Nod.

"--So I have a question but I'm not sure how rude it is."

"Go ahead, shoot. I love rude questions."

"Why are you doing this? I have nothing against sex work qua sex work but streetwalking is, uh, dangerous."

"...yeah, definitely dangerous. Less for me than most people, I patch up pretty fast, but...uh, I don't have enough subscribers to pay rent this month, so..."

"Subscribers?"

"I cut myself up and show the internet. People pay for it. Gotta use my special talents somehow."

Giggle. "Selling your organs on the black market not working out?"

"Nah, nobody wants to buy my organs. Who knows where they've been?"

"People buy kidneys harvested from drunk Mardi Gras college students in New Orleans."

"Maybe there's some hope for my weird spleen after all."

"Perhaps! Mind, I have no idea how to get in touch with the black market."

"...pretty sure if I ask somebody 'hey, how do I sell my infinite organs" I'll get kidnapped and chained up in a basement."

"You're probably right!"

"...anyway, yeah. That's my tragic hooker story."

"Wanna crash at my place? My sister and I have a guest room. And we ran out of creepy rapist cereal last Tuesday."

"...seriously?"

He looks a little wary immediately, looks her over in a different light.

"No, creepy rapist cereal is not seriously a thing."

"No, I mean...you'd do that?"

"I have a spare room, you have a high factor..."

He relaxes, just a little.

"That's pretty cool of you. I usually, uh, work from home, though..."

"Does cutting yourself open on the internet usually get loud?"

"Extremely. It's including but not limited to cutting myself."

"Guess we'll have to figure something out for soundproofing, then."

"...you're really serious about this, huh?"

He looks amazed.

"Hey, I take my irresponsible spur-of-the-moment commitments seriously."