2019-10-31 - Checking In

Unlike most of the people in Ruiz's life, Roxy actually does what he tells her to do most of the time. It's not because she trusts his judgement or feels like he has a right to order her around, really. It's more that he knows she's not here legally and if he wanted to be a dick, he could likely get her arrested or deported. Or maybe the fact he and his girlfriend both took chunks out of her in the Dream. Fear goes a long way towards obedience, just ask Machiavelli.

When he pulled her aside at the Masquerade's Opening Ceremonies and told her to go home and wait for him to check in on her, she did it. She wasn't sure she would be of much help fighting whatever Alexander Clayton thought was going to be holding Byron Thorne, because she still knows so little about her own Glimmer abilities, and her control of them is random at best. She could help with the wounded, because she has life saving training, but they had Sutton with them and a paramedic is a much better person for that too. So home she went, to her little motel room.

She got out of her masquerade gown and hung it carefully in the closet as it's something she needs to wear for multiple events during the festival. Expecting possible incoming wounded, she puts on a simple Platinum Cabaret tee and yoga pants she normally wears to warm up in before ballet practice at Dance Evolution. She has also hauled out her lifeguard first aid kit. It's a small red duffel filled with various things to help people who may be injured on a beach or at a pool. Everything from butterfly closure bandages to hot and cold packs, to splints are in there.

To be fair, Roxy doesn't yet know him well enough to know whether his judgement's sound. That he's a bossy asshole, though, has been fairly well established.

It's some time before he returns to the hotel, and delivers a knock on the door to announce his arrival. Two in a row, brisk but not startlingly loud. If she fetches it, she'll find him still in.. well, about half of the gunslinger's costume he was wearing to the opening festivities. Shirt, vest, pants, boots and gloves. The duster and hat have been ditched in his room, and he appears to be no worse for wear. "Hola," he greets, without a smile. "Are you all right?"

Roxy checks through the peephole first, at least she's learned that much, and she unlocks and opens the door for him looking him over for any wounds with a quick glance of those bright blue-green eyes. "Yes. I was not hurt at all. Did you find Mister Thorne? Is he all right?" she asks, worriedly. Members of the Cabaret are getting paid for being present at his festival events to add atmosphere, and she needs the money. She gestures for him to come in. "Was anyone hurt?"

He doesn't appear to be hurt at all either, save for a healing cut across his cheek that looks to have occurred prior to this evening. "I'm not planning on bothering you for long, Miss Kivela." He knows that's not her real name. He uses it anyway. "I wanted to make sure you weren't hurt. And yes, we found him. He.." Hesitation. "Will be. I think." The cop flicks his eyes over her room, but doesn't step inside.

Roxy blinks at the formality of her (fake) last name, and the declining to come in. "Is something wrong, Javier?" she asks, concern creasing her brow. She has the look about her of someone who thinks maybe they did something wrong, but isn't sure exactly what.

The question seems to generate some confusion on his features. "No." His brows furrow slightly. "Why would something be wrong?" Well, aside from dead people dragging themselves out of their graves and walking the streets, perhaps. But he doesn't say this. "I don't want to be in your way. Like I said, I just wanted to stop by and check on you." Which has been accomplished, evidently. He does, at least, flicker a smile at that, though it's about as friendly looking as his usually are. Which is to say, not very.

That flicker of a smile seems to make Roxy's mental doe shift skittishly. He can't help it, he just oozes something predatory when he shows his teeth. The pale white beast, still recovering from her ordeal in the Dream, steps deeper into her psyche. "You are not in my way," she notes. "I would still be working at the Opening Ceremonies if things hadn't gotten weird. Do you want to have a cup of coffee and tell me what happened with Mister Thorne? I just made some. I wasn't sure if you'd be bringing injured back with you, so I got my kit out." And put on clothes that actually cover her up, go figure.

She's watched steadily, silently, like he knows. Like he sees that reclusive white stag, and knows it fears him. There's a tic of muscle in his jaw, and a breath exhaled out his nose as he glances at his watch. "Si. If you like." No injured, it seems. Which could be good, or it could be bad; dead people certainly don't need a medic. He steps inside after a brief pause, hands shoved into his pants pockets, big shoulders slightly slouched like a wolf stalking through the grass, keeping a low profile. Rather than sit, he opts to lurk awkwardly near the door while she fetches him the coffee. "I'm not entirely certain what happened, if I'm honest. So tell me what you'd like to know."

Roxy moves in to pour two cups of coffee into mugs from the little brewer in the room. It's much tidier than the last time he was there, when she was sick. The desk with the sewing things is a bit messy from her preparing her Masquerade outfits, but everything else is neat and clean. She brings the mug over to him and hands it handle first. The doe lurks around the edges of her consciousness, wary of him.

"Mister Thorne's assistant said that he and the other people who were supposed to be on stage with Byron all fell asleep backstage. So who was it that was on the stage with Thorne, and what on earth did they want with the man?"

She, herself, moves to one of the chairs at the tiny little table that is what hotels seem to think is good enough for sipping coffee at.

Ruiz seems to consider the table where Roxy settles in for a few moments, not unlike the one in his own suite (except a lot less busted). But he wasn't invited, and is perfectly aware of the charged atmosphere between them. His dark eyes slide over the desk with its dressmaking accoutrements, then shift back to Roxy as she returns with his coffee. Inked fingers curl around the handle, no stray touches to her hand as it's passed off. "No fucking clue," he offers in abrupt reply to her question. Both of them. "He's staying with Erin Addington for now. Or was, last I'd heard. I haven't had a chance to speak with him yet, and his house didn't precisely provide any clues."

"Please sit, you scare me more when you stand there looming," Roxy admits with a small frown. She sips from her mug, having added nothing to hers. Long habit. Ballerinas weren't really allowed much in the way of fat and sugar in their diets. Once you get used to black coffee, there is no turning back. "We haven't really had a chance to talk, ever since..." the Dream. Where he and Joey and Sutton attacked her, under the sway of the Hunter.

"I feel I should apologize to you all for that. It was...it is a dream I have over and over. I think it has to do with the hospital I was in for those two years." A recurring nightmare, made real by the Veil. Lovely. "I do not blame you for what happened."

He hasn't asked for sugar or cream to put in his own coffee. Could be he's trying to be polite, or more likely, he's also accustomed to drinking it black. The request to sit makes him pause, and he regards her with a hooded, thoughtful look for several seconds before prowling in closer. The other chair's nudged out with the toe of his boot, and then settled into slowly; his eyes don't leave her face throughout. "You don't need to apologise for a dream. If anything, I'm the one who should be. And I should've checked in on you sooner." The whole thing seems to make him agitated and uncomfortable. He sips, murmurs, "The Asylum?"

The very mention of the place makes Roxy twitch for a moment, and go a shade paler. "I hear that is what it is called. I have not been able to find anything about it, anywhere. No records, no paper trail. I do not remember much of what happened to me there, but I remember being in pain, and being afraid, always afraid." No wonder she feels like prey. They made her that way. She sets her coffee down because her hands are trembling a little, and sets them in her lap to hide the shaking.

"I am an adult. You are not obligated to check on me, Javier, but thank you for coming when I texted you. I do not have many people here. And even those I do have I cannot exactly claim as friends. I am bad at that. The language..."

She curses in Finnish. "I was tutored my whole life, the best tutors, and I learned English very well. But no one here speaks English. Not as it was taught to me!" Exasperation touches her features. "So I do not always feel comfortable in conversations."

"I said nothing about obligations," he replies evenly, gaze unwavering. "You don't need to put words in my mouth, Miss Kivela." A long pause follows, and he's aware of her hands shaking, surely. He doesn't, however, reach across to touch them, and keeps his eyes on her face. "I'm not sure I'm much help with that, either," he answers ruefully, with a hint of wry amusement. He's referring to her English, of course; his is fluent, but still suffers from the odd tripping over a word or phrase, and he hasn't quite managed to kick his accent after all these years.

"And I've been there. To the Asylum." He sips his coffee. "Briefly. I can't tell you much more, other than that I understand why you'd not want to go back."

"Have I upset you in some way?" Roxy asks, with knitted brows. "You keep calling me Ms. Kivela. You can just call me Roxy. I owe you and your lady and Joseph a great deal for your help. You do not need to be so formal, you have all seen me at my very worst."

Confusion again, telegraphed briefly in his expression. There's little else, though; he seems to be putting some conscious effort into closing off his mind to her tonight. Where normally his wolf-like aspect would be spotted, scented, tasted at the very edges of her perception at almost all times, it seems to be in hiding at the moment. "Roxy, then," he replies after a moment, then glances into his coffee cup and drinks again. "No. I don't think you owe me anything. And I'm glad you're feeling better." He pauses. Conversation, particularly small talk, doesn't seem to come easily to him. "Have you returned to work yet?"

Roxy nods, her shoulders relaxing a little as he uses her chosen first name. He sounds far less like a cop when he does. Her hands return to the table and her coffee mug. There is just the faintest marks remaining on her arm where she was bitten. Whether the mark from the hawk is still there or not is hidden by her tee. In time, even those will fade. "Yes, I am back to work. I have a very exciting routine planned for the Goblin Danse at the Cabaret. Worked very hard on it, so I hope it goes well." She smiles at that.

"And Joseph got me the extra work at the..." Pause. "Bake sale. So I'm getting more together to be able to move out of the motel," she adds cheerfully.

The marks are noted briefly, but not commented upon; the brief twinge of something in his eyes suggests some unease he doesn't verbalise. "I'm sure it will," he answers, though without anything approaching a smile in return. "You're quite talented." Mention of the bake sale ought to amuse him, but if it does, it's fleeting. "Got a place lined up, then?" Nope, he's not going to discuss the Fight Club.

Roxy shakes her head. "Not yet. I have not found an apartment complex that isn't ridiculously expensive, and the other end of the renters spectrum seems to be the trailer park. But I believe there are more options being developed in town? At the very least maybe I can move into the Bed and Breakfast for a while." The look in his eyes when he spots the marks makes her withdraw that hand again, under the table, into her lap.

"I have something to ask of you. And you can say no and I will take absolutely no offense," she begins, chewing her lower lip.

His coffee's finished off in the meantime, and the empty mug slid onto the table. He's already halfway back to his feet by the time Roxy speaks again, garnering a pause from the cop. "Si. Go ahead." He notices, of course, the hand that's quickly withdrawn. He doesn't say a word about it.

Roxy takes in a deep breath, and she stands up too, so she can look him in the eye. With the amount of panties thrown at the cop on a regular basis, he may be bracing for the very worst request from her. Her lips part, her lashes lower, and she asks....

... "Can you teach me how to shoot a gun so I can protect myself in this godforsaken town?"

Ruiz gives no indication one way or the other if he expects panties to be thrown at him; he's a little more circumspect than usual. And the captain is not an emotive man. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he waits for Roxy to spit out whatever it is, and arches a brow at what comes out. A beat, two, and then he nods slightly. "I can. Si." A longer moment passes, where he seems to take his measure of her with no small amount of thoughtfulness. Then a step back toward the door. "Let me know when you'd like to start. I assume you don't have a license, and will need to borrow a gun."

Roxy lets out a relieved breath. She clearly expected a lecture on, well, everything ever but instead got a yes. "Thank you. I realize that I cannot expect you or Joseph or one of the club bouncers to be everywhere at once, and this town is really..." well it's Gray Harbor. "I do not have a license, no, and yes, I will need to borrow a gun. I would like to work towards a license and own a proper gun, but I have to wait a bit for..." for the electronic side of her fake papers trail to be set up. "...some things to be put in place."

"You can thank me once I've managed to teach you something," replies the older man with a flicker of a smile. He adjusts a button on his waistcoat that had come loose, checks the time on his watch, and moves for the door. "Thank you for the coffee, by the way." He doesn't even ask any questions about the things she needs to put into place. And he's no idiot, he likely has some idea.

"Please be safe out there. Maybe it is the time of year, but it all feels...off tonight," Roxy advises. She holds the door open for him as he departs. "Express my thanks to Miss Sutton for her help as well, please?" she requests with a warmer smile than she gives many people.

Off doesn't really begin to cover it. He pauses at the door, gaze sliding from it, to the dark-haired, blue-eyed girl holding it open for him. "I'll do my best," he promises, venturing to touch her arm with a ghost of contact. "You let me know if you need anything." He pulls away, watches her a moment longer, then ducks out.

The touch isn't rejected, not by Roxy, though the doe raises her head sharply to make sure it's not an attack. Poor skittish thing. Roxy meets his gaze and nods her head. "I will." Then the door closes and he's free of the sense of her mental creature.