[center][img]http://baku-panda.org/uxrpg/xmen_syaoran.png[/img]
[color=silver][ Danger Room > Kitchen ] [ Post Theme: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gCulUDvALM]Don't You Worry[/url] ] [ Interacting With: [i]open[/i] ][/color][/center]

Like the Danger Room's 'hard light' tactile holographic environment, the device that generated their training clothes seemed to be Shi'ar in nature. So much so, that Syaoran had found that the devices would accept voice commands in Aerie -- a language that was almost certainly not spoken on this planet.

The training suit seemed to evaporate as a swirl of light enveloped him. When it the light had faded, the atomic structure of the clothing had been altered into an entirely different set of garments. A sleeveless, A-style white tank hung from off the child's slight frame, hanging loose over the blue jeans that dressed his lower body. He was barefoot, though his feet only intermittedly touched the ground. Instead, the boy floated through the air as he traveled through in the lattice of hallways that made up the Ashford Institute.

On this journey of mundane adventure, he voyaged back toward his room. He had homework that he was supposed to complete prior to the start of classes tomorrow, aside from which there were cartoons that were meant to be watched. 

This intrepid epic would take the stalwart hero of the feather to the very brink of the Foyer of the Damned. He would then face the grueling challenger of the Stairwell of Seven Deadly Steps in order to arrive back at the sanctuary of his own room. But, before he crossed the harsh sands of the Foyer of the Damned or attempted the thin oxygen of the lethal ascent up the Stairwell, he would require sustenance.

And also juice.

So the feather-headed Shi'ar half-pint arrived in the kitchen. Being a ten year old was not for the faint of heart and required snacks if one was to endure the rigors of life on the playground. Sorting through the cupboards, the youth's search through the sacred treasure vaults yielded stolen goods of immeasurable value on the intergalactic black markets.

That being, a bag of Cheetos puffs and a Capri Sun juice pack.

Armed with the purloined provisions of prodigious snackage, the boy stood at the edge of the kitchen. The last bastion of civilization before he would attempt the grueling trek through the foyer and up the stairs.