Lachlan watched him through the window, dirty and made opaque from years of cigarette smoke. Having taken his favourite seat, Lachlan was watching the procession on the sidewalk. Just like he did every Friday. But today someone fresh, some one clearly out of place, despite an obvious desire to appear seasoned had caught his eye.

The rent boy was clearly new to the trade, dressed in terribly tawdry style: too much jewellery and grease paint. His pose was slightly awkward, hands not sure where to rest, legs afraid to remain motionless. He looked like an orphaned child, coerced by desperation and some twisted monophobia into a lifestyle not suited to him. His frock coat, decorated with poor quality cony, tattered and mucid, attested to his social standing.

Yet the boy was beautiful.
Lachlan could see his eyes through the grimy glass like two beacon lights: icy grey, displaying an alluring quality of reflet. Two iridescent jewels hidden in a smudged gaunt face, obscured by a veil of lank blonde hair.
If he cleaned himself up and relaxed a little he may actually do well for himself. He was rather handsome and seemed to possess intellect bordering on shrewdness. One needed that to survive in this day and age.

Lachlan reached for his cigarette case, beautifully engraved with a series of runnel-like patterns. Resting a cigarette on his lower lip, he smiled faintly as the boy made a half-hearted attempt to entice an obviously stonkered burly man into business.
Sighing lightly, Lachlan drew on his cigarette. If he had the money, he would gladly keep the boy. But in the end, that rent boy was only one of many. The streets were full of nameless, pretty little faces, willing to do anything you pleased so long as you paid.

Lachlan pitied them all, able to see where most would end up: opium dens; the back alleys; the bottom of the river. Although this one, this boy with the lovely grey eyes, he just might do alright.
Although Lachlan was by no means a genius, or the brilliant businessman his father had expected, he knew people. To look at someone was all he needed to see their problems and predicaments. He knew because he had experienced most of them himself. He knew how that boy had suffered, would suffer, because he had himself suffered all his life.
The boy just had to learn how to lessen that suffering, the way that Lachlan had. You just had to work your way up rung, by painful rung.

His eyes met the boy's through the glass suddenly, sympathy and understanding, perhaps even a little attraction, passed between them in a moment too precious to measure with time.
Then that electrical bond was broken and eclipsed by a body appearing in the chair opposite Lachlan.
Skanky teeth flashed at him in a lewd smile. The man raised his eyebrows suggestively, glancing Lachlan over. "How much?"
Forcing a flattered smile, Lachlan dragged seductively on his cigarette. "Fifty pounds."