Wheeling Gull Isle i am clawing at porcelain

lolol. tapat is a treasure. ♥

At the display of submission that Tapat offers him: head hung low and tail betwixt his legs Witchdoctor lets out a low, unconcealed huff of exasperation and rolls his eyes, wondering if it were possible that they could roll out of his head. He was fairly certain he’d been fairly clear: he wasn’t a leader. It’s not that Witchdoctor overly minds the submission itself: he rather likes that it conforms to his ideals of superiority in himself. Rather, he does not want to be a leader and besides Undersea already has a leader. Or leaders. It’s not entirely all that clear on who’s actually in charge of this Isle and frankly doesn’t give a damn. As long as he’s left alone to do his own thing his newborn children could be crowned the alpha pair and it would be met with the same matter of indifference by the Witchdoctor. He does not crave control as his gangster counterpart had and it’s extremely liberating: not having a fuck to give.

Witchdoctor cataloged that Tapat responded the best to having been given a task. Witchdoctor had, initially, intended to help but Tapat had already gotten started and the madman didn’t wish to interrupt the pallid boy’s concentration, thus the doctor reclined back upon his haunches and was content to oversee the work from his throne chosen spot. Evidently, completing the task made the boy jovial again because he was peppy and happy as he declared that he did it. Witchdoctor might have admired that resilience if he hadn’t suspected it had something to do with a forgetful memory. “Yes, yes, admirable work boyo.” Because Witchdoctor still couldn’t remember his name and figured that if he didn’t make an attempt to learn it that it might become very exhausting to specify which ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ he means besides saying ‘Not-Arturo’s’ though that was how he classified Ceallach, Eirlys, Seri and Tapat in his mind. “What was your name again?” Witchdoctor inquires, gaze lingering upon the younger male.