View source for Logs:Because their shame was double, and dishonor was proclaimed as their lot, therefore they shall possess a double portion; everlasting joy shall be theirs.

{{ Logs
| cast = [[Ion]], [[Leo]], [[Steve]]
| summary = "Let's go, then, merry gentlemen."
| gamedate = 2020-12-23
| gamedatename = 
| subtitle = 
| location = <NYC> Harlem / The Tombs
| categories = Ion, Leo, Steve, Mutants, Mutates
| log = 
Harlem's gritty reputation has become less and less earned over the past decade or so as gentrification has set in. Its reputation as a hub of jazz and culture, however, is still very much earned -- throughout the years Harlem has been renowned for its contributions to music, from its swing dancing and jazz culture back when speakeasies were prevalent to the many hip-hop artists with Harlem roots in modern day.

All told it's been a rather mild day, but once the sun had set the temperature started dropping, and by suppertime had reached a seasonally appropriate nip without straying into ''bitter'' cold just yet. The streets of Harlem are emptying as night settles in but not deserted enough for Steve's passage to go completely unremarked. Even beyond the immediate blocks surrounding his apartment, though, he's a familiar enough sight by now that most of the remarks fall along the lines of friendly greetings, holiday wishes, and even a few mildly concerned inquiries as to his scarcity around the neighborhood these past few weeks. Steve, evidently in no hurry tonight, stops to talk periodically, dispensing seasonal cheer by main force of will. He's wearing only a light brown canvas jacket over a plush cream cable-knit sweater, indigo blue jeans, and his most broken-in black combat boots, the shield slung across his back in all its classical colors, but with an eight-pointed Star of Bethlehem at its center.

It's a night early yet -- maybe Santa has gotten ''confused'' as to the date, it has been That Kind Of A Year. Somewhere overhead a mechanical reindeer with glowing red nose and a fairylight-adorned wreath around its neck is hovering, swirling down towards Steve. Its glittering red and gold harness attaches it to -- well. Maybe, somewhere in there, possibly, there is a hoverbike. It's hard to tell now, reconstructed into a large sleigh festooned liberally with lights, ornaments, twinkling bells -- perhaps disturbingly a large reindeer ''skull'' with two glowing candy-cane ornaments for eyes.

This whole contraption hums down to settle itself beside Steve, the robo-deer still prancing lightly. Ion hops out of the driver's seat, looking much of a piece with his ride. Thick colorblocked Christmas sweater featuring Peanuts characters exchanging gifts and cocoa, tinkling bells dangling from his stompy boots, a red and white hat perched askew on his head with a sprig of mistletoe threaded into the pompom; his weathered old cut has had a face-lift, too, its MUTANT MONGRELS MC lettering in red and green now, the skull and crossbones insignia perched atop a Christmas tree, the skull itself wearing a cheerful Santa hat.

"Yoooooooo." By this point his booming over-enthused greeting is likely little surprise, as he vaults towards Steve, slings an arm (with a small crackpop) around the other man's shoulder. "You sing?"

Still perched in the seat of the sleigh, Leo is looking a little wide-eyed. A little wild-eyed. Dressed in black peacoat worn open over a gold damask vest, slim-fit vermilion button-down with a black mandarin collar, placket and black turn-up cuffs, black slacks, and black slip-on boots, an immensely soft white scarf embroidered with subtle gold snowflakes draped around his neck. The pair of reindeer antlers perched on his head strikes a shocking contrast to his tastefully seasonal attire, being generously dusted with gold glitter and strung with tiny twinkling LED fairy lights in a rainbow of colors. He clutches a thermos in his long fingers and rises just up enough out of his seat to peek over at Steve. In case it wasn't clear: "He means Christmas songs."

At the first distant jingling from above Steve is already alert, his weight dropping low as he pulls the shield from his back. He's only just slipped into the enarmes when the sleigh comes into view, and stops mid-motion, staring agape. As the whole improbable contraption descends far enough for him to spot its driver, he relaxes his stance and returns the (only subtly Christmasy by comparison) shield to its bracket. "Merry Christmas," he says with a vaguely incredulous smile, leaning into Ion's half embrace, never mind the zap. "I sing, Christmas and non-Christmas songs, but I'm a bit out of practice unless you count the kind I do in the shower. Going caroling?"

"Ain't never heard you in the shower yet," Ion replies with a bright crooked grin, "but I bet that a good time too. C'mon. Up up. We spreading ''joy'' tonight. And tomorrow. Next day too. But hot cocoa and songs, that's where it ''at'' now. Who need practice for the caroling huh? All we need is --" He hesitates just a moment, considering.

"Jesus?" Leo volunteers hopefully from his perch up in the glittering christmas-mobile. "I -- brought a song book but I'm getting the feeling Ion kind of. Wings it."

Steve blushes, prompt and picturesque. "I haven't gotten any complaints yet." Despite this perhaps not excessively confident endorsement, he's letting Ion draw him along. "Jesus we've got, at least. I might also need that song book if there are any ah, ''new'' carols." He climbs up at Ion's urging, though ''carefully'', as if suspicious whether the sleigh will hold his weight. "I'm not sure about my supply of comfort and joy, either," he admits with a rueful smile, "but I'll do my best."

"Jesus getting his days tomorrow," Ion objects with a scoff. "''Tonight'' it's for chocolate and Angels. Some bit of Mary maybe. I ain't read his book. You got God Rest the Merry Gentlemens in there? That's what ''I'' want. Bet you could use some merry-rest after save the whole damn world, too." He hops back up into his seat, offering a thermos of his own to Steve -- the black cherry cocoa inside is heavily laced with bourbon. "You see wings on this shit bro? C'mon we got a whole ''group'' planned." Even with his mechanical reindeer he does not crack the whip; just getting the reins back in his hands sets the entire contraption to lighting up again, pulling off the ground a moment later with a lurch and a chiming of myriad bells.

Leo opens his mouth. Closes it again, looking down at his thermos, a small tug turning the corners of his lips upward. "{Personally, I think maybe every day is for Jesus?}" it's offered both tentative and amused. His smile doesn't widen but there's a deeper warmth in his eyes as Steve gets in. "A few groups. Or -- one group, split over a few stops."

"''That'' one I know by heart. Think we could all use some merry rest after the kind of year we've had." Steve does smile wider at Leo as he settles in. He accepts the mug with a quiet thanks and transparently tries to hide his uncertainly behind a generous gulp as the sleigh lifts off. "Frankly, it's the ''lack'' of wings that throws me, but I know better than to question B's work by now -- at least...I assume this is B's work." Thrown or not, he's gazing around him in wonder now as they soar up through the not-quite-frosty air. "I'm game for as many stops as you have planned, and knowing you probably a few more ''un''planned. Haven't got anywhere to be."

"They gonna give the smolshark some kinda medal? ''Should'' do. S'only fair." Ion seems very unworried about his mechanical-reindeer-pulled sleigh, letting the robot steer as they climb into the air, the city falling away like so many glittering stars beneath. He leans forward, wide eyed and delighted as they pass over the neighborhoods below. "Oh -- ''oh'' look that house," he's gesturing eagerly toward one home liberaly adorned with string lights and its very own Santa sleigh on the roof. "They go all ''out'', see, I'm tryna get like that." He doesn't actually sit back, hands drumming on the dash as his eyes scan the displays of lights below them. "Few stops. Figured maybe, you busy, you ain't catch upped on the calendar lately. Bingo aunties been planning some joy -- bet they got hella cookies too." He seems just as giddy about this as about the lights.

"I don't think the government is lining up to laud -- well." Leo's eyes lower, his fingers clenching tighter around his thermos. Ion's excitement is infectious, though, and puts a smile on his own face. He's a good deal more tentative as he cranes toward the end of his seatbelt to peer over the edge of the somewhat eclectic sleigh, his own eyes widening appreciatively. "Jax was meant to come," he says, almost offhand, "but his plans changed. The cookies may be subpar."

"Don't think this organization ''does'' medals, but I've been assured they paid her a lot." For all that Steve seemed nervous about the flying sleigh at first, he doesn't seem much deterred from craning his neck over the side to admire the lights. "Oh, gosh! Seen a lot of these houses from the street, but it's a whole different ballgame from on high. Like that!" He points toward an apartment building as the climb higher whose residents have laid out a festive runway in red and green lights for Santa's sleigh on their rooftop. "Glad the ladies planned for joy, anyway, with all that's been going on..." His head shakes, quick. A shadow of concern passes over his face as he glances back at Leo, his brows wrinkling. "We'll make do with the lights -- and cookies -- we have tonight. Plenty of caroling still to do, twelve days of it and more."

"''Twelve'' days? Ion shoots a look back at Leo. "You gonna have the ''stamina'' for twelve whole ''day'', Doc? I mean, you know we gonna have your back, whatever you manage." As they make their way downtown there are more and more city-decorated streetlamps, sidewalk strees, the fancifully adorned homes not dwindling out but becoming more sporadic. In the middle of it the familiar ugly silhouette of The Tombs is a glaring void in the middle of the festivity, but it's where Ion's sleigh is headed. From below the pleasant strains of "The Holly and the Ivy" are drifting up from a cluster of warmly dressed mostly-women, a few men sprinkled in, tucked on a sidewalk outside the high barred windows.

Leo's, "-- not a doctor," is half murmured and fully rote at this point. "I've been tired," he adds softer, "but I can wait a few more days for resting." He sets his arm on one side of the sleigh, looking down at the congregation of elderly church members waving up at them from below. "What do you think is better? Just land on the roof and do this -- ''actual'' Santa style or park it with our friends and --" His brow scrunches. "... whatever it is you do from there."

"Well, I'm sure you don't need to go caroling ''every'' night," Steve hedges, uncertain. His pale blue eyes dart between Ion and Leo, his expression opaque. He doesn't seem too startled to spot their destination, and his smile returns when they get close enough to see the carolers from St. Martin's. "Folks in there surely need more cheer than most." He's still waving back at them when his gaze shoots to Leo, his perplexity undisguised now. "Whatever it is he does?"

"We put this on the sidewalk, Auntie Paula she gonna take good care of her for me." Indeed, Ion is steering the glitzy contraption down towards the group of carolers on the sidewalk; he doesn't yet interrupt the current song but ''does'' get lavished with plenty of mid-song hugs, cheek pinches, cookies surreptitiously pressed upon him even before the fussing turns to the other men once the current song begins to fade. "Aight, friends, we be back with you soon huh?" He shoves a cookie in his face, slings an arm around Steve's shoulders. "You get that voice ready, yeah? And that shield. Dr. Sexy, you got any requests?"

Leo's thanks are quiet as the church group fusses at him, his head bowed half against his scarf. He curls his arms around his chest, stretching up onto his toes. "Not a doctor," he says again, eying the forbidding building front before them. "I like 'Do You Hear What I Hear?' I'm sure it will be lovely, though. Whatever you choose."

All of Steve's weariness and uncertainty has fled -- or at least is neatly tucked away -- by the time they land. He's all smiles and hugs and 'Merry Christmas' as they greet their fellow parishioners. His reply to Ion is an immediate, unequivocal, "Always." He pulls the shield from his back and slips it onto his right forearm without asking for any further explanation. "The cheer might be nice, but protection from the plague? ''That'' is a fine Yuletide gift." At the song request, his mouth pulls slightly harder to one side in bemusement -- just for a moment -- and he accepts a glossy red songbook from an elderly woman who in either extreme optimism or preparedness brought quite a few extra. "Sing to the Lord a new song," he murmurs softly as he flips to the relevant page. Looks back up at Leo, then Ion. "Let's go, then, merry gentlemen."
}}