She moved slowly, nodding her head in agreement as she gazed up at him. She too was worried about the who, not necessarily the what. Her first thoughts go to Striker, but she highly doubted he had the brains or the power to affect this much change on his own. Hearing that there was a bathroom surprised her. She assumed that it was like she had stepped into the hippie sixties again and that commune nature of life was what she would have to deal with. It was a life that she had, luckily, been able to avoid the first time around.

"You going to be my boyfriend and beat up anyone who says something bad about me, Erik," she teased. "I don't need you to fight my battles. I can easily punch someone myself." Which was true, but violence wasn't always the answer. Charles would say that. She would have to learn that there were other ways to fight.

"And who is it? Is it Striker?" She pushed her plate away, having only eaten about half of it. She knew she needed more, but she didn't want it.

"Tell me about them. These people?"