| abstract
| - Get 20 spores from Dirty Mushroom Man
- The gunsmith had been wary of the Night Elf's proposition: she wanted to rent the empty corner of Boomstick Imports East during the night. 'We've got more than enough food ta be had in town, girl – what makes ya think this...plan a'yours is going to work?' 'I've found a niche, so to speak.' She replied. 'I can obtain seafood the likes of which none shall see from the end of a fishing pole.' Handing him a sample platter of fruits de mer and seaweed salad, she explained. 'Dried fish is leathery and foul-smelling, it retains none of the marine flavour that sets it apart from biltong. It also takes well-nigh two days and fair weather else it spoils and becomes unpalatable even to seagulls.' 'Yeh, well, ya still ain't making yaself quite clear – I don't need no cooking lesson, I'm a gunsmith.' Mazk spoke around a large prawn that he'd crammed into his mouth. Ruadh sighed inwardly. Focus on the process, Ruu. 'Steam, Mazk. Steam-cooking requires no dependence on the vagaries of weather, and the seafood retains its flavour. It also takes a fraction of the time. Look.' Ruadh tugged a series of slatted baskets from her pack, and began to put it together. 'The multiple tiers allow for a variety of seafood without having any conflict in flavour. Also, I can turn out a large volume when needed. Before you say anything about demand, I can answer that question in a word: The Blowhole.' Mazk let out a moan and rolled his eyes in pleasure as he tasted the sweet flesh of a sea urchin. The Night Elf stood by politely as he chewed and swallowed. 'All right, my girl, it's a deal. Five gold a month ta ya, in advance, and see that there ain't too many fights, eh? Mazk Snipeshot extended his hand to the tall green-haired Night Elf and grinned as she frowned at the smear of gun oil he left on her palm. Ain't bad – that corner would of stood empty anyways, and I ain't the type of goblin to work nights. Ruadh left the Old Port Authority with a light step and even lighter purse. If it cost gold to make gold, then so be it, but let noone claim I went into this lightly. Her mouth set in a thin line of determination, she went to see Rikqiz about the garret he was leasing. She would need a place to stow her nets and sleep, much as she preferred the night sky to wooden planking about her, the thought of waking to a cutlass at her throat was a much less entertaining prospect. To her surprise, the goblin had little interest in haggling, unlike Mazk. A single gold piece bought her a room of her own for the next two months. His handshake felt like the very leather he worked for a living and he had taciturnly stated one stipulation, 'No mens, okay?' Ruadh had merely replied quietly, 'No, no mens.' Not when all I seem to do is eat their faces. Literally. Satisfied, he'd turned back to his leather, waving a callused green mitt in the general direction of the stairs. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a small bed and nightstand. But the view was stunning – all of the Bay itself, and Janeiro's Point. It would do nicely for now. Ruadh stood on her balcony for a time, watching a pair of Booty Bay Bruisers as they bickered their way to the end of the dock and back. She had never met goblins before, but apart from an unflinching shrewdness where gold was involved, they asked no questions where it was forthcoming. It suit her situation perfectly. As the sun began to descend from its zenith, she made her way to the blacksmith's. Allowing the patrons to eat their fill from the steamer would make it difficult if not impossible to apportion the seafood and control its outflow. Like fel am I going to dive off the dock for fresh stock simply because of some hog-bellied sousehead. Brikk Keencraft drove a hard bargain. He was in a foul mood and the heat of the forge was doing nothing to improve his disposition. 'Ya want quality, ya got ta be willin' ta pay fer it. Endy story.' Damned nelves...always full'o themselves and their pretty ways. Ruadh set her jaw in frustration. 'Brikk, I can't pay you five silver apiece for tin bowls – I don't have the money.' 'Ya can pay me half now and half later, can't ya? Mazk told me about that business venture a'yours – by the sounds of it, ya'll be fair rollin' in it soonish.' 'Two silver apiece, half now and half later.' 'Three, dearie – I ain't about ta cut me own throat.' 'Two and a half, and that's my final offer. I can't pay you what I don't have.' Brikk paused in midhammerstroke and looked at Ruadh with surprise. Sensing a change in the air, Jansen began inching towards the weapons on display should the situation turn foul. His shoulders sagged in relief as his goblin business partner nearly collapsed in a fit of wheezing laughter. 'Ya don't mince words, missy - I like that. Half now and half later at two and a half silver apiece it is.' Brikk held out his hand. Ruadh shook his huge paw and groaned inwardly at the streak of soot it left in hers. Oh fel, not again... The sun was a hair's breadth from the ocean's embrace as Ruadh collapsed onto her tiny bed. She had wrapped the remainder of her savings in oilcloth and hidden it deep in the reefs off the coast; an inquisitive eel was swatted senseless and unceremoniously devoured. That's dinner taken care of. But Ruu, you've got fishing to do tomorrow. Ruadh curled into a ball and fell asleep, dreaming of chuckling goblins chasing her with their grimy mitts extended, wanting to shake hands.
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