Feedback: Constructive criticisms always welcomed. Flames cheerfully ignored.
Spoilers: Buffy to end, X-Men 2.
He wasn't sure why he'd come here: he just needed to get away from the school, from everything that reminded him of her. Somehow the thought of going somewhere that had always felt like home appealed to him. He'd made his excuses and left, not knowing if he'd ever go back. The others had triad to help, even Logan, who was hurting himself, but in the end the memory's associated with the school had gotten too much, and he'd hit the road.
LA welcomes carefully drivers!
The singe whipped past so fast he almost missed the turn-off, and had to break sharply, almost losing control of his bike. He down-shifted, taking the corner faster than he normally would, but still maintaining control. He passed the crest of the last hill, the deep-blue Pacific Ocean filling the horizon, the setting sun sending sparkles off the water. Another time, and he may have found it beautiful, maybe even romantic, but now he hardly noticed it as he headed into the city.
The street's of Los Angeles where full of people, but he passed thought them like a ghost, just one face in a sea of them. The feeling of anonymity was refreshing: it had been almost ten years since he'd been back here, not since he had graduated from the school, and had come back to visit his aunt for the summer. He hadn't seen his two young cousins in years.
Young? Well, at 21 and 16 they where not that young, but they'd always be like little sisters to him.
The sun finally set, the bright Hollywood sign lighting up on the distant hillside casting ire light over the city. He cruised along Wilshire Boulevard, looking for the turn off. He stopped at a set of traffic lights and pulled the envelop from his jacket pocket, scanning the address on the back: the street it gave was less than 5-miles from where he was. The lights changed the car behind sounding its horn to get him moving. Gunning the engine, he took off, the streetlights reflecting in his red-lenses glasses.
He finally pulled up in front on an imposing Art-Deco building in a run-down area of town, a faded sigh proclaiming 'The Hyperion Hotel' above the door. The sound of music came from an upstairs window. He cocked his head to the side, wondering just who his cousins knew who would listen to The Who? He parked his bike next to a big black convertible and climbed the granite steppes to the entrance.
A short, bookish looking man stood behind the desk, "I'm afraid that you are out of luck if you are looking for a room." He said in an English accent, "Where booked solid."
"I'm not looking for a room." The biker pulled of his helmet, "I was told I could find Buffy and Dawn Summers here. I'm their cousin, Scott."