[ Now that his head has cleared, if that's what you want to call it, Mustang immediately picks up on the subtext underlying Vrenille's words. ]
"Wait a minute. Are you saying that submissives must contract themselves out to Dominants? Isn't that just another way to sell yourself?" The colonel's default frown takes over his face as he waits for an answer.
As Vrenille, his lover for the afternoon, moves from the dressing room into the store, Mustang falls in step behind him, utterly out of his depth, a state quite foreign to him. He stares at the shoes a little vacantly. "These are different than what I'm used to wearing. What would you choose?"
The colonel gives himself a mental shake. He needs to keep it together, at least until he gets to the place where he's been assigned to live.
During a lull in the conversation, Mustang remarks, "When I arrived, I had a pair of boots and a uniform. Will they give them back?" Suddenly, Mustang almost snorts at himself because, for some reason, the word 'they' seems hilarious. "You know, the ubiquitous they. Us and them. It sounds like a paranoid fantasy, but if there were ever a place for such a thing, this would be it."
Bending his knees, the colonel crouches, his arms supported by his legs, to study the shoes shelved close to the floor. He swallows the hard-earned wisdom Vrenille doles out, nodding in agreement. "Thanks, Vrenille. Listen, I know you're not comfortable getting repaid, but as I said, I'm an alchemist. Anything you need repaired, let me know." Eyes scanning the shoes and short boots, Mustang points out a black, leather pair.
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"Wait a minute. Are you saying that submissives must contract themselves out to Dominants? Isn't that just another way to sell yourself?" The colonel's default frown takes over his face as he waits for an answer.
As Vrenille, his lover for the afternoon, moves from the dressing room into the store, Mustang falls in step behind him, utterly out of his depth, a state quite foreign to him. He stares at the shoes a little vacantly. "These are different than what I'm used to wearing. What would you choose?"
The colonel gives himself a mental shake. He needs to keep it together, at least until he gets to the place where he's been assigned to live.
During a lull in the conversation, Mustang remarks, "When I arrived, I had a pair of boots and a uniform. Will they give them back?" Suddenly, Mustang almost snorts at himself because, for some reason, the word 'they' seems hilarious. "You know, the ubiquitous they. Us and them. It sounds like a paranoid fantasy, but if there were ever a place for such a thing, this would be it."
Bending his knees, the colonel crouches, his arms supported by his legs, to study the shoes shelved close to the floor. He swallows the hard-earned wisdom Vrenille doles out, nodding in agreement. "Thanks, Vrenille. Listen, I know you're not comfortable getting repaid, but as I said, I'm an alchemist. Anything you need repaired, let me know." Eyes scanning the shoes and short boots, Mustang points out a black, leather pair.