2071/The Smell of Victory

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The Smell of Victory
Date of Scene: 11 June 2020
Location: Monaco - Casino de Monte-Carlo
Synopsis: The collected young mutants face their new arch nemesis, the Swedish speedster, Fart!
Cast of Characters: Jennifer Stavros, Danielle Moonstar, Julio Richter, Marie-Ange Colbert, Illyana Rasputina, James Proudstar

Jennifer Stavros has posed:
"Guys, I'm sorry." Take note, people. You may never hear these words out of Jennifer Stavros again. And she wouldn't say them to the casino, most likely. But getting people she has at least a modicum of respect for involved in something like this, for her sake, well... she feels at least a twinge of guilt here. "I promise, never going to get caught doing something that dumb again." At least she admits it's dumb. Though she probably doesn't think so, really. And she's not saying that she's not going to do it -- just that she won't be caught.

She's juggling a number of white glowing balls from hand to hand nervously as the group is gathered around a large table at the casino. The information that the administration have gathered on the culprits -- those who disrupt their business -- is collected in a pile on the table. They have identified four people who've been causing them trouble. They know little about those people. One has speed powers. Another can fly. Another wields fire. But beyond this? All they know is that they have been bilking the casino's guests and taking the casino's money whenever they like, and no number of extra guards seem to make a difference.

And Jenny is stressed. Because she cannot do much about steel bars and concrete walls. Or maybe she could, if she really thought about how to apply her powers, but she's not that introspective most of the time. "So... um." Man, she wishes that Wolverine had come along. At least somebody could sniff out the bad guys.

Never mind that she was the one that was committing criminal acts. Not so introspective.

Danielle Moonstar has posed:
Once again, Dani is just in 'street clothes' and not like, 'street fashion' but just jeans and a blue sweater. She's looking through the folders of collected information. It feels like the start of a mission and yet... it also feels wrong. Being sent against mutants who targeted a casino? Is this really the sort of thing they should be doing? And yet...

She looks up at Jenny, dark eyes considering the woman and the stress she's under. Chances are, Dani can -feel- it. She chews at her lower lip. "If we can," she says after a moment, "we want to get these guys away from the general public." Which isn't easy in a place like Monaco and her uncertain tone of voice says she knows it. "Between these two," she taps the speedster and fire-wielder, "there could be a lot of collateral if things go sideways."

Julio Richter has posed:
The whole point of this trip was to unwind, so Julio didn't bother bringing the borrowed bodysuit he was using for X-men business a couple of weeks ago. He did bag up the secondhand green vest that completed the outfit, but only because he thinks it looks cool and might work at a nightclub or rock show. So when the group convenes to start work on their unasked-for mission, his outfit is considerably more Headbangers' Ball than Ocean's Eleven: spike-studded green vest over his bare, dark-skinned torso, and a faded pair of black jeans tucked into no-nonsense boots.

"If the casino didn't know who you are, I'd say we should ditch," he says, glancing at Jennifer and possibly voicing Dani's reservations as well as his own. "These guys didn't do anything to us -- maybe we can just ask them to move their scam somewhere else." It won't surprise anyone who knows him that he has more interest in mutant solidarity than protecting some human-run casino's bottom line.

Marie-Ange Colbert has posed:
Jenny was Marie's best friend. The French girl loved the mean girl like the sister she never had. Still, even she would admit, if she were better with American sayings, that this would be a day to mark on the calendar. But she'd do it in a way that was so nice and genuine that it'd be hard to get mad at her /for/ it.

"If I have learned anything from my time in America, Jennifer, it is that those of us at the school are like a family. We are here for you, as you would be for us." She offers, fully confident in those words even though she normally loathes speaking for others.

...and even though it's debatable if she's /right/ on the sentiment for all involved.

"Perhaps..." Marie considers, thinking about some of the stories she's read in books from time to time as she gazes over the information. "...if the casino were to announce a party off-site, away from the crowds," A nod towards Dani. "with only the most... exclusive guest list," Pointing at the gathered group. "It could be a way to bring /them/ to us. Oui? Non?" she asks, looking around at the others for other suggestions and/or opinions.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Don't worry, Illyana is more than bound to have those promises of a sorry engraved on a mantelclock somewhere. Possibly a very nice one featuring the shape of a prowling bear gazing at the lunar disc to mark the hours. Her stylish hat and those sunglasses do a phenomenal job blunting any traces of identity, just one of countless Russian nationals pursuing a career in big game hunting, modeling or a mixture of both. Admissions of foolish behaviour go a reasonably long way to mollify matters for the others, but she seems to accept Jennifer's statements as is. Chewing over a forced contractual arrangement keeps her quiet, along with examining the evidence to locate members of a nasty little quartet doing exactly what Ms. Stavros herself was to some degree.

"Documents about the incidents? Do they have certain targets, a pattern of attacks? Always the craps dealers or people with too much to drink, maybe," she supplies after a lengthy silence. Paperwork scattered every which way won't give a perfect bead. "Da, the best bet is removing the speedster immediately. Shutting down the firebug, a little easier. She isn't dressed in any sort of X-uniform because her slinky clothes speak a different language of power: glamorous, wealthy, /easy target/. "The casino gets the floating Summer Bar on the water. The club is world-class. Famous DJs, very closed. It's on the circuit. Call it a private party, high stakes, lots of alcohol. Easy for them to think it's a simple hit because impromptu summer fun is often foolish."

James Proudstar has posed:
"Yeah, if it weren't for the fact that these folks probably have the money of Europe's richest people behind them, I'd say we just have Illyana drop is in some other fun spot and let these folks sit on it and spin." James Proudstar notes in a grumbly tone, "But they've got the resources to make life hard. For Jenny if not the rest of us."

"I'm worried about the mystery fourth member of this little gang, too." He notes by way of details, then looks to Marie-Ange with a considering gaze, "Not the worst idea I've heard. Certainly better than trying to just have it out on the Casino floor."

Jennifer Stavros has posed:
"I mean, we could," says a tall, slender fellow, leaning over Julio's shoulder to inspect the paperwork. He speaks with an accent one might identify as Scandinavian, and, if one's particularly skilled in such things, Swedish. "Perhaps they might listen. But perhaps they are far more interested in harassing such a temple to greed. Perhaps."

Jennifer is nodding her woeful agreement with this man -- trying to talk things out with those bugging the casino might be the easiest way out of this mess. Monte Carlo may be among the oldest casinos in the world, but it's far from the only one out there. And Jenny's already not allowed to enter casinos in Atlantic City. And then she stops, turning her head to peer at the man, who grins back at her. "Who the hell are you?" she demands.

"Ah! Allow me to introduce myself!" the man says brightly. "I am the fastest man in Europe! You Americans seem to have a claim to all the good superlatives. I am the Swedish Speedster, Fart!"

Danielle Moonstar has posed:
"Not a bad idea," Dani agrees regarding Marie-Ange's idea. She's back to rifling through the portfolio that has been assembled for them. And then there's someone at Julio's shoulder. Someone new. Someone -different- someone-

"Fart?" She bursts out the name at the head of a string of laughter. She cannot help herself. Hopefully the guy can handle being laughed at because Dani absolutely is outright laughing at him now. "Hey guys, I just smelled something-" she only partially manages to make the joke in the midst of her snickering.

Julio Richter has posed:
Nodding along as the beginnings of a plan start to crystallize, Julio is about to point out that he doesn't know how well his powers will function on the water when he's suddenly given something more pressing to worry about. He was quietly wondering whose hand that was on his bare shoulder, but when Jennifer confronts the newcomer, he twists and backs away from him, hands coming up into a guard position until...

"Lo siento -- did I hear that right?" Julio half-turns his head, staring sidelong at the Swede. He starts to laugh along with Dani, slowly at first but more emphatically over time. "You... might want to Google that. Before you get business cards or anything."

Marie-Ange Colbert has posed:
Marie-Ange is polite. She is refined, delicate, even. She's not one to poke fun maliciously at people. But when the speedster introduces himself to the group, she /snorts./ Hand quickly going to her mouth to cover the giggles that follow.

"Pardon, Monsieur..." Giggle. "...Fart..." Giggle. "...a bit too much time in America, I fear. The... humor of bathrooms, as they say?" Right now, the man's sudden appearance was a little shocking... but perhaps he's not /that/ Speedster that they're looking for? Aside from that, he hasn't proven violent -- yet -- and there were perfectly non-violent ways suggested by the group. Those are generally her preferred type!

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The almost next-door neighbours to Sweden would give the blonde teleporter an advantage to recognize Swedish with finesse beyond a Volvo or IKEA commercial, but alas. Wrong part of Russia, hers being closer to South Korea than Stockholm. A tasty accent for a tasty gentlemen, one received in duplicate dark reflections through the black mirrors of her sunglasses. Illyana halts as he speaks of greed, her own words reflected -- temple to Mammon -- spoken hours earlier. Maybe no more than a day. Call it a slithering coil of paranoia around an already suspicious temperament but she goes almost perfectly still. More than most people could be without adopting a second life as a statuette.

Dani's laughter has to stand in for both of them, because her Russian counterpart almost never lasts. Not in public when wearing a certain persona. A quizzical tilt to her head. "Should we know him?" A question dropped with that indelibly etched accent, and somewhere she's reaching for a phone, parading through social media to see if he has an actual page. So many NSFW flags, or search functions showing up. How murderously inconvenient. She swipes down. "Any videos?" A little wiggle of her phone. "Or are you new?"

James Proudstar has posed:
James tenses as he becomes aware of the stranger a split second before he speaks, but he doesn't lash out, at least not immediately. Clearly though, he is not a fan of getting snuck up on. That said, he doesn't so much as crack a smile at the name.

"Lemme guess. This is the part where you suggest we help you instead. Or is it just threaten us to try to scare us into going away time, instead?" Jaded much?

Jennifer Stavros has posed:
"Americans," says Fart with a dismissive snort. "So crude. It is the Swedish word for speed. I know exactly what it means in your language. But I am not American. I do not speak English as a first language. The word describes what I am: the fastest." He looks to Illyana, "Moya samaya krasivaya devuchka, I simply only let myself be seen if I wish to be seen, and caught if I wish to be caught. And you will not catch me!" He utters a cheerful laugh -- this is very much a game to him -- and then he's running, out of the room, leaving a bright trail of yellow and blue in his wake.

Jennifer blinks. And in that time, she figures, Fart has gone ten miles. But then there's a shout. "The slot machines!" she says, turning her attention to Illyana. "Get us to the slot machines!"

Danielle Moonstar has posed:
Dani is left reeling. Mostly because of the rush of wind that a speedster always leaves in their wake. She's about to make another 'passing wind' joke, but it dies on her tongue when the shout goes up. Turning back to the table, she scoops up the folios and shoves everything back into the folders. No point leaving the intel lying around!

Julio Richter has posed:
"I am NOT AMERICAN!" Julio protests loudly, raising a fist even -- but he's protesting to a dimming streak of color. He turns back to their dossier-scattered table, slamming his palms down in frustration, and proceeds to prove it with a truly horrendous attempt at cursing up his own second-language blue streak: "Fartfucking fastfart fartshitty FARTFART!"

It's not the kind of frustration that might have him accidentally set off an earthquake, which is a mercy, but he does start absorbing what threads of seismic energy Monaco does offer as he prepares to be ported to wherever Illyana needs to take them. He grits his teeth and flinches as he waits for a portal to appear -- for whatever reason, he still hasn't gotten accustomed to them, and suffers through each Limbo micro-jump like a close-range foghorn blast.

Marie-Ange Colbert has posed:
So much for Plan A, B, C, and D.

The speedster is off, and the French girl is a bit perplexed on how to proceed further; the man was right when it came to normal people, and, probably to some of them slowing down a speedster would prove a difficult task... though, hopefully, not all of them. Turning to her cards, she draws one and nods on it. "We proceed, then! But with caution; danger awaits." Meanwhile, she's keeping the card in her hand. Could come in handy!

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
James' quip brings a slow smirk out of Illyana. Those sunglasses slide down her slim nose slightly, gifting a brief view of frozen ice behind. "You scared him off. How droll, a game of tag. We could make him come to us." Nyet, definitely not American, but then no attempt to remotely act or resemble such a state comes to pass. She leans against the table for a moment while that trail in a stark beam of -- "Those are the Swedish colours," she points out. Not amused, simply observing. But they leave an arc of light, and an arc of light is traceable, especially with a flick of the wrist or someone rather fast. "Tag him instead."

The saga of the swift Fart has begun, and she, typical to her Russian side, tries putting out a hand to throw Julio into Limbo. Okay, not so much. A hand on his shoulder, light and uncertain, probably intends itself as a calming gesture. "I do not like playing games by his rules, Marie. The house cheats. /We/ cheat better then. Dani, any thoughts?"

James Proudstar has posed:
"No plan, no backup, and no real idea what we're up against. It's officially a New Mutants mission now." Jimmy quips again, shaking his head with more amusement than annoyance. "I'm fast but I'm not /that/ fast." Jimmy comments at the afterimage of the Swedish flatuli- speedster. He too glance towards Dani and grins just a touch, "Woulda thought we were past this after we graduated but some things never change, huh?"

He steps over closer to the others, if nothing else in easier stepping disk range. "Or we just trust Jenny's luck and follow her instincts."

Jennifer Stavros has posed:
Jenny would say something about being grouped in with the New Mutants, but really, she's not as snappish and sarcastic as usual, under the circumstances. What she does do is toss out those glowing white balls that she's been shifting from hand to hand, applying a load of luck to each of her companions -- and a double dose for Marie, because Marie. She's already close enough for Illyana to teleport -- but then, she's pretty sure Illyana could teleport her accurately if she were on the moon.

In the slot machine room, chaos reigns. Flickering lights and deafening noise -- bloops and bleeps and bells to signify victory for those playing the games. But now shouts and shrieks are added as Fart flickers through the crowd, taking their money before their hands can fall on it, leaving little slips of paper in its pace, each one of them reading "Den missunnsamme avlas efter agodelar och forstar icke att brist skall komma over honom."

Danielle Moonstar has posed:
"We can't cheat until we know where his allies are," Dani points out, tucking the hastily-gathered folder under an arm. She's scanning the room already, opening her empathic senses to start a 'read.' As painful as it may be. There's a bit of strain evident in the furrow of her brow. It takes a lot to filter through the muck. People winning, people losing. This would be immensely easier if she were a telepath: finding someone based just on their -emotions- isn't going to be easy, but it may be doable. It's a casino. She can filter out anyone drunk: that won't be their prey. Anyone bemoaning a losing streak: also not their prey.

"Until we know where mooks two, three, and four are, we're at a disadvantage. The party idea is out-" since Mr. Swedish Gas eavesdropped. "but I have another idea if our hosts would be willing to entertain it." And if they have both time and opportunity to arrange it! She doesn't speak it aloud just in case their 'friend' has looped back. "Let's find out what happened at the slots," she notes, though there's a grin for James and a 'what can ya do' shrug even as she's taking out her phone to text the others:

'Get the casino to schedule a money drop. A big one. They let word 'slip.' We play guard.' Another bit of bait and one perhaps more alluring than just a VIP party.

And then the slots and discordia reins supreme. She's left staring and (after shutting her empathy radar back down because oh lawd the noise) approaching one of the slips of paper, bending to pick it up after pocketing her phone. "I can't read this." Well, she can read it, but she can't understand it. Semantics.

Julio Richter has posed:
His outburst finished, Julio steadies himself, turning his head at Illyana's touch and giving her a nod of assurance. The house that always wins won't be falling down around their ears today -- at least, not at his hands. If anything, he's less frustrated at the speedster's taunting escape than he is at being wedged into this absurd conflict in the first place. There's just no talking to some people.

He takes a quick breath, and his hands and forearms are now sheathed in a fracturing green aura. "Guess we'd better figure out who dealt it," he says dryly. The pun would have worked better if they were headed for the poker room, but ah well.

Once they arrive at the slots, he's going to need a solid second or two to recover from the jump, and then he's going to bring those seismic-powered hands up, looking for any chance to predict where Fart will next make a noisome nuisance of himself.

Marie-Ange Colbert has posed:
Marie may well be the least experienced of the group when it comes to 'field work', but she's seen Jenny's power enough to have an idea how to put it to use. Being lucky is incidental. It's not swinging a sword at a target, it's swinging a sword and the target just happens to walk into it.

So Marie's going to trust her friend's powers to guide her as much as she normally trusts her own. Digging further into her pouch, not for a card, but for a handful of coins. Making her way towards the slots, and dropping the coins in random machines, pulling the handles, and continuing to walk.

...maybe she'll win, and the coins will spill over the floor like marbles to slip on? Maybe nothing at all. She figures it's worth a shot!

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The worst part might be the accuracy of those portals requiring little effort on Illyana's part: one for the Moon, one for Macau slots, and one for Murmansk just for fun. Toss a handful of luck-light at her, and the Russian goes dreadfully still again. "We have backup," she says, not quite explaining that. Hand dropped away, she leaves Julio back to his own particular ring of personal space, a sphere probably sufficient for a square of guardian lions or Tibetan temple dogs to fill, dropping in next to Jimmy. While Dani scans the casino floor, her veiled gaze takes in anyone looking a little too predatory, a little too hot-headed or eager. Four targets, the obvious one working around the slot room.

On their path to mayhem, the careful trace of victims by sound or disruption hopefully gives some indication of where to go. Simply using a glowing sword to make the problem go away isn't on the menu, after all. En route, she grabs a drink from a server, a flute in hand. Champagne, caustic acid, which will it be?

James Proudstar has posed:
There's simply too much noise and too many scents to easily discern Fart (though, you know, statistically there's probably a lot of farts in the crowded room at any given time), not that it necessarily does a great deal of good since he can move faster than they can track. But now they have luck on their side. And while you can't force luck, as Jenny so ably proved when she first arrived here you can sort-of direct it.

HE's not much one for gambling, but when Marie pulls her slot machine, Jimmy waits until the last reel (Be it physical or digital) is juuuust about to lock into place and...stretches...specifically his arms, across the aisle. HE might look kinda dumb but he might "accidentally" clothesline a speedster. Stranger things have happened! (But he's betting he's going to look kinda dumb...)

Jennifer Stavros has posed:
Jenny's a decent hand-to-hand fighter, but doesn't know that that will do much good in fighting somebody like Fart. However, she's significantly better at throwing weapons -- and her most effective weapons are the little balls of light she handles like Indiana Jones handles his whip. The ball she produces now is black as night, seeming almost to draw light into it, and as the group arrives in the slot room she throws, almost without aiming, as she observes the direction of the blue streak speeding around the area.

And then she goes down, struck by Fart as he passes.

He's having a grand old time. Stealing money, spreading his message, fighting American idiots (and humming the Green Day tune at high speed while doing so). The girl went down so quickly, he doesn't even notice the black ball that struck him at waist level as he ran past her. He does, however, notice the coins raining down from the slot machines in slow (to him) motion, and slows to gather them up. He's not slipping and sliding as Marie might have hoped, but he has dropped his speed so that he's more than just a streak now. He's further slowed by needing to duck under Jimmy's arms. The man is large, but Fart is slim, and he can twist himself in the space allowed. He could, of course, have simply turned around and gone back the other way, but that's less fun -- and besides, it allows him the opportunity to goose the native American in passing.

Danielle Moonstar has posed:
"If I can just get an eye on him," Dani says, almost to herself. She's still clutching the slip of paper as if it might tell her its secrets. The blur of color is almost all she has and unfortunately, her powers require line of sight. Like some of the others, she's quite skilled in hand-to-hand, but that has little bearing here.

Instead, she focuses on trying to get that empathic link. Enough of one. Just enough to skim the speedster's surface emotions and pull forth an illusion. In this case? It'd be of his greatest desire. Sometimes (oft-times) that can be more distracting than one's greatest fear. And if she should manage, he'll find himself in a might-as-well-be-real illusion of his heart's desire made manifest... which would perhaps be distraction enough for the others to descend.

Julio Richter has posed:
Stymied in his attempts to follow Fart with his eyes, Julio suddenly has an idea, based on a Danger Room simulation that a certain pair present ought to remember well -- the Apache played it, and the Russian designed it. It occurs to Julio that what works to track big stompy dragons might also work for super-fast Fart feet. He drops to a crouch, setting one sensitive set of fingertips against the ground, and his mind instantly lights up with a profile of the vibrations crackling through the casino floor. Everybody's running, sure, but some runners stand apart.

He waits for a half-second, watching an open lane ahead of him like a sprinter waiting for the starting gun, and then suddenly swings his hands together in a clap that releases a titanic cone of seismic force. Slot machines lurch as the blast barrels past them, their glass fronts shattering. At first, Richter seems to have been aiming at nothing, but as the concussion wave crashes into a cross-aisle, an Ikea-colored blur just so happens to be trying to make the crossing at the wrong time. If Jenny's boon of luck holds, the collision won't work out in the Swede's favor.

"Pin him!" the Mexican teen yells, before even seeing whether his blast connected. Gotta catch Fart before he disappears in a puff of... let's say smoke.

Marie-Ange Colbert has posed:
It's accidental fortune that she's hoping that will help them catch their quarry, so she's just allowing herself to go with anything that happens. Which means that when Julio's wave of force goes past, Marie goes with it; letting the vibrations sweep her off of her feet -- in the literal sense -- in hopes that she might end up falling on top of a likewise-falling-but-not-as-fortunate Fart.

Of course, that doesn't mean she was /expecting/ the wave to be shot out, so she lets out a rather startled "Eep!" as it does and she falls.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
To the casual observer, Illyana takes this moment to straighten her hair, brushing it off her shoulder. Like those models in perfume advertisements do, pushing away their locks and staring off into the distance, especially with a look of vague horror at this commotion she is somehow involved with. In Monte Carlo! Unfathomable! Except the murmur isn't Russian, not a known language of the plane at all, pitched in soft terms to wrap around an axiom, an ideal. Magic in her blood blossoms in the knotted tangle of hair around her fingers, and the same twist of force spins Fortuna's Wheel again. It might just turn up high for a Rasputin, low for a ... fart. Twisting strands to wrap around his ankles up to his knees, an invisible, complex thread keeping him from going anywhere. So much better than shoe laces tied together.

The best effects of fortune may be the collapse of the house of cards. No creepy president in sight, either! Marie-Ange knocked off her feet by the vibrations is not the only casualty. Stiletto heels famously offer no special balance when the ground turns dangerous, no matter what Hollywood movies about dinosaur disasters say. Illyana turns her ankle slightly and wobbles, then surrenders to gravity's tempting wiles. A plunge to perhaps pile up atop Fart's sprawled frame. To perch with /purpose/ and style.

"Ektorp is more comfortable, da?" she says, looking over at Marie. "But this one comes in a better cover."

James Proudstar has posed:
Well, it wasn't as direct as he might have hoped for, but it seems to have helped a bit. Jimmy does stumble a bit as the ground wobbles beneath him, but between durability and superior balance he manages to stay on his feet, though he makes ready to give Fart a "friendly" bonk on the head to keep him disoriented, if need be.

"Didn't even buy me dinner. I though you were supposed to have manners?"

Jennifer Stavros has posed:
Fart attempts to extricate himself, but he's stunned, and his luck has collapsed, and, honestly, he is kind of obsessed with what he sees before him. "Ah, Kristina!" he says, staring up at the vision of a brunette in regal garb. He speaks in Swedish, proclaiming... well, who knows? It's rapid-fire Swedish. He does not, notably, sound like a certain chef puppet. That's a myth. The important part here is, he is subdued.

Jenny slowly sits up. "Can I kick him in the balls?" she demands. "I'm totes gonna have a black eye."

Danielle Moonstar has posed:
To everyone else, the illusion looks like a hazy, yellow-outlined hologram around Fart. To him? It's all-encompassing so long as Dani can keep her eyes on him. At least with just a single person, it's easy. Doing this with six or so and oof- she'd be just standing in place nigh-catatonic. No, right now she's able to approach with the others (presumably) to make sure he doesn't get free.

"Keep an eye out for his compatriots," she warns, sotto-voice. She's got to keep her eye on the speedster. There's a quirk of lips at Jenny's question and, as un-X-Man like as it is, she says: "I won't tell if you won't."

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio glances toward Jimmy at the bigger guy's dry comment, brows furrowed. A second later, he pieces together what must have happened, looks to the heavens, and huffs in irritation. Wow. How low have you fallen when even a handsy casino thief named /Fart/ won't give you the time of day?

"Adelante," he encourages Jenny, gesturing to the gentleman's junk with perhaps a bit more prejudice than is justified.

Meanwhile, he goes to Marie to see if she needs assistance getting back to her feet. "Lo siento," he tells her, sincerely. "I was focused on the footsteps -- I didn't mean to catch you in the blast." This sends a somewhat guilty train of thought off from the station, and he looks around at the aisle of smashed-up slot machines. "This is... this is insured, si?" he asks, swirling a finger to indicate the wreckage.

Marie-Ange Colbert has posed:
Well. Gravity and vibrations took the win here, and Marie took the fall -- on the lucky side? She's not injured at all from landing on the floor, going limp as she did allowing her body to better cushion the impact. Followed by the impact of Illyana falling /on/ her. Nope. Not the impact that she was expecting, and it's enough to knock the wind out of her, but it doesn't injure her too severely at least!

Of course, it does leave the girl a little flushed again. "...oui?" she replies to Illyana's words, before offering a little smile, and then her hand to Julio -- no harm, no foul. "I am not injured, there is no need to worry."

Illyana /seems/ to be better in the physically-entangling part of this, so she's going to prepare for whatever backup may come. The Ace warned her, earlier to be on-guard... whether that was for Fart himself or something else was difficult to tell.

"...it is a valid manner of disabling a man, is it not, Jenny?" is offered in just that innocent Marie way that holds no maliciousness towards Fart at all.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Kristina? Ugh, no. Get our names right." Illyana crosses her ankles and plants her hand on the Swede's shoulder blades as a counter to him squirming around too much and possibly knocking her or Marie aside. How untoward and ungentlemanly if he does! She literally has tied his legs together so kicking him might take some creativity on Jenny's part. A bit of turning and lifting but not impossible, as Casino Royale has *conveniently* and coincidentally shared with everyone.

"Almost certainly," she answers Julio about insurance, an idle consideration. Next up, someone coming to Fart's rescue?

James Proudstar has posed:
"It'll probably cost 'em a lot less than this guy alone has managed to swipe." Jimmy notes, offering no objections whatsoever to any ball-kicking. "His friends may or may not be smart enough to cut him loose. Guess we'll find out soon enough." He dusts himself off, and takes a closer look at the immediate environs, dark eyes sweeping for those who are either too nonchalant or outright blatant in well...their reactions not matching up with the general chaos that's erupted in the casino.

Jennifer Stavros has posed:
In fact, no back-up comes for Fart. They are perhaps not the best-organized band of thieves. It was anticipated that he would have no trouble running circles around the young American fools -- Europeans, so smug (except Marie). And so he stares at his vision of Kristina, still babbling in Swedish without lots of 'ung's and 'borg's, and is clearly unable to escape on his own.

Jenny regards the babbling speedster and utters a sigh. "I don't think I want to bother. He won't even know what hit him."