It had been early morning when Riptide had left the Bay and headed north along the coast — and about afternoon when he reached the Cerulean Cape. For once, he wasn't particularly on a mission. His curved piece of bark used for transporting his collected medicines was left behind in the back corner of his den. He doubted anyone would steal it but he'd rather not search for another piece of tough bark to serve his purpose just in case. At least, not until the current piece was rotted beyond usefulness. Simply, Riptide was curious as to what lay in the Northern stretches of the coast, and given there was no blank tug of recognition....no deja vu Riptide suspected that Arturo had never been to these territories, but as they did not share all of their thoughts or secrets he couldn't be sure this was particularly true. All Riptide was sure of was that he'd never been this way.

It was reason enough to make the venture.

The cape was a beautiful sight, crystal clear blue waters stretching as far as his eye could see with white sand beaches. He walked on one such beach now, the sand warm as it worked it's way through his toes and stuck to his paw pads. Fiery, red-orange gaze took in the aesthetic beauty of the territory, pausing to sniff at a piece of seaweed (after the wave had receded) that got tangled around his front, left as the tide lapped up around his legs, his head raising just in time to avoid getting a snout full of salt water as another wave crashed around his legs. Yet, the strip of seaweed was persistent and he kept walking with the hopes that it might be taken by the pull of the waves and untangle itself from his leg...although he considered that seaweed had health benefits to it and when the waves receded he grasped it in his jaws and untangled it, taking it to the dry stretches of beach and laid it out to dry, settling into a sphinx-like position, hoping that the hot sun made quick work of drying it out so that he could eat it.

A noise was detected over the soothing lull of the ocean, causing the sea witch's ears to perk atop his slender skull as he nosed the sea weed, as if that might will it to dry faster. The longer he stared at it, the more he began to salivate. Saliva pooled in his mouth at the promise of the decadent treat the Sea had gifted him with and he desire to consume it. If he could, he would eat it until he burst but while it remained beneficial to health it did not give him the same things that meat did. The sea witch knew that he needed meat as an essential diet but sea weed could serve as a tasty and healthy treat now and then — much like the marrow of bones. He drew his head back, salmon pink tongue swiping across his black, leathery nostrils to taste the holy (salty) water that resided on the sea weed that had transferred to his nose in his impatience. It was true he could eat it now but he didn't really fancy the idea of consuming the sand that was no doubt sticking to the back of it. Dried sea weed was more appealing to the sea witch, after all. No one like soggy seaweed.

Admittedly, Riptide hadn't given much thought to the sound of faint footfalls until the ebony girl approached him. Fiery red-orange gaze shot to take her in from the corner of his eye, entranced by her languid movements and the ease in which she approached him. As if she knew him. There was no caution in her steps. As Arturo did not deign to share the memories of his children with the sea witch Riptide drew a solid blank as he tried to recall if he knew her or not. Thus, the sea witch deduced that she was simply fearless. She chuffed to claim his attention and he turned it to her in full, mostly out of his own innate curiosity; though her words sparked confusion and mystery to the sea witch. She'd called him Pops. A giggle left Riptide's lips and he let out a loud scoff. “You've gotten me mistaken, clearly,” Despite having to break the news that he was deciedly the furthest thing from her father, Riptide gave the pallid beauty a cheshire grin all the same, as if that might lessen the blow.

The pallid beauty seemed disturbed by his words and Riptide watched with half amusement and half pity in his gaze as she circled him, slowly, as if to prove to herself that she was right...or admit that he was right. “Watch the seaweed,” He chastened when she drew near to it, because of course that was the most important thing right now. The seaweed. The truth was it would never dry if her shadow lingered on it, neither would it help if she stepped all over it. Yet, her troubles and his quite eerie physical similarities to her father were hardly the sea witch's problem; thought along came the contemplation that it would likely be his problem soon. And if it did not escalate into a problem then he would be drug into it somehow.

He leveled a blank stare at her, fixing her in his fierce fiery red-orange gaze when she insisted that he was definitely her father, spoke as if he knew her name at all or if it would make any sort of difference — such impudence, it made him sneer at him — and then boldly demanded to know what was wrong with him. Suddenly, the sea witch's mood shifted like the weather upon the Sea. It went from jovial mockery to something much darker. He was just as unpredictable, admittedly, and his lips curled back from his teeth in a silent warning.

“You try my patience, whelp,” The sea witch gave voice to his warning: wanting to clear the air so that there would be no misunderstandings. “I have fathered no children. I do not know you, and neither does your name mean anything to me.” He spoke simply, but his sharp gaze spoke the truth. Within the fiery depths of his irises there was no recognition whatsoever. There was nothing but blankness. Perhaps Riptide could have offered some more class to the blow: for surely it was a grieving thing but he was assured that he was not her father and had no indication from the gangster that she was his daughter and thus she simply appeared to be little more than a demanding and confused child to the sea witch.

The child's — for that was how the sea witch saw any younger than himself — expression flashed through a few cycles of different emotions before it smoothed out beneath the burning scrutiny of the sea witch's gaze. Riptide watched as the girl bowed her head in a mannerism that he was surely meant to take as an apology. He was suspicious of it, given how hard she'd tried to push the “you're my dad” card on him a few seconds earlier but his reprimand and snap seemed to have knocked some sense into her head without him having to become violent about it and thus the sea witch was appeased. For the moment, at the very least. Her giggle reminded him of the one he made some times, and an amused noise left Riptide's nostrils though the cruel leer remained upon the sea witch's lips.

The gangster held to his silence, whether his children was a blanked memory for Riptide or Arturo refused to share it for reasons (the world may never know!) and thus Riptide was left to think that there was another melanistic coywolf out there with Arturo's unique markings. Perhaps the gangster had a brother? Admittedly, the sea witch did not give too much more thought to it. It didn't matter. The girl had realized her error and that was what was important here. “Shush child, it's alright,” Riptide cooed a bit too harshly for the softened tone his voice had meant to taken. “Lets not speak of it any further.” A sharp demand disguised as a suggestion. There was no need to beat the horse any further — it was a corpse and her insistence and revival of the subject was only due to irritate the sea witch further.

“I am called Riptide.” The sea witch replied and give a soft hum in his throat, studiously watching her for any reaction.

Whether the pallid girl believed him or not was not anything that Riptide felt concerned enough to truly fuss over. Despite her misgivings she wasn't his daughter and he didn't care. She was just a lost girl in the sea witch's mind, confused. Boldly, the girl took a step closer. It was a ghost of a thing — a small step that if he'd not been so perceptive it would have been undeniably easy for him to miss. A question was formed from her lips as she drew nearer. He drew the seaweed closer to him, his ears cupped forth, attentive, even as he turned his gaze from her for a few seconds to test how dry the seaweed was. His response to her question was simple...and in it was the truth as Riptide knew it. He was a witch and he'd granted this body by the Sea itself. “The Sea, child.” It was a zealot response, but it was the only thing that was relevant. He didn't know where the gangster came from, beyond frankly not caring. “I come from the Sea.” He turned his predatory, burning gaze to her once more, wondering what question she would think of next to inquire of him.