for under the circumstances. When it was done, well, they would see...

"I'd have to get Scott or Logan to pilot the Blackbird back," Nightcrawler said, pondering as he stared into the top of his glass. "No," he said with a shake of her head, bringing a startled glance from Christine. "I think we're going to be stuck with airline food - well, peanuts, I guess. Can't justify the expense, not for personal business."

Xavier was quite generous with his team - he could afford to be - but he was careful...

* * *

The roads were already starting to ice up, not yet enough to be dangerous, but still meriting some caution. Experienced travellers, they had both packed light, with Christine's Atlantic Monthly their only concession to extravagence.

"You're not wearing your inducer," she noted, with a puzzled frown.

"I am. See?" he said, holding up his right wrist. "I won't have it on, however," he explained but in a hushed whisper. "Well enough known, I am, I mean - in New York City, that is, and so I'm not all that greatly feared," he responded, "although it's still quite an inconvenience."

They had come to know each other well enough by now, that her only response was a raised eyebrow - that perogative of the female habit which makes all facial expressions speak in a loud voice. It was twined with an impatient, skeptical stare.

"Vhell, alright then," he admitted, and he slumped as he let his pent up breath leave him. "The image inducer, it is not widely known, and if - if the airport security - well, I just cannot risk that it would be found out about. It vhould only raise the general level of paranoia," he sighed with frustration. "Airport security would have to start chasing down bible leafletters, putting grannies in wrestling holds, that sort of thing, and all because anyone could just be anyone else because of wrist gadget." In a high-pitched nasal voice he continued comically "OK, Osama, drop the knitting needles, we know that sweater is really a bomb!"

As Christina doubled over in a short fit of choking and giggling, one hand over her mouth while the other waved itself about randomly, Logan - who had reluctantly volunteered to drive the two of them to the airport - let out a sharp rebuke. "Icy roads and distractions don't make for a heap full of fun, more like smushed, ex X-Men," he warned, interjecting a a sparse handful of unrepeatable utterences to give his words a judiciously appropriate air of gravitas.

With forced cheer, Kurt finished with a pat of her hand: "Don't worry, with so many hero groups and mutants running about in New York nowadays, we're just as likely to show up on the gossip column as on the front page. It'll be aright, I promise."

As the minutes passed to milepost the hour mark, the icy conditions let up and the road became more crowded with local traffic. Two bridges and three tolls later, their light conversation ceased as they pulled adjacent to the lonely concrete and glass structure, the new post-9/11 passenger drop-off area. It was awash in harsh halogen lights mounted on tall poles, their effect only lent the structure an almost prison-like effect. The few permitted shadows about stood out sharply in contrasted relief. Kurt noted Christine's unease but could think of no words of comfort, instead resorting to the procedural: "We will have to take the tram to the main terminal from here." Logan waved off the porters, extracting two suitcases and placing them side by side. "Well, take care of yourself, Elf." he said.

"But its only for two weeks!" Kurt stammered, and then stopped. Sometimes ... sometimes Logan knew better, he had to admit.

As Logan pulled the car out for the long drive back to the Institute, the two of them hastened inside the structure, pursued by the damp as much as by the cold. Their eyes blinking slightly from the bright interior lights. Kurt noticed the layout channeled passengers through a series of chokepoints, with cameras obvious and inobvious marking their progress. "Smile, we're on candid camera" he told her, noting a pair of cameras mounted on the wall.

"Its an airport, silly, of course we are" Christine smiled, clutching her handbag in a tight embrace in front of her. "Oh! I'll need to pick up some pills before boarding. Remind me, please, I hate getting airsick."

Reactions from fellow travellers were predictable: This wasn't Munich, 1935 nor was it a 60's or 70's era comic book, so there was a pronounced absence of angry mobs waving pitchforks, clubs, and hate-filled signs. While mostly ignored, there were still the small handful of friendly waves (returned in kind), and many more pointed "stare at anything but them" reactions. As they got onto a long, sliding walkway, however, two large men stepped behind then, and at its terminous some distance away, another pair of men and a woman, all in uniform, stepped forward.

"Here we go," whispered Kurt, and Christine squeezed his hand silently.

"Excuse me, please," the woman moved towards them, commanding their attention as they stepped off. The two men behind them took flanking positions, keeping carefully out of arms reach, their suitcoats unbuttoned. "Could you step this way, please, Sir? Ma'am? Yes, over here, please" she gestured towards a doorway
just off the slidewalk and just before the security check. "We just need to ask you a few questions."

He looked about, anxiously. "What is this about?" he asked with a hoarse nervousness. The lady refused to answer immediately, and instead escorted the pair into a side room. The room was white and bare and sterile, save a handful of chairs bolted to the floor and a table, similarly secured. Along one side of the room a large window running the length of one wall looked into darkness.

Once they were inside, she turned around and asked with great force: "Who else is travelling with you? Do any of them pose a risk to life or property? Is anyone else involved? Do they pose a risk? Please answer as directly and honestly as you can."

A gravelly middle-aged man's voice boomed out "What we're trying to get at, is we need to know if our airport is going to go boom?" The voice belonged, not surprisingly, to a large, physically fit middle-aged man who looked not unlike a walrus, what with his salt and pepper mustache. He had snucked in behind the others when they were entering the room. "Mike McDermit, head of airport operations," he hurried to introduce himself. His hands remained at his side.

"Tuscon, its just ... Tuscon" Christine let out with quiet frustration.

"Nothing else," Kurt added in, quietly. "Nothing is going on. It has been a long month, and I am tired. I ... we, rather, have seen much and lost much, and we just need to go away now, for a while, a long while. But tell me, is this really necessary? We have done nothing wrong."

Speaking with a quiet, sarcastic flatness, McDermit said quietly, his gaze unfixed as he looked to one side: "Is it necessary?" He paused and gave a short hollow laugh. "Nothing wrong," he now said, punctuating with another short laugh, an ironic one this time, and began pacing before them, his hands clenched behind his back.

"When the U.S. Marshal Service transports a prisoner, I am informed. Did the Marshal Service do anything wrong?" In a rising inflection he continued: "The Yankees fly out for a game in Cleveland, they let me know. Is it because Alex Rodriguez drops an inside pop fly in game 3, allowing two men on base to steal home, much to his chagrine and to my personal loss and that of thousands of other ... sports enthusiasts? I don't think so!" his voice was raised, but he was keeping to a professorial role now in his best Tony Ziegler manner. "The President of the United States on Air Force One arrives, you are expecting me perhaps to run around, like a chicken with its head cut off because I do not know? Of course not. BECAUSE. THEY. TELL. ME!" he was practically shouting now with scarcely restrained voice, both his hands pressed against the table which separated them as he leaned in towards them. "Any time the security profile of this airport changes, as head of operations I am informed. Any time anyone by their very presence, whether innocent or not, tromps their way through here and changes the security profile I am to be informed! THOUSANDS of people go through here each day, and I am RESPONSIBLE for them!"

A chill ran up Nightcrawler's back, and he shivered slightly. He didn't know if it was from the angry lecture, or if it came from the air handling system which
was unexplicitly sending icy blasts of air into the room against the back of his neck.

McDermit raised his right hand in a Karate chop, and then then bought it down again almost as if it required a force of will to do so. He let out a loud sigh before sitting on the table in front of the two of them. "You are free to go. Agents Carlisle and Mathews will escort you to your gate, and see you off." He pulled out a business card from his vest pocket and placed it before them. "Next time, you are to give us six hours notice." Briskly, he stood up, and turned to leave. "And see that she gets her air sickness pills," he said in passing to one of the guards. With a audible buzz, the door unlatched and McDermit pushed it open.

After Nightcrawler picked up the card and pocketed it after a brief inspection, one of the guards approached. "Excuse me, Sir, Ma'am? I am agent Carlisle and my partner here is agent Mathews. We've been instructed to bypass the security station, so we will need to inspect you here," he said, holding up a magnetic wand. "If you would, please," he said, "place the contents of your pockets on the table, one at a time, please, and stand still for a moment." They complied as directed - nothing of a security interest was found, as was to be expected, and after a brief pass of the wand they were allowed to pick up their items and proceed.

Outside the security room a four seat airport cart was stationed, and Kurt and Christina and the two security agents climbed on it and were shortly whizzing down the concourse on electric power. They had to stop for a moment as the press of people increased, and that was a moment a nearby leafletter for a religious organization sprang into action, thrusting a handout into their hands. Christina dropped hers on the cart, but Kurt took his up and folded it neatly into his pocket with a careless "Thankyou" before they moved on.

A moment later, they were stopped before a service hallway, and were led into an employee lounge. Agent Mathews sat them in a corner, hereupon he commenced with getting the details for the flight and other necessities before erranding off with their respective credit cards and cash for the sundries shop. Carlisle disappeared for a moment, only to return with two cups of steaming coffee. Wordlessly, he set them down and then stood off to one side, just out of earshot but within easy observation.

"How did he know I need airsick pills?" she asked, bringing her head close to his.

"Lucky guess? No, of course not," he responded to her pained expression, his head also bought close to hers so they merely needed to whisper. "That was a new part of the concourse, built after September 11th. There must be especially good monitoring in there," he said. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this, I suppose we should have taken the Blackbird after all. That may be why they haven't taken it away from us, yet. The better, to keep us 'dangerous mutants,'" he said, making the finger quotes, "away from everyone else."

"That's alright," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "We got off lucky with only a lecture. He had to do that, I guess. They do carry a lot of responsibility about themselves, around here."

"Ja," he answer was brief, as he pulled out the handout he had been given earlier and started to unfold it.

"You're actually going to read that?" she asked with a giggle, the tips of her fingers rising to cover her mouth.

"They believe in what they are doing, and have strong faith. Its worth a couple minutes of my time just to listen," he said, running his eyes over the page.

"You really are an odd duck, you know that?" she laughed, picking up her coffee cup with one hand and holding it in front of her as the fingers of her other hand pressed in against the sheet he was holding, bending it backwards. "I really am lucky I found you, you know that? Or you found me, I forget now; it doesn't matter." she said just before taking a sip. She let the warm liquid splash down her throat before asking again, "So what's it say?"

Kurt read through for a moment, and then responded. "Just a couple unrelated bible verses from Isaiah, Matthew, and Ephesians, I'm not really sure what they're trying to get at here." He turned the page over, showing it to Christine who took it and read it out loud: "They are full of supersititions from the East..." she read, nodding as if checking an item off of a list. She continued: "Not a sparrow shall fall without your father knowing it - hey, I remember that one. Let's see now, oh that's an odd one: put on the full armor of God ... ahuh ... take up the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit..."

She frowned, puzzled for a moment, and then put it to one side.

"Hey," she asked him, lowering her voice, "I wanted to thank you for coming to Tucson with me. I ... just don't want to be alone for a while. No, I don't mean that, I mean - of course I'll be with Mom and sis and they'll be a great help, but, well, you know -"

She stopped for a moment and bit her lip. "well, they wouldn't be able to understand. And I don't know if they'd really believe me any -" she raised her hands to touch her fingers to her chest. "I wouldn't understand either if I hadn't -" She shook her head soundlessly at this, and let out a great sigh. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke again.

"You know, I'm going to need you now, but you have to understand that I might end up chasing you away when I'm done healing, I might need to shut it all out of my mind and pretend it never happened and get on with my life. But I don't think it will be permanent, but ... it might be for a very long time," she said with obvious pain in her voice. "I might need to be old. I hope not, though. I like you."

"And I like you too, Christine," Kurt answered in return. "And, I understand, I really do. There are times I wish the world would just stop going around the sun so stuff wouldn't always be happening. I like surprises, but everytime I say 'Well, that's enough for now' more keep coming.

"You know, I never asked you what Tuscon was like," Kurt asked, changing the subject.

"I was wondering when you'd notice," she responded with mock irritation, then went on pleasently. "Oh Kurt, I think you'll love it, I really do. People are so friendly, and they never get in your face about something unless you get in their face of course, and once they get to know you its like they've known you all their lives. If I were a mutant, I know I'd want to live there. Oh hi, Agent Matthews."

The man had returned. Wordlessly he laid down their boarding passes and credit cards, a small package of dramamine for Christine along with some change. As she scooped it up, he informed them that their plane would be boarding soon. "If you would follow me, please" he intoned. Soon they were back on the electric cart.

"But our flight hasn't been called yet," Christine mentioned as they were pulling up to the gate.

"No, you'll be preboarding, Ma'am." Matthews said.

"You are treating us as if we were radioactive," Kurt complained with a long sigh. His complaint bought no rsponse from either agent. "Fine." he finally remarked with some bitterness.

They all piled off as the cart pulled up to the gate, just as preboarding had been announced by a small red haired flight agent. As Kurt stooped low to pick up their bags, he stopped suddenly, and, as he was kneeling down he uttered in surprise "I - I understand, now." Gonzalas looked at them with disinterest and Matthews scanned the crowd, leaving Christina to ask with a pinched, pensive voice "Understand what?

A cold wind blew through the terminal. Starting with a low sigh, it was audible now, and quickly grew in intensity, causing a sudden rattling and thumping of papers and loose objects which were angrily tossed about. Christine found herself covering her head with her hands to dim the noise as she shouted "It's a trap!"

Both agents drew their guns and scanned the crowd for ... they knew not what. Kurt shouted back at Christine as he drew the soul sword from out of his depths "Yes, it is! But not for us!" Carlisle waivered his gun between Nightcrawler and Christine for a spare handful of seconds before falling away from them, pivoting about like a marionette on a string as he searched for sources of danger but it was too late. He screamed and his skin took on a waxy, frosted look. The roar of winter chill did not still or cease: rather, it was drowned out by screams and lamantations which filled the terminal, including the keening voice of Christine who in a second became flash frozen in a timeless moment of perpetual beauty.

All sounds ceased, all motion stopped as if the very moment before creation, save for Nightcrawler who alone of all those present had resisted the consequence of frozen statufication.

Imagine the sound of a breath, ampified a hundred fold. Now imagine, that breath turning into a sigh, a lonely sound which filled every crevice, found every hiding space, and touched every bone, no matter how deeply buried in breast or limb. From the east it eminated, and as it rolled towards Kurt the frozen bodies within its path vibrated until they could take no more of it, bursting apart in a harsh explosive flurry of icy shards, each piece stained a dull crimson.

He tumbled backwards as the hoarfrost under him gathered and formed into first a small mound, and then into the demonic visage of Azazel, his purported "father".

"Come, boy," he announced. "It is time for the son to give the father his due, for it was I who bargained for Illyana's soul in Otherplace. The sword bears my taint. Give it to me, boy, and I will cease your partner Christine's suffering. Give it to me and I will bind my soul to it, as the souls of all hades are bound to me."

"You mean - she's alive under that? And what do you mean, 'end her suffering?' Will it be what you did to those unfortunates?" he asked, pointing to the carpet of shards about him.

Azazel turned his face from icy-cold to a scaled, heated red, and with a puff of air from his cheeks Christine was wrapped in his breath, the warmth diffusing throughout her body. She returned to as she once was, her skin restoring to its former shade, and she blinked.

"What - what do you intend to do with it?" Kurt bargained, stalling for time.

"I have an enemy, an ancient enemy as you well know, boy. It was Elehim who corrupted spirits, placing them into earthly flesh to grow and multiply. I will correct that, once I have stormed his palace." A rolling thunder accented his words, and in a single flashing moment lightning tore through the roof of the passenger terminal at several points, tearing it open and exposing it to the raging blizzard which was outside - if it was even possible for it to become colder and more windswept than their location already was at that moment. At the same time, the floor beneath them gave way as large icy boulders broke through and surrounded them.

"Kurt, don't! Don't give it to -" An icy blast tore at her and would have frozen her through and through had Kurt not intervened by waving the sword in front of her. As it was, she was still sheathed in frosted ice and began to uncontrollably shiver.

"OBEY! I am done with you!" Azazel bellowed. The sound filled the space around them, and echos like tiny darts hammered and pricked his skin as if sound had physicality; for this time, it had.

Kurt held the sword uncertainly, waivering it about. Christine, afraid to speak, only darted her eyes at him, but he sighed and held the sword loosely at his side before him. "Very well," he said in a defeated tone. The sword fell from his hand, and he stood back, his back pressing against a large new-formed rock. With it out of his hand, he too now felt the fullness of the cold, although he was not as yet frozen as were the others.

"You have done well, MY SON," the demon spake, grabbing the sword. "I may yet keep our wills separate, for you amuse me." He held the sword up high, a smile on his twisted face. A soft gray light cascaded from the sword and down along his arm, where it sunk in and vanished. For a moment, there was a peaceful look on his face. "A beautiful soul, a delicious soul, the dark side calved from Illyana tastes sweet and full - you do not know what you miss, my son, for it is like drinking the very blood of Elehim himself. And in doing so, I bind its essence to myself."

"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father noting it?" Kurt muttered.

"What was that, BOY!" Azazel snarled suddenly at him. "Quoting Matthew are you now, and in MY presence! Fine, I don't mind, I WANT Elohim to know and see this. I WANT him to know, and be afraid. And now I think I WILL absorb your essence after all," he said, directing an icy blast at Kurt, intending to shatter him.

It did not happen. The blast turned into a twising vortex which surrounded but did not penetrate a space about him, as he began to recite Ephesians: “Put on the full armor of God ... Stand firm, ..." he shouted into the roaring blast, then halted momentarily, forgetting some of the words. "take up the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the WORD OF GOD! The sword means NOTHING!"

Something strange was happening. The sword began to unravel itself and fall apart, and yet the hilt grew, extending tendrils about Azazel's wrist and arm, binding and cutting into him. Kurt shouted, "It was only the will of Illyana's dark side which gave its power, which you have drunk deep of. But the true power which came from God, whose self-made covenant not to stay the free will of his creations - a covenant you chose to ignore - reveals itself now, for you have bound not the sword's fate to yourself, but your fate and all of Hade's towards it, an artifice made from one of God's creations." Fear was on Azazel's face now, as first his arm and then his body turned to red and black glowing embers, and a great light from within fought to escape. It escaped, and its form changed instead to the shadows of withered souls and their keepers, who in turn became red and black embers and burst apart as Azazel did. Within their bodies more shades and shadows broke out, consumed themselves in the holy fire, and released yet more demons and tortured souls - again suffering the same fate as before in a repeating cascade. All in all, this happened 10 times, and the cold ceased, and the wind died down, and the rocks found their place back within the earth.

The airport was still in ruins, and a sobbing, choking Christine wrapped her arms about Kurt's neck. As the held each other amidst the horror, they were surrounded by a warm, fragrant breeze. The light changed, but they didn't notice, for their eyes shut against it.

The airport was whole.

People were milling about, ignoring them.

They stood now amidst the lilacs and elms of the Institute, their wine glasses still clutched firmly in hand. No chill breeze presented itself to harry them indoors.

The two found themselves in a hospital corridor as noisy children raced past. One small girl nearly collided with them before apologizing and moving on, shouting "Seth, wait up!" at the back of a rapidly departing boy.

* * *

The hesitant first few notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D Major percussed in the background as inexperienced fingers groped their way around the keyboard of an upright piano. The two of them, Kurt and Christine, were seated in comfortable if somewhat worn chairs in a smallish living room with pale green and yellow walls. On them, amidst photographs of smiling children and proud adults, uncountable certificates of achievement, and found items artistically displayed were taped crude but cheerfully colored watercolors, and an inviting early afternoon sun streamed in through the large plate glass window. Outside, neatly manicured if somewhat well lived-in houses - some with tricycles and basketballs littering their front yards - presented themselves to a quiet suburban streetscape.

"I do want to thank you for coming here on such short notice," Christine said to Kurt, "but I thought you'd want to see the children in happier circumstances," she noted, as she stood to put herself on a nearby couch.

"Do any of them remenber?" he asked, a tinge of a concerned look on his face.

"No, none of them. Not even Seth. We are the only ones: its as if it never happened," she said, patting the space next to her with her hand.

He rose, then stopped in mid-step. "And his magic?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"Hasn't shown up yet. Aren't mutations supposed to show up when people are under stress, I mean - if they're going to show up at all, that is?"

"Yes, that is right. Normally its puberty, however. I suppose we will have to keep a close eye on the boy," he said, smiling. "He can be normal, for a while now at least."

Kurt obliged her earlier gesture, but sat to the opposite end and leaving a comfortable space between them. There were children present, after all! "The hospital - did you ever work there?"

"For a month," she said, "but the director wanted to move some of the psychiatric cases to a halfway house after Dr. Childs got suspended, and - here I am! Its more work, but I love it, I really do."

Two of the children ran in the living room, and then stopped with wide eyes on seeing Kurt.

"Stephanie, who is your friend?" Christine asked. "This is Nightcrawler, he's come to visit me," she continued quickly.

"Can he come out and play with us?" Christine asked, still slightly in awe and half hiding behind a cabinet.

"Love to," Kurt quipped.

"Perhaps, we'll see later," Christine said. "Now, your friend them, since I've introduced mine."

"This is Zeke," Stephanie announced proudly, unshying herself. "He says he's from a far off plance and just moved here!"

"Oh really," Kurt broke in, suddenly. "Do you think you could leave us alone with him for a few minutes - oh, wait," he said, turning to Zeke. "Would you like some cookies or koolaide?" he asked. Christine jumped in to add "We have some milk and orange juice in the fridge if you'd rather have that."

"No, thankyou, Ma'am," Zeke said. At this Stephanie shied herself away again and left.

"Now, then," Christine said, fixing him with a friendly gaze. "Far away then, that's what she said, wasn't it?"




[Edited on 3/3/06 by Haver]

[Edited on 3/3/06 by Haver]

[Edited on 3/3/06 by Haver]

[Edited on 3/3/06 by Haver]

[Edited on 3/3/06 by Haver]

[NachtcGleiskette]

good start, haver! I'm excited to see where this goes!

[chicory]

Originally posted by Haver
// I plan to be putting 10-15 minutes a day into this, just as an experimental thing //

I plan on stealing your idea - hope you don't mind

And good start on your story!

(Does it help to say that she's moving to Tucson because her mom's there and she wants her old job back? It's not like it's important or anything, because it's your story, but I thought I'd point that out.)

[Haver]

I don't mind at all! :-)

Thanks for the heads up, I missed a lot of the comics and have had to extrapolate from what I've read online.

[Haver]

Working on this again after a weeks work absence. So ... what'dya all think? Nows the time for changes, and obviously there's much more to go on this.

[chicory]

Good start! I'm looking forward to seeing out the airport confrontation turns out!

[Angelique]

Looking forward to more- except I thought Christine got airsick!

[The Drastic Spastic]

Hey, neat. Don't know what the WIP challenge is, but I want to read more of this.

Critique: Feeling some awkwardness in some of the dialogue, but I think it's just the slightly strange punctuation.

Originally posted by Haver
"Going to try and get my old job back, too. I love flying. Why don't you come back with me, just for a week or two? It would help get me settled in," she asked, picking up her drink again and dipping the edge of her index finger into it, swirling iit in circles. She pulled it out and flicked the tip of her finger to her tongue for the scantest of seconds before Kurt answered. It wasn't a sensual thing at all what she did, it was just a thing.

Genius.

Originally posted by Haver
Logan waved off the porters, extracting two suitcases and placing them side by side. "Well, take care of yourself, Elf." he said.

"But its only for two weeks!" Kurt told himself, then stopped. Sometimes, ... sometimes Logan knew better, he admitted.

Also genius. (Though there's an example of the iffy punctuation thing. Comma, ellipsis.)

[Haver]

Yeah, there's definately some akwardness there. I'm making steady progress, but this hasn't been one of those projects where the words are just flying onto the page - I just don't have Nightcrawler's "voice", even though I know where this is all going.

I'm much better with Eve Nightcrawler. Much more fun.

Oh, and thanks for the kind words. I'm partcularly fond of the bit with the glass. As for the challenge, read the thumbtacked post at the top.


[Edited on 6/2/06 by Haver]

[Haver]

Almost done...

And I think I worked through my earlier ackwardness on this, the words have been really flowing like water lately. Its gone a darker road than I had intended, but I hope to lighten it up some now that its past the climax and I don't have to keep dropping in the forshadowing moments.

[The Drastic Spastic]

Much better. More focused but without losing all that wonderful subtlety. Love the reasoning behind the airport security part. And, shockingly, it really does continue the solo series and not just the Kurt/Christine relationship. Wow. Now that is unexpected.

Detailed picking at of word choices sent through PM. Not sure of the etiquette on critiques but I am sure no one else cares to see that.

[chicory]

Yes, 'the walrus man' did have a point with being concerned about security (especially after what ended up happening). You weren't kidding when you said it was taking a turn for the dark, though I do like that you continued with the whole war thing.

Good characterizations though!

And are you spelling Azazel's name with two z's on purpose? I just wondered.

[Haver]

Finally done with this!

Well, not quite. Instead of taking up the next monthly fic contest, I'm seriously considering a sequel to this, titled "Bright, Blessed Days".

Yup, there's a theme there. I love that song!

[chicory]

Good job! I'm glad you found a way to unravel all those tragedies and give everyone a happy ending

Will your sequel be featuring Zeke?