Cedar Sweep you have to get what you want your own way

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There is a certain chaos to the life that he shares with @Lotte and though it has not been easy — Arturo knows that nothing in life worth having is ever easy — the gangster knows that there is no one in the world he would rather share it with. All the tribulations, all of the victories. The happy moments and the horrible ones. Their children are wonderful and beautiful beings and their time is spent between caring for them and ruling Arturo thinks that perhaps Lotte deserves a break. A few hours of quiet from the chaos. Arturo knows that he does. He does not deign to travel far from the Strath, staying within howling range of it but he does not think Hemlock or Chusi will need them for the few hours he intends to steal Lotte for himself. If it means that he is selfish, then Arturo would be the first to admit that he is. He is very selfish; but he also wants to keep their romance alive — not that the gangster has ever fancied himself much of a romantic. He scopes out a nice little clearing in Cedar Sweep, not too far away from the Strath to cause distress (for her or him, he isn’t sure) but far enough away to appreciate the quiet of the neutral, bordering territory. When he is satisfied that he has found a nice spot in the hopes of them being able to enjoy one another’s company without the looming presence of demanding little ones (as much as he indisputably cherishes the Lotturos) he tips his head back and calls for his queen.

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it’s not simple to say
that most days i don’t recognize me
that these shoes and this apron
that place and its patrons
have taken more than i gave them
it’s not easy to know
i’m not anything like i used be, although it’s true
i was never attention’s sweet center
i still remember that girl

As he often does, Arturo gives Lotte a gift she doesn’t realize she needs. He has married a soldier, not a princess, and it is all too easy for the young queen to lose herself in duty and responsibility. These things fuel and drive her, but she is helpless in the face of their demands. Without someone to forcibly take the bit from her mouth, she is too easily consumed by them. The dawn of the year has brought event after heavy-hitting event — the Donnelaith fire, her move to Teaghlaigh, and her marriage to Arturo; her ascension to leadership, her first heat cycle, and her ensuing pregnancy; the threat of Blackfeather Woods, the exodus to the hinterlands, and the exile of Olive and Dakarai. Add to these things the departure of her kaksonen, the birth of her children, and the constant struggle to keep them happy and healthy despite their dicey arrival, and what you have is a stretched-thin girl with a hard-lined mouth and cool silver eyes.

Some days it feels like Lotte Ansbjørn died in that fire. Some days it feels like she left with Dagfinn. Some days Banríon looks at her reflection in the water and searches for that girl, that reckless, hoydenish girl who wooed and won a gangster in gentleman’s clothing, and doesn’t recognize the harsher set to her black-masked features. There’s a stranger in her body, and only her eyes know that what she’s seeing isn’t what’s inside — but not with any concrete certainty. Where is the laughter? Where is the spice, the sass, the spirit?

Where is Lotte?

At present the soot-stockinged songbird is seated riverside, and when her mate’s call rises above the trees her charcoal-colored ears flick and swivel to catch it. Her children are already under Hemlock’s capable care, but there is still a moment of sluggish hesitation that delays her. Every day that Dagfinn’s gone, it gets harder to answer to the sound of her own name, not out of spite or despondency, but because without him to ground her it’s all too easy to forget who she is. This time, she is not Kaniini, Kitku, or Solene.

She is a stranger even to herself.

After a beat, she rouses herself to respond to that call. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, if any. She doesn’t clock the hours the way she used to. Her surefooted paws draw her away from the river and out of the strath, into the sweep of fragrant cedar where a forest clearing and a good, solid man who loves her waits. There is no ecstatic flutter of her heart as she stands, breathing deeply, looking at him; but there is a feeling of weightlessness that melts the ice in her argent eyes degree by slow degree. She warms to him, softening, a smile curling the sharp corners of her lips and making something sweet of them. “Turo,” the nightingale sighs, instinctually defining herself by her place at his side. It’s easy to cross the distance. Easy to snake her body hard against his in the old, familiar way, and walk a circle around him before pressing her lips to his cheek, his mouth, the base of his ear. It doesn’t fix the problem, but she doesn’t see that. Doesn’t care.

“I have missed you,” she murmurs, and these words are true.

she’s imperfect, but she tries
she is good, but she lies
she is hard on herself
she is broken and won’t ask for help
she is messy, but she’s kind
she is lonely most of the time
she is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
she is gone, but she used to be mine

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Time passes and Arturo begins to wonder if she will show. If she decides the children are more important than stealing a few hours for them he will understand. In many ways their children were infinitely more important than their own desires. They needed them still in a way that left few moments for themselves. This would not last forever, Arturo knows. They are already growing like weeds. It will not be long before their roles as parents shift to the next stage of the Lotturo’s lives and before the pair knew it their first litter together would fly from the nest and it would be just the two of them once more. It is inevitable. The parents were their world and as they grew older they became just their starting line so that they might strike out on their own. That was what they were raising them for, after all. To grow and to be independent.

His queen approaches though, and his ears twitch atop his skull as he turns to face her. “Nightingale,” The gangster’s smoky timbre nearly coos to her. She is still (and would likely always remain so) the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes upon. Even now, she captivates him. Bewitches him. She speaks of missing him as her body snakes against his. He returns her kisses with a renewed fever. To a third party observer those words seem odd and out of place. How could she miss him when he has not gone anywhere? Arturo understands. He does not require an explanation because he feels the same. “I’ve missed you too, Lotte,” He confesses freely. The gangster offers her a beguiling smile, tail wagging softly against his hocks. “The children are growing older and it will be easier to take more time for Us.” He assures her. They will not always be so demanding and the gangster feels it is important to remind Lotte that the romance and the love still remains. In the end, they will be all they have. Each other. Arturo is reminded that there is no one he would rather grow old and grey with.

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“Nightingale,” Arturo croons, his voice like a sharpened razor gliding sinuously over a satin sheath, and Lotte latches onto the way he makes her feel. When he touches her this way, the rest of the world seems to blur at the edges. It doesn’t matter that the feeling of being lost and disconnected from her body will return as soon as she’s alone again with her thoughts. It doesn’t matter. Lotte is a creature who lives for the moment, for better or for worse — so she debrides the scabbing flesh that formed when Dagfinn was torn from her, and sutures it to the heart her husband bares to her so trustingly. Her kiss is his chloroform.

“They are alive, and we are safe,” Lotte utters with feeling. “We have lost several, but we have gained more.” She means their children, of course, but she also means the small band from Golden Glade. She breathes deep, a quiver in her voice as she confesses, “I did not think Eirlys would live. I did not think we could ever be as happy here as we were on the coast.” A smile that trembles at the edges lights up her moonbright eyes. “But she did. We are.” Dagfinn would want her to be happy, and though she can’t give him that in full, she can do her best to trick her body into believing she is. “Hemlock has become very dear to me,” she murmurs, “and so has Sirius.” There is an unspoken note of, “Can’t we keep him?” in her tone, but she stows it and focuses on the here and the now. “Someday,” she says wistfully, “I would like to take the children — and Hemlock and Sirius — and show them the world outside our borders. I want them to have grand adventures like their mama and papa.” Lotte is not a wolf who can remain stagnant for long — she is a further flier than her name suggests and despite the long trek they took to get here, she is already itching for her next jaunt.

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Arturo listens to Lotte as she speaks, nodding in favor of speaking his agreement when she mentions that they have lost but have gained. The grand balance, he thinks wryly. They have a lot to be grateful for. Arturo thinks that Hemlock is dear to him as well, keeping to his quietude. He does not need to speak to convey that. Her and Palisander were the first to rally to his cause and if not for her Arturo wonders if Eiri would have actually survived. Arturo trusts Hemlock more than he trusts many, but the knife lodged in his back remains as a harsh reminder of what trust can lead him to. He does not believe that Hemlock would betray him or Teaghlaigh …but in all fairness he had never thought Olive would as well. Anyone could put that knife in his back. Hemlock, Chusi, his children, Lotte even. Everyone was capable of it. Arturo turns though things away. He does not want to become paranoid afraid that it will summon Riptide.

“When they are old enough we will take them out. I’m sure Chusi would love to help,” She has not been as flighty lately, he thinks, but does not linger long on her, either. This moment was meant to be theirs. Though there is one thing he feels needs to be said. “Sirius will be old enough to visit his parents soon,” Arturo is not looking forward to it. He dreads it but he is a man of his word, if nothing else. “I am escorting him,” The gangster is not sure if this is a good idea but he will not allow the pair to manipulate their son into leaving with them. If he leaves it will be when he is nine months, an adult in the eyes of the pack and capable of making that decision for himself. “he may decide when he is old enough that he no longer wishes to stay, he may want to be with his parents.” He reminds her. His parents are banished, after all, and when he is old enough to hear the story and understand both sides he may side with the star-crossed lovers against The Family. It is subtle but it his way of warning not to get too attached.

The sins of the parents do not effect Arturo’s look upon the child but Arturo keeps himself at a distance because he is the villain of that story; as he always will be. He switches his attention back to Lotte though with a smile of adoration upon his muzzle.

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“Chusi has become a beautiful young lady,” Lotte said, her tone warm with mingled pride and sorrow. The little foundling was growing up — and it was this knowledge that saved her from feeling too badly about Sirius. She had four small children and one older daughter, and they were Hemlock’s children as much as her own. “You are right,” she beamed up at her husband. “No more talk of sad things, handsome devil.” She touched her nose to his cheek, wandering a tight circle around him and nuzzling her broad crown under his chin. “This time is for us. I say we get into some trouble.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

sticking a (tiny, eep) conclusion to this thread. <3

Arturo is all too happy to oblige his wife when she requests that they put thoughts of others behind them and focus upon them. An easy enough task for the gangster who can be selfish beyond compare when given the opportunity to be so; and in this moment he wanted to be utterly selfish …whilst also be selfless for her. He draws her into his embrace and does not intend to end it until their presence is absolutely required back at Teaghlaigh.