The tropical island was actually Pincher's birthplace and perhaps the only place he had ever truly settled down in for more than three months. Being in a nomad gang had been rather tiring and exhausting to Pincher but that was perhaps due to his shit father always forcing him to do extreme tasks just to train him and make him some sort of hitman for him to use. Pincher honestly enjoyed traveling and seeing new lands on his own time and not against his will but ever since he had decided to allow the Typhoon to stay on the island for a permanent home, that dream had withered away and Pincher now focused on being a good Captain to his members. He wanted to be there for them in any way possible and to show his dedication despite how tiring it tended to be. And with all the responsibilities that he had to take care of, the canine needed a fucking break from it all.

So now Pincher was heading out of the submarine after constant scribbling on paper. Goldie appeared to be sleeping in and he was glad that she was resting but the craving for a smoke was pulling him out of his home and into a place where he could privately smoke in peace. Luckily, the crew was rather lax about smokers and drinkers since it was afterall...a pirate crew. There were mostly messy swearing troublemakers but there were also other members though Pincher tried not to bother them too much with his shit so he usually smoked in an isolated place. Once he had stepped into the rich vegetation of the tropical jungle, the male bent his head to sink his teeth into an ivory classical cigarette before casually lighting the end with a spark with his electricity.

He inhaled the rich clouds of smoke before puffing it out in a steady swirl before going out for a stroll. His electric blue eyes fluttered closed and the muscular obsidian canine simply allowed himself to blindly stroll around in the silence of the shaking palm trees and the soft crashing of the crystalline waves. However, a rough voice snapped him out of his daze and the doberman skidded to a halt, glacier blue eyes snapping open to glare at whoever had called him that as he stepped out from the shadows of the vegetation to look his steely glare onto Brad. He raised a fictional eyebrow as he bit softly down on the cigarette with his own sly smirk tracing his muzzle as he growled "Who the fuck are you calling a dirty punk, eh?" This should be fun.