He was a very small man. We're not talking small like Peter Dinklage, or Vern Troyer, or Warwick Davis. We're talking small like leprechauns, or gremlins, or rats. Although, to be fair, he looked exactly like Peter Dinklage fused with Vern Troyer and Warwick Davis, with skin like a gremlin but patches of fur like a rat. Leprechaun-sized. And in traditional leprechaun or gremlin fashion, the minuscule mutant was up to no good.

His mutant power wasn't his size or his appearance, although maybe the combinations had something to do with it? He controlled electricity. And today, he was pranking random passerby on the streets of new york with it. A man walks through a puddle? Bzap! Woman carrying plastic bags? Static cling! Zing! Pow! And a Scotsman walking by a stand on the sidewalk, where a middle-aged man in a sad clown costume was inflating dog-shaped balloons? He knew the perfect response. The man would get a shock.

---

The latte was good. Rich and warm. Amelia sipped it as she walked out of the coffee shop. A minor pitstop between handing out parking tickets and watching for illegal activities of any other sort. It was one of her favorite coffee shops, and since she was in full police uniform, she even got a discount. Some people give cops free coffee and donuts. She preferred to pay, at least a little. Folks needed money to make ends meet. And she wasn't so rude that she would take advantage of the kindness of strangers. She had gone to the cafe before she'd ever been a police officer, and they knew her face. They'd welcomed her into the shop, once she'd joined the force. They'd welcomed her with open arms.

Amelia paused. There was something in the air that set her feeling like something was off. A faint scent of ozone, like electricity being tossed around? A storm coming, maybe? She glanced to the sky. Nothing. So what had felt off...? The officer looked around.

It was a lovely day. Artair had decided that today was far too nice to waste studying and had made it his mission to explore and maybe find some good food spots for future reference. He'd already found a decent coffee shop that served the best mocha he'd had since coming to New York. At least he was getting some fresh air and sun. Just because he had to wear SPF 50 to not get burnt in five minutes didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the good weather. He'd even found a quaint little shop with some on offer.

Food was on the menu and Artair decided today was the day he'd brave the famous New York street hot dog, with all the trimmings. It would help however, if he knew what they looked like, or where they usually were. Spotting a stand of some description he went over to ask directions but was immediately put off when he say the clown. Artair always wondered if anyone actually found clowns funny rather than creepy, but he was hungry and hunger spoke louder than fear.

Rather than be rude he started by asking what the clown was doing, being generally polite and trying to appear interested. He even managed to get a surprisingly well made inflatable cat out of it. He was just getting around to asking about hot dogs when he felt a chill. It's like he was being watched and the watcher wasn't very nice. Even the balloon felt off, suddenly acting like he'd rubbed it through his hair. When his skin started to tingle, Artair got a horrible sinking feeling that today it wasn't going to be such a nice day after all.

((ooc let me know if anything needs changing! I don't want to godmode a million balloons on you if that isn't okay with you!))


The prankster had done some research. He had googled the amount of helium balloons it would take to lift an average man into the air. For himself, it wasn't so many, but for a man, the number was stupid. Somewhere around 6000. A ridiculous number. Too many. Even if he went and charged the guy with enough static to pull in every balloon in the city, even if he followed the Scotsman around, tricked him into taking turns that lead him up to every single balloon stand, as if by fate, he just didn't think it was feasible to get a full grown Scotsman airborne using helium balloons. Someone would notice, and burst his bubble. The Scotsman wouldn't be a willing participant in the prank. Balloon sellers would not want to sell their wares to a man with 6000 balloons attached to his person by static electricity, let alone 600, let alone 60, god forbid 6. It was a pipe dream! There was no way he'd ever get it to happen. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.


The first ballon had been easy. The man's hair had gone a wee bit on end as his entire body had been charged with an invocation of minor static cling. The cat in the man's hand wanted desperately to cling to his arm hairs, but the firm grip stopped it. The balloon on a string that the clown was handing to a small boy had no such impediment. The balloon flew at Artair's hair like metal filings to a magnet. The boy on the other end of the string blinked at the strange man who had stolen his balloon.


"Erm, excuse me." The gruff voice of the clown drifted to Artair's ears. He cleared his throat.


Another balloon heard its cue, and floated away from the group of balloons floating as a display on the carts side. The string stopped it an inch away from the scot. It bobbed against its string like a prisoner trying to escape its bonds.
"Excuse --" the clown started. The little man in the shadows of the nearby alley giggled audibly, and upped the charge. Harmless to a human, but to those strings? ... okay what the hell. The strings hadn't snapped like he'd wanted.

A plastic bag blew in the wind. It hit the back of the Scotsmans head. Score!

"Daddy mean man's stealing my balloon!" The child cried.

---
Amelia choked on her coffee. What the hell was she even looking at? Looked like a man being attacked by balloons. She'd lost nearly an entire mouthful of her latte doing a spittake. The pavement did not look happy and neither was she. In full uniform, Amelia strode towards the balloon stand 30 paces away, eyes narrowed and locked on the human balloon animal the Scotsman was quickly becoming.

Okay, things were definitely getting weird. Not only was his hair starting to stand up and crackle with static, the cat in his hand felt like it desperately wanted to crawl up his hand. Artair looked up again but the sky was still clear. So what the hell could be causing so much static.

Of course this was already weird enough, but apparently, the weirdness wasn't done with him. A rather nice looking balloon poodle lunged towards his head, softly smacking him. The child looked almost as surprised as Artair was. The clown just looked bored.

Hearing the gruff voice drew him back into reality. "I'm, I'm not sure," he began to say, when a plastic bag tried to envelop the back of his head. Swearing viciously in Gaelic, Artair forgot about the balloon in his hand and frantically tried to remove it before it succeeded in smothering him.

Now, now he was angry. Something or someone was messing with him. He tried to look around but the rest of the clowns balloons were leaning towards him rather alarmingly on their strings. Taking a quick step back didn't help the situation much either as this dragged the childs' string out of his hand and, of course, the child started crying. Artair briefly contemplated running when the dad rounded on him and could have been best described as having a paleolithic build.

((OOC feel free to take control of the rat leprechaun NPC if you feel like it! Have fun!))

The dad loomed. "Now listen here, Captain Crunch."

The little kid paused in his crying to blink up at his father. "That's Lucky, dad. Wrong cereal." He squeaked. "He's the one with the rainbows~!"

The boy's father's brow crinkled considerably as he considered the correction to his cereal racism. It was almost too complex a thought for his brain to handle. He settled on clenching and unclenching his fists as reply. That was good. Highly physical. Simple enough for him. Fists could be applied to faces in a complex feat of physicality. High school P.E. had taught him that.

"Captain," he continued brusquely. "What the hell do you think you're doing with my kids balloon?"

Raucous laughter rattled a trash can in the nearby alley. The big man didn't notice at all.

Amelia finally made it. She was there now. She could respond to the situation. In full uniform, she looked professional... except for the coffee cup. She hasn't cast that aside.

"My name is Officer Mellitus, sir." She interrupted the confrontation smoothly. "Could someone please tell me what." She paused just long enough to drop an implied 'the hell' into the gap, then continued. "Is going on here?"

((OOC great, should be able to make Artairs life, interesting, to say the least. Fun will be had.))

Ha! That'll teach the Scotsman, thought the little man. This was already going better than expected. A flying Scottish man might be funny, but getting one into a fight with a real life caveman was so much funnier. The pranks in his mind raced and there were just too many options, too much fun to be had. Rummaging around and finding some discarded foil, an evil plan formed. Fingers flying he fashioned little foil shapes, all the while keeping one eye glued to the situation unfolding.

He nearly lost focus when the officer walked up. Damn, she could ruin everything. Unless, maybe this was the catalyst he needed to really get this prank going.

---  

Running might have been a option once. Then the hulking excuse for a person had spoken. Racism he could deal with. But being called Irish? His blood was seething. "Did you just call me Irish?" Artair said in a cold, even tone. His accent was getting harsher when he continued, "Because I don't think I heard you right. I'm sure you couldn't have been such an eejit that you'd call a Scotsman, Irish." His blood pumping, he pulled himself up to his full height. "Blood's been spilled for less, friend."

The laughter was the last straw, causing Artair to launch into a viscous verbal attack on this man. He tore apart this mans appearance, education, breeding, everything was fair game. What Artair hadn't counted on was he'd somehow switch to Gaelic part way though and now the irate man in front of him seemed more confused then angry. The arrival of the police officer didn't help either. Turning towards her, he opened his mouth to speak but the plastic bag had other ideas. It's timing was perfect when it decided to do its best face hugger impression.

The angry Scotsman was swearing in what she swore sounded like Gaelic. It hadn't been hard to hear the disagreement along the way. The question was, why? Why were they disagreeing? The big man had seemed mad at first. Now he just seemed confused. The Scotsman had just turned to answer her, when a plastic bag hit him in the head. That was the worst luck.

Amelia looked to the big man. "Sir?" She asked.

He nodded to the Scotsman. "Him." He said. "Stole my kid's balloon, then yelled about it. Think he's crazy. Ma'am." It seemed even the dumbest cave men know to be polite to cops. Especially when they can pin the entire scene on a man they don't really like. It doesn't take a genius to make excuses and shift blame. Rich people do it all the time.

Amelia, however, wasn't one to take the easy answer. She turned to the Scotsmen, and helped him get the bag off his head. "Are you crazy?" She asked. Her tone was slightly amused. Not at him, mind. At the entire situation. Claims of insanity are fairly easy to disprove. This wasn't violent, just stupid and caustic. And while he was covered with balloons, there was always a good excuse. Maybe he just had a static cling mutation that had activated at the worst possible time?

She was also pretty sure she wasn't getting the full story.

Maybe the prankster would turn his focus on her? Then she'd get the full story. Or maybe. Gasp. He could turn it on everyone and every thing? That would be even worse. How many balloons does it take to make a small child fly? Less than for a grown man. Someone google that.

Whatever was being said was muffled by the bag trying to fuse with his face. Christ what was it made of? Every time Artair thought he had it, it slipped through his fingers. He was right on the verge pulling out a knife and just cutting it away when someone finally helped him dislodge the plastic demon assaulting him. Once he was clear of it, he would have resumed his swearing, had it not been the officer who was standing right in front of him.

Taking a few deep breaths of air he tried to calm down. he didn't but at least he tried. "Crazy? Aye probably. Then again," he continued, glance at the large man,  "you could ask the same for a man who'd imply a Scotsman was Irish." Artair grabbed the kids balloon animal and offered it to the officer. He was not happy and someone, or something was messing with him.

"Before ye start with the questions, aye, I'm a mutant and no, this isn't my doing. Mines got nowt to do with static." Best to head of pointless questions and get to the meat of the matter. Glancing around lazily, he tried to see if there was anyone particularly enjoying his misery. If he did find what was causing this, he'd be happy to work out the anger building up. Then, then he started getting pelted by metal.

---

The officer somehow calmed them down. She was ruining everything! His fingers flying he started to launch the foil towards them, charging them as they flew. It didn't take much to get the metal to home in, sticking to the Scotsmans shirt. The evil smile returned. That would buy time. Now, now he needed something big. he needed something fun. 

He was sane enough to joke about his supposed insanity, so she figured that made him sane as everyone else in the conversation. His enmity towards the man came from being mislabeled Irish when her was not. People got prickly at that sort of thing where cultural pride was concerned... or disdain for other cultures. People could be prickly about anything.

Amelia nodded noncommittally at his explanation and took the balloon when he offered it to her. She passed it on to the grateful child without a word.

The child hugged the balloon, and shot the man a dirty look from behind the safety of the balloon animals bottom. This was his.

Nothing to do with static. This scented of a third party. Freak happenstances notwithstanding.

While he was glancing around, Amelia followed up with a question. "Well. Do you mind if I ask what your mutation is? Just to ease this man's worries. I can say what mine is. Has to do with -- s*^%!" Metal started flying. It would have been cool to say Amelia had dodged out of the way of the tin foil like a badass. But she didn't. She got hit and zapped. Because. If she'd dodged she would have let the electric foil hit the little kid.

What the f--- was that. Jesus, how could small bits of foil hurt so much. Each on that slapping into his shirt sent a nasty static shock through his chest. God he hated static, it always made his scars itch and his chest ache. Throwing in a few more choice swear words, Artair scanned the crowd, eyes peeled for their prankster. He could take a joke, but this? This was cruelty parading as fun.

Looks like the officer got tagged as well. "You alright lass? Hell of a kick in them and you got the lions share." Whoever was doing this, they were upping the ante, getting bigger. How long until someone got hurt, or worse. In a low voice he added "You spot where they came from? I didn't have the angle."

Well, at least the resident cro-magnon man was happy. His brat had his dumb balloon back and apparently having a cop present had put him on his best behavior. Shame, Artair would have liked to see the moron do something stupid.

Time for a demonstration. Showing the officer his power might also frighten off his unseen abuser. Maybe not a knife though. American cops had a reputation for being, jumpy, around weapons. Closing his eyes and forming the shape in his mind, he smiled as he pulled out and old favourite. When he opened them, a small, round shield was floating in front of him.

"That good enough, lass?"

That had hurt like hell. But she wasn't down.

"I'm fine," Amelia's voice was terse. She looked at the child, his father, and only after making sure them and the balloon guy were alright did she look for the source of the fool attack. "No." She replied to the scot. "I was more focused on keeping the kid and his father safe." There was no heat in her words. She was simply stating a fact.

The child was excited because he had learned several new words. His father had his child's hand now. He was behaving better. Maybe if he spun it right, the eejit man would get arrested for bothering them. The man's smile vanished as the scot did something to make a shield appear. His kid liked it, but he, he did not.

So the Scot made psychic constructs? Well. Two could play that game.

"Yeah." Amelia said. "That's good enough."

A semi-transparent blue shield hovered in the air in front of her. It wouldn't really stop anything that wasn't clothing, but-- nobody knew that but her.

The cro-magnon man sighed. Mutants, mutants everywhere.

The little dude laughed, plotting his next attack!

He, had not been expecting her to be a mutant. That made things easier for him and if he was guessing right, she should be able to protect herself in a fight. It looked a bit, weird, but he could hardly judge. His constructs looked like half made children's drawings. When he noticed the big mans expression at the two mutants in front of him, Artair could barely contain his evil little grin.

"This is getting worse quick. Pranks are one thing but whoever's doing is getting more malicious." Who the hell was doing this and how? His anger was building again, he did not like being messed with.

Giving up any pretense of not looking for his tormentor, he checked any obvious hiding places, anyone staring at them to much. Hang on, where had the laughter come from earlier? It had seemed innocuous before but now? Now it seemed like a good place to start.

Looking towards where he thought it came from, he nearly fainted. What the hell was that? Was that, was that a person? Pointing he said the only thing he could, "Fear dearg!" His childhood stories had come to haunt him.

---

The little man went cold inside. The Scotsman was looking at him! He was point right at him! No, no, no he didn't want to get hurt. He was meant to hurt them. He panicked and started to draw in power.

Yeah, they were getting worse. It was almost like some Norse prankster god had let himself loose on the world. Next, there would be baby horses and comic antics.

Police brain on, Amelia scanned the area for signs of their mystery attacker. They had to be nearby. There was no way this much precision could be done at great range. The person had responded too quickly to minute changes in the situation. There were here. And they were plotting. Briefly, she glanced at Mr. Caveman, but he wasn't doing anything.

She caught sight of the little man about a second before the Scotsman. He wasn't even making a good show of hiding, standing in the entrance to a nearby alley. He was small and hairy and looked like--

"Fear dearg!!!" The Scotsman shouted. She assumed that meant hairy leprechaun.

Whatever it was the little man was, he suddenly started crackling with the urine yellow glow of electricity. It looked like he was powering up. She had to act fast.

Somewhere in the midst of events, she had lost her coffee. She could make do.

"Think fast!" Amelia announced. She made a big show of launching the shield towards the little man, frisbee style. This, we would call a diversion. As he stepped back and cringed in on himself to avoid it, Amelia stole the balloon man's bottled water. It was just siting there. She'd pay him back, for real. The blue shield hit its mark, regardless of cringing... and flew through electric leprechauns face harmlessly. Out through to the other side. Amelia stopped in front of him, and doused him liberally with Aquafina. The ghost shield had kept going, through the wall. It pooped out of existence when it went out of view.

He really needed a new way to gauge weird, because there was no way in hell that one of his childhood monsters was real, and standing across from him in an alley way. It just couldn't be true. Yet, there it stood, barely a few feet tall, patches of fur dotted about its' exposed flesh and evil looking electricity arcing off its' body. Now, with everything else he'd had to deal with in this city, the unseelie were out for him as well?

While he was struck dumb by the literal fairy tale in front of him, the officer reacted, sending her shield spinning at the creature before running up to it and, dumping water on it? OK, maybe he wasn't the only losing it. Throwing water on electricity didn't seem like the best idea to him but what did he know right now. He was still half convinced a banshee was going to walk out of the wall and start howling at him. Who knows, maybe it would do, something, useful.

It worked. It actually worked. He didn't know how, or why, but the things lightning stopped rapidly, dying away as it twitched and smoked slightly "Are you f------ kidding me?" he shouted, his facing showing his obvious confusion. "That actually worked?"

Artair could really do with a drink. It seemed like the only thing that would help any of today's events make any sense.

Pushing more power into his shield and increasing it's size, he cautiously approached. Whatever this thing was, now that he could see it, it wasn't going to get the drop on him.

The electric mutant fizzed and popped, giving off the acrid scent of burnt hair. He muttered to himself, curling up into a fetal position. That hadn't hurt! How dare they! He cursed at the cop, he cursed at the world, and as his eyes rose to lock on the Scotsman approaching slowly ahead of him, he switched to Gaelic and cursed in that. Something about the man wishing his father had never stolen that first kiss from his mother. And about how he'd make them both pay, and how dare they ruin his fun!

"A flying Scotsman is almost as much fun as a Flying Dutchman, after all." The little man crooned. "Oh, if only me girl Jenny were here. I should call her. Oh--"

The sound of metal cuffs clinking together. Amelia locked them in place, with his hands behind his back. This didn't stop his calling for help, of course, but all shorted out like that, he wasn't putting up much resistance. They'd have to find something better, for the long haul. She had no clue how well metal handcuffs would hold up against high voltage. It would have melted plastic zip ties. Maybe rubber gloves would help...?

"Jeeeeenny!" The rat leprechaun sang, interrupting her reverie. "Jenny Greenteeth, come out and pay! Yer boyfriends in trouble, Jenny. please!"

Was this the Fae folk roundup? She felt like this was the wrong universe for this.

Amelia turned to the Scotsman, unfazed. "Sir. Can you please go to the nearest vendor and get me some rubber gloves? Might help insulate me against this rat." The leprechaun chattered and showed pointed teeth.