Editing Forgotten Freedom:9 (section)

== The Unwanted Customer ==
Stupid the Warforged leapt about the deck, madly swinging a dainty little net made of a pocket handkerchief on the end of a stick. The captain flattened himself against the railing to allow the great construct to rush past, flicking the net about in front of him and cursing.

At the far end of the deck, Doog lounged comfortably in a leather reclining chair, as was his custom when there was work to be done onboard. The tarp that normally covered the chair and protected it from the elements lay in a heap on the deck next to him. The half-orc appeared to be dozing.

Jarlot approached cautiously and cleared his throat.

"Sod off," said Doog, clearly just lying with his eyes closed and a blissful look upon his face rather than actually asleep, "With all due respect, sir."

"Yes, uh," began Jarlot, "What is Stupid doing? He's shaking the whole ship with his traipsing about."

"Ye gods, my head!" shrieked the keel, distantly, as Stupid crashed about the prow.

"What, the warforged?" Doog asked pseudo-innocently, eyes still closed and face still blissful. "I believe he's trying to catch the ethereal butterflies that have infested the ship."

"Ah," said Jarlot, not particularly happy he asked. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?"

Doog simply smiled widely, his eyes still closed, and said nothing.

"Right, well," continued the captain, “The real reason I came to talk to you is that I need your help."

"Get stuffed."

"Uh, yes, well, we're approaching this small village of Aundair, and a businesswoman there, an old friend of Marish's, has asked us for help with a powerful but unwanted patron, but hasn't much money to pay us with."

"Tell them to get stuffed too."

"It's a brothel."

"I'm in," said Doog, leaping up and reaching for the tarpaulin protection for his chair. "Let me get my stuff. Oh, I bet Michael will want a piece of this action too."

"Well, quite," said Jarlot. He coughed into his hand, uncomfortable.

"Where is ol' Blacky anyway?" asked Doog, fastening the tarp over his chair, the bright red and crudely painted lettering reading "Doog's chair!" "His ass only!" and "Violators will be Keelhauled!" plainly visible.

"He's, uh, already there," said Jarlot. "He's the reason we're going. Apparently he's been there for four days and has no plans to leave."

"That spawn of Khyber!" cursed Doog, standing up from behind his chair with a shocked look upon his face. "That is despicable!"

"You... think so?" asked the captain, equally shocked.

"That rotten bastard! How dare he do such a thing? It's a disgrace!"

"Is that what you really think, Doog?" asked Jarlot, tentatively. Could it be? Had the vulgar half-orc finally seen the error of his ways and begun to see women as more than a means of sexual gratification? This was too good to be true!

"It damn well is!" said Doog, most chuffed. "He could have at least asked me to come along! Bastard's probably had the whole brothel to himself these past four days! Khyber's Claws, we're wenching buddies! It's what we do!"

The captain sighed. Too good to be true, indeed.