12539/Santa Claws' Naughty List:

Santa Claws' Naughty List:
Date of Scene:	08 December 2020
Location:	Yonkers, Westchester County
Synopsis:	Sexy Jockeys, Sketchy Tracksuits.
Cast of Characters:	Wolverine, SpyderByte, Nightingale, Faraday

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Wolverine has posed:
"Nah... they're all over 21. Lookit their wrinkly little faces!"

The bartender looks a bit suspicious, as he mixes up an Old-Fashioned made from some sort of rye whiskey that was on the bottom shelf, hold the fruit.

It's basically just whiskey with a dash of bitters, because he's also holding the sugar cube.

"Don't matter anyhow though, don't none of 'em drink... friggin' Generation Alpha with their brain chips and their gluten-free stem cell pies."

The bartender smiles knowingly, and puts the drink on the bar for the enjoyment of the short Canadian in a... tracksuit?

"Just put that against my winnings, bub. Gotta feeling me and my crew here are gonna clean this dump out!"

Once again, the bartender smiles knowingly, and goes back to serving drinks for tips.

"Awright kids... less go putsum money on the ponies."

SpyderByte has posed:
Go on a field trip with Logan they said. It would be 'fun' they said.

Jermey is staring wide eyed in the bar, feeling uncomfortable and nervous. Bad things always happen in bars! Like ... fights. He saw Roadhouse. Patrick Swayze can sure kick people in the jaw easily and quite frequently.

The Goth is standing there in his black pants with chains hanging off them, a black Skinny Puppy shirt and a half leather black trench coat. He has a spiked dog collar around his throat and his hair is a tousled mess of long black and red dyed locks. He gives a squeeze of his phone between his fingerless gloved hands, his voice coming out of the speakers.

<< Are we betting on actual horse races? >>

Nightingale has posed:
     Field trips. The minute Shannon got wind of this one, little red flags went up in her mind. Field trips never quite went according to plan. This was something she had learned the hard way on many an occasion.

     But a bar? Betting on horse races? Really?

     It could be worse. At least she was used to patrons being a bit handsy on occasion during her shifts at Evolution, and could handle herself, thank you very much. For her part, she stuck with a cola, and kept her drink close to hand. Dark blue jeans, a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, and soft, comfortable black boots were the order of the day, flattering but modest.

     There's a rather loud whistle in her general direction, prompting her to turn her back on the source. Never feed the trolls. Tucking her wings in tightly behind her to present less of a target, she smiles at the others with her. "I take it this particular trip is very much off the record, then..."

Wolverine has posed:
Drink in hand, the tracksuit-wearing master of disguise makes his way from the bar over to the bookie station. Logan's far from the only short, hairy guy at the 'racino' in Yonkers, so he kind of blends right in. Or, at the very least, not many people give him more than a second look.

"What, you think I gave each of you a hundred grand just 'cause it's Christmas? 'Course we're bettin'! Well, anyways, YOU THREE are bettin'! I already bet."

When Logan says that he gave them each a hundred grand, he's rounding a bit. Wouldn't look right to give them each exactly the same amount now, would it?

"Just play it cool, give the nice lady yer money, and remember we're putting it all on a superfecta... 'Fifi', 'Rude Boy', 'Future Dog Meat', and 'Eric Clopton'..."

By the look of partial disgust on Logan's face, it's clear he doesn't approve of 'funny' horse names. He's a traditionalist.

SpyderByte has posed:
As he listens to the names, Jeremy's eyes give a subtle 'flicker', then he glances down at his phone in his hands. The screen scrambles for a few moments with various bars of colors and static before lines of code zip along. He grows very still as he studies it, then furrows his brow.

He clears his throat once he is tugged out of his trance, giving a wobble on his feet before he slips his hand into his pocket to take out the roll of cash. He slides his fingers along the crumpled edges before he looks over to Logan.

<< Fifi has gained thirteen pounds of weight since her last weigh-in a month ago. Based upon current weather conditions and the fact she is a west coast raised horse, she may not have the capable lung capacity or conditioning to place properly and compensate for the clearly colder weather and muddier terrain. Your best bet would to let it ride on Rude Boy as he is born and raised in New Jersey and has the physical statistics that closely match the last three Derby champions. He has also came in the top three places in his last five races. >>

He shuffles towards the counter and looks at the lady, then holds the money up, then points at two names. Rude Boy and Eric Clopton. He gives a bright smile, divying it up in half. Sorry FiFi and FDM. Well, it's not his money after all.

Faraday has posed:
Twenty-one? Totally. She's not actually just turned seventeen.

Indira is just escaping the bathroom, and it is an escape given the nature of the place. Black leggings are tucked into high military-like boots with a puffer coat done up in angular blocks of black, orange, and white. So far no one has gotten too close. Maybe her Resting Bitch Face is on point, or anyone that starts getting too close get the hint of the tingling electrical field around her and are subconsciously warded off. For now.

"We're all getting in so much trouble." She mutters once she meets back up with the squad. "We were supposed to be visiting the Vietnam memorial. I'm gonna need to wiki so much for the 'report'."

Outside of that, though, she doesn't sound all too concerned. She's not really a booknerd sort anyway. She slants Jeremy a look as he breaks down the stats and flashes a slanted grin as she side-whispers under her breath, "...better check the bank accounts of the owners, see who's been buying the good meds for their horses."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon just shrugs, wrinkling her nose at two of the names--Fifi and FDM--and actually chuckling lightly at the other two. There was, however, a decision to be made. Follow Logan's strategy, or go with Jeremy's advice? Glancing between the two, then to the roll of cash tucked away in the palm of her hand, she grins, dividing it up into four unequal amounts. The two largest wads of cash go to Rude Boy and Eric Clopton, while the other two are bet on the ill-named steeds.

     "Guess it can't hurt to hedge my bets a little, but I'm kind of with Jer on this one." A sheepish smile is offered to Logan. "Either way, hopefully we'll win."

Wolverine has posed:
Hanging back, Logan gives the kids plenty of room to make their bets, making small talk with a middle-aged couple who have, like him, already placed their bets.

"Yeah... them gutter guards might be pricey, but saves you having to go up and down that ladder."

"See Harold? You're always complaining about your back..."

They don't seem as impressed with Logan's betting prowess as they do his extensive knowledge of polyester gutter covers.

As the resident Tesla Coil makes her way over, Logan breaks away from the couple. Politely though.

"Alright, now we're all ready... lessee if we can't find our target on the CCTV. Shouldn't be too hard to find 'im. Big fucker. Lotsa hair. Looks a bit like a... rock troll."

"Probably already out at the track, drunk off his ass, yellin' at the horses."

SpyderByte has posed:
<< I compensated for that. Eric Clopton's owners have ties to several pharma -- >>

There is a trailing off of digial voice as Jeremy looks to Indi and Shannon, then clears his throat as he squeezes his phone.

<< Maybe I should keep that to myself. What is Mister Logan talking about? A target? >>

This is not an ordinary field trip, that's for sure. Most likely they are going to see some snikting.

<< Professor Logan, do you need me to access my facial recognition software and scan for someone? I can utilize it through my phone, back door through the CCTV systems and reverse .. >>

He pauses again.

<< It doesn't matter how. I can do it. >>

Faraday has posed:
Indira bets on the underdogs of the team's selected quartet. It'd look suspect if they all votes for the same, and she may have a soft spot for the poor beasts, in particular Dog Meat. She always did love the Fallout game series.

"Sounds... distinctive enough." Indi mutters as she looks away from their own shorter hairy troll and out towards the track's direction. She points a finger towards Jeremy and his idea as she adds, "Quicker than splitting up. Especially since we're n-- uh... entirely of legal age, of course." That last bit it added on with a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Also, what exactly are we /doing/ with this guy when we find 'im? Sir."

Wolverine has posed:
"We're gonna ruin his shit, is what!"

Logan seems pretty convinced that their target is distinctive enough to not need too much further identifying detail. But he throws in a few for good measure.

"Dirty, no good, sideburn-havin', obnoxiously tall... suit-wearin' knuckledragger!"

Logan leaves his empty glass in the hand of someone who doesn't actually work at the casino, much less the bar, and makes his way out toward the track. As unobtrusively as he can, he sniffs the air, only drawing a strange look when he gets a little too close to the head of a guy who looks a bit like Zakk Wylde. Apparently, that wasn't the guy Logan is looking for.

Close though.

"This guy's a big-time asshole. Tangled with him a few times back when I was... on vacation. Got the better of me in a deal down in Juarez... but now I got me a little plan to ruin his shit!"

SpyderByte has posed:
<< Can we consider this for extra credit? >>

Jeremy glances over to one of the televisions on the wall next to them, focuses, then connects to it after a few seconds. He pulls the live feeds up, then starts to scroll his finger along the screen of his phone as the camera begins to change angles sharply. It's like as if someone just spun a globe at top speed. Several boxes cover quite a few faces as the 'software' starts to work and siphon through the various people.

Ding.

He zooms in on a particular shifty fellow that meets the 'requirements' of what Logan described him as. He has thick sideburns, unruly hair, wearing a suit that should have been dragged out and shot during the 70's and looks to be taller than six foot and some change.

<< This him? I have his row and seat number. >>

Faraday has posed:
Indi narrows her dark eyes as she listens to Logan's description and plans, which sounds less like a plan and more like an intended murder.

RShe shoots a glance aside to Shannon and a faint, uncertain shrug before falling into line a few steps behind on the path that Logan leads. "Detention for sure." She mutters under her breath towards the winged girl. "Dibs on washing the white boards."

But can they get expelled for murder when it's a teacher who brought them along?

Nightingale has posed:
     "Washing the white boards, and mucking out Thunderbolt's stall after he's eaten too much," Shannon replies, sotto voce. "But he did only say 'ruin his shit'. There's plenty of ways to do that without..." She holds up one hand and clenches it into a fist, mimicking the *snikt* sound that would -really- mean a bad, bad day for someone.

     Glancing towards Jeremy and Logan, she purses her lips, giving her wings a little bit of a flick--and keeping one hand on her carryall, ever tied at her waist. "Please make sure I don't have to use this, and definitely make sure we don't have to give my dad a call..."

Wolverine has posed:
Right before he gets to the exit, Logan turns to look over his shoulder at the image on Jeremy's phone. Almost immediately, he starts to growl.

"Yeah, that's him alright. Ugly sumbitch, ain't he?"

It looks like the horses are already getting put into position. But there's something very strange about the sort of racing that they do in Yonkers. The jockeys aren't riding the horses, for starters. Instead, they get pulled behind on weird little carts with their legs stuck out in front of them. Almost looks like some kind of Paralympics variant on proper horse racing.

"Don't know what he's doin' in Yonkers. Planning a nasty trick on me, probably. Anyway, now you've got a look at him, Hot Topic... just go on into his bank accounts and whatever it is you do. You know, clean 'im out, and then steal his identity to put a whole buncha bets on the losers!"

Logan chuckles merrily as he makes his way up toward their seats. Which are... almost exactly across from the ones where 70's Man is currently drinking beer, eating a hot dog, and yelling at the horses nearly simultaneously.

SpyderByte has posed:
<< He is quite unattractive. >>

The screen blinks out to black as Jeremy turns to follow after them in his usual slow lurch of chains jingling. He's like a spooky ghost from behind the hairy Canadian, the hot blonde, and the hot vegan.

<< You want me to do all of that, really? That would take time and I probably can't do it easily from my phone. I'd like a more secure connection behind an established firewall that I can utilize without a trace. >>

He rubs the back of his neck a bit awkwardly. He glances over to Shannon and Indi, brows lifting.

Faraday has posed:
As their seats come into sight, Indira does a quick glance towards their target and there's a twitch under one eye. "Yikes, that's a big dude."

Unsettled by the whole event, she reaches up to restlessly adjust the collar of her jacket. "I'm less afraid of your dad than the 'other' dad... and mom." She adds aside to Shannon with a faint grimace before looking back to the horses. Horses are nice and simple and...

"...they still do cart racing? Huh."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon just grins wide at Logan, unable to stifle an outright giggle. "Evil. I love it." Raising her cup of cola in salute to the school's resident curmudgeon, she takes a swig, doing her best to look normal and rather nonchalant about the whole thing.

     Peering over the edge of her cup at Indi, she lofts one eyebrow, her lips twitching upwards in a smile. "True, you'd only see my dad after. He's a mortician." Still, she does inch a little bit closer to Jeremy and Indira both, as much to offer reassurance and solidarity as anything else.

     Glancing over to Jeremy, she murmurs, "There any way you could pull that off with what's on hand or is that a no-fly?" She looks back over at their 'mark', and then back at Logan, frowning. "I'd also be real careful. Something tells me that if we're not dealing with him more directly, this probably isn't someone we wanna tangle with."

Wolverine has posed:
"What? Come on... can't be that hard. At least do SOMETHING."

The horses take off, and the Weird Harness Race is on. People are cheering and pumping their fists. Beer is getting spilled. But nobody is cheering louder or spilling more beer than Roughhouse.

The guy that Logan just pushed past on his way to his seat is a close second.

"Sorry, bub."

This isn't their race, so no special need for them to pay any attention to the winner. But it's definitely an interesting spectacle. The horses run with a very strange gait, tugging their little jockey carts behind them. Hard to believe it's still a thing in America, but apparently it's still a thing in Yonkers.

Finally getting to his seat, he puts a firm but encouraging hand on the boy's shoulder.

"If that guy wins any money, he's gonna use it fer... doin' CRIME! We all got our part to play in this here mission, and right now the team's counting on YOU!"

He claps him on the shoulder, and cranes his neck to look around Jeremy at the rest of The Team.

"We're countin' on him. Ain't that right girls?"

SpyderByte has posed:
There is a raise of Jeremy's brows at Logan, then lets out a low sigh. He shifts his jaw to one side, then reaches out with his powers as he starts to create a symphony of connections between the multiple hotspots and cellphones in the area. He sinks down into an empty seat, squeezing his hands tightly around his phone. He closes his eyes tightly, then opens them as they appear to be rapidly flickering as if someone is turning the pages of a book very quickly.

Faraday has posed:
There's another shrug from Indira and an attempt at a confident smile that doesn't get quite there. "Not much I can do here, but, I'll uh... sit here and make sure no one bugs Jer."

And so as the technopath takes a seat, she sinks down in one next to him. She leans out slightly so as not to accidentally zap him with her hackles already being up. For now, the normally chatty girl is quiet as she keeps a close watch on the people around them and be ready to ward off any unwanted attention.

Nightingale has posed:
     If there was one thing Shannon understood all too well, it was the hazards of being interrupted and snapped out of using one's gifts abruptly. That could be a Very Bad Thing. So, like an angel on their shoulders, she takes up a position roughly opposite Indi, on the other side of Jeremy, keeping an eye on the area immediately surrounding the team. Every so often, though, she does steal a glance over at Roughouse, just in case he tried anything.

     There was no way any of this could /possibly/ go wrong... right?

Wolverine has posed:
The devious mountain man rubs his hands together with Holiday Cheer as he takes his own seat and watches the race. One trip around the track doesn't really take all that long, but it's a fairly exciting two minutes. Probably more exciting when you've got money on it though, but that's coming up soon.

As 'Winnebago Sunrise' edges past 'Chooser of the Slain', Roughouse erupts with some Holiday Cheer of his own, looking very much like Santa after he lost his job on Wall Street and discovered crack.

"Just don't get too comfortable there, Sparky. Your part is comin' up next, and it's uh... EQUALLY important."

Logan mouths 'more' silently over Jeremy's shoulder in the slight gap between uh and equally.

Already the horses for the next race are starting to get lined up, their numbers visible on the sides. Hope everyone remembered who they bet on...

"Once the race gets started, just kind of... well... you know how a cattle prod works, right? Just give a little zap to the ones we wanna win. For motivation."

"Or uh... maybe zap the ones we DON'T wanna win. Yer the expert."

SpyderByte has posed:
<< I am a technopath. I can't zap horses and make them run faster. >>

Jeremy is still focusing, though even the digital tone of his voice coming from the speakers seem hollow and 'far away'. He squeezes his phone tighter in his hand, bleeding his knuckles wise as he gives a bit of a shiver. He's drained this man's account and dumped it into Food Shelter's checking account he found on someone's device. From there, he is currently ruining a credit score, and maybe adding a few outstanding charges of cyber crime. Kiddie porn is the worst.

Nightingale has posed:
     With Indi on cattle prod duty--though how she would pull that off covertly at a distance would be interesting to see!--it fell to Shannon to maintain a sort of lookout posting. The race itself was less interesting to her, than making sure none of them got into any major scrapes. Especially with that big bruiser who was likely to be pretty pissed off once he checked his financial situation.

     Glancing back over at Logan, she asks, "Just how worried should we be when this bozo loses? Are we gonna have to make like a bread truck and haul buns?"

Wolverine has posed:
"Not you, I was talkin' to... nevermind, I'll just jot that little note down in yer dossier."

Logan moves a hand around as if he's jotting down a note, but it's unlikely that Jeremy can see him anyway.

The next race is setup, and the horses are practically chomping at the bit. So is Roughouse, actually.

"Just don't get too comfortable, Angry Bird... I got another thing fer YOU to do if this goes tits up."

The horses take off, and for the first quarter of the race it looks as if things are going to fall roughly along the lines that Jeremy originally predicted.

Until the static shock starts to build up, and one horse after another rears, unexpectedly slows, or suddenly get an invisible jolt of inspiration.

Apparently there are lots of sneaky ways to use electricity powers, though one of the jockey's is going to have a tough time getting his hair to flatten back down after this.

"That's it! That's it! Bring us a SUPERFECTA!"

They don't get a superfecta. Looks like Shannon made the smartest bet...

Oh well, at least Roughouse looks all kinds of angry.

SpyderByte has posed:
As Jeremy disconnects from the world's tangled web, his body gives a shudder. Reaching up, he wipes some blood from his nose, then reaches into his pocket to take out a hankie to sneeze into it. Yuck. His brain is a mess of white noise at the moment as he slumps down into his seat, letting out a loud sigh.

Creepy guy is in a world of hurt when he wakes up in the morning and people are kicking down his door with the type of warrants he suddenly has, as well as a cache of evidence that got dropped into his hard drive.

He creeps his eyes open to catch the end of the face, then lets out a soft sigh. OH well. It wasn't his money.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Ha. Angry Bird. Used to be 'Wings' from you." Shannon chuckles, though, mildly amused by the reference, the corners of her eyes crinkling up just a little bit. "Let's just hope this doesn't go tits up, then." Because if it did, she had a feeling she could anticipate time in the medbay, breaking her current streak of staying -out- of that place.

     Peering over at Jeremy, her brows furrow slightly, and she rests her hand on his shoulder. "You going to be okay?" She'd seen him over-extend himself once before, and he'd looked a little bit like he did now. Whether or not Roughouse was going to be in trouble wasn't even a question. She'd seen him work, and had complete confidence that big bruiser was going to be in for a world of hurt soon enough.

Wolverine has posed:
"Sonofa..."

With the sour expression of a man who put on a tracksuit for nothing, Logan wallows in the post-race despair known only to those who have just bet more money than the average American house, and lost a big chunk of it.

Oh well. It wasn't his money either.

Roughouse looks as if he's going to lose his mind, though he's certainly not the only one. The erratic performances from so many horses have already got the crowd all worked up into a tizzy. This seems like a good time to scram.

Standing up, Logan makes sudden eye contact with Roughouse, who seems confused for a second, and then angry.

He gets even angrier when Logan gives him a jaunty little salute, and then turns toward the Exit Sign.

"Think it's a good time fer us to make like a bun truck, and haul ass!"

SpyderByte has posed:
<< I'm fine. Just took a lot out of me. >>

Jeremy rubs at his eye a bit with his palm, then pushes hismelf upwards to follow after the others. He squints his eyes over at Roughhouse for a moment before he looks back to Logan.

<< I did a little bit extra. I kinda feel bad. >>

Reaching out, he slides his hand into Shannon's for a squeeze as they go.

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon can't quite stifle a laugh as she glances between Logan and Roughouse. As she looks over at the latter, she reaches up to scratch the end of her nose with her 'traffic finger', smiling ever so sweetly. It was wonderful to see justice served.

     Turning back to the others, she follows them out, taking a moment to go collect her winnings. As she rejoins the group, she reaches over to squeeze Jeremy's hand. Her cheeks go a little bit rosy, and she smiles. "Well, maybe some cocoa or something when we get home, some good music, just chilling out for a while?" Pause. "What the hell am I going to do with all that money?" It wasn't hers to begin with, but was it now?

     Oh, well. Time to figure that out later.

     "Let's get outta here, Buns."