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.

Issuing the challenge:

( Put on top of a pile of Shiro's paperwork late Wednesday afternoon. )

Who: Shiro Yoshida and Jubilation Lee
What: Drinks all 'round! Plus a little lot of chitter-chatter on the side
When: [major leagues backdated] Monday night
Where: APT
Rating: ~PG-13 (for words)

( Strippers? No, I'm not too fond of strippers like you are, thanks. )

Continued here.

Kevin had no qualms about being a mutant. Well, when he was but a kid, of course he did. But after everything his powers had shown him, he'd grown to love being mutant and got to understand how natural being one was.

But if there was one thing he hated for being super...it was the fact that mutants recognized no holidays.

Or at least society did not give them special holidays. Even after that strenous protest activity, Kevin had to haul himself off his bed and force himself to work. After midday now, he was sitting on a red-cushioned bench just in front of a door that was left ajar. Voices seeped from the inside of the office.

Wincing on his seat, he arched his back and grunted. his arms up; it still felt pretty bad after he'd collided with the brick wall and not to mention, his shoulder was rather sore. Thank God it was winter and it wasn't stupid to wear narrow collars.

Footsteps started towards the door, Judas the Secretary appeared from the inside, "Mr. Ford?"

Promptly, Kevin dropped his arms and sat up straight (and oh, did that ache some). He looked up to the redhead, smiled quickly then stood up when he gestured for him to come inside the office. He slid the manila envelope off the bench as he did this and with a slight jog, he started towards the door, preparing a good mood.

[ Open to: Jubilee ]

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.

Unlike certain members of the X-Men, Jubilee was not diligent in her training. Of course she'd attend any group Danger Room sessions, and she took great joy in running around outside to keep fit, but toiling away on a machine didn't bring - or so she told herself - optimum results. Today she had designated as a gym day, looking to work on her flexibility. She was feeling a little stiff lately, and so out of practice.

After some stretching and warm up, she was on the beam, doing a handstand to find her balance and getting used to all the blood rushing to her head. Feeling more confident, Jubilee settled into an easy routine, careful to avoid strains. She took it as a good sign that none of her muscles complained when she put her weight on them, so one leg dangling off the side of the beam, Jubilee took a breather before delving into a more difficult sequence.

She was landing from a leap (or at least trying to land) when her foot missed the beam completely, causing her to flail wildly for a split second before falling to the floor, banging her thigh on the wood as she went down.

Jubilee just lay there for a while, waiting for the pain to settle in on her leg, thanking various deities for the concept of lower practice beams, and foam mats.

"Mm, soft," she muttered as she patted the mat, enjoying its cushiony comfort.

Actually, it was more while you're at work. So sometime between the hours of 9 in the morning and 5 in the afternoon, Jubilee sneaked around to Shiro's room on the second floor, distributing the objects she had bought the previous day, about 20 in all. She even dangled one from the door frame, so that when her friend opened the door, he would be met with the sight of ( this )

Some people might say that she needed to grow up, but she'd argue that she was grown up, she just tended to relapse every once in a while.

[Closed]

For every scratch-y sound that the little handheld device hissed out, a corresponding bell-like sound would answer to it. This went on for more or less a minute and he ran through all the mathematical equations with a good ease -- back against the wall just beside the laundry room's door frame while inside the dimmer space was the constant clicking and whirring of the machine. Today was his day off after having spent 56 hours with nothing but caffeine and sandwiches in his systems and Shiro Yoshida was enjoying it by performing activities that had been waiting for him since the weekend.

And this game he was playing while he was waiting for his laundry to finish was one of them.

After a number of scratching and twinkling, a set of chimy sounds played and Shiro let out some air through his nostrils as he stretched his right once to that side then retrieved it to tap his stylus onto one of the two screens of his black Nintendo DS. Ant-like sounds now dripped out of the small stereos.

And now the moment of truth.

Your Brain Age is...

Shiro waited with the midi drums.

A big flat '43' came out to his screen.

Forty-thr--

"What?" no, Shiro could not accept this. How could that have happened when he went through the entire course with such ease? And who would have thought that seeing nothing but figures for almost three days hadn't done much good? Eyes squinted behind black-tinted glasses as a rather disappointing music played through the stereos, Dr. Kawashima telling him how his brain must be getting too old and tired but how constant practice would be sure to help it. (Shiro noted his digital optimism.)

Lips twitched as he turned his console off and then closed it, sliding the stylus somewhere by the spine of his play thing until it locked. With a small sigh through his nostrils, Shiro slid his DS into his jacket's pocket as he slid his shades off his face and began to wipe it off any print or dirt.

Maybe he should take Dr. Kawashima's advice and take another day off...

[ Open to: Xavier's ]