The Captain's crew was already a mess. He trudged across the sands of the bay with a scowl and a bristle to his pelt. Nothing had soothed him after having witnessed Roz's overtaking. Smokestep hurt for his sister and his own pride. It was unimaginable that a Cairn would have fallen to such a challenge, but fall she had. It had left him in a state of disarray that he was not quite capable of dealing with. Skellige had never mentioned these types of turmoil when he had exaggerated the making of the Blackrock wolves. The dark leviathan had made it seem so simple, but it had been anything but simple.

With an effort to avoid Rosalyn, the pirate glanced toward the waters and debated the thought of fishing. In a matter of time, he found that his luck had run dry. The dark reddish brown pelt was there, and not too far from him. He glanced her way with a curled lip and then away from her. Mixed emotions clouded his judgment, but he would always value his sister above anyone else, including Rosalyn.

Already, she was making it known that she wasn't going to cow to another. Still, the fire burned in his gut and he gritted his teeth together to refrain from leaping upon her with all the force in his limber body. She was the first to make a remark, and it was clear that she wasn't looking for an excuse, but the accusation fell and she claimed him a liar. The corsair turned on his heel and spun, snapping his teeth in her direction and aiming to grip them down over her muzzle.

“Ye'd best watch yer tongue, lass. I ain't no liar.” The guttural sound from within his throat made his position clear; you may have overthrown my sister, but you'll walk the plank before you ever get a chance at my crew.

The red woman was quick to make an effort to turn his words on him. In spite of what she said holding some merit, the pale wolf chuckled at her and then tossed his head back in a joyous laugh, though it was not one that included Rosalyn. He was laughing at her. It was like she had trotted fresh out of his father's stories of Ksenia; some self-righteous cunt looking for any reason to get a step ahead in the world. He wasn't sure if she had any idea what kind of a hole she was digging for herself.

“An' ye think they'll follow the likes of yerself, Rosalyn? Ye think that ye earned that position? Well sink me, then, yer about the best an' brightest we've got, ain't ye?” he mocked her with another chuckle and a swish of his tail in delight. None of her words left a mark on him. He still believed that his sister was further in the right than she, and she was nowhere near a proper persuasive attempt. Fixing her with narrowed brows and a cold expression, Smokestep took a step forward and drew his head rightfully above her own. It did not matter if she had taken the First Mate position; he was still the Captain. “Ye didn't earn it. Ye took it. Ye don't even have yer sea legs, lassie an yer tryin' to prove that ye can run the crew. Pathetic,” he remarked with a small shrug and a devilish glint in his gaze.

With a huff, Smokestep's ear swiveled atop his head and he frowned at the woman he had thought so fondly of. “Ye ought to know better. As Captain, I do what's best fer the crew, and that includes the right leadership bein' appointed. First Mate's job is to tend to the Captain, didn't ye know that? If yer lookin' to tend to the crew, ye ought to have fought Raptor fer his rank. But I gots a suspicion that the crew wasn't on yer mind either... ye just wanted a leg ahead, didn't ye?”

She was losing her steam, and he could see it. Her expression grew cold and she flooded him with reasoning behind why she felt she was in the right, but she didn't know how wrong she actually was. The anger of a Cairn was firing cannons inside of him, but he refrained from leaping to her and putting her in her place. It had gone beyond the fact that she had uprooted Sandpiper and stolen a rank from her with some pretentious air that she belonged as First Mate. It was, perhaps, in her vicious remarks toward how he was running his own crew that sunk the nail in the coffin.

“I don't give a bilge rat's hairy arse what ye used to do, Rosalyn,” he said her name in the most condescending tone that he could muster. “Or the crew ye used to run wit, aye? If ye liked the way they did it, ye can run yer happy lil puss back to 'em, can't ye?” The glint in his gaze was still strong and he still held his head aloft. As much as he was not pleased with Rosalyn having taken his sister's place in the ranks, he was even more upset with the idea that she was telling him how his crew was intended to be run. It was not her place; it would never be her place. “Ye took me sister's place without even the faintest idea how the Ironsea is meant to be run. Ye might have earned yer sea legs when ye were a whelp, but ye haven't earned 'em here. Ye might have earned a sad little nickname from another crew, but ye haven't earned yer name here,” he snapped at her.

The bristling of his pelt had grown, and his tail lashed like a predator. “I don't care where ye came from, but when yer tryin' to make a home in my crew... maybe take the time to see how it's run, eh? Before ye think ye can make it better. Ye may have taken me sister's rank, but ye've got a long ways to go before ye'll have the respect of a First Mate,” the yearling said and cast her a sad expression. As much as he wanted to strip her of her title and cast her to the sea, it was not his fight. Sandpiper would need to reclaim her place when that was right for her.

“Ye don't get nothin' fer free here. Ye earn it wit every speck o' blood ye got in yer body. An' ye haven't earned a damn thing.”

“Glad to know where we stand.”

It seemed that she had taken to being curt. The boy wasn't certain what he'd said to her to be granted such an attitude, but he had a feeling that somewhere in his words, he had struck a chord. Still, the pirate turned his head so that his eyes locked to the sands beneath their feet. He could not help but to feel a modicum of heartache for the loss that he was facing. Smokestep had been more than eager to bring Roz aboard his crew; he had wanted her more than he had wanted any of the others. Still, they stood with bristling fur against each other and he felt a seize in his chest. It was not what he had wanted.

“I don't know wot ye expected. I haven't stripped ye o' the rank. Yer still First Mate, but ye sure as hell can't expect me to be pleased about how ye got it,” he admitted to her, finally returning his mismatched gaze to her face. Some of the sourness had faded from his voice, but he was still stiff with the cold winter chill that had taken hold of his bones and his soul. Then, the pirate shrugged and frowned thoughtfully. “This was our purpose. Piper an' me, we was sent back here to lead our home. Wasn't s'posed to be anythin' like it is now. It ain't just a crew; it's our home. This was me father's... our father's land. An' she's looked out fer me since we was young-” but he stopped himself there and bit his own tongue. She wouldn't have understood, he felt. There had always been Sandpiper, and so he saw fit that she should be his First Mate.

Flicking the tip of his tail, the pale Cairn had grown tired of exhausting his emotion. He had hoped to avoid the entire conversation, but he should have known the predictability of stubborn women. Smokestep did not know if she would stay and endure, or stay to make change, but he was tired of the conversation and no longer wished to fight with the red woman. He would know what her choice was, no matter which path she picked. The pale wolf turned to leave, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I guess ye've got some choices to make. Ye can learn wot it takes to be the kind o' First Mate Ironsea needs, ye can keep on like yer goin', or ye can leave.”