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Alma had a good grip on what Locke was looking to do in the future. Maybe an even better then he did. ”Social worker h-uh,” he said, drifting off at the thought she had presented. Locke respected Ms. T, he really did, which is why he had no desire to be a counselor like her. It was a serious job, where you had to understand not only the emotional things, a part of what Locke was learning here at college anyways, but also academic stuff. There would be more years of education for something that Locke simply did not feel he was suited for. Shortly after his dad’s death, Locke had had to visit many a counselor that wasn’t involved with school, and not one of them sat well with him. They claimed that they wanted to help him, but really, what he needed the most they weren’t able to, or maybe just weren’t willing to provide. ”They’re kind of like super heroes, just not wearing spandex.”

While they awaited the professor’s answer about studying mutants, Locke’s hand clenched tightly on his jean’s knees. Alma was flipping through the syllabus, saying that there would be discussion on genetics and chromosomal defects. What the hell? Locke didn’t understand what she meant by “chromosomal defects”, mostly because they had not gotten into that topic yet with the course. They still hadn’t been able to get through talking about the class at large. He might not understand what Alma said, but he got the implication behind the words. Being a mutant was some sort of defect. She said that wasn’t a bad thing, but the word defect was still in it. ”Why bother studying mutants? Even if you looked at just the gene that makes someone a mutant it’s not going to give any answers. It’s pretty much always different.”

Professor Mantovani studied the student who had brought up the question about mutants in the first place. Biology use to be so easy to teach before people began evolving. “Of course mutation will be discussed. Mendel’s pea experiment is one of the most commonly known studies in the field of biology. If you wish to study mutation as it applies to homo sapiens, I would suggest waiting until the ethics of it has been cleared up, or discussing it with your parents.”

Once more Locke was able to breathe, though his anger at the idiot who asked about studying mutants had not subsided. The way that Professor Mantovani had handled the hot topic was very well done. Drugs and that sort of stuff was tested out on animals or labs right? Why should the study of mutant genetics be any different. And right now was really not the time that a college professor should be sticking their noses in a twist in the genetic code with students. Darwin’s theory of evolution sparked a wildfire when it first came out, and that was only the foundation for this new world. Now that he didn’t have to clench his jaw and keep from shouting at the idiot down towards the professor, Locke felt something odd. There was skittering on the floor, like someone had let loose a small yapper type dog. Locke bent over slightly, pulling his backpack open and ferreting about in it while trying to sneak a peak at what was going on on the ground. Nothing that he could see, but he could “see” it. “Five bucks says nobody is going to want to partner up with the one who asked about mutants.”

Apologies were given by Rebecca, and ignored by Locke. Being polite was always a good thing, but when you're surrounded by zombie pirates, Miss Manners could be excused. Locke understood that she felt bad about the whole trying to kill his knee thing, but there wasn't much that could be done about that right now. They could however, do something about the pirates. Keeping his right leg as straight as possible, Locke struggled to get up quickly. Lodestone was doing her part to defend them, but she hadn't understood what he meant by "ship".

His leg wasn't going to support the weight of his body, Locke knew that much without testing it out. Keeping his balance on one leg in sand, and keeping his eyes and earth senses constantly roaming was challenging, but was not nearly as bad as trying to make a golem. The more contact he had with the sand, the easier it was to create and maintain Fluffy. "The ship, can you take it out?" Locke asked, stumbling, but still fighting off a group of zombies. He bit his lip hard, trying not to cry out as his knee buckled, and he kept shifting his balance back and forth.

He didn't expect Lodestone to sink the entire ship by herself. Without the wooden planks the metal holding the ship would sink. Maybe if she could just compromise the ship's integrity. Locke's knowledge of zombies was extensive. The undead did not care about pain, or if they were missing a body part. They just kept moving. He also knew that they didn't have the dexterity that the living did. Swimming escaped them, and trudging through the ocean would slow them down. Maybe with that bit of time the two could establish a better defense.

One of the nice things about sitting in the back of the lecture hall was that Locke didn’t have to get up to run to pass off the syllabus. He could sit a while longer before having to go the few seats to take the papers from the end of the row. There still wasn’t anything to pay attention to, and he didn’t think that there really would be. This was only the first day of class and not all professors felt the need to actually teach anything. Even when they did, it usually wasn’t anything important. Locke shook Alma’s hand, thankful that she had provided it to him without him having to awkwardly get it out of her.

Equally awkward was how when she mentioned being from Quebec, the song Blame Canada from the South Park movie started up in Locke’s head. He didn’t watch the show, nor did he have any desire to ever do so. However it seemed to be the most commonly watched program in the dorm apartment, and you had to be deaf to not hear it being quoted all the time. His next thought was “Learn French or die,” but that had to do with Montreal, not Quebec. That was the problem with education in the United States. ?You would learn the names of different countries, perhaps their capitals and their main exports, but other than that, forget about it. Either there was a self importance or there just wasn’t time enough to teach it all.

”Uh, no,” Locke hesitated, ”San Francisco, California, but I’ve been in New York for the last three years.” Going to New York City had been an escape for Locke, and he wondered why Alma would have moved here. From what the media said, and statistics on crime, it seemed like the better place to live was Canada. She had to have her reasons, and Sledge was just going to go with the most obvious solution. This was a college, she probably wanted to further her education. He’d only heard of a handful of colleges in the country to the north. Whatever Alma’s major, she probably liked the program offered here better. ”Family and child studies. You?"

"'m Locke"

Locke's plan to pay attention to the professor was, it seemed, going to be discarded as the girl chose to take him up on his offer. Usually people backed down once Locke challenged them to actually admit they were curious about his eye. There was something embarrassing about being called out on staring, and having it be staring at some sort of disfigurement made things all the more awkward and painful for the guilty party. Unless you had no sense of shame like the RA Kurt Cobain/Shaggy lovechild, you would do whatever it took to not look, to not ask. She asked, but the question wasn't one that Locke had expected.

It took him by surprise. Locke really thought she'd ask something like "How did that happen?" or "What's with the eye?". Instead she asked how many times he'd been asked about it. He smirked because technically she hadn't asked him about his eye. At least her question showed some decency and sympathy towards him. In fact it was funny that she would even ask that. At the Institute everyone asked what your mutation was, what did you do. Back in the hell hole it was questions of “what did you do”. The rest of his dorm mates bragged about past events that they did, each one trying to look like they were the biggest macho man. If Locke cared to interact with them, he could traunce them with tales of fighting giant scorpions and preventing an island from blowing up. They were less than impressed that his scar was just the result of a car crash. Maybe they wanted it to be some sort of bar fight, but Locke hadn't ever stepped foot into one of those establishments. Locke gave serious thought to how to answer the one question that he had granted the girl.

The initial deal he had offered was that she could ask one question about his eye. After that Locke wasn't going to say anything more about it. He also had to think about how many times he did get asked about his eye. Ever since he had cut his hair the questions were a lot more frequent, just because he couldn't hide it behind overly long bangs anymore. Half smiling Locke decided on his answer. ”One too many times.” She had asked the question in such a serious manner and he felt inclined to joke back with how he answered. Still undecided on if he should go or the followup Locke fell silent again.

The aisle wasn't long enough for him to stretch his legs out, but Locke managed to awkwardly tuck one leg up near him where he picked at the thin rubber sole of his shoe. It was a little odd answering questions about himself when she hadn't even given her name. Locke turned his head towards her, was shocked to see that she was still facing him and gave her a smile. ”And for part two, the answer is no,”

The spring semester had started, and with it came a new selection of courses. There were the requirements of his major, things concerning early childhood development, and then there were the fun electives. Locke's philosophy professor found it humorous that they had a student who had a name in common with one of the people studied in the course. It wasn't in Locke to try and correct them. Everyday he had to argue with his dorm mates about more stupid and trivial things. How they had managed to get to this point in their lives was a mystery that the Californian was still trying to work out. By now he would have expected them to have drunk themselves into a coma, or be buried alive in a mountain of dirty clothes, dishes, and papers in various states of wrinkledness. As things currently stood, most of the rooms no longer had doors on their closets. Maintenance had gotten tired of having to come by every few days to replace them, and nobody wanted to pony up for the repair fee. And while Locke's residential life was less than perfect, hovering over hellish to be frank, it could be handled for the most part by just shutting his door. He couldn't do the same though for some of his required classes that had nothing to do with his major.

Such classes included a science course that was split between a lecture time and lab time. Forget about chemistry. Locke was content to limit his knowledge of the periodic table to it being a shower curtain design in an episode of The Big Bang Theory. Physics was out of the question too. He had done that his senior year in high school thanks to some brilliant deduction that he would do well in a class that combined two of his weaknesses. Math and science. Locke wasn't sure how he had managed to pass that class, and assumed that his teacher had had a stroke or something when grading his final. Earth Science sounded almost as if he could do it. After all, he knew more about how tectonic plates moved than anyone he knew, and was intimately familiar with a cornucopia of rocks and minerals. But in order to take that course, Locke would have to take biology first. Why the provost or whoever decided upon requirements, thought that you needed to understand living things to study quartz he couldn't get.

Locke elected to take a seat more towards the back of the lecture hall. The more distance he could put between himself and the professor the better. His plan for survival this semester was to do whatever it took to make sure that the bio prof would not call on him at all, or even look his way. That way Locke might be able to think through things, and try to understand the science babble without interruption, or having eyes turn to him for the answer

Salty spray filled the air, and the world's noise was absent, save for a constant, almost melodic roar, and a moan in counterpoint. Lightning flashed in the clouds, too distant for the crack of thunder to be heard, but near enough that the sky had turned a yellow-greenish purple. The storm was approaching, and the atmosphere on the beach was charged with the tension. Closer to the horizon the ocean was choppy, the dark waters capped with white as the waves broke. The storm was hardly the only thing to be concerned over. Among the tide crashing onto the shore was an invading force of pirates. Zombie pirates to be more precise. Not the same sort of undead pirates from the Disney movies. There weren't any ocean creature features to them, no changing of appearances based upon the moonlight. Putrid skin was rotting away, jaws were slack, held in place by only fibrous muscular tissue, useless in it's state of decay for anything more than that purpose. If not for the saltwater and slight lingering of fish, the pirates festering flesh and decrementing would overpower ones nose. With a mindless menace they advanced upon the beach where one barefoot teenager stood unarmed.

But Locke wasn’t unarmed, not really. Beneath his feet was an army to command, solders that would not tire or feel the pain of wounds. He might not be the undead, but he was far from defenseless. Locke was the one called Earthwalker, and having him stand on a beach spelled doom for his targets. Without blinking an eye, and with a grin that would make the devil hesitate, Locke flicked his fingers towards the advancing force. The sandy beach leaped in response, each individual granule practically singing in joy for it's usefulness to him, causing a wave of land that struck at the nearest pirate. Locke did not stop for a moment to make sure that his first target had been stopped. With his mind controlling the earth he stood on, Locke was intimately aware of movement around him. There wasn't a need to see his opponents to know where they were, which was a good thing. Legally Locke was blind in his left eye. It perceived neither shapes nor light, and his right eye was incapacitated in judging distances accurately. Being a mutant kept such problems, for the most part, inconsequential. While his wave of sand struck, Locke focused on the wet sand beneath another zombie's feet. He didn't like dry sand nearly as much. It shifted too easily to maintain the shape that he wanted. On the positive side, it moved quickly, and usually if Locke was working with sand, there was more than enough for him to keep his golems replenished. One such golem was making its way up from beneath one of the pirates, entombing the corpse inside of it while swinging an arm as wide as a barrel into a group.

Kendra had helped the Californian to come up with this Danger Room program, much to his surprise. She had always been against his horror movies, and Locke got the feeling that while his stepmother had accepted that he was a mutant, she still wasn't fond of him using his powers to try and change the world. However, she agreed with him that Locke couldn't ignore this part of him, and she could see the way that Locke dedicated himself to the perfection of his powers. Maybe she had thought that it was better for Locke to fight something that was little more than computer data than to say, go off and try to convince a volcano that it shouldn't kill him. Locke might not be a resident of the Institute anymore, but that didn't mean he had to stay away. College had placed him in a frat house, minus any of the things that would actually constitute a fraternity, such as a dedication to intellectual advancement, and organization of any sort. He had been thrown over the fence, walked around a landmine of undergarments in various states of funk, listened to drunken karaoke for five hours straight, and had to clean up enough beer bottles to pay for his first month's cellphone payment. Such an environment didn't allow him to use his powers, and with the media firestorm that covered what happened to his friend Gina, made it unsafe for Locke to train there. On almost a daily occurrence he'd been coming back to Xavier's to train either outside or in the Danger Room. In a world full of insanity, Locke could always find peace in loosing himself in the earth.

The golem, which Locke had dubbed Fluffy, tromped up and down the beach. It had no mind of its own, only moving based upon Locke's desires, and held together only by his will, yet it almost gleefully was dealing with the zombie pirates, One of the undead was lifted up, and dangling by a leg, was used to smash another. Of course a zombie can't be used for a weapon for long, and the captive re-animated corpse was tossed into the ocean like a frisbee.

I need to have something to do with Locke now that he is an official X-Men and a college student. Anyone up for threading?