Shimmering Sands glass teeth mask

Raptor had always been something of a candid fellow. Smokestep had come to find that while the sable wolf was wild in his actions, there was no better to stand beside. The burnt titian color of his eyes had always held a spark of impishness, but the pirate was confident in all of Raptor's abilities. The crew was forming well enough and the pale creature knew that it would not be long before they would have others within their ranks.

At the corsair's reply, Smokestep cast him a crooked smirk and shook his head. “Oi and you think that yer the one to watch me back?” he inquired with a small snip of acrimony. Of course he did not mean it; there was not a finer pirate on the coast than Raptor, but the ghostly seafarer was keen on keeping their relationship brimming with sarcasm and rancor. They'd spoken far worse to each other in the past, and would surely degrade to much worse after they'd ingested the rum. Of all his pirate skills, Raptor had a knack for making some of the best rum and grog that Smokestep had ever tasted.

“Ye hear this cad, Piper?” he began loudly, hoping to draw his sister into their clucking. When she did not respond right away, he turned his attention to where she had stood and saw that her freckled frame had traveled away from them.

“Aye, then. Let's get some grub,” he smirked, turning and flipping his tail toward Raptor's face with a playful and brazen swagger in his steps.