declaration, c

Zael leaned heavily on the wheel of his car. The medium-grey colored vehicle was some kind of custom model his contact had procured for him. It was something exotic, even the dark themed interior was one of a kind. He didn't really care for the flashy car, its red rims or decals, or the cold leather seats. For how much he paid the man would it kill him to install heated seats?

Traffic was slow. It inched along at a pace that tore at his patience more with every passing minute. He watched people walk by on the sidewalk, ignoring him as he usually did them. In his mirror he saw an older man trip, his attention caught by a passerby. Zael leaned out his window, arching his neck to get a better view of the momentary distraction. He blinked at the site of a young boy walking down the sidewalk. He wore revealing clothing, walking with the step of an experienced... entertainer. He wasn't really sure why, but he leaned farther out the window of his car, whistling loudly enough to draw the looks of those within hearing distance. "Hey kid, need a ride?" He jerked a finger in the direction of the passenger seat, offering an inviting grin.

Having successfully caught the boy's attention he relaxed back into his seat. At first he thought the kid might shrug his shoulders and keep moving, looking for tamer clientele. But the kid approached, meaning he wasn't being too picky about it. His heart dropped a little with the revelation, but he did not let it show on his face. The kid was pretty good for his age, going through the motions fluidly and with fairly little hesitation. If not for his acting skills Zael would have frowned, but instead he titled his head and allowed his teeth to show through the grin.

"I wouldn't have it any other way boy. You look like the type of person who could be of some use." He unlocked the door for him and patted the seat. "Don't be shy." He added with a hint of challenge.

The redhead watched the boy walk the perimeter of his car, examining his smaller frame with pitiful eyes. It wasn't his place to ask, but the question lingered at the back of his mind. Why?

"Not unless you're into that kind of thing. To be honest I'm just about done with this traffic, it's not that far to my house from here anyways." At least he still had a sense of humor. Emil's body was a bit rigid, or maybe he was just playing his part, and Zael laughed in attempt to calm him, a bit. The cheerful sound was not leaden with disgust like his heart was. Who dare take advantage of such a thing. Then again, he could name a few he knew. Sorry, had known. Zael wanted to attempt light conversation on the way back, but the skin on his back prickled with uneasiness, drawing out the silence. "What are your usual fees?" Oh yeah, because that was a great non-awkward conversation right there.

They pulled up to a white house. It wasn't in the greatest of shapes, but Zael did what he was willing to. The tiny lawn out front was due for mowing, the white paint peeling a little in one section thanks to an accident during the last storm. It wasn't much to look at, but it would be nice once it was fixed up a little.

Zael shrugged, a sheepish tint to his cheeks. "Hey it might not look like much but I really like my privacy too, and I'm a little too busy to have people popping in and out whenever they want." The thought of someone else having a key to his place sent shivers up his spine. He'd lost his key once. All his locks were changed that afternoon.

He pulled a few plastic bags from his trunk, having thought he might try eating a tiny bit healthier than takeout tonight. His cooking wasn't horrible, it was just... not good. He suddenly realized that Emil might have to eat his cooking too. It wasn't like he had to eat it if he didn't want to. Zael plucked his key from his pocket, opening the door and stepping into the entryway and discarding his shoes against the closet rather than in them.

The inside of the house was rather luxurious if he did say so himself, cream colored carpets and white washed walls with splashes of dark browns here and there. Someone had picked out his furniture for him, which wasn't a problem for him, the redhead could really care less. A couch was a couch. And sometimes a couch was a bed. End of story. "Home sweet home. Feel free to make yourself comfortable, I'll just throw these in the kitchen." Which he left Emil alone to do.