Disclaimer: Same as always. No money being made off anything.

A/N: So…a few little shorts of everyday happenings. Well, not exactly everyday thank the universe for small favours.

Shorts…But Not Short-Shorts…

I'm sorting mail – mostly junk but a few good pieces sprinkled in. They've already absconded with the newest Victoria's Secrets catalogue. This used to upset me but then I realized it is a minor inconvenience for a few hours of peace. Then a piece of mail catches my eye; oh my it's time to renew the license plates for the truck. I toy with the envelope for a few minutes…it would be really evil and I'd probably pay for it at some point down the road but what the hell…

I make my way to my office and turn on the computer. They are gathered there, as I figured they would be, and, uhm…they are…let's call it enjoying the catalogue and for once I am really glad I don't speak their native tongue. They are so engrossed that they pay me little mind – at first.

I'm guessing the official look of the envelope is what got Dag's attention. Or the website. Either way, he's come over to investigate; and if Dag's curious, the rest aren't far behind.

Like flies to honey. This is gonna be so good. I am so evil. I feel my head to see if today is the day I sprout the horns the nuns promised me one day I would; I am honestly slightly disappointed when my head is as flat as ever…or round…whatever. You know what I mean.

"What's that?"

"License plate renewal for the truck."

"What for what?"

"License…plate…renewal…for…the…truck." Yes, I do speak very slowly and enunciate every word, along with making the hand gestures to outline the truck and the license plates. Before you get laughing too hard and calling me silly, swear that, knowing this group as you do, you didn't do exactly the same thing… Uh huh. I thought so.

"Wait – isn't the vehicle yours?"

"Yes. Well. Kind of. Technically it belongs to the bank until it's paid and…" I stop because, like you, I have a sudden vision of some poor loan officer at some bank being confronted by them demanding answers. Again I do hope the universe has taken note of the kindness I show my fellow beings…

"So then you do not own everything in that truck…"

"Oh you bet your…something…I do. And since I drive, I still get to choose the music. That doesn't change."

"Then why do you have to pay someone else for the license plates if they are part of the truck, which you say you own…?"

Seeing that I am struggling to come up with something suitable, Dagonet kindly assists.

"The plates are relegated to ownership of the state. Possessing them affixed to her truck constitutes a legally binding contract of driving the vehicle in a manner consistent with the stated legal operation guidelines."

Yeah. What Dag just said. I hope you got it as well as I'm hoping they did because there isn't a chance I could interpret that into English…or any other language come to think of it. And now you have a small sampling of why we avoid asking Dag legal questions many days.

There's more though. "On an annual basis this contract must be renewed by both her and the state. At this juncture she can choose to simply renew the plates as they exist currently or she may select something else." Dag shrugs those massive shoulders and looks around. "For instance, she could choose to forfeit the current plates for, say, more tasteful ones."

Ouch. Let me insert here a reminder from a previous chapter that the current plates are a variation on 'Agravaine' and said Knight is very possessive of that distinction. I watch as it registers with him what Dag said; his nose twitches and then his forehead crinkles and his eyes narrow before the frowl spreads across his features.

"And just what is that supposed to mean? I happen to like her license plates." Oh he's really not amused and you can guess that sentence didn't exactly come out that way.

Let me say here that I don't know what the rules are in your state, but in mine we are limited to a total of seven characters/numbers/spaces. Therefore, it does make it rather difficult and some finagling is required sometimes. Let me also add that I sense the smackdown is about to begin and I am so ready to sit back and listen. I know…evil…and yes I do check for horns again and, yes, remain disappointed that they are not sprouting. Stupid nuns and their empty promises.

"M – O – R – D – R – E – D. It ALL fits and it is so much cooler." Said Knight of course crosses his arms as he nods and winks at me.

Yes, this prompts every one of them present to begin counting the letters in their names and trying to find a suitable abbreviation, if necessary. And, yes, I am sitting back in my chair and enjoying – thanks for asking. At least until the login prompt comes up and I can check different plate availability cause, really, it'll just let me mess with them even further. Yes, I am feeling especially evil today. Horn check still yields a big negative. Damnit. Now I'm really pissed – what exactly do I have to do to get those damn things to sprout anyway? Damn lying penguin ladies.

"What are you doing?"

I give them the explanation from above, minus the segment about messing with them as they really don't need to know. That can be between you and me, friend.

The variants start flying and, to be equitable, I check them all even if I would not consider them in a million years. Mostly. I do draw the line at checking anything to do with Uther, Arthur or anyone else from that grouping. Same for Bors. Sorry all you Bors lovers but I just can't…sorry.

Mordred is available, as is Bedwyr. Kay is if I put some numbers either at the beginning or end – which he does not approve of and stalks off looking rather peeved. Gawain is the same – only available with numbers added and, likewise, he does not approve. Dag isn't at all interested – I think his shyness comes into play and he just doesn't want to be the center of attention quite that spectacularly. The biggest surprise though is that every single variant of Galahad is taken. I kid you not. I mean, I can get one with some numbers but then you can't even tell what it says so it's kind of pointless. Of course, this raises questions and I have to explain that, due to popularity, I cannot have a plate with Galahad's name… I'll pause while you imagine the scene – bearing in mind that both Mordred and Bedwyr are available as-is and we already know a variant of Agravaine is… You could hear a pin drop for a few moments and then the roaring starts as Galahad gets all puffy chested…at least until he beats a hasty retreat to wherever when certain persons threaten to do very unrepeatable things to him.

Meanwhile, I have begun my own evil investigation. Did you know, remarkably, that 'Thor' is completely available without any numbers or anything else added? I know…I'm flabbergasted as well. I can't stop the smirk (but I do manage to not check for the horns this time) when I feel hot breath on my shoulder because I know exactly which three are peering intently at the screen…and, yes, I have made certain that they see what new plates I am investigating.

"You…you…you can't… Don't you even dare…"

Wow. I don't think I've ever heard so much shaking in Grav's voice. Ever. I'm going to say it's partly anger but I do think I also detect some panic too. Losing the "prime real estate" and bragging rights over the truck…whoa…

OK so even I have my evil limits and I think I've just about reached the upper confines 'cause I really do believe Grav's about to hyperventilate and with the way the other two are acting, I'm not sure if he passes out whether they'll catch him or just step over him. Not to mention I hear the sound of weapons being drawn and I recall the whole ceiling fan weapon rigging thing from a few chapters ago…

"Alright…alright…" I click out of the application and close the browser. "All I have to do is go down to the DMV and get the little sticker that makes the plates good for another year. Sheesh. Everyone just calm down now and unbunch those leathers of yours." I try not to laugh as they then realize their chances of becoming my new plates are gone in a poof and they now have to spend another year of listening to Agravaine's ownership claims. Mordred and Bedwyr take it worst, shoving past Grav while telling him where to shove it on their way for consolation bottles of cider.

Everyone exits and it's just me and the titan.

"You weren't really…I mean…you know..."

"You'll just never really know, now will you…so it might be best to behave. Stop making me look all crazy in public and whatnot…" The laugh is not comforting, nor does it help when he pats me on the head as he wanders toward the kitchen in search of his own bottle of victory cider. Me? I'm contemplating heading to the DMV before they figure out it's another potential "adventure"…but not before one last horn check and some more cursing of nuns and empty promises.

XXXXXXXX

I was sleeping peacefully until I rolled over and…well…ever have the feeling, even in your slumber, that something just isn't right? Although I have to admit, the hot breath on my face and someone hissing my name was a pretty solid giveaway too. Because most assuredly the stinky breath did not belong to either my favourite NFL player or pro wrestler as I am absolutely positive neither of them have dragon breath…ever…

My left eye opens slowly, cautiously, and I let out a small scream. No worries though – Stephen sleeps like the dead so…yeah…I'm on my own. Mordred is far too close for comfort and not looking happy, which, at…crikey lordy it's 2 AM…does not make me happy either.

"Mordred…" My voice, like my vision, is bleary.

"Where did they go?"

"Who?"

"Not who – what – and where are they?"

He's definitely perturbed which is not a good state for him to be in ever, much less at 2 AM, when you (meaning me, of course) have to deal with him.

"Oh get up already and come with me."

Not that I get much of a choice because shortly after uttering, he is dragging me out of bed and shoving me toward the bathroom so I can collect my glasses. I snatch said spectacles as he waits impatiently. I say this because he keeps sighing and shifting his weight…which, I might add tempts me to reach for my contacts but…yeah…see above about perturbed and not a good state for Mordred… Eventually I grab a hair tie and wander over with a nod.

"So…Dred…why did you drag…" Apparently the dragging is not yet finished as I am pulled into the sitting room off the master where a small television is located.

"Explain where my recordings went."

"Uh…what recordings?"

"You know which ones. Don't toy with me." He sighs at my blank look and crosses his arms over his chest. "Gene Simmons Family Jewels – where are they?"

I can't help the laugh. I really can't. I try but I just can't. That is just such a loaded question… And, yes, for the record I did know what show he meant…I just…look it's after 2 AM now and I really was having quite a nice dream that involved aforementioned NFL player as well as pro wrestler… "Are you sure you didn't delete them?"

The look I get…I wish I could describe accurately. Disbelief. Anger. No, scratch that – rage is a far more apt descriptor. Possibly some hurt. Definite indignation. He scoffs and sneers. "Why would I do that?"

"I dunno…accidentally?" I shrug.

"I do not do things 'accidentally'."

OK you heard it folks. Mordred does not do things accidentally. You're all witnesses. And, if he finds out, on hit lists, but don't be scared. He can't possibly get us all – right? I mean not all at once…someone would be able to warn someone else…I think…Though the whole non-coporeal thing might blow that theory… Well, for comfort's sake let's just say he can't and we can all sleep tonight. At least I'm hoping I can if I can figure out what happened to Mr. Simmons' Jewels. Yes, I did just snicker as I typed that.

I grab the remote from him with a sigh and scroll through the menu. Sure enough, they are gone. I find the deleted list and there they are but, sadly, I am unable to recover them. This would be because I am technologically inept…which means I need to ask a non-technologically inept person. The person who happens to be sleeping peacefully like the dead in the bed I got dragged out of. I inform Dred of this and, you guessed it, he wants to know what I am waiting for…

"It's 2 freaking AM Dred…it can wait…"

"No, it can not. Wake him. Now."

"Dred…"

"If it was your stupid cartoon you'd wake him."

Ouch. Now that was uncalled for. "Hey now. You better be nice. And I would not and you can wait." I toss the remote on the chair and start back toward bed.

"You wake him or I wake him. Your choice."

"You wouldn't." I half-turn to try to gauge if he is bluffing.

A dark eyebrow arches. "Try me."

Anyone care to hazard a guess where this paragraph finds me? Anyone? Yup – on Stephen's side of the bed, trying to wake him after I hiss at Dred to leave it to me and not to do a damn thing. It takes a while to rouse my husband – told you, like the dead – but he finally wakes and agrees to come look at the problem.

"Hon…why are you watching television at…" He glances at the clock. "Jeebus babe it's almost 3 AM…" I nod toward Dred who scowls; Stephen sighs. "Oh…it's for one of them…"

Wow. He's either still mostly asleep or he prefers the dangerous life cause the way he says 'one of them'… I have to remind Dred that if he off's Stephen, the recordings are gone forever…and so is he…

As it turns out, the recordings really are gone forever. Who knew that if you don't press the little prompt that says 'keep', after you watch the show then after a certain amount of time, for some stupid reason, your recordings get deleted automatically…? Whoops.

Dred is pissed until, scrolling through the garbage bin, it's discovered that indeed my 'stupid cartoons' have joined Gene's Jewels…That, for some reason, brightens Dred's disposition as it ruins mine…and Stephen simply shakes his head and returns to bed muttering about people and how they record dumb shows. It is then I note my husband has sneakily added the 'keep' designation to every episode of American Chopper and Pawn Stars.

XXXXXXXX

I confess I'm a bit concerned – borderline scared – since Galahad went upstairs to take a bath quite some time ago. I also realize the foolishness of giving in to his begging and whining to please, please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top, could he use the tub in the master… It's oversized and with the whirlpool feature…plenty of room for whatever it is the Pupster does while he takes a bath. No, I do not ask and most likely you shouldn't either. Or you can – I'm more than happy to send him over and you can quiz him…just no sharing. That would be deemed way more information than I need to know and I honestly don't think my few shreds of sanity would survive.

Anyway. I'm curious yet apprehensive. You know the feeling… Oh, wait, you probably don't since you don't live with this crew.

Anyway. Back to the dilemma at hand. Of course I'm going to weasel my way out of actually having to go find out what is going on upstairs if I can…and that weaseling goes by the name of Gawain. Yes, in hindsight most likely not the best selection but, you know, he was close and not doing anything of importance. Well, importance by my standards…to him it was highly important to stuff down those cherry pop tarts.

He grumbles – hey, he is one-half of the Grumble Twins, so it is expected – but he is kind enough to go check. Now remember, this is Gawain: mild tempered, easy-going, good for a laugh and relatively soft spoken… So when I hear him shouting and cursing in a manner that could make Bors blush…yeah, I become slightly alarmed. Alright, I shoot past alarmed to panicked and race up the stairs.

I stop when I get into the master. There are bubbles coming out of my bathroom. No, really…bubbles. Like the kind you see on sitcoms when someone overloads the washer and the suds run over and tumble out and everyone laughs… Except, yeah, I'm not laughing. I'm pretty sure horror is closer to what my facial expression is. That or murder, I'm not sure.

"GALAHAD!" That is the only part of what I yell that I can put in this. Trust me. I would not only have to move this to the 'M' rating, it would probably get me tossed off this site and banned for life.

Now let me remind you that it is a whirlpool tub. If you have one, you know that one of the very first things they tell you is NOT…and I repeat NOT to put anything that produces bubbles into the tub while the jets are on… This would include, but is not limited to something like, oh, say, bubble bath…especially when you buy the extra bubbly stuff for your six-year-old because the regular stuff just doesn't bubble enough…

I burst into the bathroom and the first thing I do is slosh/pop bubbles and make my way over to shut off the whirlpool jets with the button on the side of the tub. That accomplished, I turn to the figure covered in bubbles that proceeds to shriek and grab more of the translucent bubbles in an attempt to cover his man parts (as if I have never seen such parts before). My anger thankfully keeps my brain from taking note of his nakedidity and being scarred.

Clearing my throat I start to count…out loud, which should tell you just how incensed I am. Usually it is sufficient to count silently as I simply roll my eyes… This time I have to cross my arms and hold onto them so I resist the growing urge to smack the stuffing out of one cowering Pupster…and possibly Gawain – I haven't made up my mind just yet. My mood isn't helped when I hear the voices behind me asking what the commotion is all about…before they start laughing and the jokes begin flying.

Kay is nice enough to step forward and guide me out of the bathroom as he tells Galahad it would be wise to figure out just how he intends to clean and restore my bathroom to its previous state of non-bubble filled order. He takes me to the stairs and assures me that everything will be taken care of as he motions Bedwyr over and suggest perhaps a bottle of wine would be good… As Beds leads me away, I turn and see a still only bubble clad Galahad standing in the doorway…

"Pinot, Chardonnay, Moscato or Riesling?" Beds is trying to be cute and amusing.

"Yes. And find me a straw."