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It felt distinctly like the raccoon - no, the world - was taunting him. The stupid reddish critter had shown himself seemingly everywhere Artisan looked, and each time he went further to investigate all he'd find was a cluster of happy fireflies or a long-faded scent. The newest bead upon his wrist was a permanent reminder of his origin story, and Artisan broke off from the pack challenge to head south in search of a witch who might have the skills to pour his hate and suffering directly into his bead for him. Voodoo wasn't something he was super familiar with, and he assumed there'd be great cost associated to the request, but why would a pirate have any fear of a witch?

There it fucking was again - that flash of orange, precious fedora, then gone with the breeze. Artisan leaped through the snow after it, huffing and puffing the cold winter air until he'd come across a large metal structure. Upon it's top was a cloud of fireflies, and he could hear a hushed "shoo" followed by a very not-so-hushed reply. "Hah!" He called up the skeleton. "Now you've pissed off the wrong creature, raccoon! I hear the fireflies even can take away your eyesight, or make you shit yourself uncontrollably!"

Artisan took a seat at the base of the structure, a mad grin upon his maw as he watched the fireflies dance (in a way Artisan was sure was menacing and violent) around the lump of snow that contained his arch nemesis. All he'd need to do is wait, eventually they'd spook and/or shove the critter off his perch and right into Artisan's lap for vengeance.

He tensed, a voice whispering in his ear, and his smile faltered. "Haha," Artisan forced a laugh. "No, uh, that's the bad guy, up there." His head ducked between his shoulders and he flailed one decorated limb up around the critter's direction.

"Speech"