Conventional wisdom says you can't take advantage of a di'Taykan, and while there's some truth to the idea, a kid like Nadayki knows better. It's a hell of a marker, since all just about anyone would have to do is head into a bar with a lot of Taykan clientele and find a dozen free offers, but there are always people damaged enough to put off even the most indiscriminate race in known space, or the ones who get off on power and manipulation in the first place. He's been in rough spots. He's not in one now, but the fact that Mort's worried about it is sweet. It softens him, soothes away the frustrations, and, even better gives him an angle.

He shifts a little, aiming less for vulnerable, more for hungry. His eyes darken from limey green to a more saturated shade as he opens a few more light receptors than he needs to, hair flutters in agitation before settling to soft ripples of pleased agitation. He sets his palms on the edge of the mattress now, leaning forward intently. "That's so sweet." His voice is pitched like he was talking to a social superior, not that it means anything while he's speaking Federate, but the low, even sweetness tends to appeal. Helps with the mindset, too. "You're so sweet. But maybe I want to."