It's that afternoon after school when Bella next visits the Witchnook. (She already made another nighttime visit to pick up her powder, and it's safely stashed under the false bottom in the box full of notebooks under her bed.) This time she just needs beetle wings and a reasonably clear chunk of quartz. Her books and the goldvine bramble she ordered aren't in yet.
"I have confidence in my own - meticulousness, when things are important," says Bella. "I assess things and then follow through on trusting my assessments even if the thing I have to do still isn't great. I don't think that's the same thing."
"Bravery is a complicated concept. Sometimes it can mean - a kind of recklessness. And recklessness is nobody's friend."
"No, sometimes I do get in over my head," says Bella. "I just make sure I have a good reason to take the chance first. I don't think that's factored into the definition of recklessness."
"I think taking chances without making sure you have a good reason to is exactly the definition of recklessness."
"I would call them reckless if there were precautions readily available that they didn't take," Bella says.
Going without magic makes her irritable, especially by day three, and maintaining a poker face with the uniformed witch takes about all she has. She hustles to the Witchnook after school to get fixings for a pick-me-up; the USADI drive is over with and no more witches who might want to draft her are going to encounter her anytime soon.
"Ugh, I don't even know, I was going to just fix the sink but Renée called a plumber before I expected her to get around to it," growls Bella, scratching irritably at her scalp. "I could make another charm but who'm I going to give it to, you?"
"They'd be redundant with each other, somebody'd notice if I had an extra -" She starts scanning the shelves, biting her lip. "Fucking plumber, I could've done it, fucking Charlie, Renée'd be fine with it but he's worried and him being fucking worried only gets me into worse trouble, good job, father of the year - are you guys still out of potion-quality sage?"
"Yes, we still are. I could give a charm to Angie and pretend I've had it all along," he suggests.
"She'll insist you keep it. I don't want you to have one, I don't like you, worst fucking night of my life when I met you."
"Tape it to her locker signed from a secret admirer with forged handwriting," he suggests next. "Or is that too convoluted?"
"Pretty fucking convoluted and her dad's a suspicious ass sometimes, might get it looked at, might trace it - why don't you have any fucking potion quality sage, I could just make a healing potion, I like those, they're useful, they're a good dose, is it that hard to keep the damn stuff in stock -" She stalks up and down the aisles, scowling.
"The shipment was delayed. You could scry to see why," he says whimsically.
"You are so fucking smug," she snaps, but she grabs a bottle of scrying water from the endcap and stalks to the register.