Running a thumb over his lip briefly as he considers Eduardo's question (he always considers Eduardo's questions, no matter whether or not they're rhetorical), Mark nods to himself and ventures a guess. He's never been one to keep his mouth shut, not when there's a question being posed him, and especially not when that question has absolutely nothing to do with his own person. Those, after all, are the most difficult questions to ask. Why is he nervous? Why is he still so plainly on edge? If he tried to answer, he's sure he'd be biased, and so they're better not thought of at all, better to place distance between himself and all else. "Bet you it was a man's idea. Or a man and a woman," Mark suggests, his eyes darting quickly over to Eduardo, gently siding with the other young man's incredulity, even if Mark's hardly set foot on the island. "Won't be supply without demand; strippers don't strip for an empty audience, so there must've been some Hugh Hefner sitting around, wanted to fill his time. Probably doesn't even realize that the people who volunteer are damaged, assuming you want to give him the benefit of the doubt."

He turns a skeptical eye toward the Winchester, wariness shining through. Nothing comes for free. Every action has its price, whether collected in coin, stocks, or even inner peace. And those prices are always paid, one way or another. Mark's ventures with facebook were to gain respect, status, a place carved out for him in the social sphere and he damned got it, too. The magnanimity of handing that kind of social tool to the masses for free, why, people pay in kind by practically falling at his feet. So, what about this Winchester? What's the catch here?

"I like your emphasis on restaurant," Mark remarks quietly, nodding to himself and then grinning lightly at Eduardo. "Seems nicer than calling it a renovated soup kitchen."