12-05-2021, 12:22 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-05-2021, 12:26 PM by Zechariah Meijer.)
[[CW: Brief prostitution reference.]]
It was a younger crowd for once. Zechariah was used to being one of the youngest man at the molly house. Occasionally, newcomers asked to exchange money for sex.
Romance was dead.
Truth be told, he was marginally hopeful to see men in his own age group … even if (especially if) most of them were far below his notice.
“Hey, Zack.”
The older bartender, Fergus, waved him over. Zechariah pursed his lips at the wrong name but bothered not correcting him.
“You heard about this?” Fergus waved a newsletter - a London paper.
Zechariah took it in hand with an arched brow. He came here to entertain fantasies of love and being better than everyone else, not to get bogged down by the cities he was escaping. Rolling his eyes, he read on as Fergus’ gaze burned into him.
“... Wait,” Zechariah grunted. “Wilde is picking a fight with a Marquess?”
Fergus wiped a glass absently and nodded, watching Zechariah’s face.
“Keep reading, Zack.”
Zechariah shook his head, but his eyes were glued to the paper. He rubbed a hand down his face.
“It will boil over,” Zechariah said. “So long as he backs off the Queensberry boy.”
No man was worth this much trouble, surely.
It was a younger crowd for once. Zechariah was used to being one of the youngest man at the molly house. Occasionally, newcomers asked to exchange money for sex.
Romance was dead.
Truth be told, he was marginally hopeful to see men in his own age group … even if (especially if) most of them were far below his notice.
“Hey, Zack.”
The older bartender, Fergus, waved him over. Zechariah pursed his lips at the wrong name but bothered not correcting him.
“You heard about this?” Fergus waved a newsletter - a London paper.
Zechariah took it in hand with an arched brow. He came here to entertain fantasies of love and being better than everyone else, not to get bogged down by the cities he was escaping. Rolling his eyes, he read on as Fergus’ gaze burned into him.
“... Wait,” Zechariah grunted. “Wilde is picking a fight with a Marquess?”
Fergus wiped a glass absently and nodded, watching Zechariah’s face.
“Keep reading, Zack.”
Zechariah shook his head, but his eyes were glued to the paper. He rubbed a hand down his face.
“It will boil over,” Zechariah said. “So long as he backs off the Queensberry boy.”
No man was worth this much trouble, surely.
