Most of The Typhoon's territory was filled with the hush murmur of rustling leaves and scuttling feet, filled with dead life that spread across the high and low growing vegetation of the island. Noise was a blurred mesh and he could agree that it made the ambiance of their territory feel silent because the sounds were often drowned out by familiarity. The Typhoon's territory spread across hectares. They had ridiculous expanses of land and ocean surrounding their population and although many pirates swore allegiance to The Typhoon, there was a great collection of frequently unexplored areas. The busiest of places was the Barracuda Bay and the Tavern, always bustling with creatures who spoke in all sorts of tongues. Sometimes there would be conversations of interest, arguments and brawls, food or gift giving. Life, he realises, was quite peaceful and aside from their recent drama with The Pitt, they were as undisturbed as the nature around them. Quiet, calm, and docile. It was easy to notice when a foreigner had entered their midst because of the way they traversed their territory, the way they seemed unfamiliar with the soils they trod on.

He noticed the prints when he had been quietly patrolling on his own, going about his usual routine before he'd go back to the Bay to engage in whatever activities seemed to be going on. They looked small but too big to be that of a young feline's. A puppy, perhaps. Although they have a number of canines dwelling on their island, he hasn't seen many pups scurrying about. Well, aside from that one child who happened to have a million eyes protruding from his body, moving and squirming from the flesh. The Reaver shudders slightly at this thought before deciding to follow the tracks, eventually stopping when he hears a loud barking call. They knew of this place? That was new. Normally the ones who didn't ring the bell were the ones who were lost and had no idea what this 'Typhoon' place even was. It made things annoying because everyone took it as an opportunity to recruit a newcomer, gain another to their rankings by putting words into their mouth. If not, then they would be visiting. The Typhoon was, for some stupid reason, one big inn for visitors. Perhaps they should assign a particular place for visitors, only allowing a few in at a time because otherwise they'd be a motel.

"Reporting for what?" the ragdoll asks with a raised, figurative brow at the child when he approaches. His sanguine eyes scan over the pup's form, recognising him to be another doberman. He also comes to notice the assortment of minor injuries on the other's fur but it didn't seem serious enough for anyone to yell at him to find Junji. "Are you supposed to be a returning member or something? A joiner?" He doesn't really understand what the male meant by 'reporting for duty' considering he had never even met this pup before. It all seemed to mysterious and suspicious to him because the child even knew of The Typhoon's name. Sinister or just childishly stupid? He was aware of shapeshifting and the ability to move between ages, quietly wondering if this was one of those spies the island tended to be concerned about. The Reaver, however, isn't sure how to go about this. He can't simply hurt a child for finding him suspicious and unsettling so all he can do for now is keep asking questions until he felt more comfortable with what he thought of this 'Dustin'.

Some places took in an influx of joiners, while other areas had a bounteous quantity of leavers, the angel found. Joiners were all leavers at some point, every one’s excuse for emigrating in contrast to the last. In some situations, broken homes were the issue, with the significant figure in the scenario purposely removing themselves from households of heart-wrenching abuse, crippling poverty, and a multitude of supplementary dreadful reasons. Once in a blue moon, the leaver was required to leave without their will having a say-so in the matter, the circumstance of which normally the gloomiest one. However, as it appeared to be in this ballgame that Dustin found himself in, it seemed that his choice to join the Typhoon (the group was certainly one of the most popular “joining” spots) occurred as one made out of gaiety, lead by that childlike strive for adventure, a strive that the angel admired. Too often creatures believed their lives to be wasted, instead settling down as lifeless husks, whereas the fledgeling Doberman present had the eyes of one who wanted action, desired contingency.

Taking the canine’s age into account, Marco outfitted his broad mug with an expression of acute friendliness, approaching as one of the later personalities that the pup would be introduced to. Seeing that Bakogou had already spoke the necessary lines, the lynx saw fit to patiently wait, dishing out a supportive gaze deriving from those olive hues of his. If Dustin lasted as long, Marco figured that he’d make quite the interesting adult.

It's not difficult to notice he is being shadowed, shadowed by the tiny and frail form of CC. He flinches a little, noticing the way they sped up, almost tripping into him. He would panic for a moment, not wishing for the child to touch pelts with him because he was usually burning hot. Bakugou would not want to deal with a crying child but he feels safer when CC offers the stranger a smile, unsure of its meaning but glad there are no tears drenching their face. His attention quickly shifts to the new scents that begin to arrive, their casual welcome committee. He looks at Victor, seeing the way the Striker found it difficult to look at the doberman's attire. He looks at the stranger again, realising the way the pants fitted him. He resists the temptation to comment, deciding that he doesn't particularly find it funny. The boy just looked...lousy. As much as he wants to continue judging the poor child, his thoughts snap back into focus when Dustin repeats his words. Reporting to duty. He realises his mistake when handling idiots and fools. He should have asked what exactly that 'duty' was and why he was reporting in the first place. He thought this whole act of pretend was getting tiring.

Dustin was too energetic for him. The way the pup repeated 'my dad' was tiresome. He wanted to turn around and walk back home, go sleep off his feelings of displeasure towards him but he couldn't. He found himself not moving, only listening to what his brain assumed to be keywords as it filtered the boy's language. Bakugou pays no mind to the doberman talking about his clothes and how cool he thought them to be, finally looking at Owen and almost cringing in anticipation of what idiocy might leave his mouth. To his surprise, Owen was actually rather compassionate in this situation. He assumed wrong of the indominous rex and was helpful. "Well if you want in, then you're in. You're a pirate of The Typhoon now," he says, about to add 'congrats' but deciding it was too cheesy. He feels that it will spark unwanted attention to him and doesn't want the child exploding in more excitement and hype. He leaves it at that, dipping his head in an awkward good bye before adding: "Barracuda Bay is in that direction."