Poppy Bloxam
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 1,071
- OOC First Name
- Bethany/Beth/BB
- Sexual Orientation
- Heterosexual
- Wand
- Oak Wood, 14' 3/4" Essence of Raven Feather
- Age
- 5/2017
The sun disappeared behind the houses as the glittering black cloth of night cloaked the sky. Midnight descended upon the houses with great stealth, surprising the parents of a sleeping child who was about to get the shock of her life. But as far as Poppy Bloxam was concerned, this her eleventh birthday would be no different from her others. How wrong she was.
As if she hadn't had enough difficulty sleeping that night, the usual excitement building in preparation for the next stage of life that was to begin the moment she turned eleven, Poppy was tossing and turning in her bed, her head filled with strange sights and visions. It was all a dizzying tunnel of colour, through which people chased her. She was running for her life, terrified of what might come next. But as she reached the end of the tunnel, drenched in her own sweat and tears, her eyes flicked open. Early morning light swam in through the cracks in the curtains, bringing Poppy to a more awake state. She pushed off her bed covers, heaving a sigh. Her eyes had found the clock, and the clock said that it was three minutes to four in the morning. The minute of her birth had already passed her by. Poppy had so hoped to witness that minute tick over from three fifty-six, to three fifty-seven. Had she not been quite so sleepy, perhaps she would have noticed that her bedroom window was wide open. Perhaps she would have noticed the large barn owl sitting on her dresser with a letter in its beak.</COLOR></FONT>
The sound of the alarm clock on Poppy's side table was the first noise to be heard within the house. Although, this was shortly followed by the sound of an owl dropping a letter in alarm to let out a short, sharp, shriek. Poppy sat up straight in her bed, gasping as her eyes found the source of the noise. She hurriedly whacked the alarm clock with her fist, causing it to stop making such a racket. Her eyes attempted to adjust to what they were seeing as she leapt out of bed, standing still, unsure of her next move. What generally was one's next move upon discovering an owl on one's dresser? The owl, after the initial scream, had fallen silent, and shuffled towards the letter laying in front of it. Poppy blinked. The owl didn't seem particularly aggressive, but she needed to get it out of her room before her parents found it. "I'm really sorry, but you're going to have to leave. If my mother sees you, she might 'freak out'" Poppy spoke in such a friendly and apologetic manner. That could have been the reason why the owl picked the letter up in its beak and held it out to Poppy.
The scenario was unlike anything Poppy could ever have imagined: She was standing in her bedroom, in her pyjamas, her hair in a mess and her eyes still blurry from sleep, talking to a large, letter-wielding barn owl. She was growing certain that all sanity was lost, when her younger brother opened the bedroom door, holding a present. He was followed in by Mr. Bloxam, and the two of them entered the room, singing an out-of-tune 'Happy Birthday' to Poppy. However, a sudden silence fell as everyone became horribly aware of the owl sitting on the dresser, holding out a letter. Mr. Bloxam looked from the owl, to his pale daughter. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was Michael Bloxam, the small, wide-eyed boy, who spoke first. "Why is there an owl on your dresser?" It was the first question that had struck everyone's mind, and Mr. Bloxam looked to Poppy for an answer. Poppy shook her head. "I.. I don't know." This was nothing like the way she had pictured her eleventh birthday. Instinctively, she reached out her hand to receive the letter from the owl, the letter that could provide an explanation. Her father was too gobsmacked to utter a single word of warning in case the owl was violent. But as Poppy slipped open the envelope, an owl bite was the last of her concerns:
With a grin upon his face.
The living room was alive with music and celebration, different coloured balloons lining the walls and floor, wrapping paper strewn across the settee. Poppy was eleven years old, and loving every moment of it. Midday had passed so fast after the situation had grown more real. The owl had since left, though the opened letter remained in the house, but now in a new home within a small wooden box that Poppy's godfather had presented to her for keeping something special in. In one corner of the room, Michael admired (and tested) the toy car Poppy had been given. Mrs. Bloxam was in the kitchen, stabbing sticks through pickled onions and pineapples, in preparation for the afternoon's party. Mr. Bloxam was carrying chairs and tables into the garden, unable to stop smiling. Poppy, herself, was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth for the third time in an attempt to think about the reality of the situation. Locked away in the bathroom, a toothbrush sweeping her pearly-whites, she couldn't help but wonder what the magical world would be like, how she would feel to be away from home for so long, and whether or not she would be able to fit in. Were all the children going to the school from backgrounds like hers? A loud thump on the door and a shout from her mother, brought Poppy back to life. "Hurry up, Poppy. You need to be out here to welcome everyone."
The party was in full swing by half one, and Poppy stood in the garden with her friends. She could only assume that they weren't witches or wizards, by the fact that they had said nothing of the matter. And she wasn't exactly going to ask them about it. Peter Castle, Poppy's godfather, chatted happily to the other guests, occasionally beaming over at Poppy as though he wished to speak to her without all her friends present. As much as Poppy enjoyed the company of the other children, they weren't half as interesting as Janey was; the girls just talked about what they'd done for their birthdays and how much better that had been compared to Poppy's. Whereas, the boys punched each other in the arms and laughed. She had to get out of there. "I'm just going to ask about the cake," Poppy said innocently, "back in a moment." She charged inside the house, into the kitchen, and to her mother who, thankfully was alone, preparing the cake. "Oh, Poppy!" she hissed, "You shouldn't be in here- you're not supposed to see it, yet!" Poppy peered around her mother at the cake. It was elegant, yet playful, circular and blue with plenty of colourful splotches, and two '1' candles to make the number '11'. "Sorry," she she apologised for the second time that morning. "I was just wondering if Janey is coming." Poppy looked hopefully to her mother. She smiled back in reply. "She'll be here, soon. Why don't you wait out the front for her?"
Poppy had practically skipped outside, and now she stood by the pavement, waiting for Janey to arrive. If there was one person she wanted to see on her eleventh birthday, it was Janey Marquez.
As if she hadn't had enough difficulty sleeping that night, the usual excitement building in preparation for the next stage of life that was to begin the moment she turned eleven, Poppy was tossing and turning in her bed, her head filled with strange sights and visions. It was all a dizzying tunnel of colour, through which people chased her. She was running for her life, terrified of what might come next. But as she reached the end of the tunnel, drenched in her own sweat and tears, her eyes flicked open. Early morning light swam in through the cracks in the curtains, bringing Poppy to a more awake state. She pushed off her bed covers, heaving a sigh. Her eyes had found the clock, and the clock said that it was three minutes to four in the morning. The minute of her birth had already passed her by. Poppy had so hoped to witness that minute tick over from three fifty-six, to three fifty-seven. Had she not been quite so sleepy, perhaps she would have noticed that her bedroom window was wide open. Perhaps she would have noticed the large barn owl sitting on her dresser with a letter in its beak.</COLOR></FONT>
The sound of the alarm clock on Poppy's side table was the first noise to be heard within the house. Although, this was shortly followed by the sound of an owl dropping a letter in alarm to let out a short, sharp, shriek. Poppy sat up straight in her bed, gasping as her eyes found the source of the noise. She hurriedly whacked the alarm clock with her fist, causing it to stop making such a racket. Her eyes attempted to adjust to what they were seeing as she leapt out of bed, standing still, unsure of her next move. What generally was one's next move upon discovering an owl on one's dresser? The owl, after the initial scream, had fallen silent, and shuffled towards the letter laying in front of it. Poppy blinked. The owl didn't seem particularly aggressive, but she needed to get it out of her room before her parents found it. "I'm really sorry, but you're going to have to leave. If my mother sees you, she might 'freak out'" Poppy spoke in such a friendly and apologetic manner. That could have been the reason why the owl picked the letter up in its beak and held it out to Poppy.
The scenario was unlike anything Poppy could ever have imagined: She was standing in her bedroom, in her pyjamas, her hair in a mess and her eyes still blurry from sleep, talking to a large, letter-wielding barn owl. She was growing certain that all sanity was lost, when her younger brother opened the bedroom door, holding a present. He was followed in by Mr. Bloxam, and the two of them entered the room, singing an out-of-tune 'Happy Birthday' to Poppy. However, a sudden silence fell as everyone became horribly aware of the owl sitting on the dresser, holding out a letter. Mr. Bloxam looked from the owl, to his pale daughter. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was Michael Bloxam, the small, wide-eyed boy, who spoke first. "Why is there an owl on your dresser?" It was the first question that had struck everyone's mind, and Mr. Bloxam looked to Poppy for an answer. Poppy shook her head. "I.. I don't know." This was nothing like the way she had pictured her eleventh birthday. Instinctively, she reached out her hand to receive the letter from the owl, the letter that could provide an explanation. Her father was too gobsmacked to utter a single word of warning in case the owl was violent. But as Poppy slipped open the envelope, an owl bite was the last of her concerns:
<FONT font="Monaco"><COLOR color="chocolate">That first line had been more than enough for Poppy, and she paused in her reading to stare at her father in a questioning way. This was one of his jokes. It had to be. There was no such thing as magic.. Was there? Poppy scanned through the letter, finishing it and handing it to her father for him to read. His voice had finally returned, though it was stern, hiding fear. "Michael," he said solidly, "take these presents into the living room. I want to have a word with your sister." Poppy's heart sank; she was about to get punished for something she had not done, something she did not even understand. But Mr. Bloxam was a reasonable man, and he read over the letter three more times before lowering the paper and looking at his confused and uncertain daughter.
With a grin upon his face.
The living room was alive with music and celebration, different coloured balloons lining the walls and floor, wrapping paper strewn across the settee. Poppy was eleven years old, and loving every moment of it. Midday had passed so fast after the situation had grown more real. The owl had since left, though the opened letter remained in the house, but now in a new home within a small wooden box that Poppy's godfather had presented to her for keeping something special in. In one corner of the room, Michael admired (and tested) the toy car Poppy had been given. Mrs. Bloxam was in the kitchen, stabbing sticks through pickled onions and pineapples, in preparation for the afternoon's party. Mr. Bloxam was carrying chairs and tables into the garden, unable to stop smiling. Poppy, herself, was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth for the third time in an attempt to think about the reality of the situation. Locked away in the bathroom, a toothbrush sweeping her pearly-whites, she couldn't help but wonder what the magical world would be like, how she would feel to be away from home for so long, and whether or not she would be able to fit in. Were all the children going to the school from backgrounds like hers? A loud thump on the door and a shout from her mother, brought Poppy back to life. "Hurry up, Poppy. You need to be out here to welcome everyone."
The party was in full swing by half one, and Poppy stood in the garden with her friends. She could only assume that they weren't witches or wizards, by the fact that they had said nothing of the matter. And she wasn't exactly going to ask them about it. Peter Castle, Poppy's godfather, chatted happily to the other guests, occasionally beaming over at Poppy as though he wished to speak to her without all her friends present. As much as Poppy enjoyed the company of the other children, they weren't half as interesting as Janey was; the girls just talked about what they'd done for their birthdays and how much better that had been compared to Poppy's. Whereas, the boys punched each other in the arms and laughed. She had to get out of there. "I'm just going to ask about the cake," Poppy said innocently, "back in a moment." She charged inside the house, into the kitchen, and to her mother who, thankfully was alone, preparing the cake. "Oh, Poppy!" she hissed, "You shouldn't be in here- you're not supposed to see it, yet!" Poppy peered around her mother at the cake. It was elegant, yet playful, circular and blue with plenty of colourful splotches, and two '1' candles to make the number '11'. "Sorry," she she apologised for the second time that morning. "I was just wondering if Janey is coming." Poppy looked hopefully to her mother. She smiled back in reply. "She'll be here, soon. Why don't you wait out the front for her?"
Poppy had practically skipped outside, and now she stood by the pavement, waiting for Janey to arrive. If there was one person she wanted to see on her eleventh birthday, it was Janey Marquez.