The call sounded and the ghostly pirate turned his skull sharply in the direction of the summons. A sense of pride swelled inside of him at the sound, for it meant that their markings on the borders of the bay were proving to be useful to passersby and one had found themselves interested in what lay beyond the edges of their claim. With that sound, the pirate pulled himself from the waves and set out at a quick saunter through the sand. It wasn't long before he found the dark female waiting for the approach of one of the crew.

Lifting his crown upward and slowing his pace, the Captain regarded her with a quirked brow and a thoughtful frown. “Ahoy, lass. What brings ye to me bay?” Smokestep inquired with a slight cant of his skull. His eyes roamed over her figure with some moderate interest before he awaited her response.

The girl seemed to jump ahead of herself at the start. Smokestep chuckled – a deep sound in the back of his throat – before shaking his head a bit at the dark-coated woman who had introduced herself as Frankie. She had a knack for talking and a knack for patching people up, it seemed. The pallid corsair eyed her for a moment and then closed a single eye so as to peer at her from a crimson orb. The pirate was interested in what she might have to offer, but he thought her a little brash. She, of course, knew nothing about his crew or what they believed in, so it seemed strange to him to want to simply climb aboard and lend a hand.

“Well now, drop yer anchor a moment, lass. We could use a good set o' healin' paws, but ye haven't any idea wot we do or who we are,” the scoundrel told her with a quirked brow and a small smirk. Surely, he was still intrigued by the young miss, but he wanted to know if she would be willing to take the blood oath. To join Ironsea meant to pledge yourself for life, and none would escape such a testimony.

Sandpiper's looming presence was not what he would have anticipated, but he preferred that she kept a good distance while he handled the formalities. The gold-cloaked sister had never been proficient with handling common folk, but he had developed a knack for it. Oftentimes, he would forget that Piper was typically impolite, but he adored her nonetheless and would have preferred her companionship over anyone else.

The dark woman seemed to catch herself, pulling back into a more comfortable conversation. Smokestep eyed her with some interest, amused that she had fumbled so swiftly into wishing that she could join his ranks. The corsair cast a long glance toward his familial support system before facing Francine again. “Oi, alright then, miss. Yer in the company o' the saltiest an' fiercest crew on the water. These here are the lands o' the Ironsea crew,” he explained to her with a dramatic flair. “An ye think ye've got wot it takes to be apart o' our crew, aye?”

A wry smirk curled his features. “Wot will ye do to prove it, lass?”