Destiny's Diaries: Madripoor
Rplog-icon Who: Remy LeBeau, Hank McCoy, Victor Creed, Logan, Scott Summers, Anna Marie, Daken Akihiro, Natalia Romanova
Ophelia Sarkissian, Thugs
Where: The Sovereign Hotel, Madripoor
When: June 22nd, 2015
Tone: Classic
What: Members of the X-Men show up to rescue Gambit from his prison within The Sovereign Hotel.

Place: Sovereign Hotel, Madripoor

Time: 4 AM, Local

The Sovereign Hotel is without a doubt the finest hotel in Madripoor, and is arguably the finest hotel in the world. But whether or not it's actually the finest hotel in the world, it's unarguably the most expensive. The price to rent one of the rooms in The Sovereign for a night far exceeds the purchase price of the average American house.

But although it's exorbitantly expensive to even set foot through the doors, the place is always booked to near capacity. Billionaires from around the world come here to make deals they wouldn't have access to in their own countries, and to do depraved things that they can't do anywhere else.

The main floor of the building is abuzz with activity, even at 4 in the morning. But the lobby, bar, casino, and lounge/showroom areas are largely populated with rich old men and their much younger mistresses, most of whom are at least moderately intoxicated.

However, the hotel's staff are completely sober, dressed in matched black suits and wearing identical black shades, it's impossible to tell any difference between the concierge staff, and the security detail.

In the lounge/showroom, the band is halfway through an awesome rendition of 'Ain't That a Kick in the Head?' by the late great Dean Martin. Only... apparently he isn't quite as 'late' as the rest of the world has been led to believe. There he is, alive and well, singing one of his most famous songs with an authentic swing band. Funnily enough, he hasn't aged a day since he recorded the song in 1960.

The crowd is eating it up, especially since many of the elderly men in the audience look old enough to remember seeing Dino perform the song in the original Ocean's 11. But while they're enraptured, their twenty-something mistresses don't look quite as impressed by the song. Many of them seem to think that the singer is cute though.

Only one of the 'young' women in the audience seems to be enjoying the performance thoroughly. Clad entirely in green to match her hair and eyes, Ophelia Sarkissian adjusts her leather opera gloves in her private booth. Sitting with her is a large security detail, and a youngish brown-haired man in a tuxedo.

"Do be quiet, dear. I'm trying to enjoy this. You have no idea how much I had to pay to have him cloned, and I intend to get my money's worth out of my investment."

One does not simply walk into Madripoor. Especially if you're the 'Secretary Of Mutant Affairs' for the United States. But even before the life of politics... Dr. McCoy was a member of the X-Men. And currently an Avenger. And Hank felt he had to get personally involved with this one due to the nature of it. Though if you're looking for blue fur in the crowd there's none to be seen. Though there is someone with a similar build... standing behind one of the numerous billionaires in the room. After all... large mutant henchmen are popular to safeguard bodies.

Rewind to several hours earlier when Beast replaced the bodyguard. Knocking him out with enough drugs to give a elephant or rhino a good long nap and left him bound and gagged in one of the rooms tucked into bed with the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door and a nice IV to ensure he stayed that way. It was simple enough to pull a holographic scan of the man's features and use one of the X-Men's 'Image Inducers' to complete the disguise.

For now Beast's simply in 'Wait And See' mode... keeping an eye out for Gambit if he happens to make an appearance. And also the elusive 'Diaries' that everyone seems to want to get their hands on. And hey... at least the Dean Martin clone or whatever it is happens to be quite entertaining. And while Hank isn't old enough to have seen him in person before, he has a fondness for the old classics.

Victor Creed is a man with nearly infinite connections in the criminal underworld. When you've been connected to nearly every evil world domination group out there, and have done killin' for more of the wealthy than anyone can remember, you tend to amass a good knowledge of what's happening in current illegal affairs. So, it's really of no surprise to anyone that Victor has heard about Remy's little... problem. He's also talked to Mystique, and he knows damned well what the Cajun thief has been up to these days.

In short, he knows the score. And he knows that someone's gotta pull the gumbo-eater outta the fire.

Victor also just happens to be in a unique position to be the one to do that. After all, they have a long and sordid history together. It's not exactly the cleanest of things, either.

So, here he is, in Madripoor. Victor doesn't need a disguise. He is his own disguise. Sabretooth is well known. Victor Creed the Avenger, on the other hand, isn't. And right now, he's totally in Sabretooth mode. He's let his hair grow back by just not bothering to shave it for a few days. It's become a long, luscious mane of flaxen colored silk, but he's kept it tame by pulling it back into a tight ponytail. He's shaved most of his face, trimmed his muttonchops. He's wearing a very, very expensive looking tuxedo in dark dark brown, with a satin shawl collar and a black bow tie. Over that, an equally impressive fur coat is worn. He's never been exactly the PETA type. In one viciously clawed hand, he holds a cane with a crystal wolf skull detail serving as the grip. Each of his thick, battle hardened fingers sports a ring of some precious metal, with equally precious stones. It would seem that the old monster is back from seclusion, and ready to be as flamboyant as he ever has been. And he makes no pretense of trying to be subtle, as he approaches the security detail of the green haired femme fatale. They are, after all, old friends.

Dressed in a tux Logan made his way into the bar. The jacket was white, as was the button up shirt. Each of his shirt buttons were hidden by black button covers that had gold trim. Black slacks and well-polished dress shoes adorned his feet. To help conceal his appearance the man slicked back his hair a little and a black eye patch covered Logan's left eye.

His eye went over the place. It was a hotel he was vaguely familiar with. Logan's time in Madripoor usually ended in violence and pain. This morning he was expecting no different. People knew of the man by reputation. Some of it was good; the rest of it was bad. All of it depended on who you asked. Those that liked him regarded The Wolverine as a Hero. The rest The Wolverine was a monster. With a little luck no one was going to see through the disguise. Plus people remembered "Patch" pretty favorably. He was counting on that.

Hours ago:

"So everything's pointin' to Madripoor. Something's goin' on there. Gambit's involved. If we're goin' there then ya gotta keep yer heads in the game. These are my old stompin' grounds. Cross the wrong person yer gonna get killed. That place woulda scarred me up worse than Wade Wilson if I didn't have my powers," Logan began explaining. Despite the jab at Deadpool his words were entirely serious. Madripoor was a place that made Gotham look tame. The various warring clans, Yakuza, and everything else it was a place to end up in a body bag quickly if you crossed the wrong person. "You n' Scott go in together as a couple, kid," Logan gave a nod to Rogue. "Wear yer best. Gonna be business people all over the place. Turn some heads. Make it look like yer on business. Maybe there for a thrill. Gonna need a cover story. Rogue to keep from touchin' people greet people with kisses to the side if ya wanna sell an identity. Bowin' is big with some of the old-timers too. If they're yer superiors the deeper yer bow. Remember that," Logan tried explaining a few bits of Japanese culture. His speech continued. The plan was simple. Go in like James Bond would have infiltrated with a casino. Make yourself look like you belonged there whether you were a regular or a visiting business person. Since they knew little of the culture they could have played American Business people, investors, someone that came into money. People looking to line their pockets or have a good time while being ignorant to most dealings in the hotel. Their lack of knowledge could have worked to their advantage. Logan was going to have to rely on experience.


As he made his way to the bar Logan muttered low, "I can smell McCoy. He's wearin' somethin' strong, but he's here. " There was a pause as he scanned the room, "Eyes on Creed," the words were a whisper that went into a microphone he had on him. Normally the man wouldn't have worn that, but he didn't want his friends and teammates blind. Once situated at the bar Logan spoke eloquently as he ordered an Orion. A popular Rice Logger was Orion's Premium Draft Beer. The place would have had it in spades. With the bottle in his hand Logan took a sip and paid for it. Deep down he wasn't sure what to make of creed. To Logan it was like finding out the Devil's Right Hand man was now on the side of angels. "Whenever you two are ready," the words were low. Sniffing at his beer Logan was trying to get a feel for the room to see who else could have been there. He had the sinking feeling Creed wasn't going to be the only familiar face that was going to make a surprise appearance.

Hours ago:

Usually Scott would have thrown up protests about the plan, but for whatever reason he just listens, nodding at a few points Logan makes and glancing toward Marie at the end with a wry grin. His best? Well, he had a few things Jean made him buy a few years back, but Scott doesn't have a closet full of nice clothes to work with. "I'll throw something together for a good cover identity."

Now: What he threw together was a nice button tux of black on black with a red silk tie over an equally black silk shirt beneath. His hair is slicked back and he's clean shaven, as if he's every anything but. As always he's wearing his ever present Quarts shades, but they're in a more sporty frame than usual and he's got his arm linked over Marie's as they enter the lounge. His free hand in one pocket, smirking like he just won several million at one of the tables in the casino and may or may not be paying for the company he's keeping tonight.

"Copy that." He replies, leaning in like he's whispering to Marie, "Keep us posted." As he stands, "Drink?" Angling them towards the bar.

Marie hadn't said much during Logan's briefing, but she did chime in with. "Ain't nobody superior to me." Beyond that though she played along and had put on a dress that she'd bought once to go to the opera, but never got to use because her date stood-her. Its a green dress that has a low neckline that dips down both the back and front, showing off a bit of cleavage and a healthy amount of her back, however its all only visible behind a sheer bit of fabric to protect any would-be-touchers from the danger that is her flesh. She has on tall white gloves as well that go all the way up to the near tops of her shoulders, leaving only a sliver of skin visible there. Her hair is done up in a bun on her head, white white bangs framing her face on either side and she has some lovely high-heeled shoes on.

She is merely accompanying Scott, his arm-candy.

Daken sits calmly, watching the show apathetically from his own personal booth. It's amazing what you can get in life with blackmail, money, and mutant powers that let you seduce whoever you please. And in a country as disgusting as Madripoor, that's easy enough to come by. He should probably go for the Hotels staff next to get a room, instead of just getting people to give up their booths. Amusingly enough, he has no connection to what's about to go down. ...He just happens to enjoy fancy hotels with musical performances by dead people. And if Daken enjoys something, he takes it. The performance itself is rather nostalgic for Daken. He saw a Sinatra concert once. Of course, he was there to kill somebody, but it still counts.

His nose crinkles. He's picking up a familiar scent. His lips turn upwards in a narcissistic smirk, as he realizes that 'The Traitor' is here. And then, he picks up another scent. One that makes him very, /very/ angry. "You." He remarks lowly, as his smile takes a sadistic edge. Neither of them will be able to detect him, thanks to his pheromone manipulation. ...But Creed knows what he can do. And that makes him especially dangerous. He's torn between his unending hatred of his father, and his strategic desire to eliminate the greater threat first. Of course, if they're both here... that means something is happening. And Daken doesn't know what. So for the moment, he continues watching the room from the privacy of his personal booth.

There's a shadow standing just inside the green-haired woman's private booth. It seems she didn't need to knock the guards out to get inside. Whoever it is is staying in the shadows, but other than that, not trying to hide their presense. The figure is silent, keeping an eye on Ophelia.

In Madripoor, it's completely legal to shoot someone in the face for making eye contact with Viper. It's literally part of the city's Penal Code. Or at least it has been ever since Viper became the top snake in Madripoor. So only an extremely brave soul would dare to walk up to her security detail when she's in her private booth, attempting to enjoy her favorite cloned lounge singer's renditions of all of his greatest hits.

But the security detail moves aside when Victor Creed attempts to pass, making him wait just long enough for them to run a handheld biometric scanner over the man. You can never tell when the ridiculously large hitman is actually a blue shapeshifter, after all.

"Enjoy your evening, sir." Apparently, whatever reputation Victor's built up in Madripoor is impressive enough that he's allowed to break the rules. Or maybe...

Nope. The guards are letting him through because Viper already knew he was on his way." In fact, it's Ophelia Sarkissian herself who throws open the door of her private booth and leans against the door frame. Like everyone else here, she's extremely dressed up. However, her green opera gown (with the requisite mid-bicep opera gloves) looks a bit more glamorous than anything else that can be seen within the place. It looks more like something a Bond girl would wear, if the Bond movies had a much larger budget. "Victor dear, do have a seat. You'll have to forgive me if I ask you to keep shtum for a moment though, Dino's supposed to follow this song with 'King of the Road.'"

She's quick to return to her table, acting less like the top snake in a hive of scum and villainy, and more like... well... a love-stricken fan. Then again, she's probably old enough to remember when the singer was in his prime, so perhaps it makes sense.

In the opera-style booth is a table that overlooks the entire floor, and several chairs for Viper, her security detail, and her guests. The security detail are fairly ordinary thugs, but one of Viper's guests has a very familiar scent...

Over the guards' earbud radio frequency, there's plenty of subdued chatter. Most of it is relatively mundane security stuff, but a few interesting snippets can be heard by anyone listening to the frequency...

"The fuck is Patch doing here? Did he just pay for a drink with money? I once saw him twist a grown man's head..."

"No! Absolutely not! Viper gave strict orders to let Victor Creed pass with as little hassle as possible. You know, I once saw him twist a grown man's head..."

"God, I'll be so glad when we get rid of this fucking book. An entire squad of us just to guard one book? That's gotta be overkill. What's in this thing anyway, Viper's favorite recipes? And who does she expect to steal it now that Patch has left Madripoor? You know, I saw Patch in a bar once. He twisted a grown man's head..."

"Man... why couldn't she have cloned Sammy Davis?"

And that is why Beast slipped into the shoes of a mutant bodyguard... just in case they were using genetics scanners. Sure he could have worn a genecloak under the bodyguard tuxedo... but sometimes those can be a lil flakey. And a uncertain or shifting bio-signature might have raised more brows. So as they say.... 'Keep It Simple Stupid'.

Beast is well aware that some of his X-Men Friends are here somewhere. Though he's not trying to find them in the crowd for now. Best to just not draw attention to yourself by just remaining in your role as bodyguard.

Of course, Sabretooth's arrival chills Hank's blood just a bit. Especially since he's been out of communication for a bit and hasn't got the memo from the Avengers about the Bad Kitty's new change of heart. Because that would just make life too simple wouldn't it. That's certainly someone to keep an eye on in this sea of scum and villainy. But for now... Hank's just observing and trying to not draw attention to his presence.

Oh, Victor's nostrils flare. He knows the scent of the runt anywhere, and just a whiff has him inhaling deeply to put a real lock on it. But there's more. Old Beastie Boy's here, too. For a moment, he thinks he catches another smell, but then it's gone. Still, he finds the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Amber eyes swivel in their sockets, the pupils becoming fine, almost invisible slits as they focus, trying to pick out details, faces. Red glasses. White bangs. More of the X-Kids. But not who he was looking for.

"Ophelia!" Victor says, as if he's old world money greeting an old world money friend. He moves in as the door opens, and even makes to do that faux-kiss thing in the air at either side of the green haired beauty's cheek. All the while, his eyes peer over her shoulder at the shadow with the familiar scent, giving that one a knowing stare and small smile.

"Of course. Mum's the word." Creed says, though by his stare, that comment has a double meaning for that shadowy figure. As he follows Ophelia back to her table, he doesn't, at all, look out of place. He doesn't even act like the guards giving him free pass is unexpected. No. Victor Creed belongs here. And as he settles in, he wishes that she had also cloned Jerry Lewis. When those two got together, it's pure gold. Because he's old as dirt, and does remember the performer first hand.

"Cigar," Logan said and held out his hand expectantly. His good eye narrowed. Patch wasn't going to be paying for this one. That much could be told by a look of a man that was emotionless, and the reputation of twisting heads on good days. From there the man waited to see how security was taking his presence. Other scents lingered in the air with a few scents. One stuck out. It belonged to someone that had been incognito for a while. When she was quiet that meant blood was going to hit a ledger. Another scent almost pulled Logan from the mission. It was a whiff, brief then it was gone. Only one person he knew could do that. The last time they met he almost blew Logan up. Speaking low he said, "Eyes sharp. Keep yer eyes open to an asshole with a Mohawk and Tribal tattoos. More dangerous than Creed." Yes, Creed was dangerous, but he was on the side of saints. That meant the days of the homicidal monster were dead for now. Daken was aiming to take Sabretooth's place. With the guy's vast knowledge of combat, demolitions and everything else it was hard to say why his son was here. Plus it made Logan take a few whiffs of the air with the intent of making sure there were no explosives. Apparently the runt liked things that went "Boom!"

Scott makes his way with Marie to the bar, "An old fashion for myself and..." Looking to his arm candy with a grin, transparent to his comrades as something he's out right forcing into place because everyone knows Scott Summers does not smile. Behind his glasses he's surveying the lounge, listening to the reports from Logan fed to his ear. He doesn't speak an affirmative, waiting instead to see if he can pick any familiar faces out of the crowd.

For a second he thinks he sees Creed, but before he gets a good look the man disappears into a private balcony booth and there's no hint of Hank or Gambit amongst the faces.

This might not be the city for overt action, but deep down Scott really wishes it weren't so damn subtle. This is not his strong suit.

Marie approached the bar with Scott and she listened to the drink order from him, smiled at him sweetly with her pink lipstick all fancy'n'shit. She then saw the bartender look at her. "I'll have a beer. In the bottle. No, wait, two beers." She looked over at Scott and grinned. "The first one is gone quick as hell every time, ya know?" She glanced around then at some of the other people around them and looked downa t herself. He order wasn't exactly lady-like and she didn't seem to care that much either.

"Hmm, would figure you like men of his ytpe." The words, lightly accented in Russian, come from the shadow who's been watching Ophelia. The click of high heels brings the figure into light - she's wearing a blood red floor-length off-the-shoulder dress, with a slit up the skirt almost to her hip. Matching red pumps with sensible heels decorate ballet-delicate feet. Thick golden bracelets adorn each wrist, and around her neck is a black choker with a familiar red octopus in the center. Red hair cut short is held away from her face with two matching emerald hairpins. Green eyes glance at Victor, and scarlet painted lips twist into a seductive grin.

The Black Widow looks at Ophelia. "So, mind introducing me to this fine fellow?"

Viper is so wrapped up in the performance that she doesn't really seem to be paying attention to much else. Which is likely a huge break for Our Heroes. "You know, it's almost too good. I remember having this record way back in..." She grows silent as the nostalgia washes over her. "It really does bring back the memories. It's too bad I'll have to have the clone incinerated after tonight's performance, but we don't do repeat bookings at The Sovereign. Still... perhaps I can have a bit of fun before I burn him alive. You won't be jealous, will you Vic-- Damnit! Did you just grab my ass!?"

Viper twirls around, casting ocular daggers in the direction of her as yet-unidentified guest. However, he looks pretty innocent, sitting in his chair with a somewhat blank expression on his sinister face.

"Ma'am, from where I'm sitting that's a physical impossibility..." The evil-looking man is actually in the middle of lighting one of his trademark Gauloises with a lighter that looks opulently gaudy enough to have belonged to one of the patrons of the hotel. He's one of the many people here who are not old enough to remember this type of music fondly, and he looks thoroughly bored by the entire proceedings. So bored, in fact, that he's sitting with his back turned toward the stage, leaving only the back of his head as a potential identifier to anyone looking from the ground. Not only is he actively ignoring the entertainment, he's got the stones to play a game of solitaire during the middle of the performance. However, he's been dressed to play the part of Viper's date tonight, and is totally rocking a tuxedo that would bankrupt most Americans. Wonder of wonders, he even appears to have showered recently, which is probably why his normal BO isn't overpowering the nostrils of every enhanced-sense mutate in the building.

His reaction seems to soften Viper's expression a bit, but she still looks at him a bit warily. "I know your tricks, Gambit..." However, she doesn't have the time right now to reprimand him, not when her teen idol is on the stage.

Seriously, he's way too far away from where she's standing to have done it.

Although she was gracious when Victor interrupted her, and only mockingly angry at Remy, she looks downright save when she hears a female voice over her shoulder. "Who DARES!?" is shouted almost loud enough for the hotel's patrons to hear down on the floor. Fortunately, her outburst is mostly drowned out by a trumpet solo.

He anger is swiftly replaced with a look of open disgust. "Ah. You. The Council's new little... lapdog." It's clear she had another canine-related insult in mind, but has chosen to at least attempt to not be rude.

"Victor Creed. This is The Black Widow. Black Widow. This is Victor Creed. If you absolutely must hold a conversation, take it outside of my booth, or I will be very cross indeed. Hail HYDRA. Now leave me alone."

Rather abruptly, she turns around and leans over the railing of her booth to watch again, though the band is nearing its final set. Clearly, she doesn't like the idea of a new spy suddenly taking her place as HYDRA's darling.

Of course the body that Beast is currently guarding isn't doing much more than sitting in a booth and watching the entertainment. So Hank really doesn't have much to do at the moment. Other than listening to the various communications chatter of their host. Perhaps he should have found a better target to replace. Especially since with the mention of interesting things starting to be mentioned on the comms. "Can I get you a drink, Sir?" Beast asks a he leans down to whisper to the older man. At least that way he can sniff around somewhere other than standing at this table. At least there's still another bodyguard in place if someone was stupid enough to try something in the middle of the entertainment. Hank slips away heading for the bar.

"If by my type, ya mean dashin' and unimaginably sexy. Otherwise, I'm takin' that t'mean Canadian, at which point I'd have t'call ya racist." Creed says, his voice sounding like the man gargles acid, broken glass and gravel every morning when he wakes up. But, he keeps his voice low. Barely above a whisper. "Black Widow. I've heard'a ya before. Old guard Soviet type. Heh. Hope ya prove t'be more competent than Arkady was."

But then Creed sees Gambit sitting pretty. This makes his eyes narrow for a moment, and the corner of his upper lip rises in a sneer that would have made Elvis proud. Viper should clone Elvis sometime. But now's not the time for that.

"Ophelia... seems that the cause for my visit is your date for the evenin'. I was hopin' I could buy some personal time'a my own with him. I came prepared with all kinds'a gifts, too."

Logan snagged his cigar and then his eyes went on the entertainment. Placing the thing between his lips he nodded. Then suddenly snagged the bartenders hand, "Tell me who the singer is. She's good. Got me thinkin' of how my day's gonna end." Slipping his thumb and forefinger to the tender's pinky Logan's eye narrowed. He was playing the role of "Patch" and applied a little pressure on that small digit. It wasn't enough to break the finger, but give a strong indication that answers were wanted quickly or else. With his free hand Logan pulled out a stick match, struck it on the bar then lit his cigar while waiting. Orange embers glowed as the man just savored the cigar.

Daken grows bored of his waiting. He may have an inherent violence to him, but he's also very prideful of his class, and he's too uninformed to be making too much trouble... so instead, he opts for the second option. Dramatics.

He walks along the back of the showroom, away from the prying eyes of the people. As he approaches Logan, an annoyed smirk crosses his lips. "<Wolverine.>" A voice echoes in perfect Japanese as he seats himself. "<Not here for me, I'd imagine. Did Kendall pass along the message?>" He asks in a calm tone, addressing the Barkeeper. "You. Merlot. 1945 Stock. Two of them." The year Daken would be born, if his story lines up. He sets a wad of money on the counter, to pay for the exuberantly expensive drink he ordered.

This is like trying to find a needle in a hay-stack and it's rubbing Scott entirely the wrong way. He's got nothing against Dean Martin, he even likes the ol' crooner, but there is no way in the seven planes of hell that Remy would ever be caught dead here. Much less alive.

And in a booth.

NOT touching someone's ass.

If he had heard it, he would have thrown his hands in the air, swore the world was over, and gone the hell home because, no. There are things he can believe and there are things he can't. "Anything?" He asks subtly into the mic attached to his cufflink brought up when he adjusts his glasses in one of his casual glances around while waiting for his drink.

Marie accepted her two bottles of beer from the bartender and she spun the first one around with a big grin and then tried to read the label. She spotted a strange label with a cow eating a man with a turban on and it made her frown. "This is gonna be a weird beer..." She muttered softly to herself before taking a drink and then getting a bitter face from the alcohol within. "Yep..." She sat the bottle down and looked over at Scott.

Black Widow returns Ophelia's contemptuous look with a slight little smile, one that says quite clearly she knows who's Queen here, and it sure isn't Viper. "Hail HYDRA." The Russian born spy/assassin sidesteps a bit, drawing closer to Victor - and also putting herself in a position to see all three of the booth's important occupants. "Hmph. Don't compare me to uncivilized fools like him." She wraps an arm aroud his waist, a very flirty move - but as she does so, she raises an eyebrow in question, silently indication Remy. "You know this dull boy?" she asks, covering up the hidden question.

"What? This tapeworm? He's not my date for tonight, though I've brainwashed him into thinking he is.... Honestly, I barely had to torture him at all. It was literally the easiest brainwashing I've ever supervised." Viper turns around, and looks at Gambit scornfully. Gambit, on the other hand, turns around and looks at her with a huge, unnatural smile on his face. "I'm playing with my cards, like you said! Look, I made them into a funny shape! See, it's a heart... because I love you so much."

Gambit points at the table upon which he seemed to have been playing solitaire. But, sure enough, he's simply been arranging the cards into the shape of a heart.

"Very good, baby. You keep playing with your cards and let mama enjoy the show..."

Gambit's face remains plastered with a goofy smile, and he starts to turn back around to do as he was told. But suddenly, he frowns.

"Mistress Viper, what is Wolverine doing here? And why did he bring Cyclops and Rogue? Are they here to hurt you?"

For a second, Ophelia is speechless. She stares at Gambit, and then looks out at the crowd for the first time this evening/morning/whatever.

"Huh. You know... I knew there was a reason I didn't have you bled to death like a pig, Gambit. Thank you, you've been very helpful."

Gambit turns back around, and starts rearranging the cards into a smiley face. "Yay! I did good!"

"Victor dear, will you be an absolute darling and go kill your... what is he again? Your son? Your cousin? Whatever, the guy with the eye patch. Go kill him for me, please?" Viper turns on her poutiest, most sultry voice, pleading with the Big Strong Man to go kill her enemy for her. "And you, Widow. I'm going to need you to prove your worth to HYDRA tonight. Go kill that guy with the tacky shades and the lush he came with. Just... don't get hurt in the process, I'm sure The Council would be cranky if I let anything happen to you." She presses a hand against her ear, and activates her own earpiece/broadcasting dealie. "Attention security. We have unwanted guests. I will select ten of you at random to torture to death for this breach, but if you're able to remove them all in an expedient fashion, I shall only select five of you at random to torture to death."

His smiley face completed, Gambit turns around again. "I'm done playing with my cards! Do you want me to help beat them up? I'm really good at fighting."

"Seriously... I win fights like... all the time."

As Beast approaches the bar... it's not hard to spot Wolverine, Cyclops, and Rogue. Especially with his enhanced sniffer... though just as he's about to make contact then there's a new face at the bar with a mohawk getting up close and seemingly personal with Logan. Well... at least there's friends here. But he hasn't spotted the street rat as of yet. And the fact that Gambit's actually cleaned himself up makes his scent a bit harder to pick out of the crowd. Where's that notorious scent that he's known for when you need it. Hank keeps up his bodyguard appearances as he clears his throat to the man with the mohawk. "Trouble?"

Hank keeps his words simple and short, but even behind the holo-disguise his friends can tell his voice. And of course... with Viper's transmission on the coms Hank pauses. "Trouble." This time he's not asking... he's informing. Hank taps the earpiece in his ear and glances around. "You three don't appear to be on the guest list. I'm going to have to ask you to get the hell out of here."

Victor almost sinks in to Black Widow's embrace, clearly not minding the attention of the insanely sensual redheaded assassin in the slightest. He's even about to open his mouth and confirm that he does know the dull boy, and that they go way, way back. And find a proper way to let her know what was happening. Then Gambit had to go and spoil all the fun with his mind control.

"Ah... sufferin' succotash."

Well, Creed thinks, there's no time like the present to spring his clever trap. At this point, he's deduced Widow's game enough to know that he can't rely on her right now. She has a cover to maintain, and he's not in the position to blow it. So? With her arm around him, and his arm around her, he's given the perfect opportunity. Widow gets flung, right out of the booth and in the direction of Logan, and the rest of the crowd by the bar. Victor's voice bellows out in an inhumanly loud roar, "RUNT! The jig's up! She's onto ya!" And with that, Creed spins and grab's Remy by the back of his head, attempting, desperately, to slam his face into the table and put him out of the fight so that he can focus solely on Viper. "I GOT THE KID IF YOU GET THE B&%#$!"

The sudden spoken Japanese Made Logan's eyes widen ever so slightly. Replying back Logan said, <"Mongrel. If ya threaten yer sister again I'm gonna make ya eat my claws," the ferocity of an angry father lingered in his one good eye. <"Last time we met ya tried to blow me up. Then ya threaten yer siblings. Son or not, yer on my sh*tlist.> Not taking his gaze off Daken he waited for the retort.

A few moments later a familiar voice of the well groomed bodyguard Logan inwardly smiled. At least he had high society friends in low places. Then the question came. Without missing a beat Logan said, "Don't need to be. If ya wanna see my card," snap. The Bartender's pinky broke, "Tell the nice man I got a card," Logan said over the screams. Logan was settling into the Patch role a little more.

Then there's a flying Widow, "Get the girl!" Logan yelled to Rogue. If anyone was best apt person to capture a flying redhed it was a flying powerhouse. "Scott, look at the kid!" that was Scott's cue to give Daken a look at the man's ruby eyes. Right now he just needed to slip by a mutant assassin to go after Viper. He wasn't sure which one was the fire and the pan. Both were dangerous just for different reasons.

So when things go sideways, they do it quickly in Madripoor.

From zero to shoot this dude in the face with your laser eyes in point two seconds.

Whatever, Scott's been itching for things to pop off anyways. It's not that he's an aggressive sort, but he damn sure isn't the suit wearing sort, or the standing around with his thumb up his ass pretending to be a billionaire sort. He's the shoot people in the face with his laser eyes sort.

His hand comes up to his glasses when he hears Logan and he turns in the direction of the indicated punk kid to lift the ruby quarts out of the path of his eyes. There should be a sound effect like a lightsaber coming on, but there's not.

There's just the explosive concussive force of a completely hampered optic blast. Like a mini nuclear explosion from his face.

I'm chargin' my laserz.

Although they don't want to create a huge uproar, the guards in the immediate vicinity begin converging on the mutants pretty quickly. No weapons have been drawn yet, but it's like that they've got... no wait, that guy just pulled out a katana.

Suddenly, all of the guard's are pulling out katanas. And not just any katanas.... Beam Katanas.

So about a dozen highly-trained neckless mercninjas with Beam Katanas are converging on Our Heroes. Each of them has an expression on his face that can only be summarized as an 'I'm gonna fuck you up' look.

Rogue turned around at the sound of commotion and she just leaned against the bar. She heard the shout and considered it as she watched the Black Widow get thrown. After a moment of though, Anna-Marie just shrugged her shoulders and let the woman go flying. She lifted her bottle of beer up to her pinkly painted lips and took another drink of the gross-ass amber-colored fluid.

Daken cocks a brow curiously. "< I didn't threaten anybody. I merely offered her friend an opportunity for a good time. Not that a disgusting animal like you would have any idea what "Civility" actually is. Why, Jimmy and I even enjoyed a drink together. >" He remarks with a smirk. "<Why would I give somebody such 'helpful' advice if I had it in for her, hm? Though, she's certainly the more annoying of the two.>" He remarks flatly, annoyed that the now-screaming Bartender isn't likely to get him a drink soon.

Scott Summers. Cyclops. Ruby-Quartz Based Optic Blasts. Tactically sound but his powers are a little unwieldy. But when they've got so mch raw power behind them, there's a damn good reason he's in charge. He immediately leaps to the other side of the Bar the minute his name is called, to near the screaming bartender. Superheroes aren't gonna aim for them. Especially not as Daken's hand wraps around the throat of the Barkeep. "Well now, that was just uncouth." He remarks in annoyance. "Now, I'd keep your eyes shut if you want this man to keep breathing."

Oh, that was nice - throw a lady, right into a crowd of mutants, and beam-katana wielding security guys. Oh how fun! However, the Black Widow is more than cpable of dealing with the unexpected. She lands in a crouch, quickly rising and kicking off her highheels. What, you think she was going to fight in those? "Try not to get yourself killed either, Viper. You might be a smug little /suka/, but the Council still has use for you." The redhead looks over the group of interlopers. She was going to give Victor a yelling for tossing her. Her eyebrow quirks as she glaces between some punk with a mohawk, and a man with one eye. Well, that was something. "I'll take the one eyed man for myself." she tells the mooks, her Russian accent making her sound very much like a Bond villian gal. And then she drops into actual Russian, quiet enough tat hopefully only Logan can here. It communicates in Russian.

"Don't worry, Mistress Viper. I'll keep you safe! I've got mutant abilities! I just need to find a stick to whack people over the head wi---" BONK!

With his face shoved into the table, Gambit goes out like a light. It's almost immediate, and he puts up practically no resistance. Cards go flying all over the place amid the sudden movement.

"This bores me. I enjoy a bit of violence as much as the next girl, but I think I'd rather go have vigorous sexual intercourse with a dead man's clone. Adieu." Viper turns on her heel, causing her dress to spin dramatically. With measured steps, she leaves her booth and begins walking toward her private elevator, the clack of her high heels audible even over most of the commotion.

As she quickly departs the scene, Gambit basically does his best impersonation of a Raggedy Andy. Though Raggedy Andy never made funny moaning noises. Or drooled.

Gambit's doing both of those things.

"Son of a ...." Beast mutters under his breath as the crap hits the fan. And well... his X-Friends decide to engage rather than beat cheeks. Hank snaps around turning his back to everyone at the bar and holds his hands up at the various converging security. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. Hank holds up his hands and offers a smile. "Woah, woah, woah.... I'm on your side. Let me just get out of the kill zone." Beast plans to backflip on the bar when Scott's blast goes off.... but that's ruined when the man with the mohawk takes the bartender hostage. So Hank has to think fast... and protecting the civilian, no matter who they work for is the chief concern. Rogue has the flying woman. Logan and Scott can hopefully deal with the security. So... Hank does something creative. And offers a shout of terror and launches himself towards Daken. "Mutant Terrorists! Beam Katanas! They don't pay me enough for this! Protect me!!" If he can get in close enough to Daken, he'll try to bodycheck him into the wall to yank him away from the bartender.

Well, with Gambit out, Victor's left with watching Viper take off towards her elevator like she's not about to make a mess of her g-string right about now. He snarls behind her, and says, "Not so fast, pumpkinbottom. I just put myself on yer dance card for the evenin'. You n' me... we're gonna have a nice... long... tussle. Then yer gonna hand over that book."

But He's not giving her a chance to escape or mount an attack. He's already lunging for her like a feral beast, his trademark pounce. Hopefully, he'll pin her to the floor and be able to neutralize her before she tries to work some poison into the mix.

Logan saw the chaos unfold. First there were beam swords. Then there was a hostage negotiation. Then Widow freed herself. She was in his sights then speaking Russian. Instead of saying words Logan gave the woman a backfist. A "Clang" as metal bones underneath his flesh and muscle struck at Widow's face. "Give me yer best shot." His gaze went back to his friends, "Take out the guards n' free the hostage. Boris's ex is mine," yes Logan did a Rocky and Bulwinkle reference. It was one of the few cartoons he actually remembered watching and not getting. They never did explain why Russians wanted to take out two animals.

Looking at Widow Logan charged attempting to tackle her. His shoulder was bore to get the maximum about of force behind the strike. She did ask to get her ass kicked, and well to kick an ass well punches couldn't have been pulled too much. At the end of the night one of his best tux were going to be ruined. Hopefuly his friends were going to have better luck tonight with their clothes.

Scott realizes pretty quickly that this plan, the one where Logan screams shoot my son in the face with laser eyes, was a bad plan. Not that the alternative was going to be any better. There were guards with beam katana's, a flying Black Widow missile, and Marie was still drinking her beer. Mutedly he admired her for that.

"Not to tell you what to do or anything, Rogue, but if you'd punch some of those guys, that'd be super." Scott says with a trademark scowl.

He is not, hover, getting into a sword fight with ninjas. That ends one of two ways and neither of them are good for him. He will, however, take a page out of Darth Vader's book and look at them with his own eyes.

If it weren't for Daken taking a hostage, Cyclops would blast them a nice little exit through the guards, but he's forced to make the tough decisions. Like how to negociate for the bartenders life. Which will be endlessly more difficult if he is run through with a sword.

So he just assumes that Daken did not mean 'don't shoot at the ninjas' and keeps giving them what for with his laser eyes. Between optic blasts he turns just enough to stare at the punk kid from the corner of one eye.

When Hank goes to body check... or a guard does anyways.. neat, one of them's on their side... Scott tilts his glasses and fires a small sliver of optical energy at the memory just to the right of the hostage taker, bouncing it off at an angle, now headed for the kids back.

Yes, Viper is a master martial artist, but she's also about... maybe a third Victor's size. To say she goes down easily would be an understatement. She does, however, put up a better fight than Gambit did.

As the two collide with each other, and then the floor, she's already got a knife pulled out from... somewhere. Better not to question where exactly. Wherever she produced it from, she's already holding it against the man's throat, the greenish toxins that coat the blade dripping from the point and onto her own skin. She seems unaffected, however.

"You!? YOU want the diary?" She looks as if she feels betrayed, but that expression is quickly replaced by one of mirth. And bitchiness. "I'm impressed by your ambition, Mister Creed. I certainly never thought you had it in you. But... silly kitten, I can't imagine what you'd ever do with a book."

"You'd have to learn how to read first..."

From the direction of the booth, beam katana-wielding security goons are literally sprinting to try to take care of Victor before Viper has to get her hands dirty. They know that if she has to kill her own opponent, she's just going to up the number of security guards she randomly tortures to death tonight.

But before they get too close, Viper yells at them all...

"STOP! Mister Creed and I are just having a friendly negotiation. He's going to get up now and go back to his shitty cabin in the woods, and I'm going to my opulent penthouse for a night of debauchery. You see Victor, I don't have the diary. I never did. Your idiot friend tried to steal a book of my favorite recipes."

Marie sighed and she set the beer down after taking another drink. "It was starting to grow on me, actually." She muttered after Scott shouted at her. "Sure, tell a girl you're gonna take her out for a fancy part in some exotic land... tell her it'll be like one'a them spy movie parties... then turn it into one'a them stupid western movie bar fights..." While Marie said all of this she was leaning over the bar and picking up bottle after bottle of this nasty beer... She turned around with a full armload of them and she started walking out toward the chaos.... and she just started flinging full beer bottles at guards and anyone who she didn't like the look of, old people, fat people, young people, if they looked like they need a sealed bottle of turban-cow-eater beer, Rogue was flinging it at their face. "Tell a girl you're going to just 'have a blast!'" She glanced over at Scott who was blastin' with his eyes. She scowled. "Don't tell her that that's what ya meant..." She kept mumbling while flinging bottles.

Beast's flight will go mostly unhindered. No defensive lash out. No skillful dodge. Nothing. ...At least, until he passes by the position Daken was standing, with no hindrance. The same goes for the laser. To the outside eye, he appears to be a speedster, on a level like that of the flash based on how he just disappeared. Of course, that's not it. But the effectiveness is amplified when they don't even know how he's doing it. Don't know what to avoid. To watch for.

And then claws spring from his hands, pressed slowly into the external carotid artery of the Bartender. "Oops. Now this man is gonna bleed to death. I'm out of your league, so I suggest you start answering questions if you'd like to help him. You're a doctor, aren't you, McCoy?" Whoever he is, he's apparently well informed. Ignoring the fact that if Cyclops has a power set that could probably permanently kill him. Only him, but that's one more person in the room than he'd like. "You idiots are here for something. Something important, if this mess is anything to go by. I want to know /wha-" He pauses, grinning. "Diaries, hm?" He remarks, his advanced senses listening in carefully. "Elaborate. Now." He remarks, a cocky smile overtaking his lips.

Ow. Note to self, Natasha - never ever tell a super powerful mutant to kick your ass. It ends just as well as expected. The Black Widow stumbles backward, reeling from the hits. She might just be human, but she's been conditioned to be tough. Her eyes narrow, and she gets a certain look on her face - a look Logan might remember. She gets back to a steady footing, and fiddles with her heavy gold bracelets for a moment. Oh, those aren't just jewelry pieces - they're disguised Widow's Bites! "My best shot? Hmph, fair enough." Fingers twicth and little darts of zappityness fly out - but either her aim sucks, or she hit exactly what she meant to, because those darts are flying towards beam wielding enforcers - and where she can see Daken.

Although he went down pretty much like Dorothy in the poppy field, Gambit doesn't stay down for long. As the guards all rush away to save their boss, one of Gambit's eyes opens, and he peeks around the booth. Convinced that nobody is watching him, he slowly gets up, rubbing his head all the while.

"Merde. I gotta stop doing jobs like this. If I'd 'a just learned how to buy stocks and shit..." The cards are gathered up quickly, or at least most of them are, and slid within the pocket of his tuxedo jacket.

A couple of seconds later, a tuxedo-wearing Cajun lands in the middle of all the chaos, having just done a series of impressive backflips. Glowing pink cards arc out from his hands, hitting multiple beam katana-wielding goons right in the chest and sending them flying. The charge doesn't quite appear to be lethal, but it's definitely going to leave some 2.5" x 3.5" bruises.

"What's up, mes amis? Is this a closed game, or will you let any old body deal in?"

He looks around, as if expecting some sort of fanfare, but quickly gives up with an audible sigh.

"I know... I know... it's all Gambit's fault... but please tell me you parked the Blackbird somewhere close by?"

And this is why Superman works alone.... well... most of the time. Cause when you have friends like these, who needs enemies. Beast attempts to slam Daken into the wall, noticing at the last minute that the man seems to have no scent. But before he can really question that... he gets blasted in the chest by Scott's rebounded eyebeam. And then gets blasted in the back by Black Widow's own attack. Which means that as Hank's trying to answer Daken or even question how he saw through the eyes, he's being slammed back by the optic blast forcefully into Widow's Bite which helps the dart penetrate his hide a bit easier.

He at least remains conscious... though he does drop to his knees like a big blue sack of potatoes. "Son of a bitch! Does anyone else want to hit me while their at it!?" Hank calls out in pain and then snaps his head to Daken as he's being questioned. "Let him go... or you'll see why I earned my codename." Well... it used to be his old Football nickname. But it's more interesting in this context. And his bravado is suddenly broken when he takes a charged card in the back that slams him face first to the floor.

Creed looks at the blade, sees the green venom dripping from it, smells it's acrid stench. And he smiles. His eyes narrow, and he focuses solely on her. "Just like old times, Ophelia. Always did love it when we found ourselves in this position. And a number'a other ones."

Victor can smell her, hear her heartbeat, see the way her pupils dillate or contract. He can read her in ways that no lie detector could. Even if she's an expert liar, he knows her well enough to spot the tells. She doesn't show 'em. She's telling the truth.

Victor leans in, letting that blade bite into the flesh of his thickly muscled neck so deep that it seems like it might actually break the skin. His face hovering near hers, he runs the tip of his nose just shy of skin contact up her cheek from her jaw up into her hair, inhaling deep of her scent. "Mmm. Alright, sugar. Wan't nothin' personal, anyway. I'll just take th'swamp rat an' be on my way. You don't mind, do ya?"

But Creed doesn't await an answer. He stands up, off of Viper and steps back and away from her. Instead, he looks at the laser-sword bearing goons, and smirks, all full of glistening, razor sharp fangs and gleaming, cold, dead eyes. "ALRIGHT! LISTEN UP!"

Creed's shout is a bellow that rattles the windows and even has a few bottles falling off the shelves of the bar. "WE'RE WALKIN' OUTTA HERE! ME N' THE X-BABIES N' THE SNORIN' CAJUN!" He declares, his voice unrelenting and authorative. "ANYONE WHO STANDS IN THE WAY? Well.... I'm Victor @#@#$##'in Creed n' that there's Patch! An' together, we're gonna twist all yer frail lil' heads an'..." the rest of that sentence is spoken, but best left to the imagination. Like a Rusty Venture.

To the X-Crew, Sabretooth calls out. "Book ain't here. Go home. Take the Bayou Kid with ya." Then, he looks to Daken. He gives an upnod and says, "An' you! Kiddo... ya wanna know about the books? Come with me, and I'll fill ya in. Somethin' I wanna talk t'ya 'bout anyway. Ya feel the need f'r a hostage... take the cowering clone up there from the stage."

Because Creed can't just leave a clone here. Also, if he did, that poor clone's fate would be confusing and extremely painful. Not to mention that... while all of this wasn't personal? Viper's attacks on his intelligence was. And he's a vindictive man. Can't let her have her fun after that.

Creed just sort of... winces for Hank. That's a comedy of tragedies, right there. He mutters under his breath, "Oh my stars n' garters..."

Once Widow was down on the ground Logan moved around her. In the commotion the man whispered in Russian, "He's not." The runt in question Logan think she was talking about Daken. A second later he had her in an armbar submission when "Pop!" dislocated elbow. Her cover couldn't be blown. She was going to be in some pain. Also, the injury could have been popped back into place. Standing up Logan heard Creed's yelling. He eyed any guard then looked at Daken, "Let the injured man go. Head out wit' Creed. Let us take care of him n' you can get yer answers." Logan didn't want to negotiate like this. However, the Bartender was important. His eyes were on Daken. They didn't move from the man. "Let the Mongrel go," the words were to his teammates so they knew to stand down.

Yes, Anna-Marie had been throwing an arm load of beer bottles at people with her super strength'd arm. Yes she'd hit a lot of folk in the heads with them. But that was before. This is now. Now now. And right now now? Marie had found a very attractive man hunkered down under one of the tables and she was now now seated at said table with him and sharing her last two beers with him. "Tall, dark, handsome, and doesn't speak a lick'a English?" She asked the young man who just grinned at her and said something in his own dialect. Marie fanned herself with her non-beer holding hand. "Be still my beatin' heart. I'm gonna make sure we find some extra room onboard the bird for you, sweetness." She took a swig of her beer as her new friend did the same.

Well that didn't go the way Scott saw it in his head, but he should have known it was never going to be easy.

The blast hits Hank and Cyclops winces a little. Things are confusing, there's people disappearing and reappearing and all kinds of tom foolery like Victor Creed helping them escape and honestly this just all sort of happened. It fell right in his lap.

There's usually a lot more planning that goes into a Cyclops Op, than this. Hey yo, put on a tux and pretend to be a billionaire. He would facepalm, right, now, but they're busy.

Scott reaches up and pulls off the bow tie after unbuttoning his tuxido jacket. If they're fighting their way out of here, he's doing it comfortable god damnit. One hand rests on the frame of his glasses, just incase there's a lack of ninjas backing down to let them go. Logan was having a father and son moment back there, so Scott just ignores him and the mongrel.

Over the guards' radio, the sound of an extremely frightened male voice can be heard.

"He's not bluffing. I saw him do it at the Princess Bar. Then afterward he found out where the man's family lived and he..."



"Then he took the little kid's puppy and he..."


"... so I really think we ought to just call this one good."

Viper doesn't seem to protest too heavily as the men start shutting off their beam katanas, almost in unison.

"I'd rather not. I loved 'My Way'." He remarks in a sardonic tone. He has a laugh at Beasts conga line of tragedy. And not even a sinister one. A genuine, 'That was hilarious' laugh. "I never knew how "Of course. There's no need now that I've got what I want. I'm not an animal." Wolverine is cast a look. That was meant for him. The next part is meant for everybody. "I hope you're ready for a mess." He remarks, as his claw is retracted for the smoothest removal. The cut being in the external wound and a small portion of the thyroid, it was relatively clean... until the only thing sealing the wound was removed. Blood would spurt with every single heartbeat, blasting outwards in a thin, pressured stream.

"Take me away, Victor." He continues, calmly making his way towards the door.

And as he passes by Wolverine, a cocky smile crosses his lips. "Of course, I'm not the one who should be after answers." He remarks, his tone flat and monotonous, but with a mocking sting to it.

Black Widow doesn't cry out in pain, but she's in no postion to fight back against Logan. "..." She gives him a single curt nod, before tryng to kick him off of her. It's all for show, now. She'll be damn well bruised and aching for a few weeks,, to be sure.

"That kid did not get hugged enough." Scott says to himself with a sigh. The urge to shoot him in the back with an optic blast almost too much for him to stand.

As he passes by Wolverine, a cocky smile crosses Daken's lips. "Of course, I'm not the one who should be after answers." He remarks, his tone flat and monotonous, but with a mocking sting to it.

Marie gets up from the table with her new found foreign male friend and she takes him by the hand and leaves with him.

Black Widow slowly picks herself off the floor after Wolverine departs She was starting to feel the pain, now. But she could deal wit that. With a grimace, she wrenches her shoulder back into place with a pop that makes a couple of goons wince. "How utterly typical for you, Viper." the Russian spits out contemptuously at the green haired woman.

Logan looked at his teammates and gave a nod before heading to the Blackbird. There was going to be some stories about Daken now. Great. This was a horrible Father's Day.

As he watches Sabretooth walk away with Dean Martin's clone under his arm, Gambit loses all voluntary control over his eyebrows. One of them raises so sharply that one might think his mutant power was looking very much like a confused Vulcan.

"Did that seriously just happen, or do I still have a touch of the Sand Madness? Y'all saw it too, right? Sabretooth and... man..."

He shakes his head as he walks, completely unimpeded by either the guards or the cowering patrons as he walks toward the main lobby. But suddenly, he stops dead in his tracks.

"HEY! YOU! Gimme that!"

Sure enough, one of the guards is wearing Gambit's trademarked coat. Apparently, it's bestowed some of Gambit's magic mutant powers on the human guard, because the guard didn't participate in the fight at all, and he's sitting at a table with three extremely attractive women.

As he gets his coat back, Gambit stares the man down. Throwing it over his tuxedo, he heads out to the Blackbird with the rest of his not-quite-teammates, and climbs aboard for several hours in a tight space with the people whose Sunday he pretty much ruined.

But all is well. He has his coat back, and he's learned some fantastic new recipes.

Once they've taken flight and gotten a safe distance away. Rogue is probably off doing whatever it is Rogue does with foreign boy toys who don't speak English. Logan is wishing he'd been a better father or at least worn better protection. Scott is doing a head count. "Wait... where's Hank?" He searches everywhere.


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