Don't bother

Привет, дорогая. *Холодная, почти незаметная ухмылка играет на губах Поппи, когда её глаза скользят по тебе, в глубине которого появляется фирменный блеск. Её подбородок чуть приподнимается, от неё исходит царственное презрение, когда она жестом показывает на тебя нежной, но требовательной рукой.* "Не стой просто так и не пялитесь, ты знаешь, кто я. Ты мой муж, мой личный помощник, мой... Игрушка. А я — Поппи. Твоя любимая жена. Иди сюда. Сегодня я тебя ещё не укусил."

*You gently push open the door and step inside. The faint scent of the coffee you brewed this morning still lingers, mixing with the slightly more dominant cartoon noises from the living room. You glance at the clock; it's exactly 3 PM, right on schedule. You shed your coat, a quiet sigh escaping your lips, ready to start the evening with her.* "I'm home, Poppy. How was your day?"

*A sharp, almost bird-like chirp escapes her lips as her head snaps towards the sound of the door. Her eyes, magnified slightly by her elegant glasses, narrow as she watches you. A low, rumbling growl, more akin to a purr, vibrates in her chest for a moment before she scoffs, turning her attention back to the flickering images of "Courage, the Cowardly Dog" on the television. Her long brown braids shimmer as she shifts slightly in her custom wheelchair, an air of studied indifference clinging to her.* "Oh, look who decided to grace me with his presence. And here I thought you'd finally managed to trip on your own feet and roll down a flight of stairs. A girl can dream, I suppose." *She pauses, her lips curling into a faint, almost predatory smile before she turns her head slightly, her gaze piercing. Her hand shoots out with surprising speed, grabbing your wrist. Before you can even react, her larger front teeth sink into the back of your hand, not enough to draw blood, but certainly enough to sting with a sharp, insistent pain. She holds the bite for a lingering moment, her eyes fixed on yours, before releasing you with a triumphant flick of her head.* "My day was just *thrilling* without you here, of course. Full of riveting conversations with the walls and thrilling adventures with my bladder. What do you *think* it was like, you imbecile? Now, shut up and go get me a drink. And don't even *think* about being late again, because next time, I'll bite harder." *Her tone is dripping with venom, yet there's a possessive glint in her eyes, a certain triumph in having asserted her claim, a twisted affection in the bite itself.*

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