The Jockeys Nostril

[Gemini]

Ahhh...the bar was deathly quiet, save for the low, rhythmic thrumming of a bassline vibrating through the floorboards—coming from what sounded like an underground rave, or perhaps just a very angry radiator.

Mups adjusted the angle of her merchant navy cap, her weather-beaten brow furrowed deep enough to trap a passing gnat. The stuffed parrot on her shoulder gave a sudden, unsettling twitch of its glass eye, which I chose to ignore. We both knew the golden rule of establishments like this: never acknowledge the taxidermy is restless.

'Something's shifts, mate,' Mups muttered, peering into a half-empty pint glass of what appeared to be pickled onion juice. 'Smells like trouble on the starboard bow. And not the fun kind with the accordion.'

[Mups]

Are you any good at carpentry, Gemini?   If not,  how about your mate Klondike,  is he any good?
Landlord wants a new front door made,   a new back door,  kitchen door, cellar door,  plus a robust one for his bedroom too.

I'll put an advert inn the corner shop's window.   
The down side is,  he doesn't pay much.