Maury, not Maureen (Parental discretion is advised)

"Mistress Maureen, you can not continue this fostering of ill morals with the youth of the waterfront. The Faithful and I believe..."

"What you believe, does not concern me 'goodman' Saks, and it's Maury, not Maureen."

"Even if you don't 'believe' in our tenants, Mistress Maureen, you must affirm that the youth of the waterfront must be encouraged to steer clear of, "he raised both hands in a beseeching gesture, the prayer book hanging at his side swinging with the movement, "idle... exuberance."

Adjusting the front of her corset where it bit into the flesh of her bust, Maury, not Maureen, glanced down at her lap where a shock of hair could be seen beneath the table to the right of her knees. Smoothing her palm over the tablecloth, and dusting some crumbs onto the floor, she covered her irritation with a smile, her voice an octave higher than normal, "What would you have me do instead, 'goodman' Saks, if my morals are as loose as you say they are? Send them off to be taught? Molded into good little citizens of the Faithful?"

"The thought did cross my mind, Mistress Maureen, that the Faithful is a much more suitable arrangement for the waterfront youth. If I may be more specific," he dipped his head, "for the ones who lack proper parentage."

"I see..." a spark of light in the rafters drew Maury's gaze up. The Twisted Nickel Tavern boasted high beams and pennants of yellow and green, depicting Maury's personal crest of a fawn and tankard, emblems she had registered herself the day she opened the Nickel. Following the spark of light as it came to hover above the goodman's head, Maury gave her head a slight shake. The spark of light faded and a Pixie buck sat on the beam where the pennant was tacked, looking like a boy the color of a leafy twig.

"I assume the Faithful has your support, Mistress Maureen."

"Maury, and no, you do not."

"What?" drawing himself up, 'goodman' Saks stared down the breadth of his nose, "You'd rather the waterfront youth wallow in poverty and engage in depraved acts of debauchery? Why am I not surprised?"

Taking a ledger book from small hands who held it up to her from beneath the table, she placed it in front of her and opened it to the most recent entry. Tracing her finger down a list of names, she stopped half-way through, and read aloud, "Geoffrey Saks, Goodman; 'woofy', toes," looking up, Maury frowned, "It says here, you prefer blondes."

Stepping forward, 'goodman' Saks made a grab for the ledger. His face contorted and his cheeks mottled with color, "Give me that, you whore! What lies have you been spreading about me?"

Whisking the ledger book away, Maury chided, "Now, now 'goodman', I spread no lies, but I do collect truths. If you let me continue, there are some details you might want to hear, like, size, duration, amount, preferences, witnesses..."

Shoulders at a slump, 'goodman' Saks curved a hand around the prayer book at his hip, "Stop, no need, I, "swallowing, his neck apple bouncing twice, "don't want to hear the details. No matter what that ledger says, I want what's best for the waterfront youth. I... want what's best."

Glancing down at the ledger, Maury's lips twisted, "You have a funny way of showing it, 'goodman' Saks." Maury glanced up at the rafters to where the Pixie buck sat, watching. Nodding her head in its direction, she called, "Bowie, escort our 'friend' off the premises, if it pleases you."

Sparking red, the Pixie buck jumped from the rafters and plunged down toward the 'goodman' with a high-pitched whistle. Face pale, 'goodman' Saks turned to Maury, his voice trembling, "You employ Pixies? No matter what you may think of me, I would never stoop as low."

"Always putting the blame on someone else. Leave before I give the Pixie permission for a 'hunt'."