Hideaway Strath Oh, who says it ever has to end

The witchdoctor is still trying to get his bearings, trying to grasp everything that has happened while he …slept. The gangster had children, and a pack, and evidently not one but two wives. It’s not hard to put together the pieces that the death of the one they call Lotte is what had woken the witchdoctor from slumber eternal and that the abandonment and betrayal of his eldest daughter is what had been the gangster’s breaking point. Or rather, the point in which Riptide had mercilessly snuffed out the heart-broken gangster as one snuffs out a candle’s flame. It’d been easy.

When Hemlock calls the few that remain to her Riptide joins the gathering, noting absently that he is not the first to arrive. Unsurprising, considering any mental maps the gangster had made of his once home were taken with him to the grave. His fiery gaze touches upon her, greedily lingering on the swell of her belly. Arturo’s children. His children. Their children? It is a shame that Arturo took that memory too. Selfish bastard, the witchdoctor thinks with a silent huff. Hemlock’s words are not surprising to him so he pays partial attention to them, studying the youths. One a young adult, one close to a young adult. They don’t look like him. Good. He has enough surprise spawn to deal with and wrap his mind around without adding two others to it. There was already too much. Too much for Riptide to remember, too much for him to grasp all at once.

The pallid boy whines and blurts out about some boy named Lagan and that he’ll never see him again. There is an itching flare of annoyance that rises within him as the pallid boy wishes to harbor a lack of filter between his mind and mouth. The witchdoctor could too. “Life’s never fair,” The sea-witch hisses at the pallid boy, offering a small curl of his lip. “Stay or come with us; but if you choose to come with us I don’t want to hear anymore about how you may never see this Lagan boy again.” Or else he’d …well he can’t exactly claim he’s sane currently but nevertheless having to listen to it over and over again would be enough to push the witchdoctor into something unfortunate and regrettable …especially while everything is a disorienting rush around him and his bearings are horribly fucked.