The call went out on all police and X-men radio wavelengths. Another big angry mutant causing trouble in New York. Oh joy.

He’d been doing this for a while now, hadn’t he? Elliott remembered when he was in his 20s, making mistakes. Being an ass clown. How long since he’d begun the hero thing? A year or two? More? How long had he been with his girl? And now, he was 27. The time flew when you were busy fighting for your life.

Elliott stashed the police scanner in a drawer in his room, put away his paint brushes, and got dressed for work. He’d have to finish the abstract painting later.

What had the police scanner said the monster was? He couldn’t remember. Something about Taylor Swift and that damned movie with way too much — ... eh. He didn’t care. He’d see it when he saw it. Whatever It was.

He pulled on his wrist guards, elbow and knee pads, and his fancy feetwork shin guards with the toe plate that covered the front of his feet, but left the bottoms bare. Pulled on fingerless gloves. The leather jacket went on last, over the black tee with a UFO on the chest and the words ‘I want to believe!’ A gift. Kenzie liked Z Archives. He inserted a few Kevlar strike plates into special pockets in the vest. Then, he pulled on his motorcycle helmet. The one with the green paint job and the scary smile. Now dressed for duty, he went off to save the day.

—

It was weird, doing hero work in the light of the sun. Usually, Elliott operated at night. Because the darkness helped hide his features, and added that extra element of fear he could use against thugs. But today, the painting had... not been going great and he’d wanted to take his mind off of it. And one thing had led to another.

The place where the trouble had originated was... a Chinese restaurant down by the college. He parked his motorcycle several blocks away, and ran the rest of his he way to the scene over the rooftops. When he got there, the police had yet to arrive. It seemed calm... from the outside. Did he have the address right?

Usually, when police got calls about big mean mutants, they were big, mean, and highly visible. You rolled up and, bam! There it was. But here... well... Elliott walked up to the front entrance and strolled in in.

Weird. People were just... eating lunch. Acting normal. Yeah, he decided. He’d gotten one Chinese restaurant confused with another. That’s what he got for only half listening to the dispatch and going by memory.

He smiled at the hostess through his motorcycle helmet, and was about to pull it off and just act casual. Eat lunch. But then— someone rushed through the front doors, and forced their way past him. They looked like a gray cat fused with a woman. In rag-like clothes.

Elliott eyed them as they entered the restaurant. And then, things got messy. And the screaming began.

~A few moments before~

“Freaking place,” the girl muttered under her breath. “Gonna wreck em. I knew it. Effing knew it. Did all the digging, and now I’ve got em. Gonna get em. Gonna— sorry.”

She turned to apologize to some guy she had bumped into. Looked like he’d just gotten food. Hopefully not from the same place she was going.

As she spun and turned her focus back to the matter at hand, fur began to crawl up her cheeks and down her arms. And the muttering grew louder.

“GONNA KNOCK EM OVER. Snowball. Gonna teach em a lesson! Gonna—“ The bell rang as she shoved her way through the restaurant’s double doors.

A moment later, the front window exploded outwards and shouting spilled out onto the street.

“You’re the monster!”

“You the monster!”

“You!”

When a person had to eat as much as Erik did you would think a person would get tired of having to eat food. Which at times Erik did encounter. However he still found sparks of excitement when he discovered a new places to eat at or fell into a particular mood for a 'nationality' of food. Today he had a massive craving for some chinese food. The variety of types of noodles and sauces that had been born from Asiatic countries in general boggled his mind. So he had thrown on his clothes and ventured outside for the first time in... the thought prompted him to check his cell phone calendar to check and stared as he figured out the math. That wasn't important! His usual signature ensemble of a cotton t-shirt and blue jeans with boots and a leather jacket.

__

The paranoiac turned into a bit of an isolationist winced at the annoying sun as he stepped out of the restaurant, bounty well in hand and working to keep a satisfied grin of his face. The silent reverie was rudely shattered as he was bumped into by one of New York's many colorful citizens, the momentary lapse made his grip slip and his food spilled out of the bag and across the sidewalk. Before he could contemplate the true depth of how far to take the five second rule glass rained down on him, and his food, like so many broken little dreams. Broken glass would definitely ruin the flavor profile he decided with a sigh as he brushed off the lingering bits of glass from his jacket as he looked around to make sure everyone around him was ok. 

There was no explosion so he could rule out an explosive or a gas leak of some kind. The shouting added another element to a puzzle that was forming. The sudden inevitable exodus of the patrons from the shop left him doing a little jump and roll through the window so he could get a better look at the situation.   

By his guess some homeless cat mutant was extremely pissed off and doing a pretty good job thrashing the place. "This is for snowball!" He finally made out between tables and chairs being shattered against each other and the walls. A brief look around as the place emptied. The people he guessed were the owners were hiding from stuff being thrown in their direction with their heads  occasionally popping up like gophers, the cat lady, and.. a biker with an interesting humant? Probable fellow mutant would be his guess.

It was hard to say if BIKER MAN had been knocked down by one of the chairs flying through the air or the press of bodies had overwhelmed him or some other situation or he had just walked in when it happened. "You wouldn't happen to be with the pissed off fellow mutant over there would you? That would make things way easier." Asking over the sounds of incoherent rage about a snowball and how they were all monsters. Best just to find out right away if he was about to enter a 2v1. He didn't seem too concerned about the situation one way or another, a bit of irritation showing through to his face as he thought on how mutants like this made everyone else's more difficult.

Oh man, this was messy. People had fled, the front window was totaled, the crazy cat B was throwing chairs and tables, and the owners were cowering in fear. And worst of all, he wasn’t sure who the villain was here.

What had the lady been shouting? Something about an animal? Snowball? Had these people done something to her animal? Stolen it, or— oh THAT was nasty! Who would even think that? That was totally uncalled for, and unfair too. Just because it was a Chinese joint. Except

“This is for Snowball!” She shouted, and hurled a chair. Elliott threw himself to the floor, and let it sail over his head. It crashed into a wall and dented the wall a split second later. That had nearly been his neck.

A moment later, some guy got his attention. Of all things to ask, he wanted to know if Elliott were with her?

“No. No,” he said. He shoved himself off the ground with one arm and got to his feet. “I am definitely not... though I’m not sure if she’s the real bad guy here or not.” He glanced around the other guy. “Needs to stop wrecking the joint, sure. But did you catch what she was shouting about? Sounds like someone stole her pet.”

As if on cue, she shouted again. “You took Snowball! Where is he?! He better not be—“ She raised an entire table in her arms, and hauled it over her head.

Hrm.

Elliott shouted “Think fast!” And kicked a plastic vase her way. It crashed into her shin and she staggered back, dropping the table.

Well that certainly complicated things quite a bit. Exploiting some sort of connection between motorcycle head and pissed cat lady would have made the whole situation so much simpler. Especially if the presumably homeless lady hadn't just had her cat stolen and possibly sold in some form or another. Erik sighed, pondering the virtues of escape vs his own decidedly sparse but concrete morals. With a smooth gesture he kicked up a chair and sat down near her as the vase went sailing through the air to  keep her from destroying a table.. he hoped.

"Miss! Hey yoohoo! Can we try to sit down like reasonable semi-adults and talk this through? I realise your upset. I would be too, but this is not helping the situation and will only land you and not the derving party in jail." Yes Erik try to appeal to people better nature. A skill in which you have zero experience. He berated himself as the talk didn't seem to have much effect. This woman was full on distraught mode and needed some restraining.

"He motorhead think you cou-" His fault really, he looked away from a potentially deadly person end ended up with a furry fist right into the soft spot of his noodle. The uneven chair and unexpectedly strong blow sent his head into the table with a bone crunching sound and he fell to the floor a messy assemblage of limp limbs and a a slightly bleeding head at a very unnatural angle. Finally the woman seemed to pause at her own possible homicide.. until Erik stood up with his head bent at an angle and it sort of just popped itself back into place.

The properties hiding behind her husband fainted and Erik suppressed a chuckle of amusement as he did a neck roll to check himself. "That hurt.. and felt weird. Please don't do that again." 

>>"Miss! Hey yoohoo! Can we try to sit down like reasonable semi-adults and talk this through? I realise your upset. I would be too, but this is not helping the situation and will only land you and not the derving party in jail."

Ooh boy. The guy. He was trying... sensible talk. Diplomacy. The language of adults. Just how exactly would this thing go, Elliott wondered. The jaded part of him, the Cheshire part, the part that was always smiling... it thought it would go over like the Hindenberg. Badly. But hell, he had five minutes. If they could break up the action to give the local constabulary time to arrive, it would be worth the wasted effort.

"Yeah," he chimed in. Lamely.

Just as he had thought, the attempt failed. She was undeterred from violence and destruction. Joy.

The guy tried to get his attention. Calling him Motorhead, of all things. He'd have to clue him in, he was Cheshire. Vigilante. This was sort of his area. Doing stupid, dangerous things he wasn't equipped for, or paid to do. To help people. Because he had a responsibility. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Yeah. He still thought it was hilarious that he actually thought the age old refrain about responibility and power meant a damned thing. Heroism doesn't make one a better person. it just helps one sleep at nights, knowing they've done something to prevent someone else from getting off worse than the vigilante, themself. Case and point, the guy got attacked. For trying to speak sense.

Boom, into the table. With a solid knock to the noggin. Looked nasty. Until the guy stood back up. Like a boss. And did something weird, with popping.

Cheshire said "Ew."

The guy said please don't do that again, and the girl just sort of... well. The fight went out of her.

"But they... bad people. They took my pet. And... I hit you SO HARD. How did you even just--"

"Heeeeey. Yeah. So anyways." Elliott picked up a chair. The same chair the guy had been sitting in a moment before. He stole it. He sat down in it. "Let's try this again. Before someone kills someone. Can't undo that. Can't we all just talk this out?"

"I should hit you. You're standing up for-"

"Heck no." Elliott cut in. He glanced back at the weird popping guy. "I think it's safe to assume we're both too stupid to be working for this restaurant as bouncers. We just sort of wandered in and wanted to be heroic, yeah? So, owners. SIT DOWN PLEASE." There was darkness in his voice. Elliott was not a squeaky clean, sweet vigilante boy child. He'd dealt with some stuff. And this was the sort of situation that could get really stuffy, really fast. If they could talk this girl down from throwing her life away in the American Justice system, and cleaning up her act... well. He honestly sometimes wished he'd been given a good little pep talk to get out of crime before he'd even started. Would have changed a lot of things.

The restaurant owners... the one who was still conscious, at least, sat down. Backwards. In a chair they had pulled up.

"Okay." The girl said. Then, she looked at Erik. "I'm sorry I hit you... I just... my cat..."

"Mrow."

A gray cat hopped up onto one of the few undisturbed tables in the restaurant. The girl's eyes lit up. "Snowball! But I thought-- with all the animals who vanished lately... and this place. Smelled like you, all the way up here. For my senses. And--"

"My wife... mutant." The restaurant owner said, blandly. "Animals come. She feeds them. They do not like to go. Some stay. Does not mean we serve them. Not THAT WAY, least."

Elliott slapped the front of his helmet, hard.