The usually frenetic bustling of footsteps, rumbling engines and everyday exchanges of the acquainted and the estranged lay dormant - hushed by the distant ambiance of cheering crowds, boombox-enhanced speeches and thunderous rumbling of aerial carriages; Save for that overarching air and the light whispers of a stagnant wind, the city slumbered lively. Here and there on the outskirts you might spot the odd geriatric soaking in the contents of his tablet on the front porn, or the restless youth keeping watch over the house, but these were the exceptions to the rule. In all honesty, the 'thrill' of watching a slew of aged hacks pat each other on the back over the gains of others was baffling at best...and nothing short of criminal at its most sincere.

     At the suggestion of the crosswalk light, Haban eased the restless whirring of his mechanical leg, standing idle opposite a barren street like the good citizen mother had always known military school would make him. He shook his head and plucked his pastime from out between his lips, striking the casing once across the metal pole before him; jarred by the impact, it popped open a hatch midway down the pipe and spewed a steaming clear plastic vial down the sidewalk - and with practiced ease, the partial man flicked one up anew from within his breastpocket, jammed it into the hatch and clasped it shut...replenishing the steady cloud of smog that'd begun to dissipate around him. The cramped amphitheater of bolted shop windows rustled with mild intrigue.

     "...I don't think I've ever such-seen a queer system as this; feels like some sort of mocked up doll's play." The pitch was low, curious, and somewhat trained in the local dialect...though it clearly had a ways to go before proper assimilation; Haban doubted it'd be hanging around these parts that long anyway, but one had to admire the speed at which some of these greenbacks learned. "No stranger than a shadow talking back to its host - how crows the roost?" A light chuckle escaped the reclusive depths of the alley behind him, then answered in an altogether different tone: "Cooed, but anxious - 'course it doesn't hurt to take a few hairs off the back of the neck every now and then." An otherwise relaxed stream sputtered and puckered out from the pipe, and the mechanical pupil of the impartial's eye flickered briefly in mute irritation. "...You lot have an awful fixation with breaking out the hedge-trimmers where the razor'd do just as well." The voice scoffed, fading into obscurity with a returning quip: "Funny words coming from your kin - they teach hypocrisy alongside concoctions where you come from?"

    He released a low growl at that one...those bloody foxes were always so quick-tempered. "Quick" being the bingo-word - it took Haban another six minutes' pace to reach the dusty doors of Outlook 15, a further four to switch into proper kit in the lockers, and a final two to slump himself down in the midst of the bustling sea of partial cubicles that propagated the station's ground floor. One brief moment of electronic nails-on-a-chalkboard later and his Personal Media Assistant had finished the teeth-grating ritual all of the modern operators were seemingly required to fulfill before they could boot up properly; this was to be shortly followed up by several clicks further into the network, along with a buffered list of promising message-headers:

[i]10:56 A.M. - Not_Sure_Where_You've_Been,_But...

12:28 A.M. - Today_Hasn't_Changed_You_Know...

1:10 P.M. - Do_You_Even_Read_Calendars_?[/i]

     Hmm...he hadn't *seen Qiaran opposite when he sat down - but her presence was surprisingly suffocating all the same...

"...[i][b]This[/b][/i] is where you check your messages from?"