Timmy followed into the living, still not too sure he would not get dosed by a chloroform soaked rag and dismembered. He sat on a chair, folding his hands in his lap and looking around at the luxury he found himself with a mixture of awe and mistrust - there was more money on display in this room than he would make in years. It just boggled the mind how some people had this much cash to throw around. At least, Timmy ventured, this 'D' was doing something . . . well, perhaps, nice. The exact words escaped Timmy. It was better than what a lot of rich people did with their money.<br/><br/>He listened to the host's introduction, and got up. Timmy meandered over to the armoire o' goodies and opened it up. His eyes bugged out at all of the things in there. There were objects in there he had never seen before - not a big thing, since Timmy was no experienced traveller to the world of vice and debauchery - and things he could not conceive of a use for. "Wow," Timmy uttered, reaching in to grab a handful of condoms and stuffing them into his pockets. There was a generous supply, and he stuffed a second handful away. It was not like Richie Rich would fret about it. There were no budgetary restrictions on their participation, and if he took a few home . . . well, who was going to give him trouble for it? That was the young man's reasoning.<br/><br/>"Hmm." Timmy thought, and then wandered over to the top hat. He scrawled his name on a slip of blue paper, and then plopped back down in an overstuffed chair.