“What services are you talking… about… of….” Handy’s brow furrowed. The flirtatious swagger of Sea Crest, her suggestive tones, the fact that all the mares were dressed in impractical, lacy outfits, the entire layout of the building daubed in faux finery and awash with red lighting, the blocked out windows, the eye-catching decor of the building’s front well in view of the sailors coming into port at the end of long journeys bottled up in the hold of a ship, the fact that Jacques told him no one would question what two men would enter this place for. Handy’s eyes widened rapidly and he stood up, hitting his head painfully off of the stairs above him, causing an unwitting pony above to yelp in surprise. “This is a whor—!”