<div class="floatleft">(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQIioE4u-I0me3KDOfucVBpF1f96YQ7VumCSQ&amp;usqp=CAU)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Cyclops</strong></span><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Scott Summers<br/><strong>Age:</strong>23<br/><strong>Gender Identity:</strong>Male<br/><strong>Location/Time:</strong>Santa's Workshop?  The Great Room?<br/><strong>Description/Wearing:</strong>colorblind dot ugly Xmas sweater, snug jeans, boots.  His signature visor.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Santa | Deadpool | Mention of Jean | All<br/><strong> Xmas Music Currently Playing:</strong>Oy To The World (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFLExwIQKto)<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Scott grimaced as Santa grew larger and stood in the path of his beam without much apparent issue.  He needed to go stronger then.  Which was a concern when they were all inside like this.  "Ororo, Hank, a little he-ack!"  He jumped back and shut off his blast as he felt a sharp sensation on his ankle.  He took a sweeping glance of the room as the green-clad chihuahuas were now swarming towards him and the merrily blasting Deadpool.  Their large eyes bulged, their tiny jaws slavered and foamed.  He kicked the one that had bitten his ankle away.  Enough of them could take him down.  It was a question of numbers and not having the mercenary's healing factor.<br/><br/>He had to find a way to end this quickly.  He still hadn't given Rogue her gift, after all, and...why was he thinking about that now of all times?  The fake Santa, whoever he was, was the key.<br/><br/>Maybe Jaime Braddock?  But this made no sense even for that madman.  And much like Jason Wyngarde, he couldn't help but attribute everything to himself.  He would never pretend to be someone else.<br/><br/>He pivoted and fired a wide-angle, low intensity beam that sent a wave of chihuahuas spilling backwards and tumbling across the workshop.  He looked around again and his eyes fell on Santa's gift sack.  The sack that kept expanding to fit whatever was put inside.<em>Whatever</em>was put inside.  If they could get Santa in the sack, and ideally off his feet, he could flail around in there in a space that would ideally just expand with him if he kept growing and would just stretch if he pushed at it  "Here's hoping extra-dimensional cloth doesn't tear easy."  By logic, it had to be able to withstand the pressure and weight of all those presents.  But trying to be logical in this situation was probably pointless.<br/><br/>Scott dashed across the workshop to where the elves had been loading presents into the sack and grunted as he tried to pull it out of the sleight at an awkward angle.  "Come on, damn it."  He then turned, trying to lift it out and onto his back one-handed as the other went to his visor to send another carpet clearing blast at ankle level to send another yelping canine wave across the floor.