No, and What's With the Tightasses?

"Hal! Hey, Hal, you fucker!"

A clink against his window turned Hal's snores into an asthmatic gurgle of air, and with a grumble he left his bed. Down below he saw a well-built, towering Chippendale douche looking up at him. "Who the shit are you?" Hal scoffed once he had removed the one separation between him and the apparent intruder.

"Argh!" Suddenly, the Boon coiled backward. His nose throbbed. He just got squared in the nose by a rock from some Chippendale douche! "Hey, you shithead! What was that for?" Hal spoke through a slight muffle, hand over his face.

"Stop harassing my sister!" The man had an unwavering look in his eye as he pointed at Hal. "Or you'll be getting more than just a crooked nose for your already crooked face, Hal Boon!"

And with that, the man in his plain white shirt and jeans dismissed himself, taking to the side gate and jumping over and back to the street, followed by the sound of tire against gravel.

Hal thought to himself as the pain in his nose fluctuated. "Sister?" he wrinkled. Then he remembered -- Liam Vans! Penelope's older truck-driver brother, who was as fit as a moose and used to be a wrestling champ back in high school. They actually had some history together, which also explained how he knew where he lived, where his room was, and how his crooked face looked like. Funny, even though in the back of his mind Hal knew Penelope was Liam's sister, he never actually pieced it together whenever he thought of her stunning legs and ass, and what he'd do to them, and the good 'ol fashioned banging that awaited. Go figure.

On second thought, he didn't really consider any of her siblings, actually; she had a pretty extensive family and two other brothers, Ned and Zack, that were pretty protective of her.

Shrugging, Hal decided he would deal with that when the time came. In the meantime, one sniff told him that downstairs, dinner was coming first. "Besides," he chuckled deviously as he shut the window and headed down, "with some thinkin' maybe their family will see the sense in me being Penelope's friendly neighborhood harasser." Then, he winced as his nose began throbbing again. Maybe, he should take it easy on the sniffing.

Descending down the stairs, Hal slowed when he heard his sister talking -- and apparently not to herself this time.

"...what? You are not."

"Honest, Marth!" Hal's nose scrunched; he knew that voice. Then the throbbing sensation returned, and he bent over mid-step while cursing his luck. If he cared more, Chippendale douche and he would be archenemies by now. "Besides," the visitor continued below, "you could try it too one day. I mean, more than a day. It'll either do you a little good or nothing at all, so there's nothing to lose."

"I know, but..."

There was a pause.

"I love meat too much, Leslie!" A groan followed and then giggles as the couch squeaked under shifting weight, and Hal heard Leslie teasing Martha about her slimness and how some of their lady-friends would kill for it, how diets were more than just about checking off weight benchmarks, blah blah.

"Oh, hi Hal," Leslie chirped when she noticed him come down, only to covertly skid her eyes away from his topless glory when she noticed his lack of a shirt. Hal managed an oblivious 'hey', yawned, and wandered into the kitchen.

"Bro! Really?"

"What?" Hal asked as he took out a soda can from the fridge and chugged it down.

"Never mind," Martha rolled her eyes and sat back into the couch with a slump. Leslie waved her hand dismissively before placing the other in front of her mouth in humor.

"You know, you guys are kinda cute when you argue," Leslie prodded her old friend.

"Ew, wha -- Leslie, don't say that!" Martha suddenly wanted to fold into herself and not come out, but Leslie just kept on laughing. Hal just ignored them and let loose a guttural burp, nodding satisfyingly to himself afterward.

Leslie Perez was a family friend, along with the rest of the Perez household. They'd been acquainted since before they were babies and the old folks were college students. Even though they never planned for it, they ended up living in the same town as each other, and it was a cliched history from there. Hal didn't really find it especially heartwarming.

That said, Leslie was interesting. The same age as them, she was adventurous and smart one end, but also meek, considerate and very, very patient in the other -- when it came to her and Hal, she was one of the few girls out there who actually gave him a time of day. Renee Boon, their mom, would often surmise that maybe growing up alongside Hal helped her learn that tolerance. Though Hal never remembered, they were supposedly "playmates". At least until Martha came and whisked her.

Of course, whatever background they had, when Hal was inexcusable, it was funny, as sometimes Leslie would come down the hardest, surprising even his folks and kin. That's just how she was, they guessed.

"Hal, dinner's just about ready," another familiar voice came from behind him, and Hal turned to see his mother, her pretty face stuck to a strand or two of that rich, dark brown hair, tied up in the back into two airy bulbs. Her eyes implied tiredness, but also the still-beating youth of early mother energy, an archetype his friends loved a little too much, he thought with a snort.

Hal scratched an armpit and nodded.

"Okay, cool." Hal slid out a chair.

"Hal," his mother coughed, then gestured to the plates and silverware. He sighed, stood up, then lent a lethargic hand.

"Oh you don't need to put that there." Hal stopped and looked at his mom, his fork halted mid-air.

"Put what?" He looked down.

"The chicken," she said, her stare saying, 'what else', "Leslie's trying to cut on meat." She explained the last part with a knowing tone that her son probably missed.

Hal grunted, looking at the fork in his hand poked into the chicken tender, as she returned to drawing out a handful of glasses from the cupboard, then returned it to the tray. Speaking of which, it looked like Leslie was going to be sleeping over again, probably for some 'study-work'. He swore, if they got away with whatever antics they always got themselves into, he would call over his old gang for a hangover (literally). Just because they broke all the lamps in the house that one time, that didn't mean he couldn't show some hospitality!

"Shit, it's my house too," he affirmed under his breath.

"Hm? You said something, honey?"

"No, nothing, Mom."

"Hal?"

"Yeah, Mom."

"Did something happen to your nose?"

"No, it's always been like this."

On cue, Leslie and Martha had strolled into the kitchen. "Dinner ready yet, Mom? We followed the smell of the Phasianidae!" Martha glanced at Leslie. "Well, I did, anyway."

"Leslie, you sure you don't want any chicken, hun? There's plenty to spare for you if you like."

"No, I'm okay, Renee. But thanks."

"What the fuck is a phaser grenade?"

Hal suddenly felt a smack on the back of his head. "Argh!" He rubbed it delicately. "Why is everyone hitting me today?!"

"No vulgarity around the table," his mother warned as she placed the mitten back against the counter, "or else you'll be drinking mouthwash."

"What do you mean 'everyone', brother?" Martha's eyes gleamed, darting to his nose then back up. "And is that a swollen nostril I see?" They began assuming their seats as Hal just mumbled.

"It's like I can't do anything I want to, sometimes." Sitting against his chair, he folded his arms and closed his eyes with a spurned brow.

"That's not true," Leslie spoke up. "Sometimes you just have to know how to say what you want in a way that doesn't immediately make people hate you. And sometimes you just have to show some restraint. That's how the real world works, Mr. Boon." She smiled at Renee as the plates were placed, with some help via Martha, then returned to Hal. "It's not a conspiracy or anything, really. With enough skill, you can do whatever you want. All you need is the right technique."

"Wow, Leslie," their mother crooned, "your maturity never ceases to amaze sometimes! Why don't you join the family, hm? With you around these two might actually get along!" She nudged Leslie playfully, kissing her head. And with a head like that, who wouldn't? While Martha's cuteness was complimented by a fire her and Hal probably both shared, Leslie was cute enough to cushion between your two arms and rub against, with a nice-girl/smart-girl dynamic that shined in the timeliest of moments, and a warm prettiness and very well-endowed Latino body that she carried effortlessly.

Hal scoffed.

"Leslie, don't put ideas in his head," Martha plainly stated, though inside she knew what her friend said was probably right. But leave it to Hal to take it the wrong way, as he proceeded to.

"You heard what she said, Martha," he turned to his sister, pointing. "That means I could be shirtless anytime I want, anywhere I want, as long as I'm alive, can't I?"

The shift in the air was almost instantaneous, and Hal didn't even bat an eyelash as he reached for a fork and prepared to dine on phaser grenades. Not even when his mother had roughly set down her own plate, grabbed Hal by the arm, and pulled him out of the kitchen.

"Hal Boon!" she scolded as they stood by the staircase, a damning look in here eyes, "What do you think you're doing?"

"What?" Hal looked around, clueless. "I was eating chicken."

"This," his mom suddenly gestured with her arms flailing up and down in front of him, "this, is not acceptable here in this household, Hal! Especially with a guest!" Hal watched as his mother found herself unable to even look at him, her face contorted in disdain. He suddenly heard whispers come from the kitchen.

"What, you mean my fuckin' right to stay cool in my own home?"

Mrs. Boon rose a hand. Hal looked at it. "Don't you use that language in front of me again, young man, or you'll regret it. Now, put a shirt on and you can re-join us in the table, and promise me you'll never take your shirt off again."

"Why can't I?" Hal scoffed in disbelief. "And why are you acting so uptight about this suddenly, did Martha say -- "

"Promise me."

"Well, ok, but it's not like I'm going to leave it on when I'm showering," he bit back sarcastically.

"Yes, you are," his mother smoothly rebutted, "or else, we're going to have to go over some ground rules, hun."

What?! Hal looked at his mom so impatiently that question marks were nearly forming in his eyes. "What!? But how am I supposed to clean myself!?"

"You just wash yourself underneath the shirt, sweetie," Mrs. Boon sighed. "Look, do you want me to do it for you, or are you going to be a big man and do it yourself?"

Hal didn't know what she was talking about at this point, but he guessed she meant getting a shirt. And maybe, ordinarily, he would've went, climbed up, slammed the door, and just stayed in his room without bothering to put something on. Tonight, though, was no ordinary night, and that was no ordinary request. It was the most inane thing he had heard all week, and last Friday he watched 5 minutes of General Hospital.

"How reassuring," his sarcastic drawl returned, "so does this mean I could at least eat my dinner when I get back?"

"Sorry, hun," his mother shook her head, "your dinner is going into the leftover zone. Maybe I'll finish it for you, or Martha, wouldn't want to be wasteful after all..."

"You're shitting me! Are you pulling my leg right now, is that what this is?!" Hal's stare bored imaginary holes into his mother's serious eyes. Even dinner was out?!

"Young man, language!" she slapped him with her oven mitt again. Her weapon of choice, apparently. "You lost your dinner privileges as soon as you decided to give me lip, so you better get going! Go!"

"Mom, I'm effing hungry!"

"Too bad, you just gotta wait until breakfast tomorrow."

Without another word, Hal just glared at his mom, turned, and marched up the stairs.

Down below, he heard the squeak of a chair and a clank or two, as an apologetic hush blanketed the kitchen. He grumbled to himself as he went into his closet to grab the thinnest shirt he had around.

"Can't do nothing around here," he told a plain white tee, and threw it on.