Three (History Plays, Book 2)

8: lust is fire, and men like lanthornes show

Pippa

"Do you not see anything wrong here?" I ask, it's breakfast, and the children are all gathered, not by choice. I had the cooks start cinnamon rolls so naturally all my children materialized, and then I had the staff close the doors trapping the children in. Their father nearly escaped, but I'm not beyond elbowing him in the ribs while I lock a door.
"I don't have wifi access yet?" Jon, my pet, my pride and joy, the thus far sole inheritor of the family braincells of which I am a majority shareholder. Jon is wearing one of his favorite suits, clearly has not been to bed, and is heaping butter on a cinnamon roll.
"I was speaking with your father," I say, icily, looking over at my husband who is finding catsup to put on the cinnamon roll. Yes, I know. I did know this about him before I married him.
"What?" He asks, biting into a roll he just put an unholy amount of catsup on.
"How many children do you think we have?" I ask, folding my arms.
"Like—several?" His mouthful.
"Mom, don't you have to get to work?" Bella, my firstborn girl, sweet child, currently silently wrestling Lionel for the cream cheese.
"Count the children. Right now," I say, to Edward.
"One, two, three four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," he points at ten to Maggie who he's holding on his hip. She's trying to eat his food and he put catsup on her fingers to keep her happy. Because she has good taste this did not make her happy.
"Mhhmm, really good. We have nine children right now," I say, nodding.
"So?"
"So?" I shake my head at him.
"So the error is our favor. This is bullshit. We lost no kids, it's a good day. And in fact, we can lose one, and still be at nine kids," Edward says, shrugging.
"Your children broke into a prison last night and brought someone here," I say, pointing to the new child, all of sixteen, looks like he just got broken out of a prison by my deranged children and then brought back here, and as though the car ride here and this breakfast watching my husband, the most dangerous man in the world, put catsup on cinnamon rolls, is the most traumatic experience of this poor kid's life.
"We did not—,"
"How can you accuse us—,"
"We would never—,"
"Please save it, I watch the news. And fun fact—close your mouth Ned, I gave birth to all of you so I know exactly what you look like," I say, waving a hand to silence them.
"Who us?"
"Cause we didn't—,"
"Look, the kid looks happy and he fits in nicely. What's the harm? Like I said, now I can lose one of 'em and then still be at nine."
"No, Edward, you cannot lose one of MY kids, that is not acceptable and I will not accept a random replacement I'm very concerned that was your philosophy before," I say.
"Well, I wouldn't lose one on purpose, but things happen. Hell, they broke into a prison last night," Edward says, his mouthful, still not concerned.
"Please, mom, he won't cause trouble, can't I keep him?" Bella asks, pointing to the new boy.
"Why?" I ask.
"To take care of him," Bella says, petting the boy's head. One more time, this kid is clearly having the worst twenty four hours of his life, like he looks like he'd be happier back at prison. He doesn't speak English, but thankfully Bella, Jon, and I all speak French so that terrified him.
"Honey, are you okay? You look like you're gonna have a stroke," I say to him, in French.
"Oh, they've been singing 'Mama' by MCR, in unison, since they got me and I think I lost my mind, ma'am," the boy says, really quickly, in French.
"Yeah they do that—Edward, put the mustard and pickles down if you don't want me to vomit—Bella, you can keep him but not in your room, and you have to make sure he doesn't already have a home—Jon, did you actually leave the house last night?" I ask.
Jon nods, really slowly, while Ned tries to manually shake his head no. That's as awkward looking as it sounds.
"They did; they didn't invite me," Edmund pouts.
"That's because you're little," Joan says, and he slugs her.
"Edward. Your children broke into a prison last night and brought back a person, anything you're going to do about that?" I ask, folding my arms. I do feel sick this morning, damn. Maybe it's watching my husband, the father of my children, unrolling cinnamon rolls, put catsup in them, re roll them, then eat them like that. He was going to add more sandwich condiments, but I stopped him. I like to think that sight would make anyone ill.
"Um—you want me to stop them from doing it again tonight?" He guesses.
"Good guess, yeah," I say.
"We wouldn't do it again, we got him," Bella says, petting the boy's head.
"I really don't believe any of you right now—Edward," I cock my head at him.
"Right, wearing you out so you sleep tonight, Impossible paint ball, mall edition, we start at noon or as soon as I get Lodowick and Audley down here to play with us," he says, pulling out his phone.
"Your best plan is to keep them up all day so that they don't have the energy to sneak out tonight?" I ask.
"Yeah, do you have a better one?"
"No, that's why I'm so surprised, usually I do have better plans than you."
"We're literally right here," Ned says.
"Yeah, we can hear you," Lionel says.
"Do you not want to go play paintball in a mall?" Edward asks.
"No we do," Bella says.
"Absolutely we do," Ned says.
"Yeah, we're just offended you're exercising us like dogs," Joan says.
"But, we still want to do it," Lionel says.
"I don't really fancy it no—,"
"Jon, you're going," Ned, myself, and Edward.
"But, I really have a full schedule and—,"
"And you also sneaked out, now you get to go get worn out with your siblings. Now, I have to go work—Ed, Ed look into my eyes. Bring back the same number of children you left with as well as the exact same children you left with, got it?" I ask, staring into his eyes.
He grins broadly, "I'll do my best."