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Malikai did not pretend to specialize in the details of the personal lives of his comrades at arms. In the case of those he fought more frequently beside or in closer quarters with, he knew which had husbands, wives, intendeds, lovers, children, and even the names of some. Being that he was, himself, ‘taken’ by a wife far across the seas, he never saw fit to judge when he encountered another similarly ‘accounted for’ soldier making use of the same establishments he did. At least so long as that was all they were doing, it wasn’t particularly his business.

Thus, some handful of days after his first visit, when Malikai returned to the small brothel conveniently situated all but within spitting distance of where he and the rest of his rank were stationed, he was not especially surprised to see a familiar face. Or two. He asked as to the whereabouts of the woman he’d spoken with last time, Sytherina, and when informed that she was ‘otherwise engaged’ for the moment, but would be out and available again shortly enough, he said that he was content to wait, and did so.

Until a familiar voice — no, two familiar voices, one only recently so — and accompanying scuffle drew his attention. He glanced, and frowned. Damascus was easy enough to identify, even from behind, and though Malikai could only label the other as ‘that boy’, he certainly remembered enough of their previous encounter for it to have left a familiarizing impression. For the span of a good half minute or so, he insisted to himself that it really was not his business. If the boy was a whore — which, despite Malikai’s initial misconceptions, he did in fact seem to be — then surely he was practiced enough at handling himself, rowdy customers included.

But then, shoving potential clients away and fussing at them didn’t seem to be typical or expected conduct for such a profession — bad for business, even — and when Damascus seemed only to treat the rebuttal with increasing persistence, Malikai grunted, gave in, and pushed up off of the half-perch he had against the wall to approach.

“Oi, Dama…” he greeted, inducing an immediate snap-jerk and partial stretch of the other’s wings as Damascus turned. After, the younger soldier notched his chin up, shoulders rolling back in a familiar gesture which always came off looking like an attempt to make himself appear larger—and possibly taller—without success. “I didn’ realize you were into ‘fraternizin’ with th’ enemy’ so as you called it last time, mm?”

Damascus narrowed his eyes briefly, and for a moment, Malik wondered if he’d set himself up for more argumentation than he was in the mood for. Then, the other soldier snorted, shifting back and shooting the previously half pinned oblivionite a curled-lip sneer. “I dunno, you seem so fond of ‘em, maybe I figured I’d test one or two out before we see to it there aren’t any left, yeah?” He accompanied the words with a reach and a ‘gentle’ stroke up the male whore’s throat before gripping none-too-gently at the hair at his nape—then releasing and pulling away. “But this one’s useless, so if you were lookin’ to experiment yourself sometime before you die…” His eyes trailed Malikai before he tapped the backs of his fingers to Malik’s gut in a dismissive gesture. “Go ahead, old man. Me, I’m going to see if they have any real whores in this sandbox of a town.”

Malik stood, watching the other’s back as Damascus, true to his word, slipped toward the establishment’s exit. Only once he disappeared through it, did he glance back towards the boy in his company, eyeing him speculatively. “Is tha’ how you generally do business…? Or was ‘e just especially offensive some’ow?”

In spite of himself, Malikai’s eyebrows arched a half fraction at the first words out of the younger man’s mouth. His eyes, though, moved to follow the shift and flick of deep green hair as long, narrow fingers carded through and re-tamed it. He opened his mouth to point out that it was really unnecessary to assume that he had ‘bothered’ to do anything. Perhaps the young footsoldier was a friend of his and he had come over just for the pleasure of his company.

But then, the younger man thanked him, briefly startling Malik out of any immediate response—and promptly after spurning a small, unasked for dusting of warmth in his cheeks to mark his surprise.

“I, ah…welcome,” he said. “Pleasure’s all mine. And…no,” he added after a moment. “I don’ suppose I would. Which is roundabouts why I asked…though I just…seems like it’d be the sort o’ thing y’d be used to, mm? Doin’…what you do. Didn’ wanna interrupt you if gettin’ crossways at people was how you, er…” He eyed the oblivionite, “…woo’d em, or some such. Feels like if y’ turned away every man tha’ came on t’ you puttin’ their hands where y’ didn’ like, y’ wouldn’ get much business…? But, ah…”

Malikai cleared his throat, hooked thumbs into his belt, glanced sidelong towards the hallway where Sytherina would likely approach from, and then — on confirming that the space was still empty of anyone of note — looked back again towards the boy before him.

“All else aside, I felt like I maybe still owed you an’ apology from last er…we saw each other. Feels like you prolly already deal with more’n yer fair share of ‘ffensive opinions t’ have t’ worry ‘bout mine, too, when none was meant and—well, fairly sure my head wasn’t on full straight tha’ night. Did I get yer name?”

Malikai blinked, startled outright and then—well, needless to say, having his abashment pointed out verbally and then scrutinized by immediate closer physical inspection only served to deepen the previous barely-there reaction into a blatant, warm glow. He cleared his throat, and made best efforts not to seem overtly alarmed. “I—er, that—yes, does, erhem…happen on occas—”

He tempered that train of thought, clamping down on it as the young oblivionite blessedly abandoned the first line of inquiry in favor of other things, and to those, Malik grunted instead, rolling his shoulders. “Well, no, bein’ used to a thing and likin’ it are far from the same, but…” He trailed off and squinted, perplexed. “Not paid ‘in th’ same manner’…? Wha’ manner are y’ paid in? An’ he isn’ my friend. Just in my squadron, tha’s all. Little brat is wha’ he is.”

Malikai quieted for a moment, and then shrugged at the last of it.

“And I’ll apologize for anythin’ I feel merits it, I think…since I do enough things t’ merit it, far as I can figure seems I wouldn’ rightly have many wantin’ to bear my company if I didn’ bother bein’ forthright…” A pause. “Naarhiji.” He withheld any immediate commentary on how exotic or unusual the name sounded, though it did to him, and studied the boy a moment instead. “Seems a pretty name. I’ll make efforts to—”

At the sound of movement from the main hall, Malikai glanced sidelong.

Malikai stared as the younger man — Naarhiji’s — explanation unfolded, and couldn’t help but think that the situation sounded bizarre. Granted, he certainly hoped that, even if it wasn’t the most savory of professions, some prostitutes, Syth included perhaps, didn’t absolutely loathe their title. It didn’t seem that they did. Obviously, a great deal of it was performance and acting, but it seemed difficult to imagine they could make it seem quite so natural and look so satisfied with themselves if it were a complete ruse.

At the same time, however, to do such a thing — attend to those who came looking for attention that no one else would give them the natural way so as to become so desperate to be willing to pay for it — was not the sort of thing anyone would want to do without reimbursement. It sounded almost like running a charity. Except with…Malik squinted, well, personal assets. He tilted his head, though, eartips warming anew as Naarhiji detailed the sort of ‘compliments’ he enjoyed.

Was that truly a thing? Was it enjoyable to be told that his…arse was…?

Before he could begin to wonder whether a prostitute’s various amenities could really be especially ‘tight’ or — thank the goddess — spend hardly any time dwelling on what such an activity might feel like, being that he had never really considered, let alone engaged in such things before, Sytherina blessedly emerged. With a woman. Malikai failed thoroughly at refraining from staring.

When she made it within range and spoke, Malikai returned her breezy entry with a sheepish grin, and curbed the immediate want to ask if she was alright. She certainly looked alright — quite pleased with herself, even — but despite the sideline intrigue in regards to her apparently being versatile enough to handle both men and women, Malikai still felt an unshakable uneasiness when it came to hybrids. For now, though, he set it aside.

“Only th’ best,” Malik said. “You may ‘ave spoiled me, though, so seems I’ll be needin’ to wait my turn on occasion…” With a glance towards the retreating hybrid, and then back to Syth, he added, “Unless y’ feel overworked…?”

Malikai blinked, attention jerking with all the predictability of a strung puppet to appreciate the show of ‘liveliness’ in earnest. Immediately after, he cleared his throat, moving his gaze back to her face and beaming all the broader. “All th’ credit’s yours, m’lady—never be it me t’ underestimate a woman determined. An’ o’course. Sometimes waitin’s what makes it all th’ more worth it. Naarhiji kept me, ah…” He glanced to the boy, “…entertained.”

Figuring his ‘hour’ likely began upon starting to take up her time, though, Malik bid a quick farewell to Naar, wishing him the best of luck with any subsequent, overly persistent customers, and slipped off instead with Sytherina. Being more himself this time than last, the engagement was at least as satisfying as before, though in the aftermath, groggy and thoroughly satiated, he wondered at what extreme force of practice and willpower it must have taken for the woman under him to maintain such a lively demeanor. But that, he supposed also, wasn’t especially his business. He thanked her, regardless, and after paying, found his eyes wandering on his way out, absently seeking the familiar face of Naarhiji.

When he spotted him — notably more pleasantly and cooperatively engaged with foreign company than he had been previously — Malik found himself staring likely longer and with more curious intensity than would nominally be considered polite.