Whimsical Witches

Oz stayed quiet, letting the words settle instead of rushing to fill the silence. He had spent enough years dealing with people in various stages of crisis to know that sometimes the first thing someone said wasn't actually the thing they believed. He watched Quinn take the drink, watched him sit, watched the way he couldn't quite meet his eyes. When Quinn finally admitted it, Oz's eyebrows lifted slightly. “Okay,” he said simply. “You know, most people don't look like they're about to have a cardiac event because someone told them they loved them.”

“I’m not scared of what it means!” He said more harsh than he meant to but he couldn’t stop himself how was he supposed to explain. How was Ozzie going to understand when he found himself with a perfectly loving partner who moved in giving him a daughter as if he were in some fairy tale while Quinn lived in the real world. “He can’t mean it because he can’t. Because the last time he said those words to me he left.” He said his words more hushed than he meant them to be. The truth leaking out in ways he never wanted it to. It was why he did one night stands it was why he barely let himself get attached. People could leave for no rhyme or reason cause he wasn’t enough.

Beckett smiled down at Tara as he bounced her in his arms. "Ooh, look baby girl. Mama brought your pizza!" He carried her over to the walker, placing her down inside it. He looked at her when she mentioned that she acts heartbroken. "I hate her leaving her too." He admitted before moving his knuckles to run over her arm. "I hate leaving both of you." He said softly.

She smiled a bit watching him. How was she so lucky. She set the pizza down to let the girl eat before turning to him. “I hate it too.” She said softy. “The house feels so much more right with you here with me and her.” She told him.

Bishop listened as Fae explained. He nodded slowly. A small smile perked up at the corners of his lips. "I don't think I've ever heard someone suggest that a tattoo could be considered self harm. That's a very interesting way to put it. I would say it is the safest form of self harm if that's the case, but also probably one of the most expensive..." He made a note of it on the piece of paper before correcting his question, "Have you had suicidal thoughts? Or is it just... disassociation in bed?"

“I mean isn’t it if a partial reason is that you’re hurting yourself but not being called out for it. Especially if you’re going to places that aren’t hygienic or are rougher and say it’s cause it’s cheaper. Or having your friend do some stick and pokes.” He shrugged. He’d considered self harm since he saw his mother do it to herself. He always questioned himself when they went out to get one. Was it because they wanted a new design or wanted to feel something. They thought a minute. “Nothing concrete. Passive shit. Which I know ain’t great but it’s better than making plans. Mostly it ends up being maybe I should walk into oncoming traffic.”

Addie: I’ll just talk dad into letting you leave early

Holiday chuckled “well damn.” She said “I think I actually have heard that. I wonder which would cost you more.” She hummed softly in thought. “Had I not already paid for these rings- I may have just bought the thing outright.” She shrugged. “But I guess you’re paying more for the… adrenaline rush of the chance. Kinda like gambling.”

“Oh absolutely buying them.” She said with a laugh. “Well if you don’t expect to get the prize maybe it’ll be more fun. I mean there’s not much fun in buying things. Or I guess some people enjoy shopping. “ she watched her toss and pouted a bit.

Donnie noticed the slight startled look on her face but he wasn't surprised, he had a way of sneaking up on people without meaning to. His eyes drifted back towards the ferris wheel, brows lifting as he watched the ride in the distance. "Least you got some common sense, normal wheels- they are easy. Just up and down but throwing a full flip on it..." He paused, shaking his head. "Sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen" he looked at her as she sat down, a bit surprised she'd taken him up on his offer before scooting over a bit to give her room. His brow furrowed as he imagined the carnage that could be had inside one of the carts. The man finished his corn dog, violently wiping his nose with a sniffle and fished out a cigarette from the crumbled pack in his pocket. His nose scrunched slightly at the thought of a funnel cake, too sweet for him. "You a vegan or somethin'?" he asked. The question was incredibly blunt, dropping out of his mouth with a total lack of social grace, but it held no real bite—it was just his own poorly executed, slightly backwards way of trying to get to know her. He stared towards his torn up sneakers in the mud, propping a bent cigarette between his lips and thumbed over the wheel of his lighter three times before it caught. He paused, holding the smoke in his lungs for a beat before remembering he wasn't alone. "Sorry," he mumbled around the cylinder, quickly turning his head to blow a dense stream of smoke off to the side, completely away from her. "Hope you don't mind." He let out the rest of the cloud from the corner of his mouth, his shoulders dropping a fraction as the nicotine hit his system. He cleared his throat and glanced back over at her, waiting to see if he managed to scare her off in record time.

“I mean I get the thrill aspect of it. I just can’t do it. But the. I couldn’t do roller coasters either. She was surprised by his question. “No just don’t really like hot dogs or the corn bread wrapped around them.” She said shrugging. “Just I like sweets a lot more.” She winced slightly when he lit the cigarette. Years of therapy still hadn’t helped much but she tried not to react around them or think of the pressed into her arms the stinging remembrance showing up when she least expected it but those were her demons to face. “No it’s fine.” She said waving him off with his concern.

The brunette grinned, "You have a very valid point.” She turned to glance at the shooting range booth, giving the girl a look. “That one- gives me a little bit of the heebies.” She chuckled, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you Mis.” She replied “Is that short for anything?” She asked curiously, finding her name interesting. Not that she would ever judge anyone on their names, her parents had blessed all three of their children with odd names, but she did enjoy hearing names she’d never heard before. Maybe that was something she inherited from her mother, if you could inherit such a thing.

“It’s not the most likely thing. Honestly you’re more likely to come across those on a regular walk through town. Or at least those with homocidal inclinations.” She said. “It is.” She responded not elaborating on what. Mis had always been easier and she liked it more unless she was hearing her name in her mamas accent most people just said it wrong. So she kept it simple. One syllable that sounds practically the same across every accent. No one mispronounced it

Conchita smiled softly and shook her head. "I think you misunderstand. I wasn't talking about you selling your soul. I was talking about me selling mine. I admire you for being able to get sexual with people and not immediately become so attached. Me on the other hand? Someone just smiles at me and it's game over."

“That’s what comes with commodifying your body. It’s less personal. It’s a learned skill as much as an artist learning to do the art assigned over the art they want to do.” She said with a shrug. She’d never really understood sex as anything other than it being a product to sell. She’d known that from the time she was very young. Even her ex never made her feel like it was special.