Wheeling Gull Isle i am clawing at porcelain

“C’mon. Stand up, stand up,” Witchdoctor encourages in a tone that is more snappish than it is encouraging, truth be told. “I’m no leader, boy.” What was his name again? Surely Hemlock had spoken it at some point …Tee? Tap …something. He was rubbish with names. He couldn’t even remember the names of the gangster’s spawn …his older children with that Lotte woman, after all; and really he would need to make an effort to remember their names because he doubted calling them Thing One and Thing Two was going to go over well. It’s comical to him but it occurs to him that it might be insulting to them. Immediately follows the question: does he care? That’s a bit iffy. He feels like somewhere inside him he should. They are his kids after all, at the very least in the most basic biological sense ( although he gets an unorthodox sense of welling pride as he considers that the angry boy [ Ceallach ] may be more of his than the deceased Arturo’s; to think that his influence was always there. And it was. Simply dormant ).

Help. The pallid boy — he should really learn his name, Witchdoctor thinks — wishes to know if he can help. For a moment, Witchdoctor’s muscles tense and then he lets out a barking laugh. “Oh, sweet child,” Witchdoctor coos the words in a condescending manner. “There is nothing and no one that can help me now.” Though Undersea quiets them to a near mute the voices snicker and sneer lowly in his mind. Even if there was …apart from the voices what does Witchdoctor want to be cured of? Nothing. Being unhinged, a madman is just too much fun. Liberating. Catching onto the idea that Tapat will likely forget that in a few seconds Witchdoctor sizes the boy up, inhaling deeply and letting it out. “You want to help?” Witchdoctor inquires figuring he better snag the offer while the pallid boy possibly still remembers. He snatches the pile of slippery seaweed from his horde den and plops it at the pallid boy’s feet unceremoniously. “Don’t fret it’s just seaweed.” In case the boy thinks he’s trying to poison him or something. Witchdoctor takes much better care of his poisons than to carelessly let them lying around, after all. Not because he necessarily regards anyone’s life but his own but because he is a meticulous toxicologist and botanist and he makes the effort of organizing and preserving the best way he can.

“If you want to help, you can assist me in untangling this seaweed and laying it flat to dry in the sun.” It tastes better after the sun’s dried it to a crisp, not-slimy state, in Witchdoctor’s opinion.