Firefly Ravine energy in space was the ultimate bad father

arturo looks at the young woman before him, growing increasingly annoyed with himself ( though he is careful not to show it for it's not her fault ) about the nagging in the very back of his mind that tells him he should know. know what? there was something about her that scratched at the recesses of his mind wrung through hellfire and war-torn as it was like a caged animal desperate to get out. she is about the age of his lotturos and he assures himself that must be it. she is of a similar age which in truth should mean little because plenty of litters had likely been born around that time. he thinks he sees her mouth utter a word but it does not reach his ears which taper back against the curve of his skull as he stares at her, his mask of indifference morphing into one that resembles a mixture of unbidden curiosity and a studious perplex. still, it has been a long time since he's laid eyes on any of his daughters and he does not make the connection that he is face to face with one that he assumed to be a ghost.

the mobster draws in a soft breath and lets it out heavier than he'd drawn it in. the longer he stares at her, trying to decipher the enigma she presents to him makes him feel creepy and he averts his burning gaze of hellfire from her to take in the backdrop behind her, sweeping the landscape around them. the habit of a man who once would have — and had — done anything to protect those that he loved, those that called him ceannasach. he clears his throat as his gaze naturally falls back to the young woman before him. "i didn't mean to startle you." the gangster offers as an apology, and because he hopes to dispel the awkwardness he inexplicably feels.