Accountants Don't Do Housecalls!!!
Bobby's blue sports car wound its way up the roads of Westchester County quickly. He hated it here. He remembered all those hours where Professor X put him in detention for not studying. Or, at one time, for daring to attempt to recuse his girlfriend.
And then Apple-Polisher has to call me and say the institute needs an accountant. Oh please, isn't anyone else avaliable? If Cyclops is willing to hire me for this, I think I better jack up my prices.
As he approaches those frustratingly familiar gates, he takes a breath. Least I'll see Blue and Logan again.
He felt himself yearn to be surrounded by the skyscrapers again. The world where he was king of his own life and wasn't just being part of someone else's "project." Yeah... mutant tolerance is all well and good... but there are more of us every day! Give it enough time, we've already won this...
No, he didn't want to use the intercom. He flicked his hand out the window and a ramp of glistening ice suddenly materialized; it vaulted over the wall. His car quickly moved over the ramp as he smirked to himself. Cool entrance!
As the ice quickly dematerialized back into humidity, Robert Drake, CPA, stepped out of his car and walked up those steps to the Xavier Institute again. He straightened his blue silk tie before knocking on the door.