"You work in like, a youth center?" Joan is starting to think Ren might be very valuable. Like, insanely valuable. It's good Ren knows it; it saves Joan the effort of having to say it. "You gotta come on, you know, careful with 'em. They been through a lot and don't like being treated like babies. But they need somebody to look out for 'em."

She slides her hand down her face. "And they get mad if you say they're too young to fuck. I dunno, man, I'm thirty," she's thirty-one, "everybody under twenty-five looks like a fucking fetus to me."

She's compromised on this already, but she won't go lower than twenty if the circumstances are normal. She's pretty sure they won't always be, but she's also pretty sure if she fucks someone under the age of eighteen, she'll have a psychotic break. This is, by far, too complex a conversation to have with someone who just got here, though; Joan will save it for later (and then forget about it entirety).