[ in the winding streets of the down there's a man walking brusquely away from the train station, six feet tall or so; he's in a comfortable fall outfit, a hood pulled up over his head and his hands jammed in his jacket pockets. it's windy down in the underground for whatever reason: ventilation breezes from afar tug his hair loose somewhat from his hood, wisps of black and gray.

even after what feels like ages stephen still knows these streets too well, and their dangers. he's on his way home when he suddenly feels--someone following him from a great distance. he considers slipping into the mirror dimension or just dropping whoever it is into a hole, because he's never in the mood, ever, really.

but also he's from new york, or at least has been there for the better part of his life now; also, he's an asshole. so he stops in his tracks as he feels the presence draw nearer, reaches up to scrub a bare hand over his face. ]

It should be obvious I don't have any money.

[ there's a slight sparking in his fingertips already, just this side of suppressed. ]

[ stephen had, out of habit, turned down the vouchers; had found them anyway in the pocket of his jacket. he's been exploring the expo at his own pace. in many ways coming back to this city feels, grudgingly, like returning to an old friend. a really unhygienic and tasteless friend.

at some point he ends up near the symphony hydraulics section, leaning over the rail and watching with an expression of mild dismay as a young woman gets annihilated by a dildo machine.

he shifts to accommodate someone stepping in beside him, gesturing out at the portables. ]

Just as an FYI, if you're gonna rent you'd better rent to own.

( whatever you want!!! )