Ravensblood Forest the one minute. the soldier's minute

Arturo's concentration was broken at the sound of a voice, mischievous from somewhere above him. Though his stream had ended a few seconds prior to her calling out to him, his leg did not immediately lower. There was something memorizing about the voice, something attractive and familiar despite that he'd only heard it once before. His leg lowered back to the ground, unabashed about it (for it truly wasn't that compromising), his fiery, red-orange gaze like two embers aflame against his black mask sweeping until he made her out on an outcropping before him. She was like a vision, coquettish and the picture of youthful elegance. Not that Arturo was old by any stretch of the imagination: he was just hitting his stride, reaching his prime. She was younger than him, however. He could not tell her exact age but that much he deduced. Did he mind? Of course not. Would it stop any advances he felt compelled to make? Definitely not. He looked from her to the tree for a moment, a low sneer leaving his lips before Arturo's gaze slid back to her.

“Nothing,” He replied briskly, offering her a famous (or infamous) charming smile not unlike the one he'd flashed her at Atoll's little party. “But it belongs to me; it and every tree in this forest, and therefore I must mark it, no?” He spoke lightheartedly though he was serious enough. He wasn't sure if Chusi had gotten around to extending that invitation he'd asked her to or not, and though the gangster had no qualms about being upfront about things he was not so ready to end this buoyant atmosphere between them and did not put his question to words yet. He moved towards the next sequoia, drawing him closer to her outcropping and rubbed himself against it, feeling the rough bark snag a few tendrils of his hair and tear them free. Of course scent rubbing wasn't as effective as urinating on it he was conscious that he was in the pretty bard's presence and was not about to hike his leg up despite that he was no longer made bashful by such things. He was too experienced and far too mature in his years to be bashful about anything anymore. Still, there was a level of politeness and principle to retain and Arturo was nothing if not a gentleman. A dangerous gentleman, perhaps, but still a gentleman.