"Hey," Vrenille reaches out to lay a hand on Mustang's arm just on his bicep, seeing how worn and worried he suddenly looks. "You always got some choice. It's restricted 'n it's shitty, and I ain't pretending otherwise, and it's true you can't just choose not to, but no matter how tight they try 'n lock things down, there's always somewhere. You gotta be subtle 'n savvy 'n creative, but you will get through this."
There's no reason for Mustang to just believe him when he says that, but there's a conviction behind the words, a voice of experience which maybe will be hard to believe, given how Vrenille clearly doesn't have a line drawn down his throat.
At any rate, sooner or later they're bound to come directly to the question of why Vrenille is doing this in the first place. There's no need to rush it, for now the taxi is pulling up towards a curb at their destination.
"I'll take you to the housing. That'll be our last stop. But first, let's get you some pants, man." He grins, his sign that even with everything as shit as it is, they don't have to be so grim or so dire, that it's all right to smile and take pleasure in small things. They've been getting on pretty well so far--so they can take pleasure in each other's company. It's not much, but it's not nothing.
Pausing to pay the driver and giving him a respectable tip, Vrenille opens the door and steps out onto the sidewalk of an upscale district at the start of a broad promenade through a pedestrianised zone. The leash that he'd been handed before is now looped up neatly and hanging clipped from his belt, and he's leaving the shackles with their key on the back seat of the cab, discarded. The sky overhead is a cold, bright winter's grey, but the streets and sidewalks are immaculately clean.
"C'mon," Vrenille says, keeping his energy light and buoyant, and offering Mustang a smile as he nods towards some menswear shops nearby. "You're gonna have to trust me to dress you, but don't worry, I've got great taste."
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There's no reason for Mustang to just believe him when he says that, but there's a conviction behind the words, a voice of experience which maybe will be hard to believe, given how Vrenille clearly doesn't have a line drawn down his throat.
At any rate, sooner or later they're bound to come directly to the question of why Vrenille is doing this in the first place. There's no need to rush it, for now the taxi is pulling up towards a curb at their destination.
"I'll take you to the housing. That'll be our last stop. But first, let's get you some pants, man." He grins, his sign that even with everything as shit as it is, they don't have to be so grim or so dire, that it's all right to smile and take pleasure in small things. They've been getting on pretty well so far--so they can take pleasure in each other's company. It's not much, but it's not nothing.
Pausing to pay the driver and giving him a respectable tip, Vrenille opens the door and steps out onto the sidewalk of an upscale district at the start of a broad promenade through a pedestrianised zone. The leash that he'd been handed before is now looped up neatly and hanging clipped from his belt, and he's leaving the shackles with their key on the back seat of the cab, discarded. The sky overhead is a cold, bright winter's grey, but the streets and sidewalks are immaculately clean.
The people passing by are dressed in a whole range of styles. Some, like Vrenille, wearing clothes that are casual and contemporary, others in more risqué attire, stylised black and leathers. Most of the Submissives wear collars, though their styles range wildly, some looking more like necklaces than anything. A few are leashed, being led by finely-clad Dominants. At one spot, through the window of a cafe nearby, a woman, collared and topless, can be seen seated on the floor by a Dominant's feet.
"C'mon," Vrenille says, keeping his energy light and buoyant, and offering Mustang a smile as he nods towards some menswear shops nearby. "You're gonna have to trust me to dress you, but don't worry, I've got great taste."