Owner	Pose
Logan	Yonkers, a typical cold night in New York. The child weaving through the streets, somehow making its way around large buildings and through the boroughs. And it get worse at night. When the sky blackens, the chill gets some added teeth. Also, it means less people. That's why two people are out. One is a simple blonde-haired man in a long brown coat. He wears red gloves to fend off the weather, or so it would seem. The other gentleman, that's a big harder to swallow. He's a mountain of a man. A very plush mountain of a man. Like a walking boulder with legs, but jiggles like Santa Clause. "Guess I'll start," the blonde begins, his voice thick with an accent, and he approaches their target. A simple bank. He pulls back the sleeves to the coat. Fixed to the top of each glove is some kind of opening. It clearly feeds, or expels something. Fire shoots out against the glass door of the bank. Opting to focus the flames on the glass to open them up. The work goes quick. The hole he marks is large. And the second the glass falls. The alarm goes off. "Kill the noise," the blonde's Ausie accent moves in the air. The big guy tries to slip inside deftly, with some success, and he quickly goes to the security system on the wall. Then he punches a hole into the wall seemingly silencing the alarm. "It won't stop the cops," and he chuckles with amusement. "Buys us three to five more minutes, c'mon, Blob." And the pair work their way into the bank.
Blueblood	Blueblood has dragged his acquaintances to the bakery next door, a tumbling mush-mouth of Cyrillic expletives for 'grandma' and 'homemade' and 'bun,' and the trio are just exiting the shop that smells *a-ma-zing* with armfuls of brown paper packages stuffed with decadent treats soaked in mead and festooned with hazlenuts and filled with plum-jam. "It it Giving Tuesday, we are meant to patronize small business!" he argues behind himself at the prices as the trio find the street again...
Emma Frost	Emma Frost The low purr of the limo's engine came first, a sleek black vehicle gliding smoothly to a stop at the curb, contrasting sharply with the quaint, rustic vibe of the bakery. Its tinted windows reflected the warm glow spilling from the bakery's front window, where Blueblood and his companions were emerging, laden with fragrant paper-wrapped parcels.      The driver stepped out swiftly, dressed impeccably, and opened the rear door with a practiced flourish. Emma Frost stepped out, her presence as commanding as the car she arrived in. Her pale, tailored winter coat billowed slightly in the crisp air, its fur-trimmed collar framing her striking platinum-blonde hair. Beneath, hints of her signature stark white attire peeked through a blend of elegance and allure that turned heads, even on a relatively quiet street.      Her ice-blue eyes took in the scene, lingering momentarily on Blueblood's group and their indulgent spoils before flicking toward the bakery with a measured interest. The faintest quirk of her perfectly painted lips hinted at amusement or approval, it was difficult to tell which.      Emma didn?t rush. She strolled toward the bakery entrance with an air of practiced indifference, the rhythmic click of her heels against the pavement both a punctuation and a warning of her arrival. As she passed Blueblood and his friends, she spared them a glance, her expression both cool and knowing, before stepping inside. The delicate jingling of the bakery's doorbell was swallowed by the rich, heady aroma of freshly baked goods.
Logan	The pair going inside the bank don't pay the trio at the bakery any mind. However, they inside and the Blob's footfalls are far from gentle. They may be heard by any still about next door. "We might need to hit next door," Blob's heavy footfalls continue. They move quickly to the back. The blob can make quick work of any small safes they find. "Going for the big one, Pyro?" he asks.s Pyro already heads to the big bank door and nods. "That's the plan, ain't it?" and he focuses. He doesn't want to take off the doof from a hinge. He wants to make a hole book enough for the Blod to reach inside then just tear the door open. The comotion could be heard from the bakery still.
Blueblood	Blueblood *chins* over to the melted window, surely still cooling in the evening chill. "Everybody leave your pastry with the limo-driver, ja?" He cautions the man: "We are highly-skilled counterterrorism operatives, and we can count to twelve. No pinching any-- well, just one. But no *more.* We. are. watching." He does the two-fingers, eyes, points. He calls to the others: "Surely small child is experimenting with flamethrower. Very normal average day."
Emma Frost	Emma Frost standing at the bakery counter and idly inspecting a delicate almond croissant, didn?t need to glance in the direction of the bank to understand the situation. The telepathic noise of panic, adrenaline, and intent hit her as surely as Blob?s heavy footfalls echoed in the stillness outside. Her lips pressed into a thin, exasperated line as her free hand lifted briefly to her temple in a gesture of weary annoyance.      Focusing for a moment, Emma sent a crisp, telepathic knock to Blueblood and his companions, the mental equivalent of a sharply arched brow and a pointed finger. "Knock it off and focus." Her tone in their minds was as cool and biting as the frost her name conjured.      Not one to stand idly by while a scene unfolded, Emma turned her attention inward toward the bank. She cast a telepathic sweep across Blob and Pyro?s surface thoughts. She gathered enough to confirm their intentions before her voice echoed inside their minds a calm, cutting interjection designed to halt them in their tracks.      "Gentlemen, let?s not be uncivilized, hmm? This is neither the time nor the place for your brand of amateur theatrics. Retreat now, and I might refrain from stepping in directly, though I can?t promise the same for anyone else nearby."      Her words, calm but edged with steel, carried a deliberate mental pressure to compel them to reconsider. In the bakery, Emma Frost's serene composure never wavered. She reached into her coat and pulled out her phone, lightly tapping the screen, as though merely deciding on an Uber while mentally navigating chaos.      After a brief pause, she addressed Blueblood and his crew aloud without turning around. "If this turns into a circus, kindly refrain from embarrassing yourselves."
Logan	Pyro focus on the door and that's when the commotion from outside catches their eye. "Big guy. Working, see who it is!" And that's what this mutant just keeps their gaze on. Even pulling out he goggles long before this point. The blob grabs a few small safes. The kind businesses use to hold the day's take before depositing them to a bank. Heavy foot falls carry and that's when Emma does her scan. Yes, the big guy with several chins is the blob and she recognize Pyro's blonde hair and burn scars. A heavy laugh flows from the bank. "And what are you gonna do, blondie!" and that's when the Blob charges -out- of the bank into the street with two safes. He tosses one toward Blueblood and his crew. Nothing like something that's a few hundred pounds of metal getted tossed your way like a baseball. He waits for dodges before tossing a second, trying to make it VERY hard to avoid. "Who wants to play a game?!" he says challenging the trio thinking this is Emma's "back up."
Blueblood	Blueblood barks: "Down!" Poor 'his name was probably Jeeves or something, we'll always remember Jervis!' because Blu and his friends use Emma's limousine as cover! Putting as much of the car between themselves and the safe as they can, his associates draw their firearms and start *plink-plink-plinking* Blob's vital areas, 'such as they may be.' Whether Fred even notices it tickles is hard to say. Flattening himself to avoid injury, he slithers back from the wreckage of the FrostCo's written-off limo...
Emma Frost	Emma Frost's hand tightened imperceptibly around the croissant in her grasp as she watched her pristine limousine become an impromptu shield. A twitch of irritation crossed her otherwise flawlessly composed face, her icy blue eyes narrowing as she turned toward the bank's ruined entrance.      Blob?s taunting voice grated in her ears, his brutish antics testing the limits of her patience. She took one deliberate step out of the bakery, heels clicking against the pavement as her imposing aura preceded her. Her expression was a mix of regal disdain and sharp fury, the kind that would make even the most hardened individuals reconsider their life choices.      She brushed a stray blonde curl from her face before projecting her voice both telepathically and aloud, her tone cutting and dangerous.      "Frederick Dukes, I trust your intellect hasn?t diminished to the point where you?ve forgotten who I am. Or do I need to remind you what happens when you cross me?" Her gaze flicked briefly to Pyro, standing sheepishly behind the mess. She added, telepathically, "And you, St. John, unless you?re interested in spending the next week believing you?re a chicken, I suggest you stop playing with fire and leave."      The second safe Blob threw hovered in midair, held aloft by Emma?s telekinetic prowess. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it hurtling back toward him not at full force, just enough to unnerve.Blueblood and his crew received no more than an icy glance as they cowered behind her destroyed limo. Emma addressed Blob again, her tone taking on an almost maternal scolding edge.      "Now, Frederick, put the safes down. Apologize for damaging my property. And leave. Before this becomes an educational experience you?re unprepared for."
Logan	The Blob chuckles as guns bark in the cold night. The bullets him him and just fall. Not quite a ricochet. The bullets seem to lose steam once they hit him. "TICKLES!" he says as the bullets continue. He makes big strides toward Emma's car. Then there's that voice and he looks to the blode source. And then the safe comes at him. Catching it like a dodgeball, the Blob stands there stunned for a moment. He sets down the safe. His head goes down, like a scolded child. "I'm sorry Emma. We just needed funding," The Blob keeps stepping forward. A big paw like hand rests on the trunk. "I'm sorry," and then metal groans as he rips foff the trunk, whipping it toward Emma. "Sorry you're soft," and then he tries to rip off the bumper to the limo. The plan is to beat Emma's underlings with the bumper like it's a switch instead of a piece of metal.
Blueblood	Blueblood stacks himself back together as the Blob and the Queen trade personalities. (In anticipation of a beating, it's fair to say he's probably packed extra ribs and supports along his limbs. Bones-on-demand!) His friends have realized their guns are ineffective, but seem puzzled as to what their options are? "Ladi..." one cautions him and throws him a shrug and a 'what now?' look? Blu nods, and they scatter, leaving him to face Dukes. "I can probably take punishment while the SWAT are scrambled to immobilize you, but my pockets are not filled with fifty thousand dollars. To avoid later disappointment."
Emma Frost	Emma?s expression shifted from icy disdain to outright annoyance as Blob?s apology dissolved into a predictable act of violence. She sighed audibly, brushing nonexistent lint from her sleek white blazer, as if the destruction unfolding before her was little more than an inconvenience.      "Frederick," she began again, her voice calm but cold as a winter wind, "there are two types of fools in this world. The ones who don't know better and the ones who choose to act despite knowing better. Congratulations on solidifying your place in the latter category."      The metal trunk whipped toward her, but with a flicker of her eyes, it froze mid-air, suspended as easily as a child?s balloon. With another glance, the bumper Blob tore free met the same fate, twisting harmlessly out of his grip and falling to the ground like discarded trash.      Emma?s tone turned sharper, her words cutting. "This isn?t a game, Dukes. And if I were feeling more charitable, I might help you understand the difference between need and greed. Unfortunately, your brutish antics have worn my patience thin tonight."      She turned sharply on her heel, speaking over her shoulder as she began to walk away. Her telepathic presence filled Blob and Pyro?s minds like a crushing weight. "Consider this your last warning: leave. You?ll find no funding here, only consequences."      Emma spared a glance at Blueblood and his companions, who remained cowering behind what was left of her ruined limo. "Do try to clean up this mess. I'm not in the mood to deal with it myself."      With that, she strode confidently away, her heels clicking on the pavement, leaving the chaos behind her. She had no doubt they?d either scatter like the vermin they were or be left to fend for themselves against whatever other trouble might come their way.
Logan	The Blob feels the bumper leave his hands. He cries out a little bit. There's indigination. However, he still looks ready to try and test Blueblood. That's until Emma's presence weighs on him. It drives Blob to one knee and he cries out in pain because the mental pain just hurts him. Inside the bank, Pyro cries out. His nose bleeds and then he cries out when Emmma's presence leaves. "Big guy. Let's go. Cops will be here and I don't want to deal with Frosty the Snow B*tch again," he says firmly. "Leave him. He's not worth it." And now Blue has a choice, to confront the two trying to flee, or do as Emma says.
Blueblood	Blueblood nods, he's not. He never was! He gives the fleeing supervillains a jaunty wave, shrugging to himself. "All work has dignity." he repeats. "... and someone has to mop up. 'Be the good you wish to see,' nyet?" He starts adding fingers horizontally, turning his hands into shovel-like scoops and surveying the limo. Where to start...