Stavanger Bay always keep em on a leash

The morning on the Bay's shore was cool, the salty breeze that rolled off the sea sticking to his fur as the melanistic coywolf made his way through the sands. He wasn't a man of the sea. He'd grown up in a woodland that gradually gave way to the hollow that named this natal pack and while the sea did not make the gangster uncomfortable it was no Two Rivers Isle. The more he thought about it, replaying the scenario in his mind, the more it boiled his blood. He hadn't forgotten, of course. There was no forgetting the vicious sting of failure to his pride. He had survived the fucking famine to have some elder tell him that the Isle wasn't his when it had been the gangster's long before they'd settled their pathetic little family upon it's lands. For a wild moment, he considered taking it over. The alpha male was old and Arturo had the advantage of youth. Take his pack, take his woman. Neither were gentlemanly things to do, admittedly, but he wanted revenge and it wanted it to be sweet — for him, at least.

The thought of carrying out the action had the coywolf's heart beating faster in his chest, his mind less focused on his path, ignoring the frothing sea foam that lapped and splashed up upon his long legs, soaking the fur with sticky saltwater and more upon the cruel plan taking form in his mind. Of course, it wasn't overly logical. He would have no support. He couldn't even hold a decent rank in the Depths ...and there was the little problem of Riptide to consider. Though lately, he'd been himself more and more as if the sea witch had begun to sink back into whatever hole from hell he'd crawled out of. Perhaps it meant his mind was healing from the tumble from the cliffs. Or perhaps it was only circumstance. He couldn't and wasn't willing to bank complete and utter confidence upon it. Not yet.

The idea was grand but it held no merit. So why, then, did it entice him so bad? A soft huff left the gangster's lips as he gave his head a shake, tucking those thoughts away, refocusing his fiery, orange-red gaze upon the stretch of sand and waves before him.

love this song so I had to jump in

Lagertha couldn't say she hadn't met Arturo, but did not know him personally. Thus, when the Viking found herself in the beach once more, intent on hunting in the shallows if she were lucky, she halted at the sight of the ebony form. Would it be rude to ignore him in favor of hunting or should she reach out to see if he would like to hunt with her?

"Ya seem preoccupied," Lagertha stated, moving towards him curiously. He was similar in build to herself and Doe, slim and small but taller. 

" 'M Lagertha," she introduced, thinking briefly of allowing him to call her Lag or Laggy. "Vant to fish vith me?" 

it's one of my favorite songs on arturo's playlist! thanks for joining! :D

The sound of approaching footfalls upon the ever shifting sands was noticeable over the crash and lull of the ocean's waves only because as a species they had exceptional hearing. His ears swiveled back to detect the origin of approach, but the gangster did not put the effort into it that he could of. The weight of Riptide and his desire to reclaim what was his was strong and as they were the two things that often plagued the gangster's mind he could not help but entertain them. He schemed. He wasn't the Ceannasach for no reason, after all. It had taken careful planning, equal parts charisma and a sharp intellect to establish himself as the gang's leader, even though he'd been the youngest of the wolves he had assembled into his Family. The woman approached on her own, and Arturo's fiery red-orange gaze flickered to her for a few moments, acknowledging her presence before it slid back to the sea.

“There's a lot to occupy my mind,” The gangster drew in his deep, accented voice. He spoke simply, honestly, though vague, not intended to give her any details. She didn't need to know, though in the case of Riptide he wasn't sure what wolves were aware of his …“alternate personality” and which were not. “Arturo. Arturo Fearghal.” Still a name of pride, still a name that outside of these Wilds struck fear into the hearts of many. Here, it meant little, still; as to which still frustrated the gangster who was not a beast to sit idle. She posed an offer of fishing together. Fish was something of a delicacy back in Quicksilver Hollow. Granted, they had salmon that swam up stream in the fresh water river that cut through the edge of their territory but Arturo'd always preferred big game. Then again, he'd always been the “go big or go home” type.

“I regret to admit that fishing was never a skill I picked up.”

"Pleasure to meet ya," she chirped, cheerful despite his distant demeanor. She wondered vaguely if she was supposed to recognize the name, given the proud way he presented it. It was doubtful he would recognize her's should she give it.

"Vhy settle vith a pack that vorships the Sea then? A wee bit counterproductive don' ya tink?" The Viking sat back on her haunches, awaiting an explanation.

Arturo had to remind himself that she did not know his story and why he was here, why he continued to stay out of the instability of his own mind and his iron forged loyalty towards and respect for Skellige. It was a complicated story and not one that he felt inclined to delve into, though as he watched her settle back upon her haunches with his fiery orange-red gaze he supposed she expected it. The gangster was not accustomed to it, mostly because he didn't owe her anything. The world wouldn't stop if he refused to tell her. It was his business. His and Skellige's. He felt the urge to huff at her prying question, felt the desire to tell her “no” as he would have would she had been one of his Family. Not everyone needed to know everything. It was often times safer that way.

“How is it counterproductive that I live here but that I do not fish? I don't like fish thus it was never a sensible skill for me. As I understand it Miss Lagertha, I don't have to like fish to live here.” Her words made no sense to him aside from the fact that they'd came across to the gangster as prying. He could have been wrong, but he didn't think so. Arturo's terms for being here were between Skellige and him. All she, or anyone else needed to know was that he was loyal to The Leviathan and thus he was loyal to the pack. The alliance, should Arturo ever see his plans through, should he ever be well enough to return fire, would still stand. Just because he thought religion as a whole to be bizarre didn't lessen his respect for the sea titan any; and most importantly he was respectful to their (including Riptide's) faith; but Riptide was a whole other complication in and of himself. Besides, Arturo had always believed respect to be of utmost importance and thus always strove to assert it even if he did not necessarily agree or believe himself.

Lagertha smirked at his tirade, not deterred in the slightest. It wasn't meant to be a nosy question, but apparently getting to know your pack mates was now a crime in Blackrock Depths. 

"Look, I donnae know vhat crawled up ya arse and died, nor do I particularly care. Tere's no reason to be a git about somethin simple as a question," Lagertha retorted, snorting slightly. 

"Ya know if ya people skills ain't better tan tat, ya made a mistake joining any pack. Got ta talk ta people ta be in a pack," the Viking winked, getting to her feet since it seemed that her company was unwelcome.

"Bes' be off. Don' vant ta offend ya anymore tan I have," with a motion similar to a human teenager flicking their hair back, Lagertha turned and began to search for a prime fishing spot.

probably the last from me! Feel free to have him take that anyway possible!

@Lagertha I didn't archive this right away because I wasn't sure if you would want to have Lagertha respond to him or not. If not, feel free to archive it as is! <3

The coywolf's lip curled in response to her lecturing him about being a “git” and his lack of people skills. Arturo could charm the fur off of a bear if he had too. He garnered some of his success with Skellige to his charisma — after all the Leviathan had threatened to eat him during their first meeting. Yet, Arturo did not expect Lagertha to know that. How could she? His annoyance had stemmed from her choice of words: that made him feel like she believed that he did not belong with the Depth wolves because he did not fish. It was a silly notion to the Gangster. That was like saying that someone who did not like eating venison shouldn't belong in a forest based pack because there were a lot of deer around. For a moment the gangster considered telling her that he and Skellige had history and an accord with one another but a beat later held his silence. It wasn't her business. She was not a leader.

“My social skills are just fine,” He disagreed politely. Always politely. Even when he wished to be anything but polite. “You can understand how your opinion on how I fit into this pack or rather how I don't based on lack of a fishing skill can be off-putting, surely.” It wasn't a good way to start with the gangster, clearly; and he amended mentally that it was clear she didn't see how her opinion was off-putting or else she would have kept it to herself. She did not know that he had earned the respect in his natal pack, had risen from ashes he'd been buried under since his birth. Since the wolves of his natal pack had recognized him as part coyote. This, Arturo did not expect her to know. Still, her words whether she'd meant them as such or not had struck the Fearghal as disrespectful and that was not something that he condoned.

He did not stop her when she gave an errant flick and departed. His fiery, red-orange gaze followed her until her figure disappeared into the sand dune horizon before he turned and headed back down the opposite end of the beach.