Stavanger Bay gangnam style

Arturo offered the ivory male, ribbed with ink — not unlike Skellige's own pattering — a nod when the male stuttered that he knew his scent — bluntly. For the first time in what felt like a very long time to the Fearghal, he was not met with immediate hostility (even such from his own packmates) for being what he was: a coywolf. Someone had finally gotten the memo, it would seem. He was insulted every time — especially by those of the depths, that had sworn their loyalty to the Sea Titan — and frankly he was tired of being insulted every time he turned around. That didn't even take in account his mood of the day — which was nothing short of stormy. Not quite of the lethal state of a hurricane but he was at unrest with himself and accordingly the gangster's patience for others was gradually slim given that. To see a beast forged of his own law and pride broken ...it went beyond piteous. It was little more than dangerous, and now he had the sea witch to contend with. A blow to his pride he could heal from, given time to formulate and scheme. But the broken bit ...well that was a different demon and not one that Arturo was all that convinced he could tame.

Szymon Cairn. His markings had whispered of a connection to the mighty Sea Titan but the sirename confirmed what had already been suspicion within the gangster's mind. “I assumed as much,” The gangster spoke with a terse smile — one that did not touch his fiery eyes — tugging at the edges of his lips. “You look like a Cairn,” He offered in simple explanation despite that it hadn't been required nor inquired after. “I am Arturo. Arturo Fearghal.” He offered his own name, intentionally leaving out the bit about "Riptide" as he called himself. Out of shame and his own anxiety that even mentioning the sea witch's name might be enough to trigger him.