Despite the fact that aside from the soap-joke or the rainbow flowers, she hadn't seen any other pranks roll her way, Wanda still couldn't help but give the marshmallow bag a little eyeing when she plucked it from the cupboard. Hand on her hip while she scanned it up and down, left and right, she strained to look for anything suspicious.

When there was none, she was a happy occupant.

She sat herself down the kitchen table with her early evening snacks, one hand taking a squishy white thing from the bag and pinching it a few as she scrutinized it, narrowing her eyes in case Jubilee had planted a maggot in each and every piece of these sweets -- can anyone blame her for being extra careful? Footsteps echoed from the outside, she imagined something glowing brighter and brighter at every beat that walk took as she began to eat the marshmallow.

When the footstep had presented itself in the form of a human entering the kitchen with a tray of what looked like jellos in rainbow colors and something else, she strayed her eyes to the man in a white open polo top, sleeves folded, a black tank top underneath, and matched with a pair of khaki denims, "Oh, very colorful."

"Good evening, Wanda," was what Shiro had said to her in return by the time he had set the trays down to the kitchen table then proceeded to the counter to pull out a knife from the wooden holder then a fork from one of the small drawers just to the sink's side. "What happened to you today?"

"Nothing out of the norm. My soap has been rendered useless, my flowers all ruined and my pictures transformed to a mini-circus," dressed in a simple white dress (yes, that one she'd been looking for) Wanda was very slowly nibbling through her marshmallow when she watched the taller man drag a seat beside her. "Who do you think did it?"

"Who else?" Shiro rolled his eyes before cutting through a jello holding what looked like one of his Bulgaris in hostage. "Even if Sun's the youngest, you don't imagine him to have the mind of a six-year old."

Wanda must have giggled a little there before popping the rest of the mallow into her mouth. "That prank," she gestured to the one on Shiro's plate, "doesn't look like the prank of a six-year old."

"I'm sure you know who I'm talking about."

She sighed and shook her head, "We all do." She slipped her hand into the bag of mallows for another one.

"You don't have work tonight?"

"Night off," Wanda answered, the mallow halfway into her mouth as she glanced at the younger man, "The manager has a special someone singing on stage and after her, Barbara Cook's coming on."

"Barbara Cook?"

"You don't know your broadway."

"I never got into broadway," he returned to his extraction. With the fake pair of glasses dangling on his fork, he scraped the rest of the jello off with the knife before setting it on an empty space on the tray.

Wanda clapped her hands delightfully at this, "Congratulations, Mr. Yoshida! You have seven more plates to go."

"I know," Shiro slid that plate aside and sliced open the adjacent yellow one for another pair, "I'm well aware, actually..."

[ Open to: Xavier's ]

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.

Wanda was losing her dress.

It was a new one, too -- white and lacy and soft to the skin and it was a Sunday and she was in the mood to wear it to shopping today. But as it is, the problem was that it was lost.

And she would not have this.

Dressed instead in her relatively new tangerine top and bell-bottom chocolate slacks, Wanda then set off for a search for her new dress. She'd checked the laundry area but it was not there so she was back in the hallways -- posing in the middle of it with one hand on her hip as she flicked her hair back.

She was thinking of a plan.

[ Open to: Everyone Within the X-Mansion ]

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.

"Ladies and gentlemen, once again...Miss Wanda Maximoff."

The sounds of hands pattered into the four walls of Cafe Carlyle as the keys of the piano began its melody and the percussions began its rhythm. Lights dimmed at the mellow tempo of her song but she never lost the glow where she stood. Swaying some as she waited for her cue, Wanda's eyes swept through the evening's crowd and she had a small smile to her face...perhaps something akin to a subtle smirk as a hand flew to rest on her mic. For this night, she wore a dark gown that shone a favorable shade of marroon as the light touched it where she moved.

Reaching out to her audience, Wanda began her song, her voice round and bold as she canted her head a bit to a side. Her swaying continued if only on stronger motions and she soon fell to blend with the music that she sang. Had this been some years ago, she would have played with her voice and turned it to light to surround her and give her a golden aura.

But these days, the people were more knowledgeable and though her powers were subtle, she was not going to risk it.

Still, Wanda imagined herself glowing in her own light. Even if her audience didn't see it, in her mind, behind closed eyes, she glew and she was bright...and she smiled in her own invisible light.

"The dark nights to come -- so kiss me for good-bye. The grace of the godland is near to you..."

[ Open to: Everyone ]
( OOC )

Monet had never aspired to be more than an art critic. She had never aspired to be an art critic for that matter. The beauty of her life was that she'd never had to aspire to be anything, especially not once her trust had come into her possession at the age of twenty-one. Aspiration was a concept forced upon her by Charles Xavier. She didn't resent it, but she did find that it had her investing time into things that she shouldn't have had but a passing interest in. She didn't have to go and get a PHD, but she was considering it. Why not? After all, she had the money.

She tapped her fingers against the floor while her other hand ran over the keypad on her computer. Her position, sprawled across the floor in the front foyer in front of the stairs, perhaps wasn't the safest, but she didn't feel particularly like moving. She was waiting for a delivery and didn't want to miss the UPS man when he arrived. There was a good chance that her fascination with furthering her education would ebb off once she had a new computer to play around with. She didn't particularly need it, but it would be nice to have something lighter when it came to lugging it around with her as she dashed to and from different art shows around the city.

The waiting killed her. She hated sitting still like this, even if it was in such a lounging manner. She simply didn't have anything else to be doing. Her danger room session was for much later in the afternoon and for her, work didn't begin until the evenings.

With thoughts of work she turned back to her computer screen. She flipped over onto her back and laid the computer on her stomach. A bit of a yank and a tug on her skirt did wonders and she was able to settle back in for another period of waiting.

[Open- Xavier's]