Disclaimer: I don't even own an X-men COMIC, let alone the X-men themselves. My brothers used to have X-men action figures back in the day, but who knows where those got to. But I digress. Marvel is my daddy.

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The sun rose, the first rays of light sweeping across the land as a new day began at Professor Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The first birds roused themselves from their sleep and began singing, filling the air with sweet, pleasant song. One daring songbird flew to the highest branches of a nearby tree and fluffed himself up, preparing himself for his morning performance. With a deep breath, he burst into a warbling, trilling melody heard above all. His voluminous song rang out over-

ZAP!!

"Scott, you can be such an asshole when you wake up, you know that?"

Scott Summers grumbled incoherently, something about damned birds and their squawking, fumbling for his ruby visors on his bedside table. He put them on so as to contain his powerful optic beams (with which he had blasted the offending bird) and glanced out the window at the smoldering remains of the unfortunate virtuoso. Heaving a sigh, he rose.

"I may as well get up. I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep," he muttered, shuffling towards the door. Slowly he trudged into the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of his favorite low-sugar, high-fiber, 8-essential-nutrients cereal, a redundant glass of milk and another of orange juice, and sat down at the table among the few who were awake- Storm, who appreciated the beauty and spiritual significance of sunrise; Bishop, who preferred to be awake before his charges so he could be in proper form for his self-appointed duties as sentry; and Beast, ever the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type. As Bishop worked away at his omelette and Beast tucked into his bowl of dog chow, Scott fingered through the newspaper, already neatly separated into various sections. He cursed under his breath when he saw that Beast was currently in possession of the comics and Storm was flipping through the sports section. Suddenly Beast chuckled, wiping away a tear of mirth.

"Oh my stars and garters, Bucky Katt, you are such a CAT-alyst for trouble! Get it? CAT-alyst!," he laughed, glancing from person to person. Scott nearly drowned himself in his cereal bowl, his exasperated sigh actually bubbling in his milk as he hung his head. Storm simply rolled her eyes discreetly and Bishop, stoic as ever, displayed no reaction.

"Hey Ororo, are you finished with the sports section?" Scott asked, as Storm's blue eyes darted down to the bottom of the page.

"Yes, Scott. I am finished," she said, closing the pages and holding the paper out.

BAMF!

A puff of black smoke appeared and as it cleared, a lanky, blue creature with a long, snaking tail crouched on the table in front of Storm, its yellow eyes wide with glee.

"Oh yes! Ze sports zection! Danker, Storm," exclaimed Nightcrawler as he deftly snatched the paper from her hands.

BAMF!

He was gone again, leaving only a puff of black smoke, a confused looking Ororo, and a Scott who was growing redder and redder by the second. Bishop raised an eyebrow, not liking the the look in Scott's glasses. He would have to deftly diffuse the situation.

"Hey Scott, I overheard the Professor talking to Emma this morning. He was saying there seems to be a lot of cabin fever setting in," he said.

"I concur with the Professor's assessment. We have been uncharacteristically quiescent of late, so it is not inconcieveable that we should experience some discontentment over our stagnant situation."

"Beast, it's entirely too early for this. As leader, I command you to stop talking to me."

"All he means, Cyclops, is that things have been boring lately," Bishop translated.

"Mornin' y'all! Sorry ta eavesdrop, but Ah agree. Gets any deader 'round here, a funeral might break out," called a voice with a Southern drawl, and Rogue entered the room.

"I'll say. It's been, what, a whole week since we last dealt with Apocalypse or Magneto or the Sentinels," Cyclops mused.

"Yeah. At any rate, I believe the Professor wanted to see us all," Bishop informed them.

"Well, we better see who we can rouse out of bed. Let's go," Cyclops commanded.

"Wait! Ah gotta have somethin' to eat first. Ah got a hankerin' for some pancakes," Rogue protested. Immediately everybody froze in horror, staring in accusation, and Bishop produced a fair-sized firearm from his back pocket. Taking aim, he glared at Rogue, his eyes hard as stone.

"Ah mean griddles! Griddles!!" she immediately corrected herself.

"What is ground corn called?" Bishop hissed, not convinced.

"Grits!" Rogue answered hastily.

"What's worse than eating bacon?"

"Fatback!"

"Worse than eating fatback?"

"Cracklins!"

Bishop lowered his weapon, and Rogue sighed in relief. He gave her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Thought you were a spy of some sort. Force of habit," he said hastily.

"Alright Rogue, eat something. I may as well use this time wisely," Scott said, grinning evilly and wringing his knuckles. You can BAMF, but you can't hide, Nightcrawler…