A/N: My muse struck, and declared that Fentulk the Deckhand required his own story. Readers of Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick will remember him as the narrator's 'entertainment' on the voyage between Booty Bay and Ratchet. Well, after a week of fun, we find our unlikely hero a little faction-confused. Wonder what sort of trouble he can get into? :)

Mad Gamer Chick Fallout

"Whatcha thinkin', buddy?"

Fentulk grunted but didn't say anything. Leaning on the ship's rail, his gaze was fixed on Ratchet, slowly shrinking with distance as The Maiden's Fancy headed out to sea once more. The breeze lifted his black hair and brushed it from his forehead. Part of him was glad to be bound for Booty Bay, his life returning to normal. Another part of him was wistfully longing for her return, if only for the companionship. And other things.

"She ain't yer type, kid," the goblin crewman offered in his nasally voice as he secured a line. "Don't go moonin' over her, now. Got work to do."

"I ain't moonin'," Fentulk growled. Straightening, he scratched his brown neck and turned away from the rail. There wasn't much of the night left. May as well get some sleep.

"Can't figger it out," Jag mused. Though he wasn't tall enough to see over the railing, he knew what the orc was looking at. "Never seen anything like it."

Fentulk wasn't much for words, and just shrugged. Luckily, Jag Gearspinner could talk enough for both of them.

"Yuh ask me, she had a screw loose," the goblin observed. "Almost feel sorry for the poor bastard Tauren she hooked up with. Those two'll have their hands full, keeping that gal alive in Horde lands."

"Karie'll be fine," Fentulk said firmly. There was something about that woman that made him fully confident that this would be so.

"Oh, you know her name, eh?" Jag smirked. "Didn't think you two were much about conversation, but then I didn't listen at the locker door below decks or anything."

The orc glared down at him, but didn't reply.

"Hey, it gets damn dull on a ship, you know," the goblin pointed out. "Between you two and that other weird pair that couldn't stop humpin' like there was no tomorrow, we had ourselves a hell of a good trip last week, didn't we?" Frowning at his friend, Jag shook his head. "Damn shame you fell in love with that bit of human..."

"I ain't 'in love' with her," Fentulk snarled. "It wasn't... like that."

"Just fuckin'?"

The orc nodded. "Just fuckin'."

Jag snorted. "Yeah, well, you can try to fool yourself all you like, but you got somethin' outta that. I can smell change on the wind, you know. And you stink of it. I won't be surprised if you cut loose when we reach port next week."

"You don't know nothin'."

"Hmph. We'll see."

Stomping to his hammock, Fentulk growled deep in his throat. Sure, he missed regular, unfettered, no-strings-attached sex. Who wouldn't? How often did such treasures wash up on the shores for anyone, let alone the crewman on a ship, someone who was largely ignored by the passengers, given as little regard or attention as a crate or coil of rope taking up space on deck? No, he wasn't 'in love' with Karie, but she definitely changed things for him. Threw everything he thought he knew about himself into chaos, in fact. When she debarked in Ratchet, he finally had a chance to gather his forces and figure out what the fuck happened.

His tastes in women were irreversibly shifted, that's what. He knew he'd never look at an orc woman with the same interest again. Fentulk sighed, staring up at the ceiling as the waves running past the hull set his hammock gently swaying. Maybe getting off the ship for good was what his heart was telling him to do, after all. Not many humans booked passage on The Maiden's Fancy. Few who weren't pirates or whores spent much time in Booty Bay, either. If he wanted someone for a mate who was neither, he'd have to travel north, into Alliance-held territory. And get lucky. Very lucky. The kind of luck that an orc born and raised on Draenor had in short supply.

Sometimes he missed Nagrand, but he didn't regret stepping through the Portal into Azeroth. There were oceans here, where his own world's great bodies of water had long ago been cast into the Nether. Until he came here, he'd never seen anything bigger than Skysong Lake. Here, it took a week to cross from one continent to another, and until Karie blew in and out of his life, he'd been content with making that trip over and over again.

Not anymore.

Grimacing, he closed his brown eyes and draped an arm over his face to block out the flickering lamplight by the doorway. Morning would come when it came, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Jag Gearspinner was a practical goblin, typical of his race. If there was one thing he hated, and he didn't hate much, it was waste. As far as he was concerned, it was a waste of time to daydream about things that might be, couldn't be, weren't, or didn't. Fentulk was a weird orc by any measure, just because of where he was from, but now he was positively wacko. For the first time since Jag had known him, the orc was antsy about reaching port. Like somehow pacing up around the bow was going to make Booty Bay show up on the horizon faster.

That wasn't all, either. Fentulk had taken to visiting that storage locker belowdecks that he and the human used when she was on board. Jag had a pretty good idea what he was doing in there, but was completely shocked to find out he was wrong. Either that, or the orc was really damn quiet about it. Of course, when the goblin 'discovered' them, he thought the girl was in there by herself. That would've been less of a shocker than seeing who she was with. Masker the first mate he could understand, but Fentulk? That had 'treason' written all over it. Not that Jag gave a crap about shit like that. He had no problem taking Alliance coin. No problem at all. He supposed he'd take Alliance ass if it were offered as well.

Not gnomes, though. Good grief. He was a goblin, not an animal.

But what would make a human woman pursue an orc man? That baffled Jag completely. True, Fentulk wasn't like your typical Azeroth orcs, with their green skin and glowing red eyes. No, he was brown skinned, brown eyed, black haired... Tusks were bigger than most, but he was a big orc. Stood to reason. His body, on the other hand, was not your typical Azeroth orc. Broad-shouldered and muscled, sure, but not as wide in the torso or stumpy in the legs as they were. Apparently, demon blood beefed up the orcs who were exposed, making them bigger as well as nastier. Jag wouldn't call Fentulk a nasty orc, either, not by any means. The kid was... quiet. A deep thinker. The kind that made you nervous, because you didn't know what he was thinking.

Shaking himself, the goblin crewman went back to work. His momma always told him that loose girls left unwanted gifts behind, and he was beginning to think this Karie person left something unexpected in Fentulk's head that would take more than voodoo magic to get rid of.

When Booty Bay finally hove into sight, Fentulk had made up his mind.

"Captain," he said, saluting formally. The diminutive goblin captain, Krick Wrenchnozzle, raised his eyebrows with surprise.

"Uh... yeah, Fentulk?"

"Permission to go ashore, sir."

"Yuh know yuh ain't gotta ask," Krick said uncertainly. "Just... be back by the time we're ready to go."

"No, sir," the orc replied, shaking his head firmly. "Permission to go ashore permanently, sir."

The goblin's brows shot up higher. "What?"

"Gotta go do something personal, sir. Can't do it here. Sorry, sir."

The captain blinked rapidly for several seconds. His long, pointed ears twitched with agitation. "Mind tellin' me what..."

"It's personal, sir," the orc insisted.

Sighing, Krick shrugged. "All right. Yeah, permission granted or whatever. But this is shore leave only, okay? You wanna come back, you... you come back, okay?"

Fentulk hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Uh... got anything to do with that wench?"

Startled, the orc finally looked down at the captain's suspicious face.

"How did you know about her and me?"

Krick rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Hel-lo. It's my damn ship. Ballast gets shifted and I know about it. You think my best crewman gettin' laid in the hold is gonna escape my notice?"

"I ain't a traitor...," the orc said warily.

"Pssshh," the captain said, waving his large green hand dismissively. "Nobody thinks you're a traitor. A bad bet, maybe, but not a traitor. Lots of money got lost when she went for you a second time. Nobody thought you had it in you. Or in her, come to think of it." He chuckled. Noticing the horrified and embarrassed expression on Fentulk's face, Krick's own face split in a grin. "Kid, I don't know what you expected. There ain't no sneakin' a fuck on a ship this small. If it's her you're after, you shoulda asked me for leave a week ago."

"I ain't after her," Fentulk replied uncomfortably.

"Hmm. Probably a wise decision," Krick said, nodding sagely. "Woman like that... I don't think she'd tame easy. You want someone who only wants one man. That gal isn't the kind." Then he snickered. "Thing about that is, one of these days, the one's gonna show up on her doorstep and she's gonna fall damn hard. Seen it happen. Mostly to men, though. A lot looser than your average woman, generally speaking." Turning his attention back to the orc, he shrugged. "You all think we don't keep our eyes open on what you're doin', eh? Ain't nobody sneakier'n a goblin."

Fentulk shook hands with Jag on the dock.

"Gonna miss you, kid," the goblin said sincerely. "You ever come down this way again, make sure you take our ship across. Treat you better'n The Whoremonger or whatever the fuckin' thing's called."

"The Merchant's Lass," Fentulk corrected with a grin. "You always gotta give'em grief."

"Captain's a gnome. Whattaya expect? Listen, don't go doin' nothin' stupid, all right?"

"Jag, I'm lookin' for a human mate," the orc pointed out. "Ain't nothin' stupider than that."

"You got that right."