Shoulders straight; the perfect knot; not a single hair out of place; ‘tuck your shirt in, Arturo, you look like a slob…’ — he can still remember the dulcet tones of his mother’s whispered voice reminding him, no, telling him that he would never be good enough in little words and large actions. Paired with his father’s tough, heavy, but not abusive hands, it was the perfect concoction to turn a meek, shy little boy into a WILDFIRE.
Born in Eindhoven to parents in their mid-forties, a surprise but not an unwanted pregnancy, Arturo came kicking and screaming in the middle of December into a family that was a bad fit for the journey his soul had come to Earth to venture.
For a large portion of his life, it seemed that God or The Universe had been trying to right its wrongs — A move from The Netherlands to Florida at six gave him the freedom that he craved. He fell in with the right crowd despite it being the ‘wrong’ crowd to his parents, and placed all of his extra energy into sports and school. He excelled, showed promise, even impressed his mother.
But it’s said that wildfires burn out eventually. Or sometimes, at least in Arturo’s case, they grow larger and consume everything around them instead.
Puberty came with aggression, heightened emotions, an overload of hormones and an epiphany that somehow manifested in rebellion, back talk, and fighting. If a teenager ever had selective hearing, his was ten times worse. His mother’s chastise became the fire under his ass and his father’s authoritarianism fueled it. They couldn’t look at him without a ‘what’ nor could they discipline him.
Strangely enough, the solution to their son’s behavioural issues was simple — on a regular Tuesday night, after another fight had broken out between him and his parents, perhaps over broken curfew or a correction from his mother, he can’t remember now, he’d blurted it out, almost in tears.
He’d screamed about his fears, held his mother accountable for her scrutiny, begged his father to stand up for him and accidentally let slip that he was gay in the midst of it all. Emily’s face had gone pale but his father had simply laughed, relieved that out of everything, all of their problems had solutions; that one didn’t need to be fixed at all.
It wasn’t Emily’s non-support that hurt the most going forward — it was her pointed nose, the sudden lack of interest in his social life and the way she would pull away from hugs too soon that slowly carved holes in his nervous system. It further proved to him that he wasn’t good enough, cemented in him the belief that he was crooked or off-kilter, out of place in spaces that he should’ve fit into.
And then? He became an adult.
Brick-by-brick, he built his life from the ground up, no longer in the shadow of his mother’s expectations. Arturo went to college, followed it up with an internship at one of the biggest agencies in the state and ended with one of his own, settling in Palmview Grove where he's been since then.
PERSONALITY
Arturo seems untouchable from the outside — he walks with purpose, dresses well, smells nice and has a small group of close friends who he's incredibly protective of. Despite being known locally by name and profession, he keeps his private life locked up tight and doesn't flaunt his wealth; a modest apartment, a car he rarely uses, the cheapest watch he could find that functioned in the way he wanted.
Rarely do new people get invited into his inner circle but he's not necessarily unfriendly or difficult to talk to. He's merely protective of his time and energy. But if you get invited into his circle, prepare to have a warm, protective and supportive friend.
Sarcastic by nature, he embodies everything a Sagittarius is said to be — curious, adventurous, playful, direct, incredibly impatient, overly independent.
He can easily make any setback into a gain and no longer sweats the small stuff for his own sanity.
He's covered in tattoos; one sleeve that stretches up to his neck (left side), a piece on his right hand, and something on his ankle that he got as a dare from one of his friends.
King Hubert is his leashed-walked, high-quality fed, spoiled orange mainecoon. Probably more popular than him, owns the house, and breaks a light over his kitchen island at least once a week. Artie would have it no other way.
where: tipsy shores dance hall, mango bay - palmview pride event
the conversation had been going well enough that genevieve almost didn't notice the music change. almost. the second the opening notes drifts through the dance hall speakers, however, her attention snaps toward the dance floor, recognition immediately lighting up her features. " oh, my god! " she laughs, shaking her head as if she can't quite believe her luck. of all the country songs that could come up next, it just had to be one of her favorites. glancing back at the person she's been talking to, she points toward the crowd already beginning to form in the middle of the dance floor. " okay, i'm sorry, but this is completely non-negotiable. " setting her drink down on the nearest table before she could accidentally spill it in her excitement, genevieve extends a hand in their direction, her smile bright and entirely too confident for someone who clearly isn't taking no for an answer. " one song. three minutes, max. if you're not having fun by the end of it, i'll personally buy your next drink. " tilting her head, she gives their hand a pointed look before meeting their gaze again. " and before you tell me you don't dance, just know i've heard every excuse in the book and none of them have ever worked on me."
Arturo settles back into his chair, dramatically making himself comfortable against the material of the seat, unmoving despite her proclamation that it was non negotiable. While balancing a half-empty drink on his knee, dark, amused eyes fall on her — rebellious, playful, haughty. "I do dance," The man states, his sigh long and drawn out to try and hide the smirk that curls on his lips. "— but not with a girl I could've fathered in high school if I'd been reckless and heterosexual enough to do so." Then he points, "And quite frankly, playing this genre of music at a pride event, during pride month, is homophobic. DJ should've known better." He says around a mouthful of his drink.
ranji raises his eyebrows. "he's... really well trained." he's seen this before in internet videos and posts, but in real life it's still a bit jarring, even if cat seems largely indifferent. "oh, it's fine. i figure, you know, it's kind of my fault for trying to hang out in his giant litterbox."
Arturo's gaze falls to Hubert, the feline raises his head, barbed tongue licking the remainder of his treat from his whiskers. "You would think that, looking at him on the leash but trust me, he's still a cat underneath all the training — knocks things over, gets stuck in drawers, loves boxes, trains parkour at 3 am."
₊ ✵ ⁺ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSARIN IMMEDIATELY RAISES A BROW as his gaze flickers over to the furball occupying the spot next to him. “That’s exactly what I tell people too and yet…” He leaves his words trailing, though the playful tone in them could definitely not be mistaken for something else. “Oh, oh! And this whole time here, I was worried about my sand-kicking habit. Guess your Maine Coon and I would get along just fine. Does he take it just as well as he attacks?” He inquires with a slight lift of his lips, all attention now fixed on the owner instead.
Arturo scratches behind Hubert's ears as Sarin speaks to his likeness to the cat now digging in the sand at his ankles. Brown eyes flick toward the other, a half-snort, slightly confused but no less amused falls from his lips. Though he was a bit lost, the c.e.o defaults to assumptive sarcasm. "Jesus Christ, if that's how people ask others if they're a top or a bottom these days I'm going to have an aneurysm." It's whispered under his breath — amused, playful, hidden under the facade of annoyance. "The answer is no, by the way. He doesn't. Never has."
A long, high-pitched note came from Jade once she caught sight in the cat. “I’ve never seen a cat on leash before— I mean online, sure. But irl? Never!” The promise of not being bit meant she felt comfortable enough to squat down to pet the cat. Just as she was about to ask for its name, her ice cream fell out of its cone. Jade looked at the sand-covered cream, the cat, then up at the man and laughed. “So much is happening to me right now, I have no idea what to do anymore.” Though Jade was pouting, her tone of was still bright.
Endearing — something in Arturo's chest flickers. Whether it be fondness or a whisper from his soul to heart; a familiarity that had nothing to do with the actual knowing of someone but understanding the emanation of their energy. Dark eyes roll over the lump of melting ice cream and sand, flick to her's, a gentle smile, uncharacteristic, tugging on the corners of his mouth. He motions his head back toward the ice cream truck. "Let me buy you another? Your ice cream was one of Hubert's victims, it's the least I can do — he got to enjoy his, you should get to enjoy your's."
"i think this might be just about the best trained cat i have ever seen." kai watches hubert with amusement, and, honestly, a bit of shock, keeping a little distance so as to not startle him. "...either that or he's a very dangerous criminal, and this is the cat version of being transported in handcuffs. i would assume he wouldn't be getting rewarded with whipped cream, though, in that case. what's the little guy's name?"
“You think?” Arturo catches their amused shock, mouth twitching only just. “He’s twenty pounds of pure muscle, could make a bobcat submit with a glance, but he’s reduced to this docile creature? Some people train their cats, others get trained by them. I’m not weak enough for the latter.”
Feigned offence is translated by the click of tongue and an exaggerated shake of his head. “Listen here, buddy. I don’t know who you are but insinuating that King Hubert is a hardened criminal, straight to his face while he’s trying to enjoy his rare dairy treat, is not only rude but, as his lawyer, it’s defamation. How dare you…” Arturo bites his cheek. “ Besides, even criminals deserve whipped cream from time-to-time. Apologize.”
so, unfortunately for arturo, sage is like almost weirdly obsessed with cats. there's a reason he's holding out a power-point to convince the other roommates to get another – not that stella would need convincing, but.. now he's standing, almost crouching to take a look at the cat. “you know, i once tried to get my cat to do this – ” panther is a maine coon, too, big and brawly and all attitude. “he wasn't a fan. did it take a long time for uh — ” doesn't know this cats name actually, “him to get used to it?”
Dark eyes follow the bend of the other’s knees. “No,” Arturo states. “— but he was a kitten when we started training him.”
“I wanted a cat, ex wanted a yorkie — I didn’t want something I’d mistake as a rat running around our apartment so the natural compromise was a cat that could eat it if he decided to bring one home.” It being a dog. “A breed with high trainability”
Warm, slightly hidden, the hint of a smile tugs at his lips; Hubert hated his harness at first — flopped over, gave him grief— but eventually, with a little bribery, he had warmed up to the idea.
Arturo gazes upward then. “You know, cats are highly intelligent. If you stay consistent with them and have enough patience and desire, they can still learn.”
“He won’t bite you.” Arturo assures with a point as Hubert, his orange Maine Coon, leashed and enjoying the warm sunshine, stretches out next to another sitting in the sand of the beach. He clicks his tongue, getting the cat’s attention long enough to place a small cup of whipped cream in the sand between his knees as he sits in their usual spot. “Might kick sand at you though. Sorry in advance.”
It’d almost been three weeks since Waverly moved into Palmview, and while she’d made a lot of progress on unpacking, she knew she needed more fabric for her next project. She went to the local craft store and she felt like she’d bought the whole shop! She walked out of the store with an arm full of bags filled with fabrics and all kinds of things she’d need. Unfortunately for her, it was difficult to keep it all balanced, and when she turned and bumped right into someone, some of her bags fell right to the ground.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I’m the clumsiest.”
Easy breath, sunshine, the end of his daily meetings — with sunglasses secured on the bridge of his nose, Arturo gets distracted with fixing the way the rolled sleeve of his shirt laid over his forearm as he walks from his office and out into the humid, swampy afternoon. Surprisingly, even with her arms full, the man doesn’t register her until it’s too late. Bodies collide, balance shutters, and bags fall to the ground. His arms, automatic in their movement, reach out to steady her.
For a brief moment, he doesn’t say anything even as she mutters apologies and then, “Clearly.” He states, taking a step back. A grin so subtle that it would’ve gone unnoticed had it not come out in his tone upticks on his lips, bending down to grab hold of the fallen bags. “— you do this often? Walk around corners at lightening speeds with your hands full? If so, get yourself a bell, let people know you’re coming.” He offers them back to her.
