The tavern happened to be one of Morrison's favorite places within The Typhoon. The sheer trashiness and lively atmosphere of the place screamed his name, even if it had seen better days. Many pirates came and went from the tavern, sometimes even interesting refuges or visitors. That gave him an opportunity to meet new folks and give others an earful much more than he could elsewhere. Old ship tales, adventures on desolate islands, his extravaganza with the lovely women and men across the world, and more left him as he paraded the tavern with glee. It felt homely. Not family friendly, but that was fine with him. With the amount of drinking, dust, and dastardly deeds, it was better off that way.

Ready for another roundabout with the regulars, the elderly canine breached the double doors of the tavern with a smirk. To find the 'newcomer' within the quarters was a surprise. Morrison padded forward as they moved booze to their proper places and observed them with interest. His head peeked behind the bar. "Didn't know we got a new barmaid," he joked with a snort. "How much they payin' you?" The question was rhetorical. He knew there wasn't anyone paying a cent in this shithole currently, especially since most served themselves to what they wanted and kept things tidy. Some were slacking, obviously.

He slinked forward further and ended up next to the other. A paw reached towards an older whiskey. Squinted hues read the label quickly, only to kick off to the side. "For later," he deeply rumbled, offering a wink to the other. With his own drink stashed away, he reached towards the other bottles and fumbled with them. He didn't bother asking to assist. Instead he proceeded with small talk as he causally helped out. "Reacquaint yourself accordingly yet? Find a place?" Morrison asked. A lot of homes and places to stay were up for grabs. He continued on quietly, debating his previous inquiry. "Although you may be more of a water dweller..." That was something they had in common at least.