2019-09-24 - A Business Meeting

In the Waffle Shop, at one of the booths, sits a woman who looks like she just stepped through some sort of time portal from the 40s or 50s. Roxy is in a dress that falls past her knees, with 3/4 length sleeves. The top portion is black silk with an asymmetrical collar and a bow at the front of her waist. The bottom portion is a grey and black pinstriped skirt that ends in black silk ruffles, and four paired rows of buttons near the hips. Simple black pumps adorn her feet, and she's wearing a large pair of sunglasses, the better to cover the bruise on her forehead.

She sits stirring copious amounts of cream and sugar into a cup of the shop's strong coffee, and looking out the window absently as she waits for her appointment.

Tim could look more like he doesn't belong in the PNW, but it would take a real, concerted effort. Despite it being a nice, clear, crisp autumn day he's in a black pea coat and charcoal gray knit hat, over a pair of rust-color pants and an ivory turtleneck. He even has a dark blue scarf tucked into the jacket and a pair of black leather gloves on.

He comes inside and doesn't seem to remotely look at Roxy, just stops and peruses the menu. She can tell, though, that he's clocked her; it's there and gone in a second, a subtle glance not at her, but at something in her general direction. He heads to the counter, places an order, tips generously and gives the waitress a bright-toothed grin, which gets him a wry smile from her. Then he turns and oh-so-casually sits with Roxy.

Like they're casual acquaintances meeting up, he asks, "So. How's things?"

Roxy is naive, maybe even borderline innocent, but she's also been smart enough to get by for the last two years with nothing but her wits and her looks. She understands the man is looking at her, and for her part she turns back to look out the window again. First rule of not getting caught by the cops, don't act suspicious. Something she is going to feel really damn stupid about if she ever finds out Ruiz is a cop.

When the man joins her at the table, she looks back at him, pushing the sunglasses down just a bit so she can see him more clearly. Beneath the fall of blunt black bangs, bright blue eyes peer. "You are Antonio's acquaintance?" she asks, in a Scandinavian accent, her voice quiet and soft.

Tim coughs a laugh, starts pulling off his gloves. "Yeah. That's me," he says. The waitress sweeps by with his coffee, which he sets to doctoring. "So." He eyes her. The he pauses, tilts his head. "You remind me of a ballet dancer I saw perform once," he says. Of course, that was years ago, and he's American enough to think 'look seen one Scandinavia ballerina seen 'em all'.

He shakes his head. "Anyways." He sips from his coffee, sighs. "God, such good coffee up here." He glances up from the mug. "So, hey, Antonio said you needed some paperwork."

"Suomen kansallinen baletti, the Finnish National Ballet. We performed Cyrano along the west coast here, four years ago," the dark-haired woman says quietly. "And some of us did not make it back home again." She pulls off the sunglasses and folds them, setting them neatly on the table. He's already pretty much recognized her. "I go by Roxanne now, Roxanne Kivela. But I need papers to support it."

Tim nods as she says the name of the ballet and even the show. "Yeah, yeah that was..." He eyes her again. "You. That was you." He bobs his eyebrows. "Huh."

Now he clears his throat. "Right. So. First thing's first, there's paperwork, then there's electronic paperwork." He raises his eyebrows at the distinction. "I can do the former. I know a guy who can do the later, it's expensive but if you need your paperwork to check out free and clear, you'll want that." He shrugs. "Not all that necessary if you're not crossing an international border, but I put it out there."

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a Nevada driver's license. It's him on it, except, the name isn't what Antonio told her: this says Jack Corcoran. He pushes it to her so she can examine it. Certainly to the untrained eye it looks real enough. "Those are pretty cheap, especially without the e-records."

Beneath the edge of her bangs, as she moves, he can see a bruise, although she's applied makeup to try and cover it as best she can. She takes up the license and examines it. She gives a nod. "Can you do one for this state? And I need other things as well. Passport, green card, social security card. I will need the electronic as well. If I can afford it," Roxy says, pushing the license back to him.

She looks tired, and she is moving stiffly. The bruise doesn't appear to be her only injury.

Tim tilts his head at Roxy, frowns. "I can, but, the reason you usually go with out of state is then any attempt to look it up means inter-state cooperation, which slows things down. It's a risk, but totally fine by me if you're comfortable with it." He scoops up the example, stows it away somewhere in his jacket. The waitress come by with his lunch (Belgian waffle with whipped cream and strawberries), refills his coffee, and shuffles off. "Well we can do it in phases, if that helps. E-records can come later. Always good to have the basics first, so you're not begging people to buy you booze, and can get an apartment without it being a fucking nightmare." He digs in, pausing after a few bites to gesture at her bruise. "Local five-oh do that?"

"And get a bank account opened, and build a credit rating, yes," Roxy adds softly. It seems the coffee is her meal, mostly because she is not feeling at all well. She blinks at the question. "This? No, no some drunk college boys bumped into me on the sidewalk and knocked me down. Nothing serious, just a few scrapes and my head just hurts. I will be fine in a day or two." Fine meaning things will fade enough to dance again at the strip club.

Once his food is delivered and the waitress leaves, she looks back at him once more. "So. The basics. Will this cover it?" she asks, sliding an envelope over to him, full of cash.

Tim grunts. "Antonio not have someone on staff to deal with that kind of thing? High end dancer like you, kids usually get their asses beat for fucking with you." He eyes the envelope, pulls it into his jacket where it's out of view, glances, stows it. "Yeah, that's good. I'll need you to get two photos taken, different days different clothes. Anywhere that does passport pictures, or if you've got a friend with a decent digital camera you can get me files." He pulls out a business card and hands it over; there's a generic email address on it. "Mail them there if you have to go with digital files. It's a throw away account, don't contact me there."

He eats a bit more, then says, "I'll let you know when it's done, we'll sort out a hand off. Not here, though; I don't meet in the same place twice. Sound good?"

"It wasn't at the club, it was near my hotel," Roxy replies, sipping her coffee and nose wrinkling at the strength of it. "And if I have non-digital images? Like the ones from the drugstore that does passport photos?" She accepts the card and opens her purse, retrieving a little pad of sticky notes. She jots down a phone number and email on it for him. No business cards yet. Not that those are popular for strippers anyway.

She nods in agreement to meet somewhere else. "We can meet at the club in the VIP when it is done. There is privacy back there. It should suffice as long as you will not be," she ponders the way to say it, "too embarrassed to see me without my clothing on."

"Print photos are fine," Tim says, nodding. "I've got a scanner." He sighs about her being in a hotel. "Wow, you really need these," he says, sympathetic. "Well good news, no waiting for you right now. I'll get on it."

An arched eyebrow meets the suggestion of the VIP area. "Ah...yeah sure." He looks her up and down. "Should be fine." He'll totally be embarassed. He's like ten years older than her, after all. He has students her age. (Yeah he's going to be hella embarrassed.)

"If it is not all right, we can meet elsewhere. I just do not know many places here yet, and whether or not they would be private enough to exchange paperwork at," Roxy explains. She folds her hands on the tabletop, wringing them slightly. "I do apologize, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable." She is young, but her eyes are seem far older in that youthful face. She has seen things. Terrible things.

At the sight of the hand wringing, Tim kind of panics. "No hey, hey, it's totally fine, VIP is fine." Yeah, it won't be awkward for him. At all. See? This is his not-awkward face!

He has some more waffle to calm himself. "In all honesty, probably the safest place," he admits, mouth flattening. "So." He'll just pretend she's modeling for a sketch. Right. That'll work. It'll work great.

"This is how you make your living?" Roxy asks quietly. She knows how she wound up dancing this way. She hasn't fallen into the criminal side of things yet though. Well other than being the customer of a forger. "I am not sure there are any safe places in this town," she says under her breath.

Tim glances up at her. "No," he says, shaking his head. "It's just a thing I do, because I'm good at it." He lifts a shoulder about that.

He eyes her a time for the comment about no safe places, toying with his fork, stabbing it into a strawberry. "You really think this place is that bad?"

"Are you here by choice?" Roxy asks in a whisper. Because she is starting to think no one is here by choice. This place called her here, made her come, plagued her until she did. And she's scared almost every moment of every day in this place.

"Are you not?" Tim counters, in what has to certainly be a yes. He gives her another once over. "Because look, I can get you paperwork to get you out of here, if that's what you need." He raises his eyebrows. "But if you're looking for all of what you asked for, sounds more like you want to stay."

Roxy shakes her head a little. "I do not think I can leave this place. So just the paperwork I asked for, yes," she says, with a pursing of her lips. Maybe it's just her. Maybe she is as crazy as they said she was when they put her in that Asylum. She can't tell if the pull was imaginary or real. "I should go. I've taken enough of your time," she murmurs, pulling out cash to pay for her coffee and a tip for the waitress.

Tim flicks glances between Roxy and his half-finished waffle. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm stuck here too, so." He offers his hand for shaking. "Glad to meet another stuck person." He makes no attempt to stop her, because really, their business transaction is done, and hanging out together's not a fantastic idea. Not at this juncture.

Roxy stands, and accepts the hand, shaking it briefly. "I will send you the images very soon," she promises, and then the petite woman heads out the door to go to two separate pharmacies in two different outfits, to get photos taken.

Tim watches her go, expression thoughtful. Makes a mental note to bring his sketchpad for the inevitable VIP meeting, since it just might make him feel less awkward.