Stavanger Bay if you apologize once you do it again and again and again

the coywolf's fiery gaze sweeps over her again, slower this time, now that he's (mostly) confident she's not going to attack him. her pelage is an intriguing mixture of creams and golds that compliment the molten gold of her irises. she is pretty, the gangster decides as he diverts his gaze so that it does not linger for longer than is socially acceptable. she appears to take his word for it and for that the gangster is inherently glad and relieved though arturo keeps his expression carefully composed in a well crafted mask of neutrality. he doesn't take her aggression personally and does not expect any sort of apology for it — it's her right to act aggressively towards a possible trespasser. if their positions were to have been switched he would have done the same. trespassing is one of the many transgressions that arturo is keen on forgiving.

the young woman offers him her name then, and arturo's lips part for the first time since reassuring her that he was apart of the crew to speak. "sandpiper." he repeats her name back merely testing to see how it sounds rolling off of his tongue in his accented, smoky timbre. "i'm arturo." the fearghal patriarch offers his own name in return. simple and absent the name of his legacy. the fearghal name has fallen from it's glory — as to which he shoulders plenty of the blame for — and while he picks up it's broken pieces and attempts to mend it back together he is content to simply be known as 'arturo'. the gangster's been alive long enough by now to have learned that anonymity is, at times, better than notoriety and right now he desperately needs the calm that anonymity promises him. it's rare to be able to rebuild something of your own creation after it's fallen to ruin and to have the opportunity to do it not once but twice gives arturo the hope that he's not yet left his better days behind him.