![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
witticasterGod damn it, I'm really starting to love the name Sebastian. What has haaaaaaaaaappened to me.
At the sound of a knock on his door, Sebastian glanced up from a well-worn book. "Yeah?"
"Collections agency," Father said, through the wood of the door. "Or--jury, or something."
"Come in," Sebastian answered, and tried not to sigh too loudly. Setting the novel aside, he sat up on his bed, crossing his legs beneath him and setting his chin on one hand.
Dad was standing next to Father, looking oddly like he did after a fit, pale and not to be crossed--not to be baited nor babied--but the similarity might have only been Sebastian's imagination. He hadn't heard Dad come home, in any case, and hadn't expected him to want to see him now they were both in the same house again. Biting back the waterfall of apologies threatening to escape him was nearly impossible, but Father'd already told him not to bring it up, and he couldn't apologize for half the things he wanted to without doing so. I'm sorry it happened, I'm sorry I made you think about it, I'm sorry you thought I--and it was better just to watch them both silently, and try to keep from looking too sullen.
"We've decided on your punishments," said Father, his arms folded across his chest. "You're grounded to your room for the rest of the summer."
Sebastian's mouth dropped open. "But that's the next two months--"
The expression on his parents' faces was enough to cut him short. "For the next two months, you will come downstairs when told you may. You may have one phonecall a day. You may not use the computer. You are otherwise confined to your room and the upstairs bathroom."
There was absolutely no use arguing, that much was clear; he hunched his shoulders, but did not look away.
"We will be confiscating your phone, for obvious reasons," continued Father, as solemnly as if he were reading off an official decree, like in the films. "We have not decided how to handle visitors, but you may be allowed some. And we will be confiscating your makeup."
His gut twisted; several moments after it happened, he realized his mouth had fallen open as well. This was worse than no mobile, no internet, no leaving the house--it was completely inhumane. "But--but--"
"You aren't going anywhere." Father shrugged. "You might as well save all that paint for when you're going to see people."
And that left him with absolutely nothing to do the whole summer, he wanted to shout. He'd just have to sit in his room and stare at the walls for two solid months, and if they did let him have friends over, he'd have to look at them completely plainfaced. He'd have to look at himself in the mirror completely plainfaced.
"But," Dad said, and though his mouth didn't soften from that thin line, Sebastian thought the look in his eyes changed, "we're only confiscating all that for a month."
Father looked over at him, frowning, and Dad inclined his head slightly, giving Father that same hard expression. Apparently this hadn't been previously discussed, or it had just been changed, or--it didn't matter, if they were giving him some reprieve.
"But we are still confiscating it," said Father, after shrugging. He held up a bin liner. "I'd advise you not to keep any in reserve; if we find we missed some, it'll be all the longer before you get it back."
At the sound of a knock on his door, Sebastian glanced up from a well-worn book. "Yeah?"
"Collections agency," Father said, through the wood of the door. "Or--jury, or something."
"Come in," Sebastian answered, and tried not to sigh too loudly. Setting the novel aside, he sat up on his bed, crossing his legs beneath him and setting his chin on one hand.
Dad was standing next to Father, looking oddly like he did after a fit, pale and not to be crossed--not to be baited nor babied--but the similarity might have only been Sebastian's imagination. He hadn't heard Dad come home, in any case, and hadn't expected him to want to see him now they were both in the same house again. Biting back the waterfall of apologies threatening to escape him was nearly impossible, but Father'd already told him not to bring it up, and he couldn't apologize for half the things he wanted to without doing so. I'm sorry it happened, I'm sorry I made you think about it, I'm sorry you thought I--and it was better just to watch them both silently, and try to keep from looking too sullen.
"We've decided on your punishments," said Father, his arms folded across his chest. "You're grounded to your room for the rest of the summer."
Sebastian's mouth dropped open. "But that's the next two months--"
The expression on his parents' faces was enough to cut him short. "For the next two months, you will come downstairs when told you may. You may have one phonecall a day. You may not use the computer. You are otherwise confined to your room and the upstairs bathroom."
There was absolutely no use arguing, that much was clear; he hunched his shoulders, but did not look away.
"We will be confiscating your phone, for obvious reasons," continued Father, as solemnly as if he were reading off an official decree, like in the films. "We have not decided how to handle visitors, but you may be allowed some. And we will be confiscating your makeup."
His gut twisted; several moments after it happened, he realized his mouth had fallen open as well. This was worse than no mobile, no internet, no leaving the house--it was completely inhumane. "But--but--"
"You aren't going anywhere." Father shrugged. "You might as well save all that paint for when you're going to see people."
And that left him with absolutely nothing to do the whole summer, he wanted to shout. He'd just have to sit in his room and stare at the walls for two solid months, and if they did let him have friends over, he'd have to look at them completely plainfaced. He'd have to look at himself in the mirror completely plainfaced.
"But," Dad said, and though his mouth didn't soften from that thin line, Sebastian thought the look in his eyes changed, "we're only confiscating all that for a month."
Father looked over at him, frowning, and Dad inclined his head slightly, giving Father that same hard expression. Apparently this hadn't been previously discussed, or it had just been changed, or--it didn't matter, if they were giving him some reprieve.
"But we are still confiscating it," said Father, after shrugging. He held up a bin liner. "I'd advise you not to keep any in reserve; if we find we missed some, it'll be all the longer before you get it back."
