Just wait 'till he packs them with ball bearings and broken glass.

"Paintball game? Ah, yes, I saw that on the bulletin board," Autor says, arranging the colored balls in a tightly-packed circle. He glances up to see her pouting, and immediately directs his stare to his fingers again. His cheeks are dusted with pink, which may or may not be from the smoke bombs.

The boy stands, and brushes off his hands. "Are you responsible for the care of your sisters?" Interesting. "Wait, you spank them?" he says, and coughs to hide the strangled noise building in the back of his throat. Autor turns his head and pops a hand on his hip. "So, how old are they? Are they in line for the throne after you? Are there two or three?"

And no, that's not chalk dust on his neck.