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Wakin' up the neighbours, (Open to Joe Marko and Omega Red)

Somewhere remote and out-of-the-way on the grounds for Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, there was a dull thunk.

"Ow."

Tom stumbled back, wincing, one hand clamped to his head. This was officially not his day. He tried to focus, but the pain (and the dawning suspicion he'd gone for too long without taking his tablets, accompanied by an unpleasant mental pressure and feeling of fogginess) got in the way. He leaned forward against the tree he'd just headbutted, one hand out to steady himself.

He'd been fighting, that much was clear. The odd, slightly pricklish sense that signalled he'd been using his powers, as well as the fact that he had just nutted a tree, rather distinctly implied that. But he was alone out here, that much was sure, and right now he had absolutely no idea why.

Slightly more importantly, he didn't know where "here" was, either, or where he'd been the last few days. He had vague memories of getting into an argument with Terry- something about his christmas letter- and then blankness.

He glanced around the strangely familiar woodland.

 

"Tom, man," he muttered, one hand drawing his shillelagh from his coat, the other bringing his hip flask to his lips, "you've really gone and done it this time..."