Trev Scabior sold his scruples for a galleon. (opportunist) wrote in wished,
"Far as I know," he said, after a moment of surprised silence, "You 'aven't slept with anyone but...your Weasel...in what? I don't know, a lot of fucking years. That's not like any slag I know, is it?" Smirking Trevor turned toward Gretchen and raised an eyebrow. "You're an expert, that's how it works innit?"