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Rosie's fingers run through the living room rug underneath her, she picks at the soft loops in it, tugging them. She brightly stares at the ground with interest, playing with the soft rug. An easily entertained young girl, always exploring the texture of her surroundings. Beside her, her elder sister sits, despite being only a few years older, Ivy sits calmly, legs tucked into a neat criss-cross applesauce sauce. Sheâs just mildly annoyed by her sister; who gets her unrest and inability to stay still from their father.But, she stays resilient, and patiently waits for their mother to start novel time. Since she discovered the giant bookcase filled with literature in her mother and fatherâs room, sheâs been plucking books with the brightest and most interesting covers, demanding her mother to read them to her. She attempted to read them by herself at first, but the print was too small, the English too old. Clover told her it wasnât her fault, the novels werenât even directed at a girl of her age, but Ivy is a resilient young lady, and instead redirected it to creating a new âfamilyâ passtime.Family excluding her father of course, as he had a terribly annoying tendency to interrupt.Clover lounges on the armchair above them, flipping through the pages of the short novel. Itâs one theyâve read before, just the week prior in fact. Ivy simply enjoyed the novel so much, instead of picking off a new one, she asked to read this one again. Clover had tried to convince her otherwise at first, but Ivyâs insistence to revisit the story warmed Cloverâs heart.The living room they read in lays dark, the yellow lamp behind them shining dimly. The blub directs at just the book and not much more, feeding into the gloomy atmosphere of the living room. A soft breeze flows into the room, just above the tips of the girls heads, the curtains sway, lit in a faint moonlight blue. Clover adjusts the cardigan around their shoulders, as the nightâs air is already starting to create a chill. They proceed to remove the bookmark placed in the novel. They admire the rose and ivy pattern on it, running a finger over the hand painted, marker stained paper. The bookmark was nothing beautiful, but as their mother they cherish anything made by their two girls.Clover clears their voice, starting to read the story, their typically quiet voice speaks the story with the strength of a narrator proper. They speak each word with emphasis, doing voices for each of the characters. When they stop to explain the story - for the storyâs English is too complicated to be understood on its own - they speak with a bright clarity. Ivy doesnât really need the explanations, she already remembers them from the first time her mother read them the story; but Cloverâs voice is soft and gentle, like the warmth of a motherly crafted, fresh pie. She canât figure why that comparison comes to her mind, her father has outlawed pie in their household, something both her parents are firm about. Plus, her mother doesnât bake at all. Her father does, and his baking is one of the few times sheâll indulge him in a compliment.Rosie continues to pick at the rug, almost unaware of the fact her mother is even reading a story. Rosie has always been a little on the airheaded side, never one for mathematics or literature. Ivy on the other hand, stays sat up with punctuality, her posture almost perfect. Every few minutes, she raises her hand, a habit drilled into her by school. Even if her father has a horrid habit of blurting out, she will not. Clover calls on her with a smile, and she asks her question. Itâs something she just barely knows the answer to, on the tip of the tongue as they say. She steadily waits her motherâs response, only to be shaken with disappointment when her mother replies with a.âOh, my dear, Iâm not sure!â Ivy shakes her head in disbelief. She steps up from her place on the rug, sassily climbing onto the chair. Clover helps her up, and starts to tease her for being so pushy. Ivy dislikes being teased, but at least her motherâs teasing is more bearable than her fatherâs. She leans over Cloverâs arm, barely able to keep herself propped up. She searches the pages herself, running her finger under the words, until she finally stumbles across a paragraph to her liking. She reads it aloud, stumbling over some of the longer words."Oh look, there it is mummy, that's my answer,""I suppose it is!" Clover says, wrapping their arm around Ivy. They glance down at their younger child, but Rosie keeps herself occupied with the rug, now taking to rolling around on it. Typically, Clover would step in and tell her to get off of the floor; but itâs not often that they can get enough time away from Rosie for one on one time between them and Ivy. Clover starts to continue the story, and Ivy excitedly strikes up conversation about the chapter they're on. She barely allows Clover to even get a word in, Clover does prefer to lead discussions, but the satisfaction of having a daughter so excited about reading forces their mouth shut."That's a great book, that one," Flowey says, standing in the entrance to the living room. He stands in the doorframe, a dim light in the background barely illuminating his figure. He stands like a tall silhouette, his long black hair messier than usual, the dark eye bags under his eyes enunciated by the dim light of the living room. His dark green eyes darting around the room. He yawns as Clover exclaims in shock, hugging the book close to their chest."You came outta nowhere! Don't do that!" Clover scolds, hastily smoothing out Ivy's hair. Ivy is fine, looks at her mother exasperatedly. As much as she loves her mother, even they have a tendency for dramatics, a pattern both of her parents have in common. They both hold bold cartoonish personalities, as if they were characters designed to entertain. Ivy stares at her father blankly, she doesnât find him very funny, not many people do. He doesnât even try to be funny, or unfunny. Just the exaggerated way he behaves brings the effect of attempted humour, where there should be none."Really father? Lurking in the shadows?" He shrugs, smiling cockily. A perfect example of the exaggerated method of behaving he holds. Rosie, on the other hand, notices her father with bright eyes. She steps up from the rug, and runs into his legs, hugging them tightly. Flowey ruffles her hair, patting her head with just a little too much force. She likes Rosie much more than either of her parents, she understands her in a way neither of them do. Even if Rosie holds an admiration towards their clown of a father."Aww, don't be like that Ivy," he says, smiling all the way. He yawns again, glancing at the clock in the living room, âDamn Clover, whyâd you let me nap until nineâ he grumbles. Flowey reaches down, snatching his younger daughter from the ground. Rosie happily claps, closing her eyes with a yawn, âAw, sleepy baby, huh?â He flashes one of his signature toothy smiles up at her, something Rosie adores."You interrupted me and mummy's novel time," Ivy deflects, she sounds a special kind of annoyed, almost irritated with the attention Rosie is receiving. She glares at him, "I rather enjoy novel time, why couldnât you sleep more?" she groans. Flowey nods with fake remorse, sighing dramatically. Rosie laughs, immediately able to pick apart the mocking in her fatherâs tone. Perhaps that is where the divide between her, her sister, and her father begins, her inability to understand jokes. She wishes to explain that it is not her fault that her fatherâs so horribly unfunny, but she doubts heâll understand, heâll simply start telling her he wasnât trying to be funny. But her fatherâs seriousness is so unserious she can barely tell the two apart."Ah, whatever shall I do?" He teases, he glances over taking a closer look at the book, "Hey, you know that's daddy's favourite book, right?" Ivy frowns, looking down at it. He nods, rocking Rosie slightly."No it's not," she exclaims, snatching it from Clover. Ivy inspects the cover, then the pages, then the cover again. She flips to the inside of the cover. Sheâs inclined to not believe him, this must be another one of his jokes, so she frowns at the handwritten message written inside of it, "what do you mean it's YOUR favourite book?" Ivy angrily remarks, "this is MY favourite book," Perhaps he is telling the truth, and that would make this existing situation especially dire.Clover laughs, pulling grumpy Ivy into a tight hug, "your father loves this book! I bought this copy for him when we were in college!" She stares at her mother with the expression of a kicked puppy. This highly complicates the situation, this means her father is not messing around with her, and is most probably being sincere about his adoration of the novel; but her father doesnât have a single sincere bone in his body! So it cannot be true, but at the same time. Mother wouldnât ever play along with fatherâs jokes on her, as mother finds him just as terribly unfunny as she does."Well yes, of course you did, no one else would write such a sweet message directed at father," she squints at the message in the novel again, cringing. Most definitely sincere from both ends, her mother couldnât write something like that as a joke.Flowey rolls his eyes, "Geez vines," he sits on the armrest of the chair, smiling down at her, "you're really just like daddy, huh?" Ivy frowns at the statement, she is not nearly as unfunny as he is! Even if mother claims she is. Flowey snatches the book from Clover staring down at the message in it, âOh, I remember receiving this well,âClover yelps again as the chair slightly tilts to the side he's sat on, the extra weight of two people unbalancing the already rickety unleveled chair, "you need to quit that!" they yelp, but their pleas are unheard. Just as Flowey is about to read the message out loud. Ivy butts in.She frowns widely at her father, "Do not get sappy! You will truly ruin novel time! And I am NOTHING like you, father, I am not rude and smug and terribly unfunny," she argues, with the rudest and smuggest look on her face, and if anyone was watching, theyâd disagree with Ivy, as she might quarrel her father in terms of her jokes enjoyment by others.Flowey rolls his eyes, dropping Rosie on Clover, and wrapping an arm around Ivy, pulling her up. This is a relatively easy feat for him, as most nine year olds weigh most nothing. Rosie on the other hand falls backwards with an oomph, excitedly giggling at the sight of Clover above her. Clover squints at Ivy and Flowey, and gives them a little shove. Flowey loses his balance, falling off of the chair's armrest, the journey to the ground isn't too long, but they still drop to the floor with a loud yelp."Ack!" They both go in unison, crashing onto the floor. Flowey groans in agony, his everything hitting the ground first. Ivy looks around, noticing her chance to escape while her father is incapacitated. She attempts to scammer off of Flowey like a cat, but Flowey only laughs, grabbing her back into another hug. She limply obliges, allowing him to run his hands through her hair for just a minute. Allowing him slight affection does tend to ward him off, and despite their differences, she is only human. The desire for fatherly affection is too strong for even her to resist, even if her father shares the personality archetype of a cartoon villain and the final boss of a video game.Clover looks down, giggling at the two of them, "are my dears finally getting along?" Flowey stares up at them dreamily, nodding with a dumb grin. Ivy quickly notices her chance for once his blind adoration of her mother benefiting her. She kicks her way out of Flowey's grasp, crawling over to the other side of the room. He yelps as her foot collides with his ribcage, groaning loudly. He clutches his arms against it, making a dramatic expression."Never!" she exclaims, pouting from her salvation by the fireplace, about ten feet away. The lights are even dimmer there, and if her parents didnât watch her shuffle there, they probably wouldnât have been able to notice her. Flowey rolls his eyes once more, pointing his thumb over to her."What a shame Chara isn't alive for this child to bully me with," he reaches his hand up, which Clover tenderly grips. His lips curl into a slight frown, "how she inherited so much personality from someone she doesn't share blood with, beats me man," Flowey stares at Ivy, and a strong sensation of nostalgia fills his chest, sometimes he wonders if reincarnation is real. He shakes the feeling off, looking up at Clover. Ivy on the other hand, stares at him puzzled, she has no idea who Chara is, and her fatherâs insistence on keeping them a mystery while consistently bringing up how sheâs so much like them is nothing but infuriating.Just as sheâs about to ask about who Chara is, Clover holds the novel up, dangling it in front of Ivy and Flowey's faces. Ivy can tell that her mother is trying to direct away from the question that she was about to ask, and she frowns. Typically sheâd ask anyways, but the slight frown on her fatherâs face pulls her away from the urge this time. Even if she dislikes him, the energy that surrounds him when he brings up Chara is always solemn, perhaps if she just asks Clover when he isnât aroundâŚDespite her internal conflict towards the âfamily mystery,â the pink cover of the book looks especially appealing in the yellow lighting, illuminated a pretty orange colour. Sheâs already decided not to pursue the question any further, so she keeps her eyes on the novel, ready to listen to what Clover says next."Now my dears, I do have a novel I can finish reading," they glance from Ivy to Flowey, "under the circumstances, you sit next to each other,""But mummy!" Ivy groans, to which Clover dramatically shushes, smiling brightly with a sense of mischief thatâs definitely rubbed off from Flowey. Ivy scoffs at the action, itâs so terrible that her father has corrupted her mother with his terrible dramatics."Mummy's not finished!" they exclaim, shaking the book to remind them of whatâs at stake, "You also can't say anything mean to each other! And that includes you, my dear Flowey," Ivy squints at the book, then at Flowey, then at the book again. She begrudgingly scoots back over to the rug where she was seated earlier. She looks up at her mother, and makes a solemn expression."What an individual like I would do for fine literature," she says solemnly. Flowey looks a little upset, at the specification that the rule also applies to him; but he grins anyway, and grabs Rosie from Clover. He sits down right next to Ivy, he messes with Rosieâs hair. Just the typical picking at the environment Rosie originally gained from him. Sheâs since started to fall asleep, and by the time heâs fully seated her little eyes are completely shut.Ivy side eyes Flowey; but at Clover's request keeps her mouth shut. She is not going to be the one starting the problem here! Clover starts to read once more, and Flowey stops them right after they finish a rather exciting fight scene. Ivy is a bit upset, part of the reason her fatherâs never been invited previously is because he interrupts. Plus, she was going to interrupt mother right here, as she had a special request!"Can you reread that bit? It's my favourite," he says, rocking Rosie gently. Ivy looks at him with an expression of pure distress, her request! She almost considers asking him if heâs a mind reader, how did he know she was going to ask mother to reread that section?"But that's MY favourite bit! Stop that!" She slams her fists against the ground, frowning widely. Despite being a rather calm child, sheâs starting to fall into tantrum territory, barely able to comprehend her fatherâs enjoyment of something so wonderful. Her father hates everything she likes, so why not this? Is he doing this just to spite her?"Stop what?" He asks, seeming unaware of her distress. Ivy canât even tell if he does it on purpose, or if heâs simply too dumb to notice that sheâs irritated. How dare he have such childish wishes, like restarting your favourite part of a story. Adults donât enjoy stories like that anyways! Adults like to read stories prim and proper! All adults but her father!"Stop everything!" She groans, turning away angrily. Ivy sits, unable to even say what she dislikes. There are specific things that she dislikes, yes; but none come to mind as she stares at the breeze dancing curtain. Sheâs feeling like an uncontrollable curtain, only controlled by the breeze of the terrible circumstance. Flowey looks at her with confusion, seeming less unbothered, and more caring. She doesnât notice though, no, sheâs too busy being an angsty child."Geez vines, we don't have to reread the segment, Clover you can move right on,""Noo!" She protests, kicking her legs, her father just needs to shut up sometimes! He keeps trying to make decisions and none of them even make any sense, "I wanna read it!" Flowey shrugs."Then let's read it," he says with little remorse. He acts like the solution is as simple as reading it because both of them want to, when itâs not that simple, itâs as complicated as reading his behaviours.Ivy grumbles as Clover rereads the segment, unable to really enjoy it. She always has difficulty paying attention when sheâs not looking at people. Flowey grabs her arm, he gives her a little tug and spin, making her face Clover. She sits for a minute, starting to finally enjoy the scene.Maybe their differences are that simple.A little smile develops on her face, and she indulges Flowey in leaning against him. Maybe her father does the have capability to understand. The few minutes of peace are immediately countered, as her father foolishly attempts to lay his arm on her shoulder. She chomps at his arm, and he grips it with a frown directed at her. He flicks her nose, instead laying his arm on her head.She stares at Clover angrily, almost about to scream a loud âMOM!â very clearly not happy about being used as an armrest, but her mother only laughs and carries on with the story. Typically, she would protest more; but sheâs already tired, and the weight of his arm isnât too unpleasant, when she really thinks about it.