The fire sale was surprisingly lively for an early morning. Here and there people rushed
into the burning building, removing objects to the dibs pile while just as frantically the
presumed owners of the home did the same, occasionally dropping an item into the
deductible pile which sat next to the Peedee.

The Peedee wore the local black and white of the local house, and sipped at flasks of what
most likely ranged from wine to water, depending on the rank of the person doing the
sipping. They chatted amongst themselves, occasionally throwing a few buckets of water
onto houses around the burning one in exchange for a few trinkets. However, the most
important members of the group kept a close eye on the deductible pile, waiting for the
precise instant to call the idle members into action. With each hopeful glance, the man
with the most shiny shoulderbars continued to shake his head, and gesture back into the
house or towards the crowd that was forming.

Joan knew she probably should have left at that point, but opportunities like this were
rare. She would not have condoned actually doing a dibs run since she felt those were in
extremely poor taste, and the Diversity habit of apportioning profit based off identity
house would ensure that she got nothing anyway. However, if the owners were willing to
sell cheap to make up a deductible, she saw nothing wrong from profiting from the
situation.

At the most recent shake of the head, Joan took stock of the situation and prepared to
leave. It looked like there were no real reasons to stick around, since the deductible
pile was being swiftly emptied into the engine wagon by the heroes. It looked like the
owners had chosen to abandon the house completely, and save what they could. The smiles
of the soot covered crowd in the dibs line widened at the movement, and a small whoop went
up from the group as the house owner gave the traditional brave smile and thumbs up. The
look of sadness that creased his brow told all however, and the Peedee moved away, the
engine rumbling down the unevenly cobbled streets.

A small tug at her arm brought the face of a smiling child into view. She had been made
up in the traditional house garments, with a wide brimmed hat and skirt in pastel colors.
Her bright shining face and blonde hair were marred only by the look of fear in her eyes.
In her hands she held a basket with "Fund Us" written on it.

Joan glanced around the crowd and noticed several other of the children had raced out to
solicit the crowd, all matching the typical house clothes, and all from various
directions. She sighed, recognizing all the signs of a typical house shakedown, starting
with the innocent and oh so cute victims. She edged away, her eyes scanning the nearby
buildings for signs of the kid's wranglers. Fire sale or not, it wasn't worth getting
involved in drama, and all that entailed.

She tugged down her hat, wishing that she had memorized another way back to the dock from
Hollywood. She could have taken the independent train of course, but that took her miles out of the way, and through at least three Houses that all would want tribute. She took another breath, the scent of burning wood more distant now.

It was a long slow walk back towards the docks. Although the status of Nemo was some
protection, there was always the price of doing business that way. Far too many in this
town felt like even walking their streets was doing business. A dozen dozen fees, all
waived if you just joined up with one of the houses and were proud in your identity.
However, the problem was that dealing with just one house was a money loser in every
possible way, except for the house of course.

A bit further on, she caught sight of the light rail. At this hour, the platform was
mostly empty, with a few men in house colors she did not recognize loading a few crates
onto one of the cars. The large wooden boxes squeaked against the metal of the extended
ramp in the relative quiet of the morning. She quickly purchased a ticket for the
usual 20% over cost, and grimly accepted the local currency in change. She wasn't
going to make an issue of it, here and now, and the grin of the man behind the ticket
counter was disgustingly smug.

Cost of doing business. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her Pea Coat, the warmth
a nice contrast to the chill air. Joan hated this town.