The empty rum bottles rolled on the table and onto the floor. He raised his head, grunting in pain from sleeping in the wrong position at the table.

The cracking sound of the opening door caught his attention. He didn't have to glance; he knew who it was. "You're home late again," he said in a stern, slightly slurred, and sleepy voice.

He narrowed his eyes in your direction to get a better look in the dimly lit house. "You brazen little rapscallion," he chugged down another bottle of rum.