My Star Wars Oneshots.

An "Art Project" Gone Chaotic.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here today."

Captain Rex, who's facing all of the Bad Batch, addresses them as formally as he speaks to most anyone else.

"You said something about a mission," Wrecker says as he clenches his fists tightly. "Which I take to mean there's gonna be lots of wrecking things."

"I see how you got your name," Rex replies blandly. He motions for the other man to put his fists down. (He doesn't do it.) "But, no. This isn't exactly that kind of mission. It's more... personal?"

"How personal?" asks Echo, who, thankfully, is standing in between the group and the singular man, clearly very alive and breathing. He's recovering pretty well, too, all things considered. Before he even gets an answer to his question, he shrugs and says, "I'm in."

"Why should we help you?" asks a suspicious sounding Crosshair. He crosses his arms.

"What's in it for us?" Tech chimes in.

"Satisfaction," Rex says.

The others, Echo excluded, all scoff at him. That's kind of to be expected.

"And money."

They momentarily stop looking ready to eat him alive, and they don't instantly reject him, so that's saying something.

"How much money?" Crosshair, who has apparently named himself the leader of this particular discussion, demands to know.

"A... a lot?" Rex, looking beyond awkward as he shuffles his feet and looks away from the other man's eyes, says.

For a second time, the others jeer at him.

"Ah come on guys, leave him alone," frowns Echo as he separates from the others and moves to stand beside his closest brother. "For all that we know, he could have a really good plan cooked up for us!"

*****

"This is not a very good plan that you have cooked up for us."

"I know, I know," Rex groans in pure misery. He straightens up for all of two seconds before he just gives up entirely, letting his head slam into the kitchen counter's smooth surface. "There's no way that any of you are going to go along with this, are you?"

"I never said that I wouldn't," replies Echo. "In fact, I'm just about the only one of us that's actually agreed so far. But I do have just one question."

"Shoot."

"I know that you're still testing this whole fiasco out and all, but I have to ask... other than yours and mine, where exactly are you going to get the paint and the helmets that you need for this little project of yours?"

Rex bangs his head against the counter again.

Echo doesn't press his brother for an answer- he simply pats him on the back sympathetically. Honestly, he's been expecting this to happen for years now. Not the plan, no- the head banging. One can't remain calm and in control forever, especially not in the midst of a war.

"Do I want to know what's going on here?" a new voice asks as a confused Anakin decides to jump into the fray. He scans the room, stares at the whispering Bad Batch, and at the two lone, orange colored helmets that are sitting in large buckets full of paint, before he pinpoints his gaze on where Echo is attempting to reassure his brother that not everything is a disaster. "Or would it be better for my wellbeing if I just turn around and leave now?"

"Go," instructs a majority of the room.

He doesn't. He steps further into the messy kitchen. "So, what's going on here?"