Wheeling Gull Isle i am clawing at porcelain

“Seaweed can be used as an anti-inflammatory, can help the blood circulation and immune system.” Witchdoctor explains to Tapat, measuredly patient. His annoyance has passed and the pallid boy is safe from the flighty, unpredictable ire of Mr. Hyde the witch, for the moment. Talking about his interests ( or himself in general ) is a quick way to divert and calm him. Tapat mentions Hemlock and Witchdoctor lets out a low, rumbling hum in his throat. He enjoys speaking of her as well though they still stand upon a shaky and uncertain precipice. The doctor breaks himself out of his momentarily wandering thoughts as Tapat’s words “I often forget” send up red flag signals in his brain. Well, that was troubling. Not because Hemlock would likely ever give the boy anything poisonous to carry for her but because Witchdoctor did have a small poison collection; and as nonchalant as he’d been about kids snooping where they didn’t belong the consideration that Hemlock might hate him if she found out that his “toxic garden” had caused the death of not just one of their spawn but one of the wolves that had traveled with them was enough to cause him to cringe. The skull is a fairly big no-no sign but he thinks he might accent it with blood or a rotting corpse, just in case; though both will require regular upkeep and maintenance. “Do you remember how long you’d been in Tea-bag? Tea-la? Tea…hag?” Witchdoctor lets out an exasperated noise deep in his throat. “Whatever the hell it was called?” He dismisses his poor attempts at pronouncing Teaghlaigh without care. It didn’t matter anymore. It’d flopped like everything the gangster tried to do because clearly he was inferior. The voices giggled in his head and a Machiavellian smirk tugs at the corners of the Witchdoctor’s lips, letting the sweetened approval and agreement of the voices in his head build his ego.