The crowds bustled this way and that as hundreds of people went about their business, their paths criss-crossing until the scene was not so much one of busy people but rather of an active, interconnected swarm. Even Quentin - who arrogantly considered himself a cut above the rest of the busy townsfolk - felt something like a cog in a machine, playing out his role by sweeping through the crowds with a grace out of sorts with the rest of them. His long, proud steps coupled with the way his head was held high caused the throngs of people to subconsciously for him. Once, in her old life, Zoey might have matched him for grace and they might have been a lord and lady cutting across a busy market street. Today, she was the eyecandy on his shoulder and relegated to being a mere accessory for the lord; whose stature increased by having her there while hers dropped dramatically.<br/><br/>A great many eyes fixed on Zoey during their passage. The skin of her chest was bare down her middle and hundreds of pairs of eyes gave pause when they spotted this. A few glanced away with distaste, a few with envy, but the vast majority grew wide with lust. In particular the old men glanced and remembered a time when perhaps they would be escorting a woman like that - though perhaps not in the same manner as Quentin did now - and the youngest saw their own dreams for the future made flesh. Similarly the top of her legs were bared when each step caused her too-short skirt to flicker up, giving the most observant leches a glimpse of her thighs and perhaps of the panties clinging to yet more desirable areas. So for all that Quentin struck an imposing, elegant figure it was she that got stared at the most often, and for the longest.<br/><br/>Quentin was not oblivious and he leaned his head across to remind Zoey of the intentions in case she hadn't noticed, which was unlikely anyway considering how thinly veiled some of the attention was.<span style="color: maroon">"Every person here on this promenade is aching with jealousy; the women at your lovely body that you display so brashly, and the men at me for having such a pretty and... Shall we say accessible, to be kind?... young girl on my arm. Stay pretty, well-mannered and proud, Zoey, and you will be my most enviable prize."</span>His words had been low and for her ears only, though the din all around would have swallowed anything shy of a full shout even if he hadn't lowered it for her. His arm tightened around her to pin her into his flank, a mixture of rarely demonstrated affection and pride in having the girl as his own. Where his forearm crossed her back he pushed forward once more to remind her of her posture, to feed the latter.<br/><br/>In time they passed through the crowds and away from the busy market district. Here the streets were emptier, although still full of steam rushing from the factories either side and a little above them. In patches it was so thick that the Sun could no longer penetrate it successfully, and the world grew gloomy. The people here were nearly exclusively men, predominantly labourers judging by their thick-set arms and ill-fitting but practical, often leathery clothes. Their lewd glances were even less veiled than those in the market place, but they either tipped their caps respectfully or at least dodged out of the way of Quentin who, considering he was in the area and dressed smartly, was clearly of some import and likely enough to be either their boss, or the boss of someone else they knew. That was just the way of things. All in all the duo met no trouble nor much of anything of note on their way to the workshop.<br/><br/>The building was recognisable by virtue of Quentin's family name written in enormous, arched letters above the entrance - "ARITAS'" - and below it, clearly added later but not new, either - "& SONS." The entrance itself comprised of large set of double doors that were swung outward to their fullest and fastened there, leaving an entranceway wide enough for a horse and carriage to fit through with ease. Immediately beyond was a clear area for said carriage to rest, although it was currently vacant. Beyond that, though, there was a hive of activity that would give the marketplace itself a bad name.<br/><br/>To the left great furnaces glowed, puffing vast clouds of steam up brass pipes and into the street outside. Each pipe ran into some contraption or another; most of which were powered by vast cogs and devices that looked like the inside of a watch crafted by a giant. They creaked around but made a series of progressively smaller cogs whirl, which in turn powered conveyor belts, devices to punch holes or smelt or cast metal, or a plethora of other, not immediately obvious tasks. The entire building was full of them, all rattling along noisily, interconnected and impossibly efficient for all the mess they initally appeared to be in. In some places there were belts or machines stacked two or even three devices high, each suspended over the other by large steel girders from the walls or ceiling. Components were made at a blistering pace, and swathes of men - many sporting magnifying lens attached to a strap and hung over one eye or carrying tongs or tinkers tools - worked just as quickly to collect and assemble them with deft ability. Crates upon crates of devices were made in just an hours work by the monstrous workhouse. Above the bustling shopfloor hung several gangways; metal paths that offered a rare birds-eye view of things. Managers and overseers prowled these, but the workforce seemed impossibly active anyway, and they had little to do beyond monitoring rotas.<br/><br/>Few noticed as Quentin entered, but those that did nodded respectfully before returning all the more quickly to their business. If they looked at Zoey, it wasn't for more than the briefest of moments before they made sure they were appearing busy once more. A broad smile plastered the Boss' face as he surveyed the room; perhaps the most genuine Zoey had seen to date. He loosed her to wave his hands wide, revelling in an oppurtunity to introduce the factory that produced a substantial portion of his fortune even to someone like Zoey.<br/><br/><span style="color: maroon">"Here we are; my workshop. Previously my Father's workshop and, perhaps, in the future my Son's. This used to be a warehouse before my Grandfather inherited it, and the Aritas family has improved upon it ever since... Now it produces eight *hundred* individual items a day to sell to the mass market. Which, if you're watching the books, equates to anywhere from two and a half to three *thousand* pound sterling."</span>He was clearly rather impressed, whether with himself or the factory or his employees remained to be seen.<br/><br/>Presently a man came trotting down a rattly staircase to one side, a clipboard hanging uselessly in one hand and a small sherrif-like badge on his lapel revealing him to be someone of some level of importance.<span style="color: blue">"Lord Quentin! Sir!"</span>He smiled broadly, perhaps a little *too* enthusiastically. He was a youngish fellow, with a fop of dirty-blonde hair and a handsome enough face, save where his nose was skewed and his teeth bucked ever so slightly. Perhaps if he didn't insist on grinning so wildly...<span style="color: blue">"We did not expect you. There's no problems to report though, Sir, I'm glad to say. Perhaps you want to look around..?"</span>His eyes finally fell to Zoey and, to match his grin, his eyes bulged in shocked glee at the sight of her chest framed neatly by her shirt. He coughed to regain his attention.<br/><br/><span style="color: maroon">"That will be fine, Harry. I know the way around my own workshop, thank you."</span>The statement took some of the wind out of the lads sails, but he continued to smile and nodded a few times.<br/><br/><span style="color: blue">"Absolutely... Well, if you want me..."</span>He thumbed up toward the gangways, before edging that way and, when Quentin didn't stop him or ask for anything more, he turned and trotted back to where he'd come from. Quentin turned to the girl, his smile present but perhaps a little faded to a more normal level.<br/><br/><span style="color: maroon">"Well? What do you think?"</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>