Violent violet and bubblegum pink

"Well," Bernard grinds out, slamming a cabinet door shut and opening the refrigerator, "it obviously didn't sink in." He pulls out some heavy cream and slams the fridge shut. "She went to the fucking stables alone, after I told her not to."

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"I know. She could've been kicked." Pale, Nymphadora pulls out a mixing bowl and hands it to him. "Okay, so, I think we need to talk to her, and mete out some sort of punishment. What d'you reckon is fair?"

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He puts the bowl down and turns to her, ticking options off on one hand.

A thumb. "No more paints, at all, until she shows that she can be responsible with them." A finger. "No desserts or sweet snacks for a week, and we post a notice in the bar letting people know that they are not to enable her sneakiness." A sigh. "What else?"

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She sighs, too. "I think that's enough to be going along with, for now. She's little, and this is the first time we've really had to discipline her."

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"And for that I am truly thankful, but now I have to apologize to Caspian and everyone who keeps a fucking horse here, and I'll have to refund them at least a week's worth of boarding fees." He passes a hand over his eyes. "Not to mention my kitchen."

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"Your kitchen is fine," 'Dora reminds him. "I fixed it all up last night with a wave or two of my wand. But yes, I know, it's the principle of the thing," she rushes on when he opens his mouth.

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"Yes, it is. Because next time maybe she'll use her fucking teeth." A long, calming breath. "Where is she? Might as well beard the lion."

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"In her room, reading."

Yes, reading. Still reading.

They'll never figure that one out, I think.

"I'll go get her. Meet you in the living room."

And with that, 'Dora disappears down the hallway.

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Sunny would tell them, but it's funny to let them be confused.

She's lying on her stomach as she flips the pages of the book, reading to Beatrice.

"--'If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?'"

She looks up when Dora enters.

"What mean contwawy-wise?"

The answer is, "the attitude of one Sunny Baudelaire">

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That it does.

"It means 'on the other hand.' Sunshine, could you come with me, please? Your dad and I want to talk with you."

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"Can Beatwice come?"

Oh yeah.

She knew she never should have answered that question of Caspian's.

Red Ber'd Alert is ON, baby.

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"I think Beatrice'll be just fine until you get back, lovely. C'mon." 'Dora holds out her hand.

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"...Kay," she sighs, and stands, taking Dora's hand, and only whispering, "Wemembew me," to Beatrice as she goes.

Damn her lack of self control.

She knew she shouldn't have fucked with the kitchen.

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'Dora has to work very hard to stifle a snicker as she and Sunny walk down the hallway and into the living room. At the threshold, she scoops the toddler up, situating her between her parents on the sofa.

NO ESCAPE NOW, SUNNY.

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Meanwhile, Bernard spent the last few minutes alone attempting to school his expression into something not resembling rage.

No use starting off badly. There'll be plenty of time for rage when the excuses start to crop up.

He turns to Sunny, tipping her chin up so she looks him in the eye.

"Sunny. Do you know what we want to talk to you about?"

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"Yup." She'd nod, but he's got her chin.

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'Dora's hand comes up to gently smooth the back of Sunny's head. "Can you tell us what, exactly?"

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Deep breath.

"Painted walls, painted kitchen, painted chaiws in bar, painted floow, painted howses, got in paint fight with Adam, painted Kaylee's haiw, an' was gonna twy an' sell Anfony to gypsies?"

They may not have known ALL of that.

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Well.

There goes that brilliant plan.

The predicted angry flush creeps up Bernard's neck, slowly but inexorably.

Sometimes he hates being a redhead.

When he manages to speak, his voice is very slightly strangled. "Gypsies, huh?"

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Sunny blinks at him.

"Nice gypsies?"

Look, they said no feeding the kid to the demon bunny, they didn't say she couldn't SELL him.

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Over the top of Sunny's head, 'Dora shoots Bernard a quelling look. "Selling your baby brother is a bad idea, honey, okay? Just for your reference, for now and always."

Firmly.

"Did you not think that using your fingerpaints in this way was perhaps a bad idea?"

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"No?" she tries hopefully.

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Bernard's eyes narrow, but he manages to keep his voice even. Calm. In control.

"That's pretty funny, Sunshine. 'Cause I always figured you for smart. And most smart people understand what they're doing when they do it." A breath. "So, either you're not as smart as I thought you were, or you knew exactly what you were doing, and did it anyway."

Boo-yah, Beaver Baby.

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...Damn her inability to be unaffected by compliments!

"Maybe 'spected," she mutters.

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