Her head did not feel so good. Her brain felt a little too big for her head, as though suddenly overnight it had filled with air. Scott had woken her with a glass of water and a few Advils in hope to stave off the roaring hangover before it hit her, but it was too late, and it was very likely she was still a little bit drunk.

The details of the night before were a little fuzzy. She still had on a sparkly silver top she'd put on before they'd gone out clubbing and she had a tacky tiara tangled up in her hair. Scott thankfully had managed to tug off her boots when she'd gotten into bed, but he had not the skill nor the perseverance to try and remove the tiara and so it had stayed.

For some reason, and it was probably the extra alcohol in her system that was playing a part in this particular confusion, there was a fertility statue sitting on her bedside table. There was no question as to who'd gifted it, as a "♥ Ororo" was etched into the base, but she had absolutely no recollection of getting it the night before, and most certainly didn't remember positioning it in such a lurid way next to her engagement photograph and the portrait of her parents.

She had to put the night behind her and move onwards and upwards, away from the nausea and the headache and down to breakfast, though considering it was after midday already it was probably more aptly called lunch. Her parents were arriving later in the afternoon, and while her father wouldn't have any problems with her looking a little dishevelled, she was sure that her mother would have something to say about it.

She stumbled into the kitchen, having switched out of her silver top and into her pyjamas, though still with the tiara stuck in her hair. She'd shower after she'd had a little bit of something fatty and disgusting to eat. She wondered what there was in the fridge.

Medland Veterinary Hospital was a good fifteen minute drive from 1407 Greymalkin lane. They weren't particularly cheap, either, but they were a vet hospital, so they were open all night seven days a week, and when your boyfriend was stuck in wolf form with a possible broken leg, Jean didn't really have any choice but to pop him in the back of the SUV and drive him on down.

Of course, Scott was a little heavy in wolf form, and when he was in pain and injured, he tended to be a little more grumpy than he normally was. So Jean took along company to help. Alex was stronger than she was while she had to look like her normal self, and unfortunately when the vet hospital had a fairly extensive file on your dog because of his habit of getting into trouble, you had to be a little consistent in what you looked like when you turned up for the examination.

Jean pulled up into the parking lot trying to find a space as close as possible to the front door. Scott had been stubborn before they'd left, insisting on walking around on his broken leg instead of sucking up his pride and letting himself be carried. But Jean was going to have none of that while they were here in public. If they were at the vet, he had to act like a dog. A well behaved dog who was in pain because they thought he got hit by a car. So he would be carried into the vet's office.

"Thanks for coming with me, Alex." She said unbuckling her seatbelt, looking over her shoulder pointedly at the trunk, where her fiance was hopefully lying down.

It was by nobody's standards an ideal day to hold a protest. The weather was overcast-- rain was definitely on the horizon, and while the streets had been closed by the local council in order to let the protest march peacefully and safely up the street, by standing in the middle of the road in a thunderstorm the marchers truly were trying their luck. None of the weather forecasts had predicted lightning, but every single one of those forecasters knew that the weather could turn on you as quickly as a wild animal, that trying to predict it was a fickle art, and while you could monitor trends, you could never be one hundred percent sure of what was to come.

It was the only legitimate form of fortune telling out there, but it would not take a climatologist or a psychic to predict that trouble was looming on the horizon today.

The protest was walking down Waterbury St towards Cromwell High School. The roads were cleared ahead of the march, and leading the pack was one of the higher members of the Friends of Humanity, a society dedicated to the continued preservation of human superiority. Their aim was not, as their signs preaching Safe Schools declared, to keep society safe, but to keep society pure of the unpredictable, the unknown, the new.

Half a block in front of the protest, a man rose slowly up through the bitumen. He was dressed very nicely in a suit and tie, with his black leather shoes polished enough for them to shine. Erik had always had a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps it was because his home life was so terribly unassuming, and the nature of his powers was made more for stealth and secrecy than for theatrics, but whenever he had the attention of a crowd he certainly came into himself. The protest slowed down to a stop, moving no closer towards the terrorist.

"Surely you would have learnt by now." He said loudly, projecting his voice in a very theatrical manner. He would've been at home reading the bard. "Cromwell High School have made the right decision. I suggest you disperse now, while you're still well enough to take your children to school tomorrow morning, or you can stay and suffer the consequences."

For several seconds, the march stayed immobile, as his message was murmured and carried down through the crowd so everyone could hear what he had said. But they were not the kind who idly accepted and yielded to threats, even when it would've been the sensible course of action. Instead, they slowly began to march towards Erik once more.

The television was on in the corner, some Brad Pitt movie playing, but the volume was turned right down so you couldn't hear what he was saying. Jean was watching him out the corner of her eye from where she lay, legs propped up on Scott's lap, and head draped over the side of the couch. It didn't give her the best view of things, but she wasn't really watching the movie anyway. She'd seen it enough times to know that Anthony Hopkins would die in the end and it would be sad, but that would be that.

She pulled her hair away from her face and looked up at Scott. He hadn't really been watching the movie either, though it probably wasn't because he'd seen it as many times as Jean had, but because his opinions on Brad Pitt and his attractiveness differed from hers. Instead, he was reading something, Jean didn't know what.

"Do you think I could get away with pretending to be Brad for a day?" She asked, wiggling her toes in his lap to get his attention. "I mean, sure I could look like him, but I reckon Angelina is a mutant and could tell if someone was pretending to be her loverboy. No one can be that skinny and raise that many children. It's unnatural."

Who: Jean and Scott
Where: Their room.
What: Discussing the wedding.

( The room they shared was not so big, but it was more than enough for the two of them at the moment. )

When her husband and her daughter were alive they would always ask Irene--why does she worry about the world's problems?

To see Mrs. Adler wake up in the morning, look for the newspaper and react very strongly in every headline across the nation and across the globe (poverty, violence on women, corruption, wars in the middle east, mutant rights...) were something that Trevor and Justine had been exasperated about hearing everyday.

But they understood mutant rights and they accepted why Irene would devote herself to it. They only wished she could trust other people to share her crusade and not fight like she's a one woman army. It wasn't like Charles wasn't there, or even Erik.

Now Trevor and Justine were gone, Irene finally learned how to shut up about the day's issues and keep them to herself...Provided she finds a way to distract herself or find an outlet for all those unspoken rage.

So to find herself in traffic or a stop light, all such 'unspoken rage' swarm around her head like a bee buzzing around her ears. For that instance, it was Melissa Beatbaker's words that had been causing her such Dismay and infuriation. Irene had been dribbling her fingers on the wheel, desperately wanting to pull out a cigarette, honking if the car before her was a little slow (for her taste), and just one Snap away from using her telekinesis to move vehicles out of her way.

But Irene wasn't alone that morning, she had one of her old students with her and the girl was about to be married. As the teacher, it was Irene's prime responsibility to lead her former pupil safely towards their destination: the bridal boutique.

Before she would start tapping her fingers again during another unfortunate stoplight, Irene figured a conversation will be key towards their...survival, "Have you decided on what color?"