There were less eyes on them this time through the factory, and those that did greet them barely even managed a respectful tip of the head toward Quentin and the briefest of glances toward Zoey. From the loud shouts and calls that rung even out over the rhythmic noise of the machinery there was some fault with one of the lines, though it was so clad in techno-babble that Zoey had little chance of knowing the details. It was serious enough to be keeping most everyone busy - especially so considering the Boss was present -  but Quentin himself didn't seem overly interested in the details and he didn't pause on the way through. His mind was on other things.<br/><br/>They walked out into the streets where there were enough people that again they garnered little interest among the crowd. This seemed to suit Quentin and he stuck to the broad, cobbled trading streets wherever possible; though he took them along a few lesser streets when it shaved enough off their trip that he considered it worthwhile. It took Zoey a short while to realise that wherever he was taking her he wasn't going directly; he was skirting areas to avoid the ever-curious eyes of his peers.<br/><br/>The reason eluded her for longer still, but it finally became apparent when he bumped into some woman he seemingly knew. The woman was older than he was; tall, slender and not particularly attractive, but with her face painted up to look better than it ever would naturally. Quentin tensed just a little as she swept through the rabble to stand before him, offering a wide, toothy smile.<br/><br/>"Quentin, Darling." she'd drawled, finally forcing him to acknowledge her existence (he'd been quite happy trying to pretend to be interested in the shop windows in the other direction to her) with a small smile of his own. "However are you?" Her eyes flickered across to the girl and her lips pursed. One eyebrow nudged upward curiously. "You're heading toward a, uh, rather *unsavoury* part of town, darling. And in such company..." The tone was clearly phrased to be both damning of the harlot upon his arm - which was perhaps not quite so untrue, but he bristled at the accusatory tone of her voice all the same - and, by association, of him.<br/><br/>In response he'd offered an quick, cool smile and fixed her with cold eyes. It was an expression crafted to match her passive aggressiveness, which annoyed Quentin like few other things could. "The same part of town you are coming from, by the look of things Matlida. If you'll excuse me, I have little time to chat." Another broad smile and an entirely ungracious tip of his hat and he brushed past her, leaving her scowling bitterly.<br/><br/>Sure enough, they were soon heading toward some of the less reputable sections of the city. This was still a wealthy part of town, but it was where the young toffs with more money than sense came to find company, among other things. The shops were shuttered and often unmarked, and more than once Zoey spied some symbol on a wall that were she any more worldly wise she might recognise as denoting a whorehouse, slave auction (often of the black market variety) or fence. Quentin himself didn't know them all, and would admit to knowing less than he did.<br/><br/>He knew where he was going, though, and made good progress. A few cautious eyes watched them from hooded entrances, but noone approached them and Quentin paid them no heed, though he walked a little more sharply and took the most direct root possible. Soon he was pushing in through a doorway, into a small waiting room. A weasly looking man peered over a desk toward them, eyes flickering from one to the other before settling on him. "Yes?"<br/><br/>"I require a collar, possibly amongst other things. For this one." His head twitched in the girls direction.<br/>"Payment in coin, or in trade?"<br/><br/>This time his head turned toward her. "That depends on her. Girl, do you prefer to work for your collar and whatever else? Or do I pay for you?" Mirth danced across his face; he knew full well what an awkward question it was. Offering to work got her doing God knew what; refusing ran the risk of irritating him.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>