"You are behaving like a child." Less than the thirteen years he seems to be, cold and frustratingly petty as Reginald. She doesn't like seeing it in him, struggles with having this on two fronts instead of just the one. Grace's hands don't clench, there isn't any extra tension in her shoulders, her jaw as she takes the few steps across the tiles to meet him. Since his arrival, she's been careful not to, well, loom. Now?

She takes no such care.

Discipline isn't something she ever handed out, Reginald handled such things- and what little was in her hands involved grounding, sending the kids to their room. Five? Cannot be kept in his room, cannot be grounded. Flitting through her available options settles on a single course of action that sits wrong even as her programming accepts it as the only way forward- hand darting out to catch Five by the ear and tug (frim enough to not let him twist away, gentle enough not to hurt.)

"If you are going to act out like a child you shall be punished like a child." If they'd ever wondered if some of the words in her came from Reginald? There's proof of it in this particular phrase, the diction and lilt unwieldy on her tongue as she pulls Five across to the nearest chair where she sits, causing the smears of pavlova to stick to the cushion. Not entirely unlike scruffing a kitten she hauls him across her lap like, well. A child.