i know that i've got issues, but you're pretty messed up too.
either way, i found out i'm nothing without you.
By the end of this episode, Poppy will have seen enough of pregnant men to last her for the rest of her infinite lifetime. She herself had been brought into this world by a man, and the first time she had met the man who she was destined to marry, he’d been pregnant too. Since then he’s been pregnant again (totally not her fault), the birth of which she’d been called upon to assist with, and now he’s pregnant AGAIN although she doesn’t know that yet. I can’t wait to see her face when she finds out, especially when she discovers it was her MUM who knocked him up, can you? :D
So yeah, basically... Poppy’s probably seen more pregnant men than women in her lifetime. The problem is that while men are apparently very good at getting pregnant, they’re not so good at getting un-pregnant, which is probably why so many of them seem to be friends with her. Ulterior motives much? Poppy sticks her hands in her pockets and shuffles her feet and sighs as she waits for Patrick to shut up. Normally she’d interrupt, but there’s a possibility that while he’s sucking up to her he might throw in a few compliments which she can snapshot and put in her little verbal memory album. No such luck. ‘I know you can’ seems to be the best he’s got, which is a far cry from ‘O Poppy, thou art the most intelligent, beautiful, gifted, talented, radiant, kind, considerate, gentle, heart-warming, nice, wonderful, delightful, gorgeous, wise, knowledgeable, generous, sympathetic, compassionate, caring, supreme being of all’, but she supposes it’ll do. (No, that was not just a cheap trick to push the word count up; there is a unanimous agreement amongst slugs and pigeons that all of the above adjectives can be attributed to Poppy.)
When he does eventually shut up she rolls her eyes at him and sighs in a long-suffering way. Suuuuuch a hard life. If Paddy were Draco (again), then Poppy would probably cast around for the kindest and most pain-free method of baby reduction, but since he isn’t she just goes with the easiest (for her). It takes a couple of attempts, of course, and before long the room is filled with several pink rabbits (never know when you might need ’em), a lifetime’s supply of Alpen bars (summer fruits flavour) and a stash of chick flicks (useful, considering Shaman has no TVs or DVD players). Flexing her fingers and going in for fourth time lucky, Poppy concentrates hard and is rewarded with a loud BANG and the deep feeling of satisfaction she only gets from magic going right. A quick glance at Patrick tells her that she’s been successful in removing his – er – manly bits and replacing them with a more, err... feminine, mode of exit for the baby. She knows this because she accidentally BANGed away all his clothes too. Sorry mate, you can’t have everything in life.
“Ewww,” She complains, “call me when you need your – err... yeah, back.”
She backs up towards the door, but accidentally bangs into something big and growly and spins round to see Penguin standing in the door looking not-very-impressed. The dog stares hard at her, then at Patrick, then back at her again. Poppy shakes her head and waves her hands in a firm indication of ‘no way, hosay’, but one look at the dog’s face causes her to pause and think. Penguin is looking at her with a smirky, smug kind of expression which she knows only too well, because she’s seen it in the mirror enough times. It occurs to her in the same instant that Penguin not only has access to her memories, but also to her magic; it’s more than within his capability to project a few of her less desirable recollections to certain people. Poppy could really do without Draco knowing the things she got up to whilst a bit drunk in Amsterdam. She could also do without you knowing, dear Reader... or speculating, for that matter. In fact, forget you ever read this paragraph.
Making a little noise like a cat which has just been stepped on, Poppy spins around, orders Patrick onto the bed and Penguin to begin herding the rabbits out. I won’t describe the next few hours, if you don’t mind – I had the pleasure of doing that last time, when Draco gave birth, and I have no intention of repeating myself. Suffice to say that it’s doubly icky because this time there are TWO of the little monsters. Poppy makes absolutely no effort to be kind or gentle; she goes about the midwife duties (why her? Why is it ALWAYS HER?!) with a sort of resigned detachment. When it’s all over she (after a few attempts) magics back Patrick’s... thingies... and shoves the two little bundles into his arms with a gabbled ‘congrats.’ Then she legs it out the door and down the corridor in case he asks her to god-mother them or something.
That would suck. Majorly.
POPPY
and honestly,
my life would suck without you.
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