"Mustang," Vrenille repeats the name, committing it to memory. "Glad to know ya. Let's start with someplace warm."
Vrenille's smile carries the sort of patience and openness that tends to disarm people. He seems totally at ease in the space, amidst all the displays of sex--he's not paying them any particular mind, but he also seems to do so effortlessly, like they're simply the wallpaper. There's a quiet, modest confidence in it, like he doesn't need to throw his weight around or try and prove himself to anyone.
He leads them back towards the entrance, gestures with a raised hand for his companion to wait on the steps in the relative shelter of the building, and then hails a taxi. When it pulls up to the curb, he opens the door, gesturing the shackled man inside. He's patient about it, since he knows from experience that not everyone who arrives here comes from places with cars (or trains, or communications networks).
Once they're both settled in the back seat and he's given the driver his instruction (We're going to Fiddler's Square, and could you put the heat up back here please), he turns his attention to the man beside him properly, a certain ease and relaxation coming into his posture.
"Right, so clothes first. Your old ones'll be waiting for you in the room they give you in the Down, but it ain't exactly the lap of luxury. They'll feed you there too--I've eaten worse, but..." His expression and tone say plainly enough that the food leaves something to be desired.
"So let's make sure you get at least one good meal today. And I'm guessing your 'grand tour' got kinda re-routed 'fore anyone told you much or showed you 'round the place, so I'm gonna try 'n tell you what you'll need to know. You can ask me anything as we go, taboo questions, whatever, I'm cool with it." So that's their agenda. "All right?"
no subject
Vrenille's smile carries the sort of patience and openness that tends to disarm people. He seems totally at ease in the space, amidst all the displays of sex--he's not paying them any particular mind, but he also seems to do so effortlessly, like they're simply the wallpaper. There's a quiet, modest confidence in it, like he doesn't need to throw his weight around or try and prove himself to anyone.
He leads them back towards the entrance, gestures with a raised hand for his companion to wait on the steps in the relative shelter of the building, and then hails a taxi. When it pulls up to the curb, he opens the door, gesturing the shackled man inside. He's patient about it, since he knows from experience that not everyone who arrives here comes from places with cars (or trains, or communications networks).
Once they're both settled in the back seat and he's given the driver his instruction (We're going to Fiddler's Square, and could you put the heat up back here please), he turns his attention to the man beside him properly, a certain ease and relaxation coming into his posture.
"Right, so clothes first. Your old ones'll be waiting for you in the room they give you in the Down, but it ain't exactly the lap of luxury. They'll feed you there too--I've eaten worse, but..." His expression and tone say plainly enough that the food leaves something to be desired.
"So let's make sure you get at least one good meal today. And I'm guessing your 'grand tour' got kinda re-routed 'fore anyone told you much or showed you 'round the place, so I'm gonna try 'n tell you what you'll need to know. You can ask me anything as we go, taboo questions, whatever, I'm cool with it." So that's their agenda. "All right?"