Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Ducks. I do, however, own the madness that is the next few pages.

This is a companion piece to my saga. It's from the viewpoint of one of my OCs, Dylan Howard. You can just read it if you want, but I'd strongly advise you to go read the others. Or if you're feeling rather ornery, you can just not read it and go get yourself a nice cup of tea and a nap.

– The New Standard of Masculine Perfection –

Prelude

He had set a new record.

Only thirty six hours and forty five minutes after leaving Eden Hall, Dylan Thomas Howard was bored out of his mind.

Hence, he had resorted to climbing up a tree to flick prunes into his neighbor's yard. After that overgrown troll had threatened to call the police if Dylan knocked over his trashcans again, the teenager felt as though he deserved all the dried prunes that now littered his prized lawn.

"Dylan, darling? Dylan! Stop that!" He turned to see his mother standing at the door, her hands on her hips and looking quite exasperated. "Honestly, Mr. Dockings has done nothing wrong to warrant this sort of behavior."

"He's a right douchebag, mummy dearest." The blond boy answered cheekily, flipping over the tree branch to dangle from his knees. As he felt the blood rush to his face, he crossed his eyes at her, knowing it would infuriate her to no end.

"Dylan Thomas Howard, you get out of that tree this instant! I did not raise you this far to have you fall and break your neck!"

"Fine." He grumbled, dropping to the ground with a thud. "I'm bored. Play with me."

Charlotte Howard rolled her eyes. Seventeen years old, somehow spoiled rotten, and acted as though he was still five. That was her son, alright. "Go walk the dog."

"Willy? As if." Dylan snorted, glaring over at the massive Rottweiler who bared his teeth in return. "That monster can walk himself." The dog was his best friend's, who was currently off doing God knows what in Russia. He wouldn't voluntarily have anything to do with something that ugly.

His mother tutted. "He's not so bad. He's almost affectionate at times."

"That's cause you're the one that feeds him. And you sort of look like Maddie. Except for the fact you're not Asian."

"Fine." Charlotte sighed, brushing a dark strand of hair out of her face. Funny how her son could make her more exasperated than a court room full of stodgy old lawyers. But that was parenting, she supposed. "Don't you have anything to do?"

"No."

"Dylan, I have a huge merger to work on. Go to your room, read a book, watch a movie, anything, please."

Giving her a scowl, he nonetheless went into the huge house. Women. The things he did for them.

Immediately, he knew something was wrong.

Dylan stopped in the entrance, his grey eyes narrowed as they swept across his suite. The bed…the desk…the magazines…the coffee table…the sofa…the boxes he still had to unpack…a fair mountain of dirty laundry…broken drum set…bookcase…wait.

He almost screamed in horror. His drum set! His beautiful drum set! It was in ruins! The bass drum had a big fat hole in the center, the pedals were dismantled, the snare was nowhere to be found! The monsters! His precious snare!

"It's gone until further notice." He whirled around to meet the silver eyed visage of his sister.

"You." Dylan snarled, his eyes darkening with wrath.

Christina Grace Howard didn't even flinch at her little brother's anger even though he towered over her. The little prick needed to learn the world didn't revolve around him. "You'll get it back, along with your cymbals, after the summer. I don't think you realize this but the rest of us like having our eardrums stay intact."

"Hey, at least I have rhythm!"

"And you're inhumanly loud. Figures the only instrument you had an aptitude for was one that drives everyone else crazy."

"Tina…give me my shit." He growled as he advanced upon her smaller frame.

"Bite me." She sneered, walking over to his mirror. Pulling out some lip gloss, she carefully applied it before speaking. "For goodness sake, Dylan, find something to do. Or, given your track record, someone."

Dylan choked, the tips of his ears turning scarlet. "Shut up!"

"My, aren't we mature? I must say, I'm surprised you haven't hidden a girl in here by now."

"Tina…I'm warning you…"

"Why don't you go over to Jake Riley's?"

"No! I want my shit!"

"Or better yet, go work on college applications." Christina continued, heedless of his growing temper. "Have you even decided where you're applying?"

"It's my life! Stay the fu-"

"You're just a barrel of angst today, aren't you? I really have no idea how you get so much action. Are those girls deaf or just stupid?"

"Fuck you! Give me my shit!"

She rolled her eyes, unconsciously echoing her dark haired mother's action. "Don't you have any friends? Do you want to come with me to the Banks'? You can chill with Adam for a bit."

Dylan snorted in disgust. "Yeah, while you and big Banks get it on? Spare me, I just had lunch. By the way, I'm still trying to comprehend your relationship with him and failing miserably. Granted, he's a lot cooler than Banks."

Christina allowed herself a tiny smile of adoration. Who would've thought Andrew Banks would make her so happy? And to think, he had been living under her nose her entire life! "Isn't he wonderful?" She beamed dreamily, already moving towards the door. "Are you sure you don't want to see Adam?"

"No, he said that he needed a break from us and that we weren't allowed to contact him for a week unless it was an emergency." He grumbled bitterly.

"Oh, alright then. College apps, Dylan!"

"Tina? Tina!" Dylan almost stamped his foot with irritation as his sister calmly waltzed out the door. No one was working with him, were they? So he did what he usually did in times of desperation.

"Daddy!!"

A cuff on the head and a scathing retort later, Dylan found himself climbing up the steps to his suite huffily. His mother was working on a case, his father was off making money or something, Christina was doing the dirty with Adam's older brother, there was no one left!

Yanking his door open, he stalked over to his couch and collapsed on it. At least he was in his own rooms again. The living situation at Eden Hall hadn't been bad but it was nice to come back to his king size bed.

Almost absently, he surveyed the décor. Black leather furniture, polished chrome finishing, ebony wood, grey silk sheets with touches of pure white for an accent. The monochromatic palette fit him.

His attention was then snagged on a flash of brown. Now that most definitely did not fit. Dylan frowned, squinting slightly at the offending object.

With a grumbled sigh, he got up and lifted it out of the box. Oh.

The journal lay innocently in his hands, the late afternoon sunlight making its brown leather exterior gleam.

Dylan stared at it suspiciously, the giver's words ringing through his mind.

I think it'll be good for you. You keep too many feelings inside. Write them down. It'll clear your mind. It may even improve your game.

Warily, he opened the cover. True to his suspicions, there was another note from the girl inside.

Dylan.

If you're reading this right now, you're probably bored out of your mind and have nothing else to do anyway. So stop annoying everyone around you and WRITE.

If it's any sort of motivation, just think of the joy your future progeny will have when he finds this in the future. He'll have a glimpse into your world and see the joys of Australia, Russia and the Goodwill Games from an athlete's perspective! Let your imagination run wild!

Just do it, you little bitch, and leave your poor family alone.

Love, Jules

The blond scowled.

Julie Gaffney, you're a manipulative, psychobabbling whoreface.

He pursed his lips in contemplation. That was actually quite catchy. It had a nice ring to it. Good job, Dylan.

Happily, he texted the mutinous message to the goalie before tugging the journal towards him.