Lucky Clover

Several night ago,  Naomi and Tilda’s Home

“Naomi, can you hear me?” 

Nikolai stares back at the woman for two seconds, before placing the name for the face. Naomi Clover. He hasn’t… dealt with her in forever. She looks different now– which is perhaps true for Nikolai himself as well. “I don’t need magic to pick locks.” He replies as he turns his attention back to snacking. He grimaces at the smell of cigarette, though. It’s not the same brand as Rafael and he doesn’t care for it. He looks at her hand and the pack. After a second or two he blurts out, “I don’t smoke.” Smoking was more of Yuri’s vice than his. It does a number on your health, especially on the lungs. At her question, he thinks for a second and replies halfheartedly, “a car accident.” He doesn’t even hide that he is lying. Now it’s his turn to squint at her. “What do you want, Clover?” She doesn’t look like she is here to yell at him again. 

“Yeah,” the witch nods with a raise of her brow, “I know.” Who the hell doesn't know what Nikolai Sokolov is capable of? Stupid people. Out of towners looking to get blown to bits just from one look. Naomi is neither of those things. Even his grimace sets the witch off, and she eyes him like he’s got a fucking hand grenade. “Noted. Okay if I do?” She locks eyes with him, puffing smoke the opposite direction. Yes, he scares her. But will she put her cigarette out if he asks? Nope. Ha! And she even asked him if it bothered him...Naomi really could give less of a fuck if something did or didn’t bother Nikolai Sokolov. The witch snorts, looking him up and down. “Sure. You were in a car accident. With those expert reflexes? Those sharp ass corneas? Nah,” Naomi shakes her head dismissively as she flicks ash off her cigarette bud. “The fuck makes you think I want anything?” She snorts. “It’s a free rooftop, I’m up here trying to get away for a second...same as you, I’m guessing.” There’s a pause before Naomi continues on. “How’s Yuri? Been a second since I’ve heard from him.”  

“Just how far spread is my face in these parts? If you’re a friend of the vampire lady outside the one shop with cakes, or the werewolf outside of Terrance’s, or anybody else, they can take their complaints elsewhere, it was a fair fight,” she says with a flick of her hand, eyes rolling. She’s met her fair share of people eager to prod her. Push her first, she pushes back, and the cycle continues. Her head shakes, amusement coloring her voice. “That’s him. I think you know more about him than I do, I’ve known him less than a year, but I’m told he’s been in town for a lot longer.” It’s why everything about him is so… difficult, but she isn’t about to explain the weird sibling issues to a stranger, no matter how entertaining the stories.

Naomi’s response is typical enough to make her snort. “You’d be surprised what your blood can do in the hands of someone interested in experimenting. Not an issue in this town I’m told, they seem strict. Somewhat.” More so than the Otherlands, at any rate, though it’s hard to fall any lower than the place Briar escaped. She doesn’t say anymore, too busy watching Naomi talk on her phone with evident fascination. It isn’t her first time seeing a phone, but still one of the most intriguing. Helps Naomi is expressive as she talks. “I have never seen magic like that in my life,” she declares, frowning, hair on her neck and arms standing up at the magic emitting from Naomi’s hands. Her fingers close around the watch, gaze drifting to the man’s bare wrist, and then back to Naomi with a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. “I haven’t fought a witch yet, or I am not sure I have fought one yet. What do witches do?” It isn’t like someone sat her down and explained the other species. Briar only knows of them, and she’s learning along the way, albeit through her fists more than she would prefer. She holds the watch out. “Probably don’t want the police showing up with this in our hands,” she points out, eyes scanning the area around them. How long does it usually take the police to get here? “Magic it back, or whatever it is you do. Are we supposed to stay here and explain what happened to them? Because that… might be a bad idea, you know given my reputation with fae that you seem to know about.” 

“I...don’t even know how I’d know who you’re talking about from those mildly vague statements, but I’m not a friend of either of those people...I think? I really don’t know, but I don’t give a shit what you did,” the witch shrugs. “I’ve probably done stuff equally, if not worse, than you have. And they have your mugshot up in a couple places...did you know you’re banned from a cafe on first street?” Well, if she didn’t before, she does now. Seems like this Briar fake fae selkie person is playing a lot of ‘catch up.’ Sounds not fun at all and very exhausting. Especially considering she lived a life thinking she was one thing when really, she was another. “Yeah,” Naomi nods, “Andreas has been here since I’ve been here, I think...or at least as long as I can remember, and I’ve lived here since birth. Can’t say I know him though, I never really talked to him.” 

Hearing the words ‘this town,’ and ‘strict’ in the same sentence causes Naomi to cackle; loudly. Yeah, they were about as strict as they were loose, and boy, were they loose with the rules on being strict. “I like to say the council’s about as strict as they are loose. They’re willing to bend the rules a little for their best interests, don’t you mistake that.” Though her family has always, until recently, that is; maintained a seat on the council, Naomi’s never trusted them to make decisions for her or the ones she cares about. Her magic is skilled enough to do that anyway. This much she demonstrates to Briar, who seems fascinated by the whole thing. Naomi smirks at the selkie’s reaction, letting her take the watch from her grasp. “You’ve never met a witch before? Crazy...I feel like there’s way too many of us,” she squints, eyeing the selkie as if she’s gauging to see how truthful she is. Well, she is from a land only consisting of faes, so....yeah. “Well, witches do a bunch of things. Spells, potions, protective magic, healing, contacting spirits...witches can do a lot of things with the right tools.” It’s hard to describe, easier to show...but Naomi’s not in the mood to do a full demonstration of her abilities tonight, considering the unconscious fae lying before them. Naomi sighs, nodding when Briar says it’s best to put the watch back. It is...they both have a reputation that would make it look extremely bad if either had the stranger’s watch in their possession. And do they really have to wait for the ambulence? Probably not. Naomi shrugs, looking around before she points in the opposite direction. “Wanna walk to the bar up the street? I’m suddenly really fucking thirsty...and hungry...maybe I also need to pee...” 

So far, so good. Fiona’s delighted by Naomi’s joy at the coffee, pleased to have succeeded. People’s tastes can be hard to guess, she’s learned, so she’ll take this victory. She nods at the mention of walking, giving a shrug. “Yeah, I mean, there’s a driver’s license in my wallet, but I’m not quite sure it really counts anymore.” Too dark? Oops. “Um, besides, yeah, I like the walking! Now that I’m not getting lost as often, it’s great. Plus the weather’s getting warmer…” That’s better. Fiona’s smile is at least partially apologetic when Naomi turns toward her, but it softens some at the compliment. “Oh… thank you.” She laughs, not sure about the candor of the comment. How does everyone have nice things to say about the girl who dredged up the ghosts? Fiona chooses to give it the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll, um, I’ll try my best. Positivity is key, right?” That’s a line she ripped out of one of the neurologists’ books. Her own were clearly coming up a little short.

“Oh, I didn’t want to intrude.” Fiona shrugs. It’s a nice offer, but really, she probably would’ve been a nuisance around a construction site. “I’m just happy to see it now!” True enough, though it sounds a little too chipper. Trying to tone it down, Fiona gives a gentler laugh at the mention of brownie points. Whatever that means. “I wasn’t sure if it counted as an interview, but hey, I’ll take it.” She smiles, nodding along at the instructions. Her expression lights up some at the offer. “Really? Oh, I saw this pair of earrings when I came in – I’m not even sure if my ears are pierced, actually, but they’re so – oh, shoot.” If there’s one thing Fiona’s learned about herself in the last few months, it’s that she’s… lacking in the grace department, to put it gently. This much is shown as she tosses her comment in Naomi’s direction, looking back just in time to send her own elbow careening into a display of leather bracelets. Not especially fragile, Fiona assumes, but she still winces, quick to kneel down and try to fix the mess she’s made. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry, um, I swear, I’m the clumsiest person I know.” She doesn’t know too many people, but still, it feels like an impressive title. “Um, if anything’s broken, I’ll pay for it.” With money given to her by her family… great. “I’m thinking this is not good for my brownie points.” Fiona’s smile – if you could call it that – is meek at best, her gaze darting up to Naomi, seeking affirmation about if she has, in fact, ruined this.

Naomi’s snort nearly turns to laughter when Fiona states she’s unsure of the status on her license, though she holds back a bit because that’s...well, it’s a bit morbid, isn’t it? The girl disappeared for months, lost her memories, and brought back with her a hoard of ghosts, so...yeah. Maybe that kind of voids out a license. “Walking’s better for you anyway. Cars are annoying to deal with too,” Naomi waves it off with a shrug. She really is trying her best at making Fiona feel comfortable, as some of the other town folks have taken it upon themselves to do the opposite. This is reflected in the way Fiona timidly and unconvincingly accepts Naomi’s compliment, which is probably to be expected. The witch chuckles, “yes! That’s funny though. That’s definitely something you would have said before your disappearance too.” At least that’s the vibe Fiona gave off to someone like Naomi, who’s a bit more...well, pessimistic. 

“Eh, I’m an intrusive person myself so I don’t mind,” the witch shrugs. That’s actually far, far from the truth, she definitely minds when people intrude on her despite that she does it to others. Of course Fiona doesn’t have to know that! No need to scare the poor girl away. Naomi waves her hand in the air from side to side, “I mean, it’s sort of an interview. You kind of already have the job in my eyes, but I guess I should probably check you out first...just to make sure the river didn’t knock you around too bad.” Naomi turns to Fiona, hoping the fae understood her sarcasm. She thinks maybe she has, or at least Fiona hasn’t stormed out in anger, or scrunched her nose up in confusion. “I think they are...” Just as Naomi’s stepping forward to check, Fiona’s elbow collides with a display of leather bracelets she’d just put out. The witch winces at first when the mess topples over to the ground, leaving the display in a heap. Nothing’s broken, except maybe the little stand they were on, but that’s cheap and fixable with magic. All Naomi can do as Fiona goes on to apologize and pick up the bracelets is laugh. For a moment she stands there and laughs, watching as the fae continues to shyly collect the leather bracelets in her hands. Then she gets down on her knees to help, “it’s okay,” she says, patting Fiona on the back. “It happens. Magic fixes most things, and you happen to be looking at a very skilled witch...actually, you can have one of these if you want. I just made them. The green one would look great with your eyes,” she says, holding one of the bracelets she has in her hands up to Fiona’s face.

Well, now that she’s acting like that, Evi wants to revoke her agreement. But she’s not that childish. Her internal monologue, however… Evi simply shakes it off, turning the topic back to the garden. Definitely easier. “Extremely shitty. It looked like something out of Jumanji before I started chipping away at it.” Not to toot her own horn…  “I was surprised Jonas hadn’t hired help sooner – and surprised he offered it to me, honestly. But it’s turned into a passion project of sorts.” Anyway. Enough babbling about her plants. “Opening’s set for June twelfth, I think. As long as I don’t do anything disastrous in the meantime.” So far, so good. She can only hope the trajectory continues. The plant chatter felt ridiculous enough before, let alone when Naomi grants her some title. Is that meant to be an insult? Plant lady. Sure feels like it. “…Right.” Evi bites back any further comment, just turning to the issue at hand: the storage room, which she can’t do a thing to help with unless they want to do this manually. Plant lady, indeed. She cranes her neck once Naomi has managed to pull out the chest of objects, though her arms have crossed over her chest. Childish, maybe. “Well, voila.” She shrugs, though she nods toward the chest. “Is that all jewelry?” Her brow raises at the craft tools, and she nods. “Impressive assortment. Look like… miniature gardening tools, almost.” Kak, she really can’t help but be the plant lady, can she? Ridiculous. Anyway. “Do you, ah, do custom orders?” June twelfth, incidentally, is also her birthday. As well as what will almost exactly be the marker of her fourth month of sobriety – if she keeps her shit together. Maybe she’ll get herself a gift, if she earns it. “I may or may not be in the market for a new pair of earrings.”

Naomi snorts. The garden did look like something out of Jumanji. In fact, she’s sure she made that very comment to Jonas months and months ago before Evi even came into the picture. Who knows when this...thing, between them started. Naomi’s lets her suspicions continue to wander as she watches Evi speak, putting on her best show at a polite smile. God she’s curious, and definitely reading into the fact that Jonas gave Evi a key. “Well I’m glad Jonas finally handed it to someone capable for the job. Good luck with finishing it up. Can’t wait to see the finished product of what once was a ‘George of The Jungle’ ready garden.” If anything, she’ll at least make an appearance. Her curiosity has and probably always will get the better of her...anyway, at least she’s been able to hold her tongue long enough to retrieve her remaining jewelry. That alone in itself is a mighty accomplishment in Naomi’s eyes.  

“Some’s jewelry,” she huffs out, “some tools...” Once she’s got the both the chest and toolkit pulled out from under the shit ton of stuff in Jonas’ storage room, Naomi pulls them open to make sure the contents are still inside. “.... never really thought of them as gardening tools, but I guess I can see it,” Naomi shrugs. Thank god nothing’s been touched, moved, or broken. Everything is where it should be, and this is enough to put the witch into a better mood. “Hm, custom? Of course!” She pipes up a couple notches louder, thrilled to hear she may have a new custom order on her hands. That’s the work she most enjoys spending her time on, even if the order is coming from Evi Koning. “I can do earrings,” she starts with a light nod, turning to face Evi crouched down. “I usually set up consultations with customers in need of custom work. That way we can go over details, what they’re looking for, et cetera, et cetera.” There’s a pause as the witch gets up and grabs her things, using magic so the items trail behind her. Easier that way. “We can set something up on the way out?” 

Terry watches her going off in mild amusement as he sips his coffee. “Observant as always, I see.” He shakes his head, cackling to himself. Naomi always had that one-track mind, eyes always on the prize. That means she sometimes misses the periphery. Kind of like Brad… but he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he brings that up to her. “Werewolf bullshit.” He rolls his eyes before giving her a look that reads ‘kid, you make me laugh’. “It’d be the day I die I let some werewolf punks get me.” He may be retired from the exhausting life of seafaring and battles, but it will take a century or two for him to forget how to fight. “Someone will eventually tell her. Doesn’t have to be me.” He grumbles. Tilda already has a lot on her plate. He didn’t want to worry her.

Apparently Naomi thought the same thing. Terry presses his lips into a thin line, but you know what they say– do as I say, not as I do. “Just spit it out, kid. Can’t tell you I’m too busy for your problem if I don’t know what it is.” He says with a teasing tone, a small smirk curved on his lips. He nearly spits his coffee when she mentions having a kid. “You and Tilda thinking of the second?” he asks as he wipes the streak of coffee down his stubble. He expected something… well, Naomi, like a rave or getting sober but still stashing a flask somewhere in the house. But having a child? Now that is not what he expected from Naomi Goddamn Clover… And as he sinks back into his chair, old memories begin to ache again. “Well, it’s not like we’re living in the 1400s,” he points out. “I’m no expert in pregnancy, obviously–” he gestures at himself vaguely, “but it does change a lot of stuff from what I can tell.”

Naomi’s eye twitches a little when she turns back to Terry, a scoff hot off her lips. “I...am definitely less observant when I have something on my mind,” the witch admits with a narrow of her eyes as she leans over to gives Terry’s arm a light shove. “Fucking werewolves, though...can’t believe the cops still haven’t caught these assholes yet.” The fact that all this werewolf business made its way to Terrance’s says something. It says that people aren’t doing their fucking jobs. It says that this arsonist business has gone way, way too far, and someone needs to stop them. Though Terry’s playing the ‘I’m not letting it get to me,’ card, Naomi certainly is not. “I’m sorry about your place. If you need any help, let me know, I’m sure some magic could come in handy. As for Tilda,” the witch chuckles and shrugs gently, “yeah. She’ll find out eventually whether someone tells her or not. She’s Matilda Ballantine, reporter for the Lethean Times, for fuck’s sake. 

Telling Terry about her plan to have a second child should feel easier than this, but for some reason there’s a knot of worry built up in her gut. Maybe it’s because in the past, her decisions haven’t ended in the best way. Could also be her general fear of pregnancy and death, but either way, she goes on to tell him. What’s the worst that can happen? He spits out his coffee? Oh. He actually spit out his coffee. “I mean, I wouldn’t way ‘we’ are so much as I’m thinking about having a second...” she trails off, brow raising as she watches Terry wipe off his chin. Ultimately his response earns him a snort and a cross between a chuckle and a sign from Naomi, who has a hand over her face from mild exhaustion. “Obviously you’re not expert in actually having the kid. But you’ve raised them. And you practically raised Tilda, so,” she sighs again, gesturing exasperatingly to him once her hand is off her face. “That’s why I’m asking. I’m trying to figure out if having a second one is a crazy idea. And how I should talk to Tilda about it...” 

Date: 15 May 2021 Time: 11:14 AM Location: the rooftop of Lethe General Hospital

Nikolai is, in a manner of speaking, hiding. In a hospital gown and his right arm carefully held in a sling, he sits on the corner of the rooftop, behind an AC unit, munching on a bag of cookies and candies. He is supposed to be on bed rest, but it’s been a month. Aside from his arm, which they say that it’s a miracle that he didn’t lose it entirely, he has recovered enough to be up and about. But everyone– his brother, Rafael, and his doctor– is absolutely against his discharge. It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate their unnecessary concern. He is just restless and honestly needs some time alone. So in his passive-aggressive protest, he sneaked out of the room to get some air. He technically is within the bound of hospital, even though the rooftop was locked so he had to pick it with some surgery tools he borrowed.

Even though he feels like his little escape is justified, he flinches when he hears the door open. As the footsteps get closer, he murmurs “…they need a better lock on that door if they wanna keep people out.”

Being inside hospitals gives Naomi the creeps. But she’s here for Adam, who apparently has her listed has his emergency contact- which is fine. It’s fine. In the past she has been, but then there was Theo, and now...yeah. Here they are again. And sometimes his epilepsy could be a real bitch...actually, it’s always a real bitch, it just happens to act up some days rather than others. Today is one of those days. Now that Adam’s in a hospital bed resting, Naomi takes a moment to sneak away up to the rooftop for a cigarette. In the past she learned a little trick. They don’t magically lock the rooftop like they do the front entrance or the supply rooms. Which seems a bit absurd, now that she thinks about it, but maybe it’s something someone overlooked. Either way, it makes for easy access for someone like Naomi, who knows every spell known to cause a little mischief. Picking locks is one of them. 

But just as she gets the door open and pops a cigarette into her mouth, an all too familiar voice pipes up a little ways in front of her. The witch jumps, holding her chest in momentary silence as she stares fiercely at the werewolf looking back at her. Luckily her cigarette is still dangling from her lips, so she continues to narrow her eyes at Nikolai as she reaches into her pocket to grab a lighter. “They don’t magically lock that thing anyway. I’ve been picking that lock for years,” Naomi shrugs, lighting up. She lets out a puff of smoke opposite of Nik, watching in carefully. “The hell happened to you?” After a beat, she reaches out to offer him a cigarette from her pack. Looks like he needs it. 

Her smile falters for a moment, a frown taking its place that she attempts to smother. It’s not trust, they’ve overcome such things in the last few years, but Tilda can’t help thinking of another person who panicked when she appeared in the room out of the blue. The resurgence of old memories brings a sour taste to her mouth and she buries it all the more, uncaring of the worry it brings. “Pretty sure you hate reading,” she points out uselessly, crouching to pick up the books on the floor. Magic can do it, sure, but Tilda leans on the reliable things in times of question - and the sight of more pregnancy books is all the more reason to feel a swirl of panic. No, she chides herself, catching sight of the ring on her finger, glinting in the light. No distrust, no secrets. Tilda straightens, smiling at the way her daughter flings herself into Naomi’s arms and then laughing at the grimace on Naomi’s face. “You are a terrible liar under pressure, love. I know your face better than my own hands.”

Tilda slips into the seat across from her, eyebrows raising. No, nothing in their lives were planned, but it’s the most ominous way to start a sentence. What things in life aren’t planned? Bad things, she thinks, until she catches sight of Layla running her chubby fingers over Naomi’s hair and a smile tugs at her lips. Thought derails an instant later. “Another kid?” She blurts out, looking from Layla to Naomi with confusion. Tilda isn’t opposed to the idea, but she doesn’t relish the thought of being pregnant again, and she isn’t– Oh, well, that’s easier to figure out, she thinks. This isn’t bad, this is just… different and unexpected and– Well, didn’t Tilda spring the same thing on her with Layla? “Just to be clear, this isn’t an elaborate joke to get back at me for telling you about Layla the way I did?” Out of the blue isn’t strong enough to explain their last talk involving a pregnancy, but life hardly waits for opportune moments. Tilda taps her fingers on the table between them and then steals a lemon scone off Naomi’s plate. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to think this is something you absolutely have to do, it should be something you want.” Tilda tries to catch her eyes. “You stuck with me when I wanted to do something, I’m not going to do any less. I’ve always wanted more kids, and Layla would love a sibling. Just… Another kid, wow. You really weren’t kidding, this is really not how I planned on us thinking about it.” She leans back in her seat, shrugging. “Not that I considered it much either.”

Naomi looks down at their daughter now bouncing in her lap, sticking one hand in her mouth while the other reaches for some of Naomi’s braids. The witch sighs, catching the chubby hand mid act before it manages to tug down on her hair. She smiles gently, feeling a bit braver. “You’re right on both accounts. I hate reading and you know me better than your hands. I know your hands well, though, probably better than my own at this point. And I know you,” she adds softly, reaching out to take one of Tilda’s hands. “So I know this is probably... weird. And scary, because I’m being weird. I promise, it’s nothing about you, us, or this. We’re perfect. You’re perfect,” Naomi smiles and gives her fiancee’s hand a light squeeze before she lets it go to steady a wobbly Layla in her lap. 

They have one perfect child...so why does Naomi need to rock the boat with another? Ugh. Ugh. Because she really wants another kid. Being a mother isn’t something she wanted or expected, but...it’s the best thing that’s happened to her besides Tilda. Without this little family of their’s, well...Naomi has no idea where she would have ended up. Nowhere good, that’s for certain. Her lips curve into an awkward smile when she finally releases her big news, the twitch in her eye from nerves as she watches Tilda’s reaction. Surprised for sure, but happy? Excited about the idea? “If I was joking my heart wouldn’t be pounding out of my chest right now from telling you,” she insists with a nervous laugh, looking Tilda over. There’s no turning back now that it’s out in the open. The decision is there...even if she changes her mind down the road, there’s the potential for disappointment, resentment, letting the person she loves down...shit. Naomi can feel her mouth going dry and her upper brow begin to sweat as fear sets in. “I want it, I do,” the witch nods, finally meeting her finacee’s gaze. “I’m just fucking terrified. Sorry- er...whatever, I already said it. Layla, don’t say that word,” she says, pointing down to their infant before looking back up at Tilda. “It’s definitely not how I planned to spring this on you either, you just sort of busted me,” Naomi chuckles with a wave of her hand, “But here we are. I’m glad you found out, I’ve been...I’m nervous. So I’ve been doing research, asking some others on how to tell you or talk about, I don’t know.” Naomi gives a light shrug, looking down at Layla again. “I love being a mom. I love being a mom a lot more than I thought I would. We both know I had no interest at first, too. But things have changed. I’ve changed, we both have. And I want to have another kid.” 

“Oh” the witch said simply. Well, she’d walked herself right into a prickly topic, hadn’t she? Children were an interesting topic between couples, especially when there was a, let’s say… debate, on whether or not to have them. Compromising in that area was difficult, for what she’d heard. “Well, good luck with that” Cal said raising her eyebrows before glancing back at the book her friend had in her hands just then. She really hoped that Naomi could go ahead with that wish of becoming pregnant and that Tilda would be happy about that idea, that it wouldn’t become a situation of opposing wishes.

Calliope lightly bit the inside of her cheek, looking back at Naomi. “But it’s not something you’re thinking just because it feels like time’s running out, right?” she asked. She wasn’t judging or anything, but unfortunately, they lived in a world that had a tendency to pressure women to feel like motherhood was a race against time, urging them to become mothers before the biological clock became an obstacle. “Nah, it’s nothing” Cal waved a hand, dismissing any concern about it. She rested her hand on her hip before she said “I worry about my mother at times. But she’s tough as nails”. Demeter Warren was the strongest woman Cal knew and she had the rest of the coven to protect her, to stand alongside her against adversity. But still, Cal worried a new wave of hysteria against witches would soon take over Salem.

Naomi grimaces towards her friend’s response. “Gee, thanks,” she chuckles with a wave of her hand. “I mean, Tilda loves kids. She always talked about having them when she was married to her ex...then again, her and I were barely speaking then and didn’t really like each other...” the witch trails off with a frown as her mind travels down memory lane. “That’s another story, though. One you might sleep through, unless you like love stories” Naomi snorts. But still. Years ago, maybe even just five, if someone told Naomi she’d be engaged to Matilda Ballantine, have a kid with her, and another potentially on the way, she’d think they were out of their fucking mind. Marriage and kids were two deal breakers for the witch and now she’s gone ahead procured both. Honestly? Sounds like something she’d pull. 

“Oh god no,” Naomi shakes her head to Cal’s question, shelving one more of the stack of pregnancy books she has near her. “It’s just one of the reasons I’m thinking about doing it right now, as oppose to, I don’t know. A year from now,” Naomi shrugs before adding, “it’s funny though, I’ve never really been the type to want to be a mom. Now I can’t imagine my life without my kid. And I want another.” The witch chuckles, finally deciding on five of the pregnancy books she had set down to check out. Naomi doubted her friend’s trouble was simply ‘nothing,’ because things with witches tended not to just be ‘nothing.’ But, Cal is one of the few people she respects, and they’re definitely not close enough yet for too much ‘Naomi prying.’ “Ah,” the witch nods as she puts the rest of her discarded pregnancy books back. “That’s hard. I don’t have a lot of family I actually like or that’s still living,” she begins as she picks up her stack of books. “But any time anyone or anything threatens the ones I do have? Instant beast mode, must end that thing or person before it causes more worry. So I get you. Hopefully everything’s okay there, with your mom.” 

Aalis was making her way to grab a coffee before heading to her studio for a class in the next hour. She had just turned around from collecting her order when she heard a woman’s exclamation and walked over. When she sees what she was looking at, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh yes, it certainly can,” she confirmed from behind her, “not to mention it can take weeks, if not months to properly heal. But providing you do pelvic floor exercises then it’ll return back to normal… and even though the pain is excruciating… the little bundle that comes out is the greatest thing that will ever happen to you.” 

Naomi nearly jumps at the woman’s sudden presence behind her, though she supposes she shouldn’t be all that surprise her outburst drew the attention of others. That’s what happens when you’re loud, Naomi, she scoffs to herself, turning out to face the woman. “It can take months to heal? Jesus Christ...and what did you say helps it heal? ‘Pelvic floor exercises?’” Naomi mutters the words under her breath another time before leaning down to type a reminder into her phone. ‘Look up pelvic floor exercises.’ “I’ve heard it’s pretty painful...I just wasn’t expecting my whole vagina to quite literally rip open.” Naomi nearly gags but contains herself. “Anyway...you’re a mom then? My fiancee and I already have one; a daughter, her name’s Layla. This would be our second. My first time getting pregnant, though,” she says with a grimace. Not that she’s not thrilled for the experience, but....well, her own mother did die from child birth. Now that she’s thinking of going through the same thing, the thought has crossed her mind...more than once, too. “I’m Naomi, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever met.” 

Terry stares at a stack of receipts on the table. They basically bled money from repairing the bar, and the restitution would take weeks to process… He doesn’t run this old bar for the profit– Terrance’s barely break even– but more for the sentimental value. It was a gift from a friend… a werewolf with a gentle heart. Decades later, a group of werewolves tried to burn it down. That must be some kind of a sick joke. He did not let the settlers build a town here for that kind of behavior. 

He snaps out of his thoughts when Naomi sits across from him, asking for food. “You didn’t read the note, did you” He can’t help but chuckle. He gestures at the broken glasses, toppled table with scorch marks and as such. He taped a note that reads ‘under repair’ but as always, nobody bothers to read. Naomi isn’t exactly the most observant one, anyway. “Sorry, bamboccia, the kitchen’s closed. As you can see, shits got crazy and we’re still under repair– don’t tell Tilda, by the way. Don’t need her fussing about.” He sighs. It’s been like a week, but Terry being a recluse, he hasn’t bothered to talk to anyone about it, aside from those who were involved and perhaps the police that came to arrest the arsonists. “Anyway, what did you wanna talk about? Is everything okay?”

“What? What not- what the fuck?” Naomi nearly falls off her bar stool when she looks around to see the state of Terrance’s. With her eyes bug wide and her lips sputtering for breath, the witch can only really look at Terry as she gathers her thoughts...and words. “The fuck happened though?” She says a little too loudly and with a squeak. “Oh no...shit. Don’t tell me they got you too?” Somehow the scorch marks and the charred ‘open’ sign become all too telling as to what exactly happened to Terrance’s. That, and the familiar smell of burning hair...I can never get that weave back, the witch thinks, brow twitching. “I won’t tell Tilda. But you’ll have to eventually. I don’t want her getting pissed about me knowing and not telling her, like you,” she says with a smack to his arm while she steadies herself back onto the bar stool. 

Then she sighs when he asks what she came here to talk to him about. Well... now they’re back to that, are they? Ack. Is this even the time to bring up children? Or to be having them? Naomi sighs, waving her hand, “eh...you seem like you have a lot going on, I don’t wanna bug you.” She pauses. Well, actually....with a grimace, the witch goes on. “Actually, it is kind of important. And uh...time sensitive. Sort of.” Fuck....now he’s looking at her funny, so she should just go on and say it then. “I’m thinking about having a kid,” Naomi blurts out, eyes wide. “Er...I mean, I’m thinking about asking Tilda if she wants another kid. I do, I just...it’s the whole getting pregnant thing I’m mulling over. I want to, it’s just...y’know.” The witch gestures to her brain, her stomach, all around her, and then she slumps over with her head in her hands sighing loudly. Terry knows about the history with her mother and father; how Atticus never really took proper care of her after her mother passed away during childbirth. Why say it?