[ Kim's mouth forms a small 'o' as he realizes what it is that Midnight is talking about, calculates the timeline that he's talking about. Sixteen, seventeen years old, no longer a boy, but certainly not yet a man -- and the exact age that Kim expects people to go into sex work, if he's to be frank about it. It's not as though Revachol is bereft of a bustling sex work industry itself, quiet and unspoken, populated by pretty women and delicate looking men hoping for money in their pocket and a roof over their head. His lips thin.
Most escorting establishments would cast out anyone frail enough to freeze up like that; there's only a certain kind of man who enjoys that response, and it's not the sort of man that any reputable establishment wants to make their consumer base. But it's different for Midnight, isn't it? He was no ordinary boy. He was exotic. ]
That sounds about right, [ he says thoughtfully. ] In wartime, it's one or the other, isn't it? Fight, or...
[ Fuck. He's not so crass as to voice it aloud, though he doubts Midnight will take offense. Nor does he express his sympathy, not precisely; as sympathetic as his plight is, he doubts that the man wants anyone's pity. ]
Well, we do what we must. And is that where you remained? Even after you gained some semblance of stability? I imagine you were quite popular, once you got used to it. [ Realizing the implication, he hastens to add: ] If people can tell what you are just by looking at you, I know men of certain tastes consider the idea of bedding a minority to be a novelty -- a trophy.
cw mention of racial fetishistic behaviour
Most escorting establishments would cast out anyone frail enough to freeze up like that; there's only a certain kind of man who enjoys that response, and it's not the sort of man that any reputable establishment wants to make their consumer base. But it's different for Midnight, isn't it? He was no ordinary boy. He was exotic. ]
That sounds about right, [ he says thoughtfully. ] In wartime, it's one or the other, isn't it? Fight, or...
[ Fuck. He's not so crass as to voice it aloud, though he doubts Midnight will take offense. Nor does he express his sympathy, not precisely; as sympathetic as his plight is, he doubts that the man wants anyone's pity. ]
Well, we do what we must. And is that where you remained? Even after you gained some semblance of stability? I imagine you were quite popular, once you got used to it. [ Realizing the implication, he hastens to add: ] If people can tell what you are just by looking at you, I know men of certain tastes consider the idea of bedding a minority to be a novelty -- a trophy.