Somebody always asked the damn question.

Every time he welcomed new students to Xavier's, some smart-ass punk who thought he had a sense of humor would ask. Occasionally it was the genuinely interested, someone whose natural curiosity led to the inevitable question when faced with his peculiar mutation.

He had to admit, he saw where they were coming from. Some had wings, some had fur, he had his--eccentricity. He might ask himself, if it were him.

Still, it didn't make answering the damn question any less tedious.

"No Franklin," Scott said wearily, "I don't actually have just one eye."