[Still slightly disoriented from being scrubbed down, driven to some posh apartment that looked like something Marina would just kill to live in, pushed through Orientation (which by the way - what the fuck?) and having been through not one but two workshops trying to find out just what the hell is going on here, sitting on hard chairs with other dazed looking people and listening to safe bondage and how sex isn't really the end all of Dom/Sub relationships as if everyone hadn't read at least a little 50 shades of grey and laughed about it. Well, giggled.

But that was then and this is now, and Quentin enters a train tour promising to show him the city and the streets he's going to have to get used to, now that he's apparently going to live here for the foreseeable future.

But the train ride shows less about the city as a place that people live, and a whole lot more about the people living here and he turns away from the windows fast. Collared people, kneeling. What looks like poor people being turned away from the shops the train stops at and while it's not a sexual act like some of the ones the Orientation mentioned, it still looks weirdly intimate when a small woman runs a riding crop down the line of a man's throat on a street corner, waiting for the lights to change.

So, flushed, sweaty and very uncomfortable, Quentin stares at his shoes or the other passengers instead, choosing to clear his throat before he pokes someone on the shoulder.]

Excuse me? Is it-- is it always like this? Or is this just a show they put on for the new people?

[If the tour of the city had been an embarrassing and eye-opening experience, then walking in to this place- which really doesn't look like any expo Quentin had ever been to- was mindblowing. There were open sex acts on stages, men and woman both being showed off like merchandise, their arms bound or heads pulled back, there were just orgasms everywhere. And naked bodies, and it takes him a while. A long while. To even leave the relative safety of the hardwood floors close to the entrance. The booths here were less about demonstrations and more about trying to get him to hand over money for things he really didn't need.

Sex toys and flesh lights, toys to tease and torture and it was just. All out there. Like, really out there. In ways Quentin hadn't really thought sex toys could be.

But not everyone seemed like volunteers, though. With slick salesmen pushing vials and packets of lube at the audience, and sometimes pulling one away from the crowd to strap them in to a contraption, or show off the apparent newest in nipple clamps. Protests overheard by the booth workers until the muffled 'no's turned in to half-chocked groans and moans and the air around certain booths was electric with anticipation and cheers when someone made a product look particularly good.

Quentin didn't want to stay too long at any one place, because the last two times he tried to pull an unwilling 'volunteer' away from the salesmen, he'd been gently but firmly pulled aside by someone official-looking and asked if he owned the person he was trying to rescue. Which, no. He didn't.

So, frustrated and very much pissed off, Quentin walks the expo without looking up too much.]

Fuck! Shit, I'm sorry. Are you okay? I-- I didn't see you?

[Feel free to shot him a line. Find him wandering the streets, shoulders hunched and looking miserable? At Orientation or one of the workshops? Quentin is fairly friendly.]