"I can't drive, anyway." She'd been sixteen when Prometheus got their hands on her, and had never needed to know how to drive; the independence aspect of it hadn't cemented as a temptation, not yet, not when she liked to sit in the passenger seat and watch the driver. She'd known so many people who did love to drive that it had felt like some kind of intimacy, like being included in something that made someone else happy, and she'd been spoiled enough not to have to see it any other way. "I like the cabs here better than the train, too."

Horse-drawn and not reliant on the CiD, not openly monitoring her travel habits; she can be charmed and paranoid at the same time if she wants.