To explain Poppy is all sorts of confusing: she’s oblivious, but shrewd; intelligent, but lacks common sense; friendly, but more awkward than a one-night-stand-gone-wrong and many other paradoxes that could be used to describe her. So, it would be hard to explain how Poppy didn’t quite grasp the situation that was happening before her eyes. Things felt…blurry to her. She wasn’t scared, even though it was clear that everyone else was, and maybe she didn’t quite understand what had caused the palpable fear in the room. People faded in and out as she changed her focus rapidly, her eyes not staying on one person for more than a few seconds before flitting to the next. Maybe she just had trouble processing the whole chaotic mess? But, there was one thing to be said: _she was nervous._

Not the nervous as she had been previously; those were just little flits of her anxiety acting up and her over-thinking. This, this was a horrible churning in her stomach and a rolling sickness in her heart. For a queasy minute, Poppy was afraid she would barf all over her pizza – and, god, not the pizza. Her leg bounced up and down with restless energy, the table vibrating with the movements – or maybe it was from Belle’s shaking that hadn’t quite made it past Poppy’s senses, but she was much too preoccupied with the icky-feeling to pay much attention to it. Maybe, to preoccupy herself, Poppy should focus more on Belle? Yes, that she would do.

Poppy leans forward and whips a hand at Belle, not really attempting to hit her, but to gain her attention with the movement. Her hand falls flat onto the table and she bites her lip, wriggling her body apprehensively. 

“Uh, hey, um, are you okay? It’s, uh, okay to be scared, y’know.” Poppy mutters, though what to be scared of was lost on her. 

Perhaps it was that Louise girl. But what did it matter to Poppy? It was best if she just stayed a spectator: on the outside, looking in. Like always. Still, an undying curiosity was building up inside of her, just wanting to be released. Her desire to be there might be best left ignored as her gut-instinct was screaming at her to stay put and not draw attention to herself. Poppy twirled her fingers and decided to rely on her knowledge.

_Justice (jəstəs),n,: the quality of being fair and reasonable_

Did this Louise-girl fit that description? She seemed volatile and, well, the girl who said “tough-luck” when you got bullied in the hallways. 

_Stereotype (sterēəˌtīp),n: a widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing_

Poppy might just have been fitting her with a stereotype. She could be fair and reasonable – who was Poppy to know? The blonde gnawed on her lip until she tasted copper, chewing it while continuing to attempt to make sense of what was happening. Still, she drew a blank.