Never [Ian]

[Poppy Hunt]

Poppy lay back on her bed.
She was feeling in quite a strange mood today, as was evident with her choice of clothing. Well, the clothing was pretty much the same as usual, it was more the fact that she'd elected to wear her socks over her jeans and also on her hands. They were good socks though. Really long with multi-coloured stripes. Yes, she really liked them. And the ones on her hands...well, she'd got to thinking about how she didn't have any gloves, but hey, who needed gloves when she had socks as cool as those anyway?
Her friends were being quite inconsiderate also, which is why she was stuck doing nothing as she lay back on her bed. It shows a very poor state of mental health when your imaginary friends desert you, she decided, and the thought made her quite depressed.
Throwing her arms up in the air, she waved them around wildly for a moment, then let her feet fall with a clump back onto the covers at her sides.
That hadn't really helped with her boredom, which was a shame as she thought that it might.

She glanced down at her hand, and then tensed all the muscles in her fingers so she could see each bony joint through the thin cotton of the sock, and then made them crawl in a very spider-like way towards where her wand lay a few inches away on the mattress.
"No," She whispered conspiratorially, bringing the other hand round to smack the crawling one, "They'll know. They always know."
The crawling hand went into spasms and then promptly died dramatically next to her, and she laughed softly under her breath. After a moment of watching the dead hand with an expression mixed with sadness and amusement, she lifted it up into the air in front of her and rotated her wrist round a few times until she spasmed the hand back into life.
"Huzzah," She cheered softly under her breath, and then rolled her eyes reluctantly when it insisted on trying to pick up her wand again, "Alright, go on then. But don't come crying to me when they find out."

She grinned a little once her wand was in her grasp and nodded approvingly at the rebel zombie hand, and murmured a compliment incoherently under her breath.
Turning her eyes back to the ceiling, she flicked her wand a little and dragged a thick line of black across the plaster work. She wasn't sure what it was, but it looked a little bit like ink, she wasn't entirely sure. Her Uncle Scott had taught her how to vandalise things when she was six though, so she was pretty well practised at this by now. Just like her parents were pretty well practised at giving her the 'Must you do that?' look and then clearing it away with a flick of their own wand.
She didn't think that they understood that yes, she must do that, because a) if she didn't do something she would die of boredom, and b) the hand made her do it anyway.
Drawing another thick black line to cross over that, she decided she had no plans for this particular doodle and started to wave her wand frantically around in tight little strokes and watched the ceiling fill up with scribbles.
She chuckled softly under her breath, glancing down at her hand, her partner in crime, "They'll never know."

[Ian Hunt]

"Of course not," I agree from the doorway, raising an eyebrow, "Very inconspicuous. We'll never know."

I'm starting to consider the possibility that I should just try very hard not to walk past Poppy's room anymore, because when I do I usually tend to get sidetracked from whatever I'm trying to accomplish in the first place.
Just now, I was looking for Alex before I caught sight of her waving her arms above her head when I made to walk past and thought that she might be hysterical again and claiming that the ceiling was closing in on her. That hasn't happened in a few months, so we're about due for a fit of claustrophobic paranoia.

I don't mind too much though, because looking for Alex is a pointless task. He's probably with Maddie and Abby, but I don't know where they are either.
Even if I did find Alex it'd go the same way as it always does, the scornful look and the dead silence that answers any question or remark that I say to him. The exact same response I've gotten everyday for over a year. Which just goes to show I've really fucked things up this time.
Maybe a distraction is for the best.

I turn my gaze upwards to look at the rapidly blackening ceiling and change my mind. I think I'd rather take the bitter ten year old than the dangerously unbalanced thirteen year old.
"You seen your brother?"

[Poppy Hunt]

Poppy supposed she shouldn't be surprised. She sat bolt upright for a second, looked directly at him and nodded sensibly, "Abby did it."
Then she threw herself back down again and resumed scribbling on the ceiling with her wand, squinting up her eyes slightly with concentration and poking her tongue contemplatively out of the side of her mouth.

"Yeah, he muttered something about tattoo's, bikers and sawn-off shotguns, took a balaclava and a big sack and climbed out the window about a half hour ago," She didn't look up as she spoke this time, until she'd given her wrist a final flick to finish off the giant scribbling mess on the ceiling with a flourish.
Then she propped herself up on her elbows, tilting her head slightly, "Why?"

[Ian Hunt]

"Of course," I roll my eyes, then decide that I'm not going to stand in the hall and conduct another stupid conversation that way, so I use my shoulder to push myself off the doorframe where I'm leaning on it and head into the danger zone, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Ha ha," I reply, managing to my credit to stifle a grin at this.
"Just cos," I shrug slightly, leaning back against the wall that her bed's pushed against, "You seen him or not?"

[Poppy Hunt]

"No, I ain't seen him," She stretched out long ways on the bed, kicking him lightly and then putting her feet on his lap.
"Hiya parent!" She waved briefly, then let her head fall back onto the pillow, "I just realised I forgot to say it when you came in."

[Ian Hunt]

"Hey offspring," I reply, leaning my head back against the wall, "What are you doing in here anyway? You've been up here for hours."

[Poppy Hunt]

"Oh, we've been keeping entertained," She nodded, stretching her arms out above her and idly clicking her wrists, and then each of her fingers, "What are you doing in here anyway? You're infringing my personal room space and making it tainted with Dad-ness. That's really rude, I'll have you know."

[Ian Hunt]

"Don't do that, you'll give yourself arthritis when you're old," I tell her, nodding to her cracking her fingers, "What? I'm not allowed to come in here now? When did that rule come into action?"

[Poppy Hunt]

"Uh..." She cast round briefly for a comeback, before settling satisfiedly on, "Well...you're old."
"Came into action when you come in here, being all rude and telling me about my future diseases and such. Get out," She grinned to show she wasn't being sincere, "I mean, what do you think you're playing at?"

[Ian Hunt]

"I am not old," I reply, glancing at her sideways.
"What do I think I'm playing at?" I repeat, quickly stifling a grin and remaining as impassive as I can, "Shut up. You're weird."

[Poppy Hunt]

"You are so," She stuck her tongue out at him, "How old are you now anyway? Like fourty?"
"You can't silence the truth, silly dadface. You're weirder, so go...uh...die in a hole. A deep hole, with lots of worms and beetles in it so they can keep you company," She beamed.

[Ian Hunt]

"Fourty?" I repeat, raising an eyebrow, "You better be kidding, Poppy."
Then I can't help but crack a grin as I get to my feet, "Right. On that note, I think I'm going to leave now."

[Poppy Hunt]

"No, not kidding," She shook her head, "You are fourty, monsieur Dad."
Then she leapt to her feet after him, grabbing firmly onto his arm, "Then what am I supposed to do? I'm dying of boredom," She whined, laughing slightly.