Gilded Bay The Cool Seaspray

The pirate lifted his brows at the sound of his accent being imitated by the stranger. His eyes roamed over the other male's face before he chuckled and flicked his tail upward. Though he was just more than a year, Smokestep had heard his fair share of passersby who would attempt to mimic his inflections. Somehow, they all sounded differently and almost none of them sounded perfectly comparable. Regardless, the pallid corsair was hoping to sweet talk this fellow into joining the wolves of the Ironsea crew. It seemed that he had piqued some sort of interest in the red-hued stranger. Dramatic as it was, he allowed himself to play into it.

Bobbing his head, the two-toned eyes of the pirate danced along the other male's frame for a moment before settling to his face. “Oi, well ye keep that up an' ye'll be a pirate yet,” he said with a confident nod. “Ye spend enough time with the crew an' ye start to get a good feelin' for the lifestyle.” Drawing himself up higher and smirking wildly, Smokestep feigned as if he was sizing up the other wolf for several long seconds.

“I've got room fer ye, but ye must understand that the oath of a pirate is fer life. Once a member of me crew, always a member of me crew.”