Not in MY kitchen you don't.

Once, a few years before the adventures of Lucy and Flyn, three children made their way into the arms of the Orange gang.  Their names were Seymour, Ted, and Ratchet. Now, Ratchet was a quiet fellow, and tended to stay closer to his younger brother, Ted.  But Seymour was a trouble maker. He loved nothing more than to pick fights and make fun of the other kids. The boy was small, but he had a large mouth. His favorite target was none other than Ratchet’s little brother.

The left side of little Ted’s face was covered in bandages, chin to forehead. The boys had been in a fire, one that had killed their parents. The disaster had left them injured, and without a friend in the world. Ted was set in shock, and never talked to anyone except his brother; and then only if they were alone. Ratchet was his constant companion. Since Seymour was afraid of Ratchet, he left Ted well enough alone. Except for one day.

The Blue gang had staked out an area at a nearby town and was stealing any valuables they could get their hands on. Bossie and Flyn had decided to act on it, to confront the leader before it got too bad, and they had asked Ratchet to join him. The teen had only reluctantly agreed. They set off early, leaving Ted in the care of the cook, Dinah.

Dinah was a simple minded fellow, with his rules set in stone and written in neat handwriting on the bulletin board.  Everyone knew his rules. Well, almost everyone. The new kids hadn’t quite memorized them yet.

About an hour after Ratchet left, Seymour slunk into the kitchen. Dinah was doing the dished in the corner, while Ted was slowly stirring a pot of soup. They were the only people around. Seymour immediately walked over to Ted.

“What’s up, freak?” Seymour sneered. “Busy doing nothing useful? You can’t do anything right, I hope you know. That’s why nobody talks to you.  Nobody likes you. How does that make you feel huh?”

“…”

Dinah stepped forward, a medium sized steel pot in his hand.

“That’s enough Seymour. Get out of my kitchen.” Seymour rolled his eyes.

“I’m not talking to you; I’m talking to the freak. Not like he’s going to talk back, he’s just a-“

Dinah swung the pot, connecting to the side of Seymour’s head with an echoing CLANG. The boy crumpled, rubbing his head. He spent a few moments to refocus his eyes before standing up and glaring at Dinah.

“I hate to hit you, but I have a rule against bullying, and you broke it. Not only that, you also refused to get out of my kitchen. I’m giving you another chance. Leave.”

“You hit me!! I’m going to kill you! I’ll kill you and the freak. You stupid-“ CLANG! Seymour collapsed again, but this time he stayed down. Dinah glared at the prone figure and rubbed at a scratch on his pot.

“There’s no cursing in my kitchen either.” He turned back to Ted, who was looking at him with a mix of awe and fear. “You alright kid?” Ted nodded. “He won’t be allowed back in here, so if he’s ever bothering you, just tell me, okay?” the boy nodded again.  Then, as Dinah turned back to the bread he’d been making, he heard a small whisper.

“Thank you.”