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November 26

"No Terms"

I hate to complain about a place of which I have many, many fond memories, but the Crimson Unicorn has simply not been the same since Jack and Sean took over its operation. In an effort to attract a "higher class" clientele - that is, lure potential blackmail victims through its newly velveted doors - they have cleaned the place up, decorated it with surprisingly good taste, improved the ventilation, and replaced the sole dim and sputtering chandelier with well-spaced, discreet wall sconces. The dank Crimson Unicorn of yore is gone and, frankly, I miss the dank.

Also, my credit there, once as sweetly accessible as its ladies, has completely dried up. "NO TERMS!" states the sign above the bar in bold, unmistakable letters. J&S may be in the black once again, but they have done so at the expense of a perfectly good baudy house.

November 22

Good Christian Deals, at Good Christian Prices

Jack and I are afraid that business will soon decrease at the Unicorn as the oncoming of Christmas leads many men to believe that they are more virtuous than they truly are. Men known to visit our establishment and not leave for a fortnight have now taken to crossing themselves and casting aspersions upon the character of upstanding individuals such as Jack and me.

This decrease in earning lead to a drunken night of “idea mongering” in which Jack and I laid out various schemes to increase business. We are quite proud of our efforts, and hope that they are met with a positive attitude from the “ladies” at our owner/employee meeting this morning.

Idea I – All Ankle Spectacular!
– Some gentlemen just like a nice ankle. For the price of a few coppers we will send all of the ladies out with their ankles proudly bare. A curtain shall be lowered so that the gentlemen will be able to enjoy nothing but ankle, which in itself is a treat.

Idea II – The Hen-Pecked Husband
– Jack's idea, and an ingenious one at that. The ladies of the Unicorn do not even have to conduct normal “business” but must simply berate their patron and in general act like a harpy. A great bottom line and in turn we conserve resources. I think this idea spawned from personal experience.

Idea III – The Bucephalus Special – My idea, which I am quite proud of. Simply take some hay from the stable, remove all the furniture in a room, and rename the girl in question “Daisy.” This has historically proven to very popular among Noblemen, and with any luck we may gain the business of the King himself!

November 20

When I'm down to my Business shoes...

I realize that my last post may have left some readers cold. Odyllia, thankfully, has not gone to the great bawdy house down below, but instead escaped her ordeal after only a minor singeing. Surprisingly, despite the loss of all her hair, she remains a top earner at the Unicorn, which demonstrates that you can never predict certain gentleman’s tastes.

The last few days have been an eye opener for a naïve businessman such as myself. I thought that after decade’s worth of adventures at “houses of ill-repute,” the running of my own establishment would prove more or less simple. As it turns out, there are several cardinal rules that one know in order to successful in this “business.”

Rule # 1 – The Time from “Deal” to “Transaction” takes entirely too long 

- With everyone wearing multiple layers at all times, never mind stockings and bloomers, a transaction can take upwards of an hour, which hurts the bottom line. Thus, when gentlemen enter the Unicorn, they must remove their coat and collar. The “ladies” have been encouraged to wear slightly less to begin with, which equals more money for everyone.

Rule # 2 – Gentlemen prefer their “Ladies” to have all their appendages and for those appendages to be fully functioning.

- Alright, Jack was right. But I still miss Bertha.

Rule # 3 – You can never have enough Silk.

- Fairly self-explanatory. However, this has proven a boon to Jack’s failed shipping business and we have sent Captain Araoz packing to the Orient to bring us back the brightest and most fashionable cuts he can find. His payment is a 50% discount at the Unicorn, where we can be seen to be taking a notable loss.

November 19

There is a special place in Hell...

For Cheaters.

On the 4th hole Jack indiscreetly kicked his ball from underneath an oak tree back onto the green. EJT was apoplectic, and chased Jack about the landscape screaming “no mulligans!”

Today’s shenanigans, like most others, were par for the course.

November 18

Taking the Unicorn by the Horn

I suppose I should apologize for my infrequent posting on this blog of late, but my work, as I shall explain anon, has been keeping me from any other pursuits (except golf of course) for some time now—and to tell the truth, having experimented with “apologizing” for the first time recently, I cannot say that it has very much to recommend it. But my starved readers will be wanting meat for their hungry bellies, not this unmanly waffling about feelings and how “sorry” I may or may not be. If that is the sort of thing you are looking for, you will doubtless find it in abundance by reading Sean’s posts on this blog (though, not having read any myself, I can say little about them except that if they bear any similarity to his conversation, you will do well to secure a sharp implement to jab into your knee during the slow parts).

The Crimson Unicorn

But I digress. The unfortunate truth is that since Patrick returned from Indochina (which, incidentally, is a full 2,000 miles away from where we actually sent him), having misplaced my start-up funds, my bartering goods, and, indeed, my ship, I have found myself in something of a financial tight spot. And to rectify this unfortunate situation, I have done the only thing that a respectable, clear-thinking businessman in my position can do—I have taken full responsibility for the management of a bawdy house in my possession, with the intention of tripling the revenue from the establishment by blackmailing certain high-ranking members of parliament who frequent it without the knowledge of their Sovereign … or their wives. Regular readers of this blog will know that I am referring to the infamous Crimson Unicorn, which Sean rashly purchased some months ago with the reasoning that the asking price for the bawdy house itself was not really all that much higher than the tab he had run up.

And so Sean and I have spent three successive weeks remodeling the place, hiring new talent, ridding ourselves of some of the less desirable employees (One-Eyed Bertha, though a great favourite with the navy men who frequent the Unicorn, was given her marching orders last night, despite Sean’s tearful imprecations), and making all the necessary changes to turn the old place into a first-rate money-making venture. The final alterations were made this morning, and I am very excited to announce that the Unicorn will have its grand reopening on Monday! Sean took our old friend (and new employee) Odyllia out to the Griffin this evening to celebrate, and as soon as they return, we shall crack open a bottle of my finest wine to toast the beginning of an enterprise that will make us both very, very rich men. I am quite confident that (unlike previous business ventures that I have embarked on with Sean and Patrick) this time there is nothing that can go wrong.

Burn Baby Burn!

It has been far too long since I have committed words to a page. And perhaps, the less I say, the better it for everyone, since the events of the past two weeks have dire ones indeed. These dreary winter months are truly agony for a right thinking Catholic, between having stones thrown at me on All Souls Day, and the atrocity that is the 5th of November, I have found myself chased down the street by club wielding, false thinking Church of England louts no on more than one occasion.

I thought that having had their fill of “Papist Bashing,” I could safely show my face at the Unicorn without having a flagon tossed with great alacrity at my cranium. Thankfully, in this I was correct, and soon found myself enjoying the softer comforts of that establishment on more or less a regular basis. After all, I do own it.

However, my relationship with the Unicorn was to soon bear bitter fruit. Odyllia has been in quite the state since Patrick has gone mute, so much so that one begins to wonder if their relationship was not strictly “business,” but whether the poor girl had begun to have thoughts above her station. Now Odyllia is a top earner, and her caterwauling over Patrick’s decrepit mind meant less money in my pocket. If I was a cruel man (like Jack), I would have long ago sent the spoilt tart packing. But, being a Good Christian, I took pity on her, and led her accompany me to the Griffin one evening in hopes of straightening the poor dear out.

Unfortunately for the both of us, the anti-Catholic fervor which had passed through the streets of London had found a place to fester in the Griffin. Four rounds into the night, several lads took it into their heads that if I as “a dirty Pope loving Irish dog,” then Odyllia must be a “witch.” I am unsure as to how this connection was made, but being in a state of inebriation, I could not quite convince them otherwise. Odyllia was wearing black - to mourn Patrick’s state - she constantly mumbled to herself - and her eyes did have a hint of madness to them. Thus, while I was quite insulted by their slandering of the Holy Father, I could not refute that Odyllia might indeed be a witch.

What followed, however, was completely uncalled for.