Grannys hand wandered over the wooden paneling of her Hotel room. The fake wooden paneling of her hotel room. The dusty fake wooden paneling of her hotel room. She looked at her fingers stained in gray in disdain, her old blue eyes slightly narrowing. Then she cane-walked over to the bathroom to wash the dust-and-grime away. Huffing along the way. Muttering under her breath. She would not dirty her dress with this. And she would have a firm talking to the house manager. Again. What did those management boys learn these days? Did they get their degrees in the lottery? Had they no mothers? And no shame? He had looked at her like she was a madwoman yesterday as she had told him to have her room cleaned properly. She had found hairballs. Under the bed. There had never been hairballs under her hotel beds. The other question latter was easily answered, for as she walked out of her room to do the thing she had just decided on doing, she was nearly run over by a young woman passing her. A young woman wearing a very short skirt. A strap of cloth really. Shame? Not.

“Look out for the old people, young Lady.” Her voice rattled behind the quickly striding female, who did not even bother to turn around. That thing was only a speck of color for Grannys eyes. A difficult to see speck of color. But she knew where it had to sit. Approximately. Female anatomy was, after all, no foreign object to her. Neither was female clothing, though she was presently wearing her typical Granny attire. A long skirt in a decent navy-blue. A gray blouse that sagged around her midside with a few patterns. The bun atop her head was tied with a brightly red ribbon. For contrast. What would have counted for shoes luckily disappeared under the skirt. And intentionally, too. Wearing heels was not quite what her bones would do this time and age.

When she reached the management door, she smiled lightly. There might have been a wardrobe malfunction on the second floor. It might have involved the want-skirt becoming a non-skirt altogether. It might have sent a young girl with very little time on her hands scampering for her rooms. There might have also been screaming. Terrified screaming. Why if you show your backside to half the world, Granny thought, you should not mind it being fully exposed anyways.

The management had not been amused by her complaints, delivered in quite amiable tone. That young man had actually suggested she clean her rooms herself if she was not comfortable with the service he offered. Well she had suggested his cleaning crew had been trained by trolls, but still. You did not talk to an old woman like that. Not to a customer, too. But most certainly not to an old woman who was helpless and fidgeting in her dress. (Well there had been no fidgeting.)

This might have resulted in him spinning under the rooms ceiling. On his chair. Head down.

It might also have involved screaming. Terrified screaming.

She would have to look for a new place of residence, soon. FYI: Do not talk to your customers like that. Especially if they are old. And slightly short-tempered because of bad service and grave insults. You do not tell a Granny that her brains are wrinkled. Never.

Right now she drove down in the direction of the NYU Campus. She had two interests there. Signing up for a chemistry course or two was one of them. Frivolous academic pursuits. In her age. The other was to see where these people called Business Administrators got their degrees. This bode not well for some Professor there. Maybe the one teaching customer relations.

Gemma was NOT having the best day of her life.

Sure, she had had adventures, and helped kids, and met interesting new people with interesting new powers all the time, but most of her work, the less exciting kind, was paperwork and running errands for half a hundred kids, and trying to keep Mansion life organized.
Right now, one point on her endless to-do list was to go to the university and pick up several pounds of forms and flyers. Not the best time, but the only time she had, and one cannot think too much ahead when it comes to kids and career choices.

Unfortunately enough, people were not being helpful.

"It is called Xavier's Sister School for Gifted Youngsters, but for the conversation's sake I'll give you that one, yes that is the 'mutant school' you referred to" she said, clearly annoyed, as one suit-and-tie man half her age wrinkled his nose at her "I am sorry, I was not aware mutants fall under different regulations, haven't this country been over that issue before?..."

Every once in a while, you just run into someone really passionately stupid, even at the best places.

"Miss I have to warn you, using superhuman abilites to influence the judgement..."

"Do I look like I am using abilities?" Gemma demanded, losing her patience.

"As a recent research project at our genetics department pointed out there are many mutant variations that do not require any visual component, including but not limited to mind control."

"Well you should not have any reason to be afraid of that" Gemma frowned, hands on her hips "Now do I get those forms, or do I need to call the police?..."

Please make me call them. I dare you. Your faculty would love to hear you mutant-hated on someone who is not a mutant. Wouldn't that be lovely.

"I'll see what I can do" the guy retreated behind his desk with the speed of a sloth on tranquilizers. Gemma huffed and sat, smoothing down her summer dress.

It's all cool. I'm cool. It's all part of the job.

With some help by a friendly young Man, Granny had reached the Central Complex of Doom. A gray building with a gleaming plaque proclaiming 'NYU Administrations' on the door. A boring building. Long hallways without people. Lots of white doors. Lots of way-to-small name tags to read. And somewhere here she was supposed to find... someone.

She would have a talk to those customer relations people. A long talk. Her cane angrily thumped on the ground. Her knees were hurting. She had not had the water with her to take her pills. All twelve of them. And she would not gulp those down dry. They tasted like something made from an animals insides. And not the cleaned-and-cooked variety at that.

Thump. Finally the door. Probably the one she had been looking for.
She stepped in. Without knocking. She was old. Knocking was fore more important people. And those who had time. She had probably only a decade left to live. She did not have time for knocking on administrators doors.

>> "As a recent research project at our genetics department pointed out there are many mutant variations that do not require any visual component, including but not limited to mind control."

The old eyes behind her horn-rimmed glasses widened. Not pleasantly.

“Now that would need a mind to work with.” An old voice cracked behind the man. Sharply. “Or do you hope to find it down there?”

Thump.

She stepped up to Gemma, one hand holding her cane. “Hello Girl.” That voice sounded somewhat gruff, but not sharp. It was as old as the liens on Grannys face. “Is that lout giving you trouble?” Her lips folded into a scowl.

>>“Now that would need a mind to work with. Or do you hope to find it down there?”

The man looked up briefly, then shook his head and ducked below, muttering about knocking and people missing doors.

>>“Hello Girl. Is that lout giving you trouble?”

"Nothing I haven't had to handle before" Gemma smirked. She was taken aback by being called 'girl' - but obviously it was just a matter of perspective. Standing up, she offered a seat to the lady.

"I am sorry, can I help you?" the guy looked up again "I only talk to on person at a time. Would you mind waiting outside?"

He clearly did not have the feiminine instincts Gemma had.

“That is very sweet of you, these bones to rattle quite a bit.” Granny said then taking the seat. And indeed her bones make slight noises as she settled down. Gemma might notice she smelled of lavender. She also might notice that an arthritic hand had taken a firm hold of her own. Her arthritic joints were not so fragile after all. “You may call me Granny.” Granny stated with an appropriating nod and a smile that hinted at a beauty she once had possessed. The cane was stored leaning against the chair.

Her head turned slowly and deliberately towards the clerk. The suit-and-tie man. The useless lump of flesh. Who wanted her out. Her old eyes glittered. Dangerously. “You, lad,” She stated in an equally firm old people voice, not bothering to raise it. “are already talking to two of us. Now get your backside moving before I come over there and do it myself.” She clearly had no intention of leaving the chair. She also had every intention of making her cane come over the desk and thump the guy in her stead.

Only: It didn't work. Curious. Granny turned her head around to Gemma again.

“Now Girl, why would my power stop working around you?” For surely no man could do that. No man without brains at least.

>>“That is very sweet of you, these bones to rattle quite a bit. You may call me Granny.”

Gemma smirked. She was used to kids calling her Mama, the young ones out of love, the teenagers mockingly. She suspected it beat being called 'granny'.
And she did not feel like a feeble old lady at all.

>>“You, lad, are already talking to two of us. Now get your backside moving before I come over there and do it myself.”

The clerk blinked, then muttered again and continued rusting the papers. Gemma watched, slightly amused.

>>“Now Girl, why would my power stop working around you?”

Then, she blinked.
Oh. So Granny was a mutant. How interesting. She had rarely ever met mutants this... old. They were fewer, and usually better at hiding. Much stronger though, too, with years of practice.

"I am afraid that's me" she said with a smile "My aura blocks mutant abilites." she glanced at the clerk "As long as I am close enough."

The man put a stack of papers on the desk.

"There you go Ma'am." he muttered, then turned to Granny "Anything else I can help you with?"

She continued her conversation with Gemma unbothered by the accountants wishes. Unfazed by such things as time constraints and petty manners. Manners were important. For the young ones to keep. And yes, she looked dignified ignoring Mr Suit.

“Now thats a girl with power.” She even gave her a smile, closing her eyes. An old-people smile. Her teeth were white. And good. She seemed not much bothered at all.

“I wanted to sign up for chemistry courses, lad.” Her eyes poked at him. Gladly he murmured something about her being in the wrong room and an arcane number, apparently the place to go. “Well then... would you mind helping me find that? My eyes are old.” She said to Gemma. “I think in turn I can help with” she nodded with her towards the big box of leaflets and informative material. Some was suspiciously adorned with a COH lettering she thought she had heard about. “That. So long you stay a few feet away.” Her hand grasped her stick and she readied herself to get up. It took some preparation.

Oh this is gonna be good.

Gemma bit back a smirk. Granny was here to take classes. Mr. Suit blinked but had the wits not to comment on that. Gemma knew quite a few kids who would have brought up a comment about bubble bubble toil and trouble, but she was a grown woman and valued her life.

"Thank you" she said to the guy shortly, before walking to the door to open it. She glanced back at Granny. "I wouldn't want you to carry things for me, ma'am. That just... does not seem right."

Yes. Definitely would not seem right.

"But I'd be glad to help you find the office you are looking for."

“Well, Girl, its really no trouble.” Granny said, already the box on the office counter was being wrapped in emerald green, hoisted off said counter-top and nicely hovering at her side. Like some paper puppy. In green. Another thing wrapped in emerald green had traveled the opposite direction though.

Her cane hit the be-suited bigot over the backside. Not a hard hit. More of a switch. He yelped. And started rambling.

“That was physical assault with mutant power. Its expressly forbidden by campus policy and state law. You will...” He shut up blissfully as another yelp escaped his throat.

“Boy, be silent and start growing a pair.” Granny said. Without humor. A certain dryness in her throat.

Her cane flitted back into her hand. And she started thumping along. The door shut behind her seemingly of its own volition and finally she shuddered. "Dreadful. I did not know they started stealing their souls this young. You're nice enough. Would you mind telling me, what you need these...” The green glowing box started hobbling. “...for while we walk?”

Thump. Walk indeed. Slowly.

Telekinetic. The old lady with the cane and the wits was a telekinetic. Gemma couldn't help but be fascinated by the display of powers. Seventy-something years with one of the most potent mutant abilities, what could she be capable of?...

>> "Dreadful. I did not know they started stealing their souls this young. You're nice enough. Would you mind telling me, what you need these...for while we walk?”

She did physically assault a... oh never mind.

"They are for the school" she admitted, keeping her distance so the box could hover along with them "I'm a guidance counselor. I'm picking up forms for the students."

That was not half of it, but that was enough for one answer. She knew enough about the lady by now to know she would keep asking anyway...

Granny hobbled along at the standard Old-people speed. Maddeningly slowly for the fast-paced young. She did talk though.

“Now a school that has an anti-power counselor. Might it be a special one?” For not every school needed a power-canceling woman. Of course she could just be a random counselor.

“And you really think they will read them?”

Because back in the day... she wouldn't have. And her lips said that. With an amused smile. Twitch, twitch, Box. Wobble wobble.

>>“Now a school that has an anti-power counselor. Might it be a special one? And you really think they will read them?”

Gemma slowed down to walk with Granny. She was slow, and Gemma was used to running all day to get everything done. But she had to admit, this pace was much more relaxing. On a short distance, anyway.

"Very special" she smirked "it's Xavier's. The" she glanced back towards the door with a chuckle "...'mutie school'."

That's how most people knew it, anyway. She was not sure if Granny did.

"Oh yes. They will read it."

That she was sure of.

"It's not because I am an adapted, though..." she stopped "... all right, so maybe it is because I am an adapted. But I have been working with kids long before I found out about my ability."

Thunk. “Now who gave you that mouthful of a title? And a school of mutants in the raging hormone phase. That sounds lively.” Her eyes went a bit dreamy at that. She had been quite a lively woman in her earlier years. She still was. She was going to take chemistry classes at NYU. Because she could. “I remember me during that age. I was, as they call it today, hot.” Wink, Gemma. Wink-and-Smile. Thunk.

She shook her hips, too. The movement looked practiced. And she grimaced a bit. Curse those pills. Curse the doctor. She should hang *that* one from the ceiling. For a week.

“Sounds like an old joke. A Mother and a Granny walk down the hall... Now where is that room again?” Smile. Toothy smile.

Thump.

>> “Now who gave you that mouthful of a title? And a school of mutants in the raging hormone phase. That sounds lively. I remember me during that age. I was, as they call it today, hot.”

"You have no idea." Gemma chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. Hormones did do tricky things to mutant teenagers. Mutations, for example. most powers manifested in early puberty, at least in her exerience. As if the other changes weren't enough.

"My name is Gemma, by the way. Gemma Taylor." she added "But most of the kids call me Mama."

>>“Sounds like an old joke. A Mother and a Granny walk down the hall... Now where is that room again?”

"Just down the hall over there" she walked ahead to open the door; a middle-aged woman with huge glasses looked up as they entered. "Good morning. Do you have an appointment?"

“Well, Mrs. Taylor, thank you for humoring an old woman then.” Granny settled the box down near the door absentmindedly, green glow fading as she let her mental grip evaporate. No need to let it fall down when she passed Gemma too closely. “If you have the time, I would very much like to invite you for tea after this. It will only be a few minutes and my hotel is not far.” It was only after the words were spoken that Granny turned towards the person behind the desk.

Appointment. If there was one thing Granny had learned about dealing with administrators in her quite long life, then it was how to upset them. She had been in the Army. That was one big ball of people shoving forms around. Not making appointments was a big way to set those people off. Clerks hated the unexpected like dog-owners hated lice. Casually. She was quite unsure whether people digging through paper all day would be able to feel much at all. And if there had been even the remote chance of devising a poison for people not following the schedules and regulations of bureaucracy, she was quite sure that some dry and dusty mind would have found it a hundred years ago and won the quiet, form-shoveling respect of the entire profession. “Of course Miss...” Granny squinted at the sign near the door.“...Adams. My name is Stephens. We talked three days ago.” Miss Adams seemed slightly dumbfounded by the announcement, her eyes flickering over to Gemma in a sort of 'oh...not you' way.

Plain fact one: Administrators hate surprises. Of course you could tell old people on the telephone. Mrs. Adams, dealing with youths for a living, had quite possibly though, not practiced the skill in quite some time on her job. Plainly she had expected someone much younger to come around for late admissions.

The door closed behind Granny. On its own. The clerk seemed not to notice.

It was not five minutes before one could hear voices. Raising voices. “Missy, I was in the Army during the Vietnam War. Of course they did not bother writing letters of recommendation.” Granny sounded sweet. “If you think theres any chance I'm going to let you set foot into my University....” The Clerk did not sound sweet. “I wanted to take a few Science courses and not Major in Ignorance.” Granny still sounded sweet. “Well maybe Hotel-owning taught you that in the meantime...” The Clerk became louder. You get the gist. And Gemma would get a few other gems of exchanges, voices steadily rising.

Thump.

Plain Fact: Administrators hate surprises. Plain Fact: Granny had a surprise up her sleeve. Or maybe two. Plain Fact: Clerks hate being pulled out of their office by the ear even more than they hate surprises. And why, yes, Granny was physically dragging her along. One hand on the cane, the other on the Clerks ear. “We...” Granny said with a quiet and amicable voice to the Clerk, and to Gemma maybe. Mrs. Adams did look mildly surprised and decidedly red-faced. Her hair was in disarray. “are going to see the Dean.” Granny did not even sound winded. Nor scared. Her bun was merrily bobbing along. She even picked up the box again without so much as looking at it twice. Ten minutes and a conversation later she was admitted into the BA Program for Chemistry. The Dean had been sweating. Visibly. And Granny had smiled during the whole exchange. The Clerk had been floating outside the window at the time. She had needed to cool off after shouting at her again. In front of the man.