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He must have wandered by not terribly long after the clothing had been shed. The shirt and shoes didn't hold much interest -- his own shirt was far superior and he had little use for shoes. If the coat had been placed so closely to those articles, he would not have felt so unrepentant about borrowing the vibrant red jacket. It was nice enough, to be sure, but it was a much lesser version of his own coat -- a smashing blue that fit him so precisely that it never interfered with his activities. However, whether by wind or bird or otter, the coat was rather haphazardly thrown into another tree and he couldn't help thinking that someone might like it. He imagined Mary would tear it apart and it really wasn't Anne's style; Rosebud would get a kick out of it. But he didn't know when the owner would be back and there was little chance of trekking all the way to Rose's home and back. So he did the next best thing; he tried it on so he could explain the find and maybe charm Flora into making a replica.

He had not wandered very far, partly because he did not want to get caught and partly because he had no where to go. He supposed having been lucky enough to find a best friend as a mere pup, he hadn't felt a need to find much in the way of acquaintances beyond that. That wasn't to say he knew no one. He simply could count on one paw those he specifically wanted to spend time with. One day he would have to fix that; he couldn't spend all his time with Rosebud and he'd go mad trying to spend more than a day around Mary or Anne. Perhaps he should get to know his other siblings.

The red had made him think of Drake. Whether that was because he had seen his brother wearing it or because of teasing about his elder brother having a fancy for a girl in red, it was hard to say. He sometimes tuned out his family when he thought he'd heard everything before -- which meant occasionally he missed updates. He was attempting to recall all he could about the brother that was -- or was it had been -- spending most of his time drowning in a bottle when said brother came up on shore. He heard, more than saw this.

He'd pulled his arms from the coat, leaving it to settle over his shoulders like a cloak, and begun to make haste back to where he'd found it. He could barrel along the main path, make good time, and be caught red-handed (funny that he really would have his paw on something red). Or he could scuttle through the more plant heavy area and hope to scurry up into a tree, dropping the coat on a branch further down. It was a grand theory. Except he hadn't really expected the owner to bundle through the underbrush. And by the time he realized all that noise was coming at him...

Samuel had the vaguest idea of who he collided with as he lost his balance. He gave his head a firm shake and rolled onto his back, red jacket sprawled in the dirt underneath him. "Oy, mate! Watch where yer goin'!" he called out as he waited for his vision to clear. Damn, that blurry thing was hard headed.

"Las' I checked," the younger replied, at his middle name. He propped himself up on one paw -- a somewhat uncomfortable position to be sure -- and stared up at the older. A grin twisted his lips as he slid his free paw into his brother's and pushed himself up. Once on his feet, he sat on his back paws and gave a stretch, twisting the kinks out of his back. He dipped with a quick fluidity as he retrieved the red coat, shaking the dust and dirt from the fabric.

He gave an amiable grin, "Rescuin' yer coat, brother," he gave a pause and quirked one brow. For all appearances he seemed to be attempting to remember something. His mouth popped open and in triumph he added, "Jake!" He looked quite serious about it, even as he laughed inwardly. A little bit of brotherly teasing never did any harm. Or if it did he should for all purposes be in shackles and locked in a padded cell. Though he supposed, from what he heard, the shackles applied more to one Captain Sparrow. He really would have to meet him one day, to figure out his own opinion.

Folding the coat over one arm, he continued to brush it clean, fixing his brother with a glance that was at once appraising and yet still did not appear to be at all serious. "And you? No' the most out 'ere to see," he commented.

"More like a bit o' brotherly teasing," he replied with a grin although he quite enjoyed the idea that he was being clever. He did so much, in most circles, to appear less smart and more comical that it was nice to be himself. The turnabout was fair, he thought, and he merely laughed, "No' a bad try. I would 'ave gone with Emmanuel myself." Still his lack of critique was a mark of approval. Then again he did come from a smart family.

Deeming the coat passable, though it was far from pristine, he handed it back to his brother. He thought to himself rather than make any comment aloud that to the pirate community, he'd merely say he was stealing it. And wasn't that what any good pirate would do?

He gave a nod, "Ah, so you landed yerself one o' those, finally? I remember hearin' about it, a bit." And then because there wasn't much else for him to do -- the coat returned and not a thing of much interest in sight -- he ambled to his paws. "Might as well, when you been so kind to offer!"

Samuel gave let his eyes travel to the side and up, "One o' those soulmates ev'ryone prattles on about." He, himself, thought it sounded rather silly and -- though he would never say so to anyone -- had no intention of ever letting himself be badgered into finding one. He imagined he had time enough until his family started on him, anyway. They still had Anne and Mary to pester about having children.

He nodded along with his brother's story, interjecting only once with a, "Poor girl, fallin' for a slow one like you." His grin was disarming afterwards and he chuckled lightly. It was almost too easy to tease his brother. "Oh, I wouldn't go tha' far. No' until you're saddled with kids. Til then she migh' come to 'er senses!" he added. Although he imagined if she hadn't run off by now she must really like his brother. And he did adore his family, especially when they were happy.

The questions turned to him then and he gave a shrug of his shoulders. With all the talk of Anna, he wasn't sure how to take the first one and he ignored it. He did an admirable job of deftly avoiding talk about finding himself a girl -- or he played (very) dumb and spouted every girl he knew, proclaiming he didn't need another one! He thought it was clever, everyone else had tired of it rather quickly he imagined.

"All sorts of things really," he answered. "Someone's got to be the voice of reason with Mary and the mischief with Anne, you know. I don't spend as much time with 'em as I used to. Awful busy climbing trees and borrowing things," he laughed.

He couldn't help but snort. As fabricated as the tale was, he honestly wouldn't have been surprised if there was some bit of truth in it. Their mother did seem to have an unhealthy obsession with children. Whether having her own or her children having their own, didn't seem to matter. Elizabeth was surely baby mad. A slight grimace showed on his face, he was going to make sure to keep Rosebud away from her. His mother would probably attempt to match make them and talk them into having children -- gross.

"You'll be leading th' first offense, won't ye?" he grinned. He was sure some of his siblings would get walloped in a fight and he didn't have the ego to not count himself among them. He was much better at evasive maneuvers; Mary could probably take out a few though. Oh, he'd take a roost in the trees and play lookout anyway. It wasn't like they had cannons around here to topple the forest.

He chuckled, "And you with yer spinning tales and drinkin' ev'ryone under the table!" The two of them would surely be horrible in a real fight. He'd be trying to look harmless and charm his way out while his brother tried using his storytelling tongue to trick (or rile up) their opponents. They could probably put on a good show between them and pick a few pockets, if they were ever bored.

"An' he died in a blaze o' glory. Th' brave Admiral. We put our hats o'er our hearts and honor his memory. Thankfully he left us plenty o' rum," Samuel declared with an elaborate charade of solemness -- hat gripped in his paw and resting against his chest. His acting was splintered when he begin to grin once more. He tossed his hat into the air and slunk forward until he was positioned beneath the object, sitting down and catching it on his head. He had spent many hours and days as a lad perfecting the trick.

He gave his head a shake, "Outlastin' the young bucks at th' table with a clear head is much better," he finished with a wink. It made it much easier to be a swindler when you were traipsing around drunker than a skunk. Even if everyone else was passed out, it was better not to run the risk of joining them or tripping over them and promptly bashing one's head only to blackout. Drake and he would have to tag-team; let the older out drink while the younger took a few tokens.

"Wouldn't dream of tellin' dear Anne, brother," he acquiesced. He always made sure that anything he found for his sister was gotten by only the best attempt at honor and honesty. Even Rosebud could sort of appreciate a good swindle -- as long as he consented to give it back, which was probably less than Anne would have him do. One should never tell a female where they'd gotten a gift. Never.

"It t'would be my honor," he replied with a grin. He chuckled at the addition, "Aye, we want you t' live a long life. The better to tease ye with in yer old age!" It simply would not be right to be robbed of the time to needle his elder brother. And, even, vice versa. If there was one thing that would likely always hold true, it was that he loved his family -- even if they could annoy him like no other.

He considered that. It was true a high tolerance would enable him to grab and go, but it'd still undoubtedly affect his mind a little. He liked his method better but he nodded, "S'true. Yours be easier t' foil, though." It may have been his dislike for how being smashed made him feel, clumsy and euphoric and unable to think -- only a touch short of being out of his mind entirely. Drake likely had a much higher than his; he probably dealt better with the feeling of being drunk or slightly inebriated, too.