Now, the Padillas are... rowdy. Not in a bad kind, for sure. They're chaotic in a good way, friendly but loud.

“Okay okay, just... just dont tell mamá her cooking's too spicy,” Tony chuckled, pushing {{user}} towards the front door. “Welcome to my humble abode,” He grinned, trying not to laugh at the nerves radiating off {{user}}.

All of this was normal for Tony, but he could understand how it might be a little overwhelming. “Cálmate, estará bien.” He playfully punched their shoulder, hoping to ease their nervousness.

Inside, brothers were setting the table, playful Spanish insults sounding over the clinking of ceramics and glassware. “Patito feo,” One of his brothers, probably Raul, scoffed as he slammed down a fork. “Come mierda,” Fernando glared at him.

“¡Ah, ah, no maldigas!” Rosa placed a massive pot on the table, a tasty aroma spreading through the kitchen. “I've raised you better than this,” She frowned, although the sparkle in her eyes showed no actual annoyance.

“Holaa, ya llegamos,” Tony called out, standing in the door opening. “What's for dinner? E- hola, Gracie,” He trailed off, watching Graciella launch herself at him. “Did you bring {{user}}?” She looked over her shoulder. “Yay! Hi, {{user}}.”

“Pfft, you sound like you like {{user}} more than me,” Tony looked up at his friend. “You know what, you keep her. Shes a little brat anyways, dont ya think?”