Not My Fault! [Sean]

[Samuel Rixon]

It was nice to know Sammy wasn’t an entirely hopeless case. He was like Vincent in a lot of ways, but it seemed that was one area they differed in. He’d been a good toddler, mostly. Cuddly and sleepy, with the attention span of a gerbil. At least he hadn’t been a screamer. Unlike Vincent, he didn’t strive for attention. He liked it, sure, but he didn’t crave it. While Vin might be jumping off the roof again, Sammy was usually happier cuddled with a friend and a movie, or in his room with a video game.

As for the profanity, it was a part of Sammy’s vocabulary. It wasn’t going anywhere fast.

He wasn’t impressed with the newly acquired bruise on his jaw. But plans to retaliate weren’t on his mind, because that would just get them into more trouble. More trouble Sammy didn’t really want. If anything, he just wanted to go back to his room and burrow under the blankets. Nurse his bruised ego with a little TLC. Maybe he’d go lie in Ember’s room until she took pity on him. (Not that it would happen, not after she knew he’d started it.)

“Nuh uh! You started it! You were born first!” Oh Sam, that’s brilliant. Blame Vincent for existing. I never claimed logic to be Sammy’s strong suit. Still, now he was in the corner, he managed to look marginally sorry. This much, he was experienced with. As long as he looked sorry, and made his thoughts match, he wouldn’t be in that much trouble. Well, no more trouble than he was already in. Two counts of fighting, use of profanity. The list was growing.

Scuffing the ground with his foot, Sam listened to Sean speak. Normally, he might protest just at the first sentence, but he figured it was better to keep his mouth shut this time. Help the groundskeepers? Didn’t that involve raking leaves and watering plants and... work? Mentally, he moaned. This wasn’t cool. But at least he didn’t have to see Vincent’s ugly face. That was a good thing, or he might get bashed over the head with a rake. He sighed and nodded. He deserved it. And the one good thing about having Mondays and Wednesdays was simple. Vincent would still have one more day to go, while Sam was home free for the rest of the week. The threat about being grounded for a year definitely had an effect on the young pyro. “I’ll be good. Promise!” A promise that would be so easily broken. But Sean didn’t know everything that went on within the school, right? “Can we go now?”

[Vincent Verax]

Vincent had never been good at the whole concept of guilt. Sure, he'd admit to all his troublesome deeds, but feel bad about them? Learn his lesson from them? Nope, completely out of his range of understanding. Even if someone (other than himself and that usually means Sammy) got hurt from his idiotic stunts, the chances that he'd apologize or realize he's done something wrong are slim to none. Or just zero. Sean could come up with punishment after punishment for one Mr. Verax and he would still just keep coming back.

Grumbling incoherently to himself, Vin crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Sammy. No matter how much back and forth between whose fault it was, Vin still adamantly believed that all of this had came about because of the pyro's big, obnoxious mouth. (Vin's is probably bigger and more obnoxious, but he's likely to punch me for saying so.) "Yeah, an' 'm older, so ya should fuckin' listen t'me!" Oh, but Vin, Sean wins this game by default and you should both listen to him.

Vinnie whined when he learned of the punishment. Manual labor was so... so boring, but maybe if he was good, the groundskeepers would let him play with the hedgeclippers. Please, Sean, make sure they keep him away from any and all sharp implements. I know he's capable of healing and all, but he's never tried regrowing fingers before. "Yeah, fine, whatever." He grumped, still shooting dirty looks at Sammy.

"Hey yeah, I got a question. How can y'ground m'? I don' live here!" Vincent will never learn when to keep his mouth shut.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

For a variety of reasons, beginning with his desire to keep a headache from brewing, then that his time was too valuable for this, and finally that if they stayed any longer in his office, they would invariably fight again which would lead to another round of punishment, Sam and Vincent had to go. Now. The psychiatrist had already given them their punishments; all he had to do was enter it into the record so that the groundskeepers and their teachers would expect the duties, and then he could have some tea and try to put this whole mess behind him.

If only they would stop arguing and name calling.

He had no intention of back-peddling on the punishment; it would stay, but if they behaved, that would be the end of it. For the time being. He accepted that Sam’s heart was probably close enough to the right place that he didn’t need to call him on it, since the boy did want to leave. “Yes, you can go now, Sam. But if I catch you fighting, you’l get it twice as hard next time.”

Of course, dealing with Sam was usually easier than dealing with Vincent. The regenerator had made some good observational points this afternoon, contrary to his usual dealings with the psychiatrist, but those had apparently run their course. For instead of simply keeping himself quiet until he was given the ability to leave, thus ending this for all three of them, Vincent instead chose to question Sean’s authority.

He needed a raise, he decided.

“Hammel has wide jurisdiction, and for anything involving the school, which includes anything you do during school hours, you’re grounded. I can make it worse. You can leave now; I expect you not to end up here again, and I want you to go to different places after you leave, to cool off.”

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam was capable of feeling guilty. Ember made him feel guilty a lot. And in the presence of Sean, he was very capable of feeling guilty. Yes, he’d been horrible in class to Morgan. Yes, he’d issued a (deserved) punch to his best friend/enemy. Maybe those were things to feel guilty about. So he stayed quiet in the corner and kept a wary eye on Vincent. He didn’t want another outburst, because that would mean more punishments, and he liked his freedoms. Being grounded just didn’t sound like fun.

“Older and uglier,” he muttered, but it was quiet, and under his breath. Really, the fact that Vincent was older than him didn’t count for much. He was far from a role model to any of them, and half the time, the only thing he was good for was entertainment and scoring booze. (Sam still had no idea how he managed to do that.) Besides, Sam was bigger than Vincent was. Ergo, he was better. ... Sam, that doesn’t even make sense.

At least Sean was letting him go now. Sam squirmed in the corner, ready to book it down the hall and back to his room, where he’d whimper and whine for sympathy from Ember. Because Vincent was a bully and he’d started it. But then Vin had to ask the moronic question of the year, and Sam sighed. Of course Hammel had ways to control them. Even if they lived off campus. At least he was quiet as the explanation was given. And when they were finally let go, Sam darted into the hallway, away from Vincent. “You stay away from me, Manson.” He didn’t want to get into trouble anymore. Of course, that would last maybe a day, possibly two. They’d be back to normal in no time.