Cerulean Cape you try but you can't defeat them

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.