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.

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.