The Sentinels if you are the dealer, i'm out of the game

arturo's ears perk at the mention of 'father', 'reclaim', and 'cairn'. "you are skellige's son?" it was not a question as it left arturo's lips, rather a simple, assuming statement. of course, he was aware that skellige had brothers but it had been the dark pelaged cairn that had conceived blackrock depths and thus, he is the cairn that arturo's mind naturally maps to. "we were ...friends once," arturo's tone hesitates on the word 'friend' unsure if that's the word he wishes to use or not. they'd had an interesting relationship from the start, skellige and he, and it's not one so easily defined. for now, though, 'friend' suffices. "our packs shared an alliance." the gangster offers the tidbit of information freely, though is ultimately unsure of how much the boy's father had shared of his time in the teekons.

"i don't," the gangster murmurs in quiet agreement. he doesn't believe in ghosts, or anything therefore holy or demonic. the religious and the supernatural are merely convenient ways of explaining things and soothing one's guilty conscious, as far as arturo has ever been concerned ( as blasphemous as it was to his poor mother ). "my wife almost died in the fire that took this forest." lotte hadn't, but she hadn't been alive too much longer afterwords. a handful of short months following and she'd been taken from him too soon. a wound in his heart that will never heal no matter how often he walks this path of memories, no matter how often he prays at her alter — the only goddess he recognizes and willingly worships even after her death. still, he tries. still, there is a piece of him that his pragmatism hasn't entirely eaten away that hopes; but he's gotten so used to the pain that he isn't sure what he'd be without it.