Today's ficlet was one I wanted to include in the first few chapters of Second Chances, but never made it into the story. It didn't fit with the rough plot I had worked out in my head at the time I was writing that story, but it fits in perfectly with the other short bits here.

As a reminder, Bryan and Mitch are the only two I own here. Everyone else belongs to Hasbro or Marvel.

These Are Days

Dishing It Out

As with most of their less intelligent ideas, it seemed like a really good one at the time.

Really, what use did the Dreadnoks have for those fancy dinner plates and saucers—mostly the saucers—hiding in the storage basement? They never had company, and the Dreadnoks and Shadowatch had a nasty habit of breaking things. There was no way that those dishes would ever be used. Besides, Zartan had made the off-handed comment about wanting to get the younger team some extra target practice on the firing range at some point. What better place to start than at home, with one of the guns from the armory and the useless dishes?

"Relax your shoulder, boyo." Buzzer corrected Bryan's stance as the tall boy lifted the weapon up and sighted it in. The Dreadnoks—minus Road Pig, Zartan and his relatives—and the three male members of Shadowatch had taken a field-trip out to the swamp, far away from the eyes of nosy neighbors and police officers. "Don't wanna break that stock on that tough hide of yours, do we?"

"Nope." The boy shook his head. They were already halfway into trouble just by coming out here without Zartan's approval; returning with a broken weapon would certainly land them in a giant pile of cow manure. "When're you gonna set that target loose?"

"Soon as ye'r ready for it." Monkeywrench volunteered to be the one manning the target-thrower, since he didn't trust his teammates to do it correctly and not hurt the boys in the process. Zartan would be about twenty shades of pissed off if one of the kids came back hurt from this training exercise. "Just yell 'pull'."

"Alrighty." The brunet boy nodded, slipping into a shooter's stance. It was far from perfect, but it would do for the moment. "Pull!" A blue ceramic dish flew through the air like a frisbee. Bryan watched it move and attempted to shoot ahead of it. His shot knocked a chip out of it, but didn't shatter the plate. The ground took care of that. "Damn."

"He almost 'ad it that time." Ripper stroked his beard, grudgingly impressed at how well the kid was handling the shotgun.

"Used to shoot off my cousin's BB gun at hay bales and scarecrows as a kid." The tall boy grumbled. "Course none of them moved…"

"Can I go next?" Mitch asked.

"O' course you can!" Monkeywrench barked. Sharra still looked nervous about being out here, but the two brothers forgot all about the rule breaking in favor of blowing something up. They were well on their way to becoming full-fledged Dreadnoks someday. He watched as the older, thinner boy handed the firearm off to his younger sibling. "Now, hold it just like we told him to. Spread your feet out just a touch—atta boy!"

Unlike his two older brothers, Mitch grew up on the Las Vegas strip and had virtually no experience handling firearms of any kind. He was never allowed to mess with the security guards' sidearms as a kid and their pistols worked a lot differently than the old shotgun the Dreadnoks started them off with today. Buzzer and Monkeywrench spent five minutes correcting his stance before allowing him a practice shot. He missed. The china plate hit the ground and shattered. Adjusting his grip he tried again, only to gain the same outcome as his first shot.

"Might shoulda started 'em with still targets." Monkeywrench observed.

"Little late now, but we'll remember it next time." Buzzer remarked as Sharra gingerly took the shotgun from Mitch's hands.

"Uh, why are we using nice dishes for this?" He asked softly. "Wouldn't it be better to use cheap plates?"

"We already 'ad these!" Torch crowed as Bryan bent over to pick up one of the larger plate fragments. "Dunno why they's in the storage basement. Not like we'd ever use 'em."

"They have little pink flowers on them." Bryan observed, turning the shard this way and that for the best view. "Why would Zartan have pink flowerdy china plates in the storage basement?"

"Yeah. He strikes me more as a solid-color kinda guy." Mitch frowned. The sound of an engine met their ears.

"Uh oh." Ripper winced.

"I think he knows we're missing now." Neal winced.

"You boys let me do all the talkin', ya hear?" Buzzer growled as a motorcycle sidled in beside their vehicles. A pink motorcycle. The rider easily swung herself off the bike and stalked up to them, removing her helmet as she walked.

If anything, the crazy case of helmet hair made Zarana look more menacing than usual. The males flinched under her glare. "What the bleedin''ell are you doing out here?"

"Just givin' the lads some target practice." Buzzer answered, taking a step away from her. He didn't like Zarana, never had, but he knew that despite being half his size, she could soundly whoop his arse before the other Dreadnoks could interfere. "Ain't no harm in that."

"With what targets?" She knew damn well they blew up all of their clay ones two weeks ago.

"Just some stuff we found in the storage basement." Torch smiled nervously. Zarana was mean at her best and downright sadistic when in a snit about something.

She looked around the clearing and spotted a familiar cardboard box with a 'fragile' sticker on the top of it. "What are you doing with my good dishes?"

"I knew this was a bad idea." Neal whimpered.

"Oh. Those are yours?" Monkeywrench put on his best 'I didn't know that' face as he spoke.

"I bet you didn't." She growled. "All of you louts better clean up every last one of those plate shards!"

"Why do you even have nice dishes?" Ripper sneered as the three boys jumped to work. "Ain't like you got a boyfriend to impress!" Road Pig didn't count.

She pressed a knife to his throat before he even registered she'd moved. An unmanly squawk sounded as she increased the contact between his skin and the steel blade. "And what would you know about impressing a woman?" She taunted. "You haven't had a romp in ages."

Ripper possessed just enough common sense to realize how much trouble he landed himself in. "Uh. Not 's much as you do, bein' a bird and all."

"That's right." None of the other Dreadnoks dared get between the pair. "It doesn't matter why I nice china or where they came from. What are the rules about marked boxes in the storage basement?"

"Uh. Ask Zartan before we touch 'em?" Torch answered.

"And did you ask him before taking the pretty dishes out for target practice?" The question growled into existence. Ripper gulped.

"N-no?"

"Is that an answer or a question?" The knife bit into the first layer of skin.

"Answer! Answer!" He yelped. The boys thought it looked wrong somehow, but didn't dare comment on it. They were in enough trouble as it was.

"Thought as much." The knife's pinching pressure disappeared and Ripper suddenly found himself pushed onto his bum. "Now get over there and help those boys clean this up!"

"Why ain't they in trouble?" Torch asked.

"Because they didn't steal my dishes and sneak out all by their bloody lonesome!" She spat. "Now get to it! I've got a special project for you plonkers when we get home."

The 'special project' involved several tubes of industrial-strength super glue and the remaining plate shards.