“Ow! Ship! Ship! Ship! Oh, gosh darned, spaceships.” An absolutely average human male with sandy blonde hair hopped on one foot while shaking his right hand, ring finger extended. He blew on the finger then sucked the hot oil that had landed on it off. “Ship thab was ‘till hob and I burnb my tongt.” In another room, the inside security for the day sniggered.
A mostly dark-haired young woman with the poise of a goddess and the delicate beauty to match snorted from her unobtrusive spot on the far side of the kitchen island. A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched ever so expressively, and she pressed her lips together, sucking on them briefly to hold in the laughter trying to escape. She covered the slip in her exquisitely elegant behavior by casually brushing a long lock of dark hair and that one shocking streak of white behind an ear.
“You’re so silly, dad. We are way too old for you to be worrying about bad language around us.” The mostly fair Haka giggled at her father even as her more serious sister hid her amusement. “Besides, what’s the point when it almost sounds the same anyways?”
“The point kiddo, is that your mom, and her dad,” he pointed over to the older sister who was clearly of a different ethnicity smugly trying not to smile though her eyes danced, “…and I agreed to no bad language around you kids.” He petered off smiling jovially yet uncertainly as he laughed at himself.
“So?” The teen daughter shot back still giggling at her dad. In some ways, she was more mature than her sixteen years. In other ways…she was still young. Younger than her father, Bret, had ever felt at her age.
“Soooo…” He’d tried sounding stern, but he always failed. Dad, or Brent as the older half-sister called him, was definitely the fun one of their parental units. “…sooooo…You’re still my little girl and I’m going to talk around you and to you like you’re my little girl for as long as I can.” He wiggled his face at his blonde daughter, a pale-skinned imitation of her mother, the way he had when she was just a baby.
“Brent, seriously?” The darker-haired sister finally spoke up from across the table. “Also, your bacon is burning.” She lifted her pixie-like chin in the direction of the sizzling pan where the popping oil which had previously burned him was now popping even more furiously than before.
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“Yep, seriously. Your Grandpa Mitch and I have conferred and passed down the Edict of Fathers, agreeing that you two are not allowed to grow up. Have to be kids forever.” Both girls cracked up at that.
“Edict of Fathers?” Haka laughed, tossing her blonde hair with its white streak over one shoulder. Across the table, Angel gave a very unladylike snort and tried to cough to cover it up. Failing, she hid behind a hand in embarrassment, fingers splayed over her forehead.
“They would.” Bret was industriously scooping overdone bacon out of a pan and onto the cooling racks placed over a baking pan. He had lifted the frying pan away from the stove and was trying not to pour the scalding grease over the bacon he’d managed to salvage.
“Hey. Don’t knock being a kid. Enjoy every second of it. You don’t get a second chance.” Food salvaged, he tossed the hot frying pan into the sink, turned on the cold water, and jumped back as a cloud of steam and hot fat billowed violently into the air with a roar of sudden temperature change.
The smoke detector began beeping in precise intervals and a couple of bodyguards in plain clothes poked their heads around the corner from the living room. Brent shooed them distractedly with a raised hand.
“Dad!” Lifting his head up at the cry of outrage, Brent focused on his daughter.
“What?” Her shoulders slumped and she glared with disappointment that she was going to have to remind him again.
“Bacon grease does not go down the drain.” Her hands were on her hips in an unconscious mimic of her mother and Brent smiled despite himself even knowing that it would irritate the teen further. “The grease jar is literally right.” One hand came up and gestured towards the former instant coffee jar, two-thirds full with various fats and greases congealed into various states of solidity.
“Eewwww.” Angel glared at the jar. “No, I agree with Brent. Down the drain and toss that jar that wishes it was gross enough to be a science experiment.”
“Oh, shut up! Just because you never deigned to learn to cook – have you looked inside your dad’s fridge? He keeps actual science experiments with his food.” From his spot eyeing the steaming sink Brent sighed. One day. Could they get along for one whole day?
“Why should I deal with the disgusting aspects of food when - ? Angel never took a potential insult lying down when she could instead gut her opponent verbally. Her dark hair with its silvery-white streak started to glow softly as her power stirred within her.
“I nearly drank a Grevalodimex viral culture last time I visited you.” Haka shot back, her own telekinetic powers rising in response to the perceived threat of her sister. “It was labeled as ‘Peach Kombucha’”