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It had been three weeks since the founder of the Xavier Institute; Charles Xavier had passed away.

Ororo Iqadi “Storm” Munroe was the now the headmistress of the institute and for the last week found herself sleeping and eating in her new office trying to get ready for the new school year.

She was writing out this week’s lunch menu for the students, when her watch alarm had beeped to remind herself to eat something; and another cup of coffee didn’t count according to Logan and Hank.

The Weather Witch had left for the kitchen, greeting some of the student who never left for the summer break.

It had recently came to her attention that she had also ‘inherited’ the legal guardianship of five of the students, whose parents had almost quite literally abandoned them at the school’s doorstep.

If anyone; told the little street urchin that when she turned 17: she would be brought to America (by a billionaire) who could help her figure out her mutant abilities, she would’ve become a superhero (like one of those fantastic four characters the kids were always reading about), be taught English, be given the opportunity to finish her education-as far as she wanted (Apparently the ‘Kenyan and Egyptian schools of hard knocks didn’t count as a formal education); become a teacher, see the world and eventually will become heir apparent and the executrix of said billionaire’s will and estate and in his passing be bequeathed everything to keep the man dreams going she would’ve laughed in their faces.

Yet, here she was in the process of adding one more migraine to the list of everything else she had to deal with today.

The professor was always prone to them; she thought it was always a psychic thing; like how: she would always have to deal with static cling and shocking people.
Ororo was however wrong about this as well, she was finding that she was wrong about many things, the migraines were not because of his psychic ability.

It was because the idea of running a privately funded school for mutants - Suddenly she felt her foot slip out from underneath her and the hardwood floor on her back; totally knocking the wind out of her and making her loose her train of thought. She felt the floor underneath her and cussed softly “Goddess Above! Bobby! What did I tell you about-”

“No ice rinks in the house or inside the school,” he finished “sorry,” he helped her up, she fixed the charcoal blazer she was wearing, shook her head and opened her mouth to speak. Bobby beat her to it “and don’t let it happen again,” he smiled “sorry.”

She shook her head and grumbled walking away; where was she? Oh, Yes! Apparently the professor was prone to migraines not because of his psychic ability; but because running a school for mutant teenagers could actually make your brain implode.





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