12537/Santa Claws' Naughty List: Part 2

Santa Claws' Naughty List: Part 2
Date of Scene:	07 December 2020
Location:	The Bar Formerly Known as Princess, Madripoor.
Synopsis:	Petty Revenge! But they deserved it.
Cast of Characters:	Wolverine, Cannonball, Winter Soldier, Gambit, Wild Rose, Cyclops, Phoenix

---

Wolverine has posed:
The Princess Bar in Madripoor's Lowtown District used to be what Americans would refer to as a 'dive bar.' Lots of drunken fights broke out in the vomit-covered parking lot after the mysterious 'O'Donnell' broke the intoxicated patrons up. But it always had pretensions of being a higher-class establishment. It even had a dress code, a guy playing the piano, and some of the other trappings of a fancier bar.

Or at least what someone would think a 'fancier bar' was like if the only movie they'd ever seen was Casablanca.

But that was before the new management took over...

From the alleyway outside, the repetitive techno music is almost ear-splitting to a man with Logan's enhanced hearing. But it's obnoxiously loud to virtually everyone else as well. Most of the windows seem to have been blacked out haphazardly with spray paint, and the 30's era sign has had the electricity cut off.

Dress code has changed a bit too. Everyone in line at the front of the bar is wearing black. Not black tie, just black. Which'll probably make it slightly embarrassing for Logan, who did a quick costume change in the Blackbird before arriving.

Walking past the line of black-clad twentysomethings, the short Canadian is almost completely unrecognizable in his black dress pants and white dinner jacket. The tailoring is impeccable, as is the knot in his bowtie which he (gasp) tied himself. Cufflinks with gems the size of testicles (slight exaggeration), and even a giant ring on one of his fingers. But what truly throws off the eye, and completes the disguise, is the eyepatch fixed over his left eye.

"Don't none of you embarrass me... I'm whatcha call a big deal around these parts."

Walking past the line up to the front, Logan, I mean... Patch, endures a few shouted insults, most of which are either in a derivative of English or in Malay.

But most of them translate to something like 'Where do you think you're going, Grandpa? Late for your shift on the Titanic?'

Cannonball has posed:
Samuel Guthrie asked where they were going, and finding out he frowned but nodded. He shows up at the Bird already in aa tux and black tie as well. The young man has got into the hair product (unscented since he was going to be in a plane with someone with hyper sense of smell) He has accented his longer hair into something resembling his old box cut. Sam monkeys with the tie a bit on the plant, but once on ground, Sam's body language changes. He puts on the asshole vibe. He follows Patch and at the comment to Logan he will pause and looks over towards the man, and smirks a bit as he turns to keep up with the shorter man.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    Madripoor. The place to go if you're up to no good but want to do it in style. Few places like this still exist around the world, and in almost all of them James Buchanan Barnes cannot be seen dead. Well, the locals would certainly assist him, vigorously, in achieving that state but better all around if he's not known to walk around.

    Herr Dietrich Jager, on the other hand, has no such compunctions. Herr Jager goes where he wants, does as he pleases, and has a quiet reputation in certain parts for getting the job done. Any job, as long as you can get his attention and meet his price.

    So it would be a surprise to those people to see Herr Jager incognito, dressed like a lowly mortal commoner, and... working as staff? A common waiter? At least, he sure looks dressed that way, sure seems to act that way, aside from the small detail that he never actually seems to take orders or deliver drinks.

    Always just there, just beyond the foreground, carrying a case...

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau has spent the last several days doing what he does best. Infiltration. He's managed to get himself placed on as the bartender. His hair pulled back into a pony tail and his demonic red on black eyes on display for all to see. He's traded his normal clothes for black ripped jeans and a back mesh t-shirt that one can litterally see his abs through.. the only "normal Gambit" thing about him is the long Duster he wears over the outfit. As the disturbance outside becomes a little vocal he smirks to himself. "Showtime." he says softly.

Wild Rose has posed:
     ""Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I had to walk into yours." Riana smiles coyly at the bartender as she orders a Bloody Mary, dressed to kill in a knee-length variant of that staple in all women's closets--the Little Black Dress. It's very simple, sheath-like, low-cut, with very thin straps holding everything up top in place. While she may be in heels, they are, of course, somewhat on the more sensible side, with just enough height to tantalize. Titian tresses are caught up in a French twist at the back of her head, with only a few stray wisps framing her freckled features.

     Sage green eyes gleam as she glances in the same direction as Remy. "Drinks later, on me," she murmurs, everything about her stance shifting from casual bar fly to something more dangerous, more tightly controlled, like a serpent poised to strike.

Cyclops has posed:
Dressed in a black button down shirt beneath a jacket, as well as black slacks, Scott is wearing his red Raybans. He follows after the others with a curious look upon his face, setting his face into a tight frown. "Can't wait to see what type of trouble we're going to get into." He says with a stoic tone in his voice. He doesn't seem too 'thrilled' when it comes to snooping around Logan's old haunts. It always seems to end up with multiple people in the infirmary and a police report to fudge.

He gives a glance around the bar for a few moments, surveying every corner and seeking out emergency exits. Following that, he quickly starts to analyze the partons. Who would most likely give them the most trouble in terms of size or guile. With a clear of his throat, he seeks out a table to settle into, one that won't draw too much attention or suspicion.

Phoenix has posed:
This was not what Jean Grey meant by needing a vacation, but beggars can't be choosers. Thusly, she's dressed for the occasion.

It calls for an an ankle-length black dress, close fitted but not *too* much, with a thin dark pewter hued panel at the front that matches the two vaguely transparent panels that run from the bottom of the dress to thigh and only show as she walks. To most it's just eye candy, but to the tactical minded it's extra room to move if speed is suddenly required. Likewise, she's only got enough height on her heels to look good but not try anything silly when propped up on pencils. Her hair is, as it most often is, unbound and cascading in fiery red. There's a silver clasp at the back of her head which, like her necklace and earrings contains just a couple of pearls, which would look like its for decoration, but likely serves to keep some of said hair from getting in her eyes.

She's walking alongside Scott with a ghost of a smile touching at the corner of his mouth. "Now, what ever makes you think that?" She teases him rhetorically as she settles gracefully into a seat.

Wolverine has posed:
The staff at the Bar Formerly Known as Princess is harried and much put-upon. There's an extremely high rate of turnover, most of which are actually related to unsolved murders. This is unusual even for Lowtown, where the solved murder rate is somewhere near zero.

The Other Bartender is a woman with big dreams of shaking the dust of Madripoor off of her Size 9 Van slip-ons and moving to Hollywood to get discovered. Sure, she'll need to get her teeth fixed first, but that's why she's wearing such a low-cut top. Dental care ain't cheap in Madripoor.

But she disappeared about a half hour ago, when she said she was going to take a smoke break...

This is either Highly Suspicious, or a Total Dick Move, because it means that Remy is all on his own making all manner of bizarre cocktails for a bunch of gothic twentysomethings who mostly speak the languages common in Madripoor.

"Excuse me..." Yet another customer reaches up a hand, trying to get the attention of Herr Dietrich Jager, only to see him slip away again. "That's it. If he ignores me next time, I'm going to say something..."

In addition to having a regular bar, with an overworked bartender, the dark, smoky establishment also has a functioning Sushi Bar on the other side of the bar, where the piano used to be. Or, at least, people can ORDER sushi there, but it's not exactly clear where the sushi is being made. The fish that's on display looks real, but there are no visible sushi chefs. Never a good sign.

Between the two bars, most of the space has been converted to dance floor. Or, as it's a gothy, vampirey sort of techno club, a dance/loiter floor.

Remy, Riana, Scott, Jean, and Herr Dietrich Jager all fit right in. But Patch and the younger gentleman with him... do not. It looks like black tie/white jacket is just about the exact wrong thing for this kind of atmosphere, and the bouncer looks at them skeptically while Patch waits for his easy entrance into the bar.

"Come on, bub. You know who I am. Lemme and my crew in."

The bouncer just points to the back of the line.

Sighing, Patch pulls out what looks like a very fat roll of twenties, and gives it to the man. Moments later, he's inside the bar, with his crew, soaking up the ambience.

"Smell's like the bathroom at a Spencer's Gift's in this dump..."

Up above, the incredibly cliché VIP Lounge overlooks the rest of the bar. The people up there are more unusual than the ones downstairs, but their attire is roughly as gothy. A wizened old man sits in a place of honor, his white hair pulled back tight into a ponytail that goes down, back over his shoulder, and then halfway down his torso. Around the table from him are a few cybernetically-enhanced goons, and a redhaired woman wearing a very tight purple dress.

They seem to be enjoying themselves, but anyone observing them would detect a hint of nervousness. As if they're waiting on something or someone.

Still nursing the wound from NOT being recognized, Patch looks as if he's going to be in a foul mood. But he heads over to a table strategically close to where Scott and Jean have camped, and politely forces the current occupants to leave. Casting a glance up at the VIP Area that looms above, he lights up a Cohiba with as much feigned nonchalance as he can muster, and sneakily speaks into his lapel.

"Everybody should be in place. Now we just have to wait for our targets to make their move. Hope nobody here's a virgin, I hear they like those."

Gambit has posed:
Remy LeBeau, despite being abandoned just before the busiest part of the night, is doing an admireable job trying to keep up with the crowd and their orders. He moves graciously up and down the bar, flirting with female patrons and filling orders as he goes. "One Bloody Mary.." He says setting the drink next to Riana and popping a celery stick into it. And if his hand brushes her's just a little longer then normal, totally coincidence right. "Yah sure yah wanna be 'ere chere?" the Cajun asks the lady in Black softly, obvious concern in his voice... though he has to make another round of some obscure drink consisting of Scotch, lemon juice, Ginger liquer and /beet/ juice. "Okay dat's fve Cures.." he says moving down the bar again, giving Logan's table and Scott's a quick nod.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    You can't just expect Jager to be there when you need him to place an order. The man is, clearly, very busy. Hither and yon, carrying trays, shifting glasses around, cleaning tables, nodding to customers and directing wait staff to them. He's the managerial type, the fixer, the waiter you will get once you have grown enough in status to Be Known. The One Who Does. Getting him to fill your order is an act of recognition, of status. Once Jager deems you worthy of his attention, you Have Arrived.

    So it seems, anyway.

    But it's always been like this, surely? But was it always like this last week? Or even two days ago? Tradition starts somewhere, and the dynamic is obvious to those in the scene.

    Jager is not your waiter. Jager is your Provisioner.

Cannonball has posed:
Samuel Guthrie will split off to head to the bar. He steps up to it, and cuts in front of someone. He looks over to Gambit, and calls out "Hey Red, 3 beers, nd a martini" He orders from the man, and once the drinks are there, he slides the money and a decent tip to the other man, and turns to head back towards the tables. He pauses at Scott and Jeans putting one of the beers in front of scott, and the martini in front of Jean. He then continues to Patches table to sit down sliding over one of the beers. During the walk to and from the bar, he makes sure to get a look around the place, taking in where exits, stairs and such are. Once he is set down, he will sip his beer, knowing since Gambit made them and he delivered them, they are safe to drink, or at least as safe as anything Remy mixes.

Wild Rose has posed:
     Riana ducks her head down, her voice low yet still audible to the wily Cajun-turned-bartender. "Cher, you said your friends needed help, I'm here. Jack's fine, neighbor's looking after him." Jack? Who's Jack?

     And who in God's name would drink that beet juice concoction?

     Adjusting the front of her Little Black Dress discreetly, she raises her glass in salute to the tender, then to Herr Jager, taking a small sip. "Interesting friends. Glad to help."

Cyclops has posed:
Taking the beer from Sam, Scott gives him a slight salute, then tracks his eyes upwards towards the VIP section. He gives a furrow of his brows behind his red shades berfore he looks over towards Jean. "Oh. I don't know. Just a gut feeling." He screws the top off his bottle, then takes a sip from it, swishing it about before he swallows. "Flat."

He reaches out to slide his hand over the top of Jean's, giving her hand a small squeeze. << Logan, exactly who is our targets? >>

His voice comes through the psychic link shared between the teammates as he raises the bottle upwards again for another sip.

<< And is this going to ruin my shirt? It's one of my nicer ones. >>

Phoenix has posed:
<< Virgins? Should we be expecting a dragon? >> Jean says within her mind as she plucks up the martini and gives a gracious tip of her head towards Sam. What a dear.

"It's probably going to." She murmurs discreetly towards Scott. Her eyes glance over the rim of her martini glass towards the VIP section on which she briefly focuses her power, skimming the surface thoughts and feelings. It's like window shopping - you get an idea of what's going on, but you're unlikely to make any awkward eye contact or draw attention.

Wolverine has posed:
"Excuse me, Miss, but our owner has invited you to the VIP Suite."

The ninja-like bar employee seems to appear out of nowhere to Riana's left, extending a very pale hand and beckoning with fingers tipped with very long nails. He gestures to the upstairs VIP Suite, where the redheaded woman in the very tight purple dress is waving in a cool, detached, but friendly-adjacent manner.

An entirely different, but equally ninja-like, slightly more creepy bar employee makes a similar invitation to both Jean and Scott, appearing near their table as if he had been hiding behind a lazily-dancing bar patron and then popped out to say 'Boo!'

With his lapel mike and his earpiece, Logan can keep tabs on just about everything. As long as everyone else remembered their Radio Shack spy gear. That shit was expensive, and cost Patch a whole roll of twenties.

Things seem to be going roughly according to plan. Or at least Logan, that is... Patch doesn't seem to be concerned. But when even Young Samuel gets an invitation, he can't help but have his feelings hurt.

"The hell's this? Everybody but ME gets an invite to the VIP Suite? I must be losin' my sex appeal..."

Maybe it's just his cigar breath. Maybe it's his beer breath. Or maybe it's because he would look far worse in a dress than any of them. Either way, he's left alone at his table. So he raises his bottle to the bartender, but doesn't look at him very long. Why would he? He's never met this mysterious bartender before, and simply appreciates his bottle-opening skills.

Judging by the crowd up in the VIP Suite, Logan just didn't get an invitation because he looks about twenty years older than anyone else there. Aside from the wizened man in the place of honor, that is.

A drunk guy bumps into Patch's chair, jostling his beer, and snickers as he walks off.

"What's the matter, Grandpa? Get lost on the way to your Mahjong game?"

But Patch ignores him, leaning forward and gritting his teeth.

<<Targets? You've bumped your head, Scottie. I said we was gonna go on a nice trip, do a little Crissmiss Shoppin', and still you don't trust me. And they say I'm the one needs therapy...>>

<<But no, for real, looks like you're about to meet our targets here in a second. Then you'll see why I can't friggin' stand 'em. Total assholes, smell like cabbage.>>

<<Ain't even REAL vampires.>>

Cannonball has posed:
Samuel Guthrie 's brow raises a bit when he gets an invite and Logan does not. He is tempted to turn down the invitation, but he does take them up on it. He swigs his beer, and leaves the rest at the table for the old man if he wants it. Sam keeps his face flat, as he tries to look like a professional walking towards the meeting.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    More patrons are ignored as the ignoble peasants they are, while Jager makes his rounds and shares pleasant conversation with the regulars. Some people get the sheer honor of having Jager divert other waiters to them, usually with an imperial click of his fingers and a stern look. The floor, it appears, is owned by Jager. He runs it, it is his domain, his dominion. Granted, he will likely acknowledge in some distant way that there is an owner, and this owner is to be given due deference and respect, but while the owners sit above, the clients must realise they sit below and Jager stands /between/. Not at the top, but higher than them.

    Know your place.

    Patch is not just ignored, he's given the shoulder so cold that it gets downright frosty. He's not just being ignored, not just being left untended... he's being Snubbed. Occasionally though, Jager glances towards the entrance as if awaiting true patrons, real people, people worthy of his time.

    Are you worthy of Jager's time?

    I think not.

Gambit has posed:
From behind the bar, Remy joins the telepathic conversation, That's a bit of a rare thing considering how gaurded he normally keeps his mind. <<Ah've got eyes on de stairs, pretty sure dare only one way up or down from yah positions dare." He informs them... then in a tighter message to Just Jean he adds, "Watch 'er back foh me...please?"

Wild Rose has posed:
     The initial telepathic contact was, in a word, a little disconcerting. Riana was not accustomed to having someone muck about in her mind, or to hearing thoughts other than her own. For a moment, her eyes cross in somewhat comical fashion, but she manages to cover the momentary lapse with a smile. <<This doesn't feel right. Why just us?>> Perhaps the one benefit of the VIP lounge would be a temporary respite from all the blasted music. The invitation is accepted with a gracious, almost regal nod, as she joins the rest. <<I don't like this. Divide and conquer.>>

Phoenix has posed:
<< Of course. >> Jean says privately to Remy, in that same tone of confident assurance as if he had asked her to look after any of the team or kids. And so Riana was adopted, just like that.

<< And that's why I'm here to keep us connected in case if we get split up. >> Jean says to Riana's concerns. Though she did wear her finest pearls, which contain the listening gear so poor Patch keeps in the audio loop. << If *these* comms get knocked out, then there's more to worry about than electrical interference. >>

She rises up from her seat at the invite with her drink in tow and one arm looping around that of Scott. And onward to the VIP section they go. But not too fast. Only desperate people do that.

Cyclops has posed:
Furrowing his brows, Scott doesn't look too pleased at the word 'vampires'.

<< Great. >>

As he rises upwards, he takes Jean by the hand, then clears his throat. "Our bodyguard will be coming with us." He says as he dips his head towards Logan, then trails his eyes back up towards the VIP section. "Though I am curious as to who is giving the invite."

As he follows after the group, he lets out a noise in his throat.

<< Vampires, really Logan? Who are these people? >>

Wolverine has posed:
"Ah... Sapphire... introduce me to our lovely guests."

The wizened old man in the place of honor is not just a certified creep, he's also kind of cliche. He even puts the tips of his fingers together as he watches them come up the ladder through his Vintage 80's-looking square sunglasses. He's got some really long nails, that wizened old man in the place of honor.

Down below, Logan sniffs the air, as if picking up on something that he's been waiting for. Patch sniffs the air, that is. He leans to the side, to speak into his lapel mike.

"Heads up, Mister Jager. Looks like our boy's finally here. Time to earn that roll of twenties."

Sure enough, in through the door comes a man in a very expensive suit. It's obvious that's it's very expensive, because it actually doesn't look all that expensive, but he looks pretty amazing in it. Patch can appreciate a well-cut dinner jacket, having folded his own pocket square this evening.

"Please, have a seat. We were just about to do a round of shots and lobster tails. Let's see... one two three... looks like we'll need nine shots, nine lobster tails, Oh! And then a round of Flirtinis. Thanks, Zephyr!"

The woman in purple is much less creepy than the wizened old man in the place of honor, but she's a little bit manic and seems to be flirting with everything that's within her field of vision simultaneously. It might sound tacky, but it can be pretty hypnotic for those that she casts her eye on. And she moves her eyes around a lot.

Not that she needs too much seductive power, the way she fills out that dress.

She gestures at the open seats around the table. Like most horrifying VIP areas, it's a big semicircular couch monstrosity surrounding a low table. The table is covered in all the signs of debauchery that a blacked-out gothy technoclub with pretensions of Vampirishness would have. Couple lines of cocaine, empty champagne bottles, waaaay more lobster tails than a crowd this small should have eaten.

The music is also a bit more muffled up here. But only a bit. It seems like the wizened old man in the place of honor and his purple-clad companion like this sort of music. So do their cybernetically-enhanced henchmen.

"Now, introductions... I'm Sapphire, Sapphire Styx, and this is our generous host, the very debonair Lord Bloodscream. Now, is anyone here a virgin?"

The Very Impressive New Guy who just walked in gets something close to the star treatment, getting ushered up to the VIP Suite with all the rest of them! And he wouldn't even look good in a dress!

Nodding, Logan starts to follow along, but then kind of... turns away from the ladder before he goes up it. "Be right up, Boss, I gotta crap."

It's a much better excuse than 'Bloodscream will recognize me and then try to kill us all.'

But instead of going to crap, he heads over toward the bar.

Cannonball has posed:
Samuel Guthrie will cross his arms and looks about. As the woman asks about virgins, he just frowns a bit to this and resists the urge to see if anyone volunteers they are. The young man will make sure after feeling the tug of Sapphie's eyes he makes sure anytime he looks over towards her, he looks her squarely in the chin.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    There is the mere tilt of an eyebrow as someone enters that /instantly/ catches Jager's eye. It's not just that he seems to be focused suddenly on a single person, it's that he instantly switches off whoever he was just talking to in favor of the new arrival. This is in itself an Event of Note. There is even a slight murmur... someone has been deemed Worthy!

    The luckless waiter that tries to get to the man in the suit first is stopped by an arm across the chest, a haughty look from Jager and a nod towards the peons in the back. This is one client that nobody should dare usurp. This man is Exalted Above All. Within moments, Jager has oiled his way across the floor and escorts the man to his seat in the VIP section, taking his order, smiling at the poor jokes and making the man feel like he's the only person in this club right now.

    Sushi? Why of course, right away. With sliced ice? Naturally sir, the sliciest and iciest. Scampi? A mere trifle, to be delivered at once. Champagne? Naturally sir, the Dom Perignon has been waiting just for you, we wouldn't let this rabble drink the good stuff, oh no sir, we keep that in stock just for you. Will be but a moment sir. Please, if there is anything within that moment that Jager can do for you, do not hesitate to glance in Jager's direction, and Jager will see to your every request. Be seated. Be welcome. Be at ease.

    Striding now rather than walking, Dietrich Jager deigns to descend from the VIP area back to the main club, forging an open path before him through sheer force of haughteur and arrogance. Impede not my way, peasants, for I am on a mission!

    A tray, silver, polished to a mirror sheen. Champagne, in bucket, with fluted glasses, to be decanted at the table. Sushi, fresh from the kitchen. Scampi, equally fresh, from same... although that does, regrettably, require Jager to leave his ward for a mere fraction of moments to head into the kitchen and Acquire the Needed.

    ... In his pocket, the compact case clicks open...

Gambit has posed:
<<Sam, whatevah yah do, don' raise yah 'and.>> Remy says in a playful teasing voice mental voice, trying to keep himself relaxed. <<We cotsomeone else down 'ere, just so yah aware.>> He adds, sending a mental picture on up to Jean to pass along. If you can't have eyes in the back of your head, best to have someone watching your back.

Wild Rose has posed:
     Who was going to volunteer themselves as a virgin? Certainly not Riana. With a simple, slight shake of her head, she both extricates herself from that fate, and discreetly diverts her attention away from Sapphire's eyes. Instead, she takes a quick look at each one in the VIP lounge, as well as checking the entrances, exits, and windows. This was all just 'off'. <<I don't like this. They picked us out of a crowd, all together. Almost as if they knew we were coming...>>

Cyclops has posed:
There is a slight snort from Scott at the question.

<< I'm trying really hard not to laugh. >>

It's obvious he isn't going to. He is straight face and stiff backed. Hell, he could be the virgin. Then again he has a beautiful girl on his arm in the form of Jean Grey. He lets out a low sigh, glancing to the others and waiting to see what will happen next.

Phoenix has posed:
On the inside, Jean is playing switchboard operator as she passes the words and notes - or so Remy's observations would be - to the rest of the group. On the outside, she's the raised chin, aloof, and cool impression of a well to do woman. She's had to spent a lot of time around Emma. Time to put those painful observations to use.

"Now that's a very forward question when we just met." She says to Sapphire with a pleasant smile that never touches her eyes. Green eyes flick away from the purple clad woman and towards his Lord Not-a-Transformer and then back again. "Why the curiosity? Interviewing potential actors and actresses for select audience movies?"

Wolverine has posed:
"Oh... just making conversation. Here at the Bar Formerly Known as Princess, virgins drink for free."

The woman with the improbable name 'Sapphire Styx' looks like she probably learned her social graces from something very much like Emma's former job... But she's quickly interrupted when 'Lord' Bloodscream smiles broadly, revealing his really gnarly tooth situation, and practically exclaims when the Very Important Big Wig in the very nice suit ascends the staircase.

"Why, it's our good friend Phil, the Liquor License Lord of all Lowtown!"

The wizened old man, who we already know is called Bloodscream, without any irony at all (probably not really a Lord though), looks absolutely delighted that his good friend Phil has arrived. So delighted that not only does he stand, but so do all of his cybernetically-enhanced henchmen. And Sapphire Styx, too.

"We have selected the most interesting and attractive of all of our guests to meet you, Phil. They are from... America, I think! Guests, this is Phil, and he's just the greatest. We love Phil. And tonight he's here to do us the great honor of renewing our liquor license! But mostly, we're all just here to have fun, do a few drugs, and see where the evening takes us."

Bloodscream gestures to the table, and then pats the seat next to him so that Phil might join him.

"Here Phil. Have a line of coke and a lobster tail. Maybe a shot. And I think someone said something about... Flllllllirrrrrrtinis?"

Back down at the bar, Patch politely removes someone forcibly from their stool, and takes up a position right across from the world's least conspicuous bartender.

"Hey. How 'bout this time you don't give me a light beer, eh? I ain't on a diet."

As the waitress shows up at the bar with the order for the rest of the VIP loungs, Logan's ear's perk up a bit. Patch's ears do, rather.

"Actually, that sounds interestin'. Think I'll have a Flirtini and a lobster tail, too."

The waitress rolls her eyes, and the hairy guy in the dinner jacket turns back around, facing the bar.

Puffing on his Cohiba. Alone in his tuxedo.

Cannonball has posed:
Samuel Guthrie stays silent for now, refraining from bantering about his sex life with Gambit. He is a gentleman after all. His brow does raise at this reaction to the local booze man. He looks the man over, trying to figure out who he might be and what this might really be about.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    Never before and never since has the kitchen seen such a display of sheer ego to edge out the most egregious Chefs. No, it would /not/ do for anyone else to get what Jager required. Jager required, and so Jager would provide. This is a Compact! It is an Understanding! There shall be no intrusion on this, and anyone who gets in the way will fall foul of what may very well be the most intense of glares ever seen in Madripoor.

    Incidentally, this leaves the rest of the staff so terrified to go near Jager that he has the place nearly to himself. Ingredients are added to the order, a drop of this, a few grams of that... The small case he'd been carrying for days now was a veritable treasure trove for those seeking the ultimate chemical thrill.

    Mere moments later, Jager bustles out, having assembled a perfect dome of sliced ice, a Presentation of Scampi, a Selection of Sushi and a few additional trifles for the discerning connoisseur. Upon the silver tray this is carried, up to the VIP section, heads turning as Jager passes. This is what it must be like to have achieved the very pinnacle of existence. When all your goals have been fulfilled, when you have done all that you can possibly do, then Jager will be there to take your order... and /deliver/ it, personally.

    Such singular honor.

    With an air of absolute importance, Jager sets the tray down before his Esteemed Guest, opens the Champagne with the merest of puffs, pours the perfect glass, removes the lid from the tray with a flourish, and bows himself out, backing away from the table.

    The tray has been assembled to perfection, every ounce of a very precise personality's concentration has gone into the presentation. And when the Guest samples the food, nothing is amiss...

    Nothing at all is... amiss... nothing...

    Amiss...

    Nothing...

    The LSD on the sushi reacts with the chemicals added to the flute glass. Compounded by the contact poison added to the chopsticks.

    Eyes bulging, Phil starts to froth at the mouth, looking around in a panic, standing upright so quickly that the tray, the food, it all goes flying. The table itself is knocked over...

    And the man? The man starts to scream. Horrors of his deepest nightmares creep out of the walls towards him. His throat burns. The world tries to swallow him whole.

    He stands, he tries to run, knocks into tables, screams at the top of his lungs, froths and foams... and then, mercifully, falls over.

    Glasses smash when the table he lands on is overturned, drinks go everywhere, the noise is deafening even over the music.

    Down in the crowd, people who have seen this happen start to scream.

    Pandemonium is about to break out.

Wild Rose has posed:
     <<Good thing I've never been brave enough to try sushi>> comes the thought from Riana, her words at once slightly clipped, yet somehow rather wry. She takes a step or two back away from the flying food, the overturned table, and the general mini-whirlwind of chaos that threatened to break out into an F5 storm in very short order. A light glance is sent over Herr Jaeger's way, accompanied by the brief flick upwards of a finely arched titian brow. <<Remind me to never piss you off>>

Phoenix has posed:
Jean had some formalities forming in her head, polite things to try and talk their way out of the situation. But it seems there's a reminder to never leave your drink unattended in a bar or order the fugu. Well, at least Jean doesn't have to be worried about being peer pressured into doing lines, because everyone in Lowtown simultaneously being able to taste color and hear what the plants are thinking would likely be the least of their problems.

She takes several steps back from the Sudden Chaos, because entirely normal tourists do not run at men who are potentially dying with an excess of drama and volume. Besides, he has people for that.

What Jean does do is step closer to Riana with a tip of her head towards the stairs. << Right, so that happened. I think it's time to go outside. I'd rather not get involved in a fight above a seedy bar. >> As much as she's certain a Canadian pirate below probably has that on his bucket list.

Wolverine has posed:
Pandemonium does indeed break out! Bloodscream and Sapphire Styx seem to be mostly concerned with getting the whole Phil situation under control, but their dreams of a renewed liquor license for the Bar Formerly Known as Princess are in danger of disappearing as quickly as the lobster tails did.

Down below, picking lobster meat out of his teeth with a questionably-sanitary toothpick, Logan looks a bit skeptically at his Flirtini. As the ruckus starts to happen, he picks up the stemmed glass, and turns to look up at the VIP Area as he downs his first sip.

He makes an expression that generally means 'Huh. Not bad.'

But right about then is when he makes eye contact with Bloodscream.

"YOU! You did this!"

Logan shrugs, and looks confused.

<<I think Bloodscream might be onto us. We should probably get to steppin', less we wanna end up turned into energy vampires or whatever.>>

He gulps down the rest of his fruity, champagne-forward cocktail and drops the glass back down on the bar with a quick nod to the Mysterious Bartender.

Then he starts making his way toward the bar, knocking over a suddenly-appearing cybernetically-enhanced henchman.

On his way out, he yells into his lapel mike.

"Run! Run! Last one back to the Blackbird has to sit near Gambit!"

Cannonball has posed:
Samuel Guthrie will look over to the vampires, and steps forward and with a roar there is a tuxedoed man hovering in what appears to be flame (What the vampires don't know might keep them back for a few moments at least, plus as we all know while blasting Sam is neigh invulnerable. "Ok, everyone out." He says to the others leaving them a path to the stairs behind him.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    By the time the whole spectacle has concluded, or depending on your point of view only just started, it should be noted that Dietrich Jager is conspicuously absent. So absent, in fact, that it's going to hard to prove he was ever there. The only evidence of someone possibly looking like him having been anywhere near the place come in the form of a henchman being bodily thrown across the base of the stairs to clear them of people and, incidentally, give a clear avenue of escape for the rest of his team.

    And then, slipping away as he has often before, Dietrich Jager disappears into the Madripoor night.

Wild Rose has posed:
     Riana is, unfortunately, caught off-guard by Sam blasting off, the full force of the noise ringing in her ears. The world seems to take on a muffled quality, and it is best by dint of following the trail of flame that she finds her way down the stairs.

     <<The heck. Remy's got some interesting friends.>>

     Following along the rest back to the Blackbird, she shakes her head a little, to try and clear it of the ringing as she climbs aboard--taking the spot next to Remy. <<It's good to know you.>>