The day had been a long and tiresome one; never let it be said that the darling pink diva was one to let a teeny bit of stress remove the pep from her step, but the past several weeks had all been testing her patience. Every minute Boscha kept up her unflappable public image of plastic confidence was another minute which pushed her closer to dropping out and sleeping until her 20th birthday. It had started when Amity Blight — formally Hexside's most notorious rich-bitch — had seemingly woken up one morning to decide she no longer cared about her social standing. Boscha had pretended not to mind at first, but seeing the talented young witch goofing around with the loser posse on a daily basis had begun to eat away at her. The triclops would sooner die than admit it aloud, but her respect for Amity made it difficult to accept the loss of her companionship.

She was trudging home from school, and as thoughts about mountains of schoolwork, Amity's betrayal, her bastard mother, the embarrassment she felt after her grudgby game against the human all began to pile up… the marred, rosy flesh hidden by her yellow leggings began to itch. She grimaced and continued to walk.

Chewing her bottom lip was a poor substitution for what she truly felt like doing after such a shitty day but… well, there wasn't much she could do in the middle of the Titan-damned woods. The winding path she took every afternoon was secluded and hidden from crowds, but she didn't wanna take any chances. Patience is a virtue though, and she could wait a little longer to indulge her stupid, pointless means of stress relief.

Sighing in a way she'd never let anyone hear, Boscha paused her journey home to take a breather. She could feel a familiar, gurgling, writhing ball of nervous energy as it crept up her throat. "For the love of—" Boscha quietly cursed herself, "now is not the time for this…" She shook her head, and took several deep breaths.

Her thoughts began to clear.

Her thighs continued to itch.

Looking up at the overcast skies, she knew she'd have to pick up the pace; boiling rains looked to be coming in fast. The last thing she needed was the be caught in the middle of a storm,

—Although, a questionable voice chimed in, I could lay down and let what happens happen… At least I wouldn't have to listen to mom badgering me about my grades again.

Best not to think too hard about what such intrusive thoughts might say or mean.

Boshca pinched the bridge of her nose and took one last deep, centering breath. "Okay," she mumbled, "gotta get home." She resumed her trek with as little enthusiasm as possible. Although, if something had managed to get her into a better mood, it'd be the delightful pre-storm air around her; warm and breezy and calming in a nostalgic, difficult to articulate way. "Sunny days are overrated," she declared to herself.

Boscha regretted not leaving earlier. There were now tiny droplets of scalding drizzle falling and burning the grasses around her. She was about fifteen minutes away from her house and knew the rain would likely pick up before she got there.

Skara had insisted she hang around campus to chat for a little while, and for some idiotic reason, Boscha obliged. "That'll teach me to listen to anything that airhead says," the potions-witch grumbled. Just as she did, a sizzling droplet of rain splashed her nose and she cursed at the burning tingle it left behind.

Boscha decided then and there that it was time to sprint.

Just as she was about to take off however, a noise caught her attention. She paused, her pointed ears swiveling toward the sound. She practically begged herself to ignore it and rush home before the oncoming storm cooked her alive but… her gut twisted in an unpleasant way. Under her searing breath, she mumbled a string of expletives which could curse Emperor Belos himself and with an impressively irritable grimace, walked off the path towards whatever/whoever was hiding behind the brush.

It didn't take long to recognize the sound as somebody's pathetic sobbing and it took even less time to conclude that emotions were nothing but a burden and her life would be easier without them (though frankly, she'd already come to that bitter epiphany a few times in the last month or so.)

She kicked her way through one last bush and who should she see but—

"B-Boscha?"

"Oh… It's Half-A-Witch…" The two locked eyes, and Boscha felt too many emotions to make sense of. She was still angry at the dorky little plants-witch over the grudgby game, yet at the same time… "Why in the Isles are you lying on the filthy forest floor? You know boiling rain is coming, right? Unless you want your face to look even stupider, you should hurry along." She huffed, and shoved her hands in her pockets.

Willow sniffed forlornly.

Boscha exhaled and rolled her eyes. "Gods," she growled and knelt down before the other girl. "Okay, spit it out. The hell's your problem?"

Willow looked up in shock, and straightened her glasses. "I-I uh…" Her voice cracked in a pitiful way. She sounded like she was in pain… She struggled to get the words out, but eventually was able to inform Boscha that "I… I think… My ankle is broken…"

Boscha raised an eyebrow skeptically. "How'd you manage that?" She tried not to remember Amity's broken foot or that it'd been her fault. She hadn't meant for that to happen. She didn't mean to actually, like, seriously hurt anyone… Guilt clawed at her chest.

Willow's face was unreadable aside from clear distress and pain, but Boscha couldn't tell what she might've been feeling toward her specifically. She picked up a staff and held it towards the triclops. "Um… A bird… Hit us while we were flying." The palisman nodded solemnly in agreement. "We sorta had a crash landing."

"Huh." Boscha looked down at the wooden creature and tilted her head, "I didn't know you had a staff."

"It belongs t-to my dads…"

"Gotcha."

Boscha's gaze hesitantly lingered on Willow's tear streaked face before traveling downwards toward her injury. Another drop of rain landed on the back of her neck, and Boscha had to bite her tongue. She needed to leave, the rain was coming, her scars itched, she wanted to lay down, nap, and forget about life for a little while but…

Willow couldn't fly and certainly wasn't able to walk. And while Boscha disliked her immensely, it's not as though she wanted her to die in the middle of a storm. "Uuuuuggggh…" She closed her eyes and stood up, facing away from the fallen witch. "Okay loser, you're literally going to get fried if you keep laying there in the mud. Get on the damn stick, I'll fly us to my house."

Willow's mouth hung agape. "Wh- Really?"

Boscha wanted to be offended by how surprised she sounded but couldn't muster the energy to feel upset. "Yeah yeah, don't piss yourself. I guess the bar is pretty low if saving you from boiling rain is out of character."

"Well… I-I mean… I…"

"Zip it." Boscha snapped. "I get it, I'm a bitch, whatever. Just…" She held out her hand and waited for Willow to take it. "Come on, I get the feeling we're running out of time here."

"Uh… R-right." Willow grabbed Boscha's hand and was slowly helped upright. She leaned against Boscha in an unfathomably awkward manner — as if unsure how much she could touch the bully without risking a second broken ankle.

"C'mon dillweed, we don't have all day."

Willow nodded and sheepishly leaned further into Boscha's body. While the staff was being positioned beneath them, Boscha could feel Willow's stare; it was burning holes into the back of her head. Though, after several moments of uncomfortable silence, Willow broke the tension with a meek "Thank you Boscha…"

"Y-yeah… Don't mention it."

Seriously, Boscha's mind echoed, never mention it.