...was a railroad line, and a well-dressed and relatively wealthy-looking gentleman stepping off a train, with a briefcase full of photography equipment. Though, of course, other people may have not understood that it was just cameras and such—people see what they want to see. Pickpockets and thieves, for example, may see something that costs more than their lives in there. While that was certainly true about Finch's cameras, it's unlikely a simple commoner could appreciate them and their value as much as he does.

Which was of course a tad bit hypocritical, considering that Finch was technically just as much of a commoner as these hypothetical scoundrels were. That was irrelevant, though—what was relevant is that there was an unassuming, rich-looking man about to make his way away from the railway station into the cold, dark evening. Oh well. Finch thought himself to be smart enough to avoid any human contact (even those besides having crimes committed at/near him), but he does often think himself to be smarter than he is.

Oooooh, a wealthy~ looking~ ma~an.

Fanny was lounging by a gas lamp, arms crossed under her bosom as she watched people come and go. When she caught a glance of a man with a nice fat briefcase, she bent completely over to take off a shoe and shake a nonexistent rock out of it. Her cleavage was bared, and she exposed her leg up to mid-thigh in the process while watching from the corner of her eye.

Finch was just at the beginning of the long walk home. He placed the briefcase down for a short moment, just long enough to be able to pull his gloves on (as it was quite cold, and not even he is immune to that) and glance around, accidentally making eye contact with an extremely indecent woman who he could only assume was a prostitute, or just someone with no decency whatsoever. They were the same thing to him.

Finch immediately picked up his briefcase yet again, more concerned with that getting taken from him than getting cornered by some girl. His gaze never left the woman, more out of suspicion than 'oh how can I not fuck you'.

To fuck, or to fuck up? The most poetic question of all, in Fanny's opinion.

"Hey, handsome!" she called when he made eye contact, rising to her full, towering height.

She started clearing the distance in the way only the absurdly tall could.

Finch would have cringed if he hadn't been so polite as to not do that, but he was still quite uncomfortable and displeased about the whole situation. As soon as the woman called out and started approaching him, he subconsciously gripped the handle of his briefcase even tighter.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, trying very hard to ignore all the cues and just pretend that this is a normal damn conversation. With a thief or prostitute. He didn't even know which was worse.

Rules of decorum only really applied to the people already paying her, and subtlety was for chumps. She hooked an unusually strong arm around his shoulders and pulled him in against her.

"You got somewhere to stay tonight, sugar?"

Finch could have ran for it. He should have ran for it, really, but was pulled in closer to the woman before he could finish contemplating whether or not he should have done that. (The answer was yes.) Though he tried not to make his displeasure overly obvious, it probably still was.

"Yes, ma'am, I do," he said again. Was this a reportable offense? Can he go to the police about this? He feels like he should be able to.

"Here," she said, bare, cold hand trailing down his arm and resting on his glove and briefcase. "Let me carry that for you."

A couple bustled past them, laughing under their breaths and pretending to mind their own business.

Finch knew that his suspicion was justified as soon as the woman rested her hand on his briefcase, offering to carry it for him. This is why he doesn't trust strangers. Or, really, anyone. But his lack of trust was so very justified, no?

"No, thank you," he declined firmly, trying to remain polite and calm but it was difficult to do so when everything was so irritating and you're surrounded by idiots. An ever so slight scowl crept up on his face as he heard and saw a couple laugh under their breaths. No doubt it was at him—and that angered him even further. He can't let this woman make a fool out of him.

She smiled and let him go, though was still right at his shoulder.

"Where you headed, sir?"