Roy listens with fixed absorption as Vrenille rattles off answers he prefers not to hear. Clearly, the man means well, and Mustang has to clamp down on his fury before it rises in temperature. It’s not that he minds having sex -- not at all -- but that it’s mandatory. He’s never heard of anything more ridiculous, and he feels like the butt of the joke.

One step at a time, huh?

Of course, he’d be deemed a submissive. He’s been a Colonel for several years now, and is used to being in control of every situation he finds himself in, and all that’s been stripped away by a handful of crazy aliens on a whim, no less. Great. He’d achieved his rank at a young age through hard work (albeit, no one knew that outside his people). And, admittedly, his talent for using what he needed to in order to climb the ranks. But all that is a tangent for which he lacks the time.

He doesn’t even know what to say to it all, wondering crazily how someone goes about asking someone else to have sex in a city where they don’t know anyone. Anyone at all, other than this man.

“I’m a little confused, Vrenille. What kind of “weird things” happen here? Am I not allowed to defend myself, an act that I’m perfectly capable of and with unerring accuracy, if I so choose. Is there a reason behind these contracts, and what happens if I refuse to negotiate a contract?”