Olive's call sounded through the towering, bleeding sequoias to the gangster whose ears perked with unbidden curiosity. The origins of her howl came from the borders and though he was weary his trust in Olive drew him along the quickest path to her. The last time she had called for him it had been to induct Dakarai as a Comhlach. Arturo wasn't yet sure how he felt about Dakarai but he admired the dark man's honesty, at the very least. Though her call had not sounded urgent, there was a increase to the gangster's heartbeat as he approached, wondering if she had been accosted by Furiosa's murdered. The stranger who was still at large. Arturo did not sleep well at night, unsettled by it. Since finding her corpse there had been no more corpses, no unfamiliar scents trailing into Teaghlaigh's claimed lands. As suspicious as the Ceannasach could be at times he did not find comfort in this. The patrols remained vigilant and his wolves on high alert, and advised, if it could be avoided, to not leave the borders. Keeping this leash on Chusi was much easier (or so he thought anyway) then it was the adult members of the Family but then again not one of them struck him as restless and reckless as his daughter.

His pace slowed as he approached the pair, fiery red-orange gaze finding Olive first before it slid, burning to the strange male who stood beside her. Another lover? A friend? A family member? Not murderer, and if he was Arturo doubted Olive was aware of it, but the scent did not strike the coywolf as familiar. “Olive,” Arturo encouraged her to explain who this was and why she had brought him here — especially at such a tense time when Arturo would find himself hard pressed to let strangers so close to his beloved Family. He did not speak the words, but they were implied heavily in the deep, accented, smoky timbre of his voice. For now, he would listen. Only after they had offered him an explanation and purpose would he judge.

Olive made the introductions calling the stranger beside her Armand, and Arturo drew his tongue across the inside of his teeth as she explained how she had came across him. The story was simple: she’d been wandering, struck up a conversation and had decided to bring the stranger home. The gangster had to bite back the soft, ironic laugh that threatened to escape him. She reminded him of a small child, innocent in the ways of the world, bringing home everyone she could find with faith so easily and explicably placed in them within the span of a single conversation. In this way, the Ceannasach felt all the more protective over Olive despite that she was a woman full grown. She was an intelligent woman, more spiritual than Arturo would ever be (again he was struck again by the knowledge that his mother would absolutely adore her) but she appeared to trust easily. Arturo was not blessed with that ability, either. His trust was hard earned. For good reason, the gangster honestly believed. Betrayal of trust, of him, of the Family would always equal death in his eyes. The price of his trust was a hefty one and once it was broken there was no mending it. There was a balance: a precarious one but a balance nonetheless.

Arturo trusted Olive. It was those outside the Family (excluding Skellige and his wolves, and of course his gangster queen Lotte) that Arturo did not trust. Olive vouched so readily for him, claiming before him that this Armand was a “good man”. Olive was a highly intuitive being, where as Arturo had to work to decipher others. He treated them like a puzzle: gleaming information from them and putting it together like a puzzle. His was not an intuition of sense but one of the mind; and it was no secret that the gangster enjoyed mind games (perhaps that was where Riptide had gotten it from). “Olive is a gift.” Arturo told the stranger sincerely, his fiery red-orange gaze settling upon the male then, assessing him carefully. For all intents and purposes he appeared, to the gangster, to be speaking with honesty. He hadn’t needed to admit he was “tormented” but he had and why would one make that up? There was no reason that Arturo could fathom but the mention of “tormented” caused a quicken of Arturo’s heart beat. He, too, had been tormented once. Riptide had been a parasite: Arturo’s own torment, his punishment for attempting to scale the Keep when he was no mountain beast. So what was Armand’s torment? It caused Arturo’s muscles to stiffen, a glint of distrust in the gangster’s eyes. “And what torment is that?” Arturo inquired, not sure that he expected an answer.

“Teaghlaigh is a Family, first and foremost. We are extremely tight knit and territorial. Given that, those who first join our ranks are not actually apart of the Family. They are given a…transitional rank, a place holder until they earn their official rank and place among us or they are chased out—” Put bluntly. Arturo saw no point in lingering if one had no intention to actually join the ranks of the Family. It was senseless and there were other packs that would be more willing to accept them. “You can think of the Comhlach rank as an associate of the Family. There are two laws that Teaghlaigh is expected to obey and enforce: The Ceannasach’s word is law and The Family before everything else.” Arturo had already demonstrated his willingness to disown and otherwise disassociate himself and Teaghlaigh with anyone who could not conform to those laws. “To betray the family means death.” Betrayal was not anything Arturo would ever take lightly, but that applied more to those who had earned their place among the Family then the Comhlach’s as there wasn’t much for them to betray Teaghlaigh with (if anything at all). Without his red herring he was uncertain who to take her place temporarily and thus found himself settling for the vague.

“Knowing that, if your want to join us remains, your time as a Comhlach will not be easy. If you accept, you will be required to meet the members of The Family, associate with them. And you will be assigned a task to complete and report back to me.” Arturo gave pause, salmon pink tongue drawing across his lips for a moment, glimpsing at Olive from the corner of his eye. Providing the terms were accepted the gangster would continue on with the important question: “What skills can you bring to Teaghlaigh? What strength can you add to our Family?” As it would determine the nature of the task assigned, should Armand accept.

Olive was quiet, which gave Armand the chance to speak for himself and before the Ceannasach this was the best thing. Olive could only vouch for Armand so far, and eventually, it would fall upon him to make the decision on what to do. A lot of Teaghlaigh’s joining process relied heavily upon the Comhlachs and less on the Ceannasach; then again he did not deign to do their work for them, nor make it easy on them. Joining the Family in full was no joke and Arturo had to be sure that they could carry the burden, that they understood the consequences if they betrayed it. The initiation that he put all Comhlach’s through would either prove they could and were willing to shoulder the burden, to join the Family or it would break them and they would seek asylum elsewhere. In the end, it would always be their choice, their decision. He was simply a guiding or an enforcing figure to them, and that also depended upon the Comhlachs. Armand spoke that it was torment of his mind and would Arturo not have mastered his poker face years ago he might have blanched. He knew the torments of the mind all too well. It was a familiar and unwelcome presence and though it was a vague answer Arturo, should Armand accept the role of Comhlach would deign to keep an eye upon him.

When Armand spoke his skills a terse pull of the melanistic coy wolf’s lips were given. “How do you figure that? I am an efficient man, Armand,” A ghost of a smirk then tugged upon the gangster’s lips. “I find all skills useful.” And he certainly welcomed them. Especially one that claimed to be fleet of foot and cunning. Both he could appreciate. Yet…how to assign him a task. It sounded like he might be well fitted for a spy, and idly Arturo wondered if Armand was like his mummer queen who adopted many masks and many personalities. Out of faith and trust Arturo did not deign to spy upon his allies, and Teaghlaigh did not particularly have enemies. It was not something he was in any rush to change, presently. It was unavoidable, certainly. He would have to be clever about it, he realized, knowing that he could not send Armand on a run of the mill errand.

“Pick a pack inland, away from the coast. Discreetly gleam what information you can about them and report back to me what you have learned.” Information was power, after all, and this task was intended to cater to Armand’s claimed cunning, wondering if he could charm as well. “I expect to hear of your progress soon, Comhlach.” The gangster replied with a wisp of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was only after he had finished speaking that it occurred to Arturo that he had yet to offer the other his name. “By the way," The gangster drew in a soft breath. "I am Arturo. Arturo Fearghal.” Though for the purpose of remaining somewhat anonymous he did not include his rank. He was missing his red herring but that did not mean he would not act like he didn’t still have one. The protocol was in place for a reason and the inner workings and rankings of the Family were not known to the Comhlachs.