"Uh," right, looking Ereuvir over, he really doesn't look like someone who would balk terribly much about having sex three times a month. Every month. For forever. He looks like he fits in, even with the cool-looking antlers and the blue fire in his eyes. He fits, in a way that makes Quentin very aware of how he just doesn't. Sure, he'd seen people with more clothes on than he had at the moment, but it had still seemed sexy somehow. With holes down the side of things or see-through, sometimes both.

He slouches further down in to the seat, the paper napkin a small pile of paper scraps on the table in front of him.

"What happened? When you tried to help?" If not reeducation, then what? Prison? Locked up in some dungeon. Because this place seemed like a place that would most certainly have a creepy dungeon somewhere. "It kind of is, though? Maybe not-- maybe not here, but we still have to. There's. There's still no choice in this, even if we get to do it in private. And-- and the contracts? And that line meaning you have even less of a choice than I do? That's just fucked up."