There have been plenty inappropriate things in the house where he grew up. In the house where he grew up but still has a problem calling home. An inappropriate behaviour, inappropriate hobbies, inappropriate friends. Sirius has never grasped the substance of it. He has never known what actually is or isn't inappropriate. However, there has been one common feature of the inappropriate things he was banned to do have or feel. And so, after a long time of whipping, screaming and lectures he has understood. The one and only inappropriate thing is happiness, actually. When he got rid of it, life would be easier. And so he did. He was trying so hard not to be happy, that his parents became happy with him. He didn't catch the irony back then. He didn't understand it. He was just a little boy with a narrow vision. Later, with happier parents came wider freedom. He was let out. And he found out that happiness isn't something that is inappropriate among other people. He watched them with the almost suicidal look in his eyes, eager and broken. He was trying to survive in the house of his parents, but the more he looked outside the more he understood the evilness of them. He packed his bag, patted his brother's sleepy hair and left them all. When he came to the other people he was so nervous he couldn't speak all right. He was murmuring incomprehensible sounds. The bartender gave him a Ballantine instead of a beer. He wanted to point to his family and tell everyone what they were doing. What bad deals they made, what bad parents they were, what cruel employers they could be. He had no proofs. He was left alone in the small apartment of his dead uncle. He couldn't do anything to them. And he understood he was no longer irresponsible for his own disability of happiness. The bartender gave him chips instead of a potato sandwich. He gave him a salad instead of a salami pizza. He gave him a joke instead of a napkin. He gave him a talk instead of a bill. He gave him a smile instead of a change. Sirius was trying hard not to be happy. I was trying, mother. I really tried. Nevertheless, the bartender didn't give him a choice. He gave him all sort of things, inappropriate things, but no choice. He was forced to smile back to that kind man. He was forced to talk to him. He was forced to chuckle to his joke. He never had the opportunity to be unhappy in the bar of The Howling Boys. The bartender gave him his name instead of an apology for the beer flood. He gave him his phone number instead of money for drycleaner. He gave him a kiss instead of a goodbye. I tried, mother. I really tried.