Timothy Pecker (alphamfoxtrot) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-12-29 16:48:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | face, nibs |
Who: Tim P. and Poppy C.
What: In which Poppy moves into the poshest place she can remember (including her previous foster parents’ home)
Where: Aubade 405
When: After this, afternoonish?
Warnings: Rated E for Everyone!
At first, Poppy had been highly displeased that Tim thought he could read her like a book, offering to house her before she’d even told him that she didn’t exactly have a plan outside of moving out. But past experiences with the man had taught her that he wouldn’t let up, he’d track her down at her favourite bars if he needed to and Poppy didn’t exactly want him to rob all her targets before she had a chance to, herself. And on further thought, Tim had been nothing but nice, if not just a tad strict, to her since they’d met. It wouldn’t be so bad, crashing with him until she had another plan, would it?
Upon arriving at The Aubade, she found that Tim wasn’t kidding when he said he’d notified the doorman. The attendant immediately asked if she had any other bags, as soon as she told him who she was here to see. He seemed surprised when she told him no. What exactly had Tim told the doorman? That a small blond girl was going to be moving an entire closet into his not-so-humble abode? Poppy rolled her eyes mentally at the thought and made her way to apartment number 405. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, she let it out in a deep sigh before knocking firmly on the door and waiting for an answer.
- - -
Tim had been surprised by Poppy's text, but he also knew that she probably hadn't figured out where to stay next. He'd have to teach her the value of a plan sooner or later. Without hesitation he had offered her a place to stay. It seemed logical, since he had taken on the role of mentor to her. And the more that he thought about it, the more he wanted to give her a stable relationship that she could rely on. He had notified the doorman, saying a teenage girl was coming to live with him.
When the knock on the door came, Tim closed his computer. He had been looking up adoption laws in Washington, but it was hardly something he'd leave open for Poppy to stumble across. He made his way to the door, dressed in jeans and a dark green t-shirt. Pulling open the door he offered a smile to Poppy. "Nice to see you," he greeted, before nodding to the doorman. "Hey Pete, thanks for bringing her up," he added. He went to shake the guy's hand and slipped a five dollar bill in it. Pete smiled and disappeared down the hallway. "Come on in," Tim invited.
- - -
At the greeting, Poppy physically rolled her eyes at him. She hadn’t really had a choice, and Tim knew it too. Being hunted down was not one of the most fun experiences of her life, even if it was just some guy who wanted to teach her to be a better pickpocket.
Poppy stepped into the foyer as the doorman left to head back down to his post. Her mouth nearly dropped open at the sight of the apartment, but she managed to keep her face mostly emotionless. It was nicer than anywhere she’d ever been, let alone lived in. This included her latest foster parent’s place, and they were definitely one of the wealthier people in the greater Seattle area. Grinning widely for the first time since she’d arrived, Poppy felt like she could let herself feel impressed, “Wow. Nice place!” She wondered if Tim had tons of things that she’d never seen before in her life and whether she’d ever figure out how to use them.
- - -
Tim had stepped aside to let her pass and shut the door quietly behind her. He didn’t want to make her feel like a caged animal or anything. She was still free to do as she pleased, and after a couple of days, he’d set down the ground rules. Hopefully this arrangement would work out well. But first things first, they needed to get her settled.
“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, stepping into the living room. It had a nice leather couch with a coffee table in front of it, which were opposite a 64” flat screen tv. Art pieces decorated the white walls in a tasteful manner, the color palate relatively neutral in the room. If one were to look closely at the art, and if they knew anything about art, they’d realize that the paintings were originals of the late 17th century, from some locally popular Flemmish artists.
“Your room is upstairs, down the hall from mine. If you’d rather, you’re welcome to stay in the bedroom that’s on this floor,” he offered, giving her the choice. It hardly mattered to him, considering both rooms were only furnished with the basics. She’d be able to paint it and design her room the way she wanted.
- - -
Poppy soaked in the decor and lavish furniture as they entered the living room. She never thought that she’d live anywhere nearly as fancy, after the last foster parents. The school, the life, it just wasn’t for her. But Tim was different, he did what she did, but for fun. He understood the thrill of living outside the box, outside of the basic black and white, right or wrong.
“Umm...” Poppy stalled, she honestly hadn’t realized that she would have her own room at Tim’s place, “I guess I’ll take the one upstairs?” She’d just randomly chosen, she doubted there would be much difference either way. She was only living here until she figured something else out, right?
She looked around the room, distracted by the paintings on the wall. It wasn’t like she had an exceptional appreciation for art, but she had a strange feeling that these paintings were not replicas. Raising an eyebrow, she turned back to Tim. “Is this what you do?” She gestured towards the paintings, finally getting a hint at what kind of theft Tim was into.
- - -
Tim could tell that she knew how expensive his furnishing were. Most thieves were practiced in telling the value of something just by looking at it, especially in just a few seconds. It was the mark of a good thief, after all. He nodded at her choice to take the upstairs bedroom and moved toward the staircase. He paused, however, as she asked about the art.
“I’m a collector,” he agreed, a knowing smile on his lips. It was as close to an admission as she would be getting, of course, but the point of thieving was to steal things you liked. He studied her for a moment, and realized for the first time that she only had her backpack with her. “Is everything in your backpack?” he asked, curiosity evident in his tone.
- - -
Poppy smirked, that was pretty much a yes and nothing could change her mind otherwise. She was curious, why art? But she knew that asking more questions right now wouldn’t get her any straight answers. She was tired and wasn’t in any mental shape to navigate through sideways answers and counter questions.
Nodding slowly, she could almost feel what was going to happen next. People who had tons of money didn’t understand how she could own only what fit into her backpack. It just didn’t make sense to them, but Poppy didn’t like leaving things behind. She’d been left behind once in her life and of all the things that had ever happened to her, that was the feeling she remembered perfectly. So now when she left, she took everything with her. Part of living like that meant that she didn’t make real connections to people, only the make-believe parts of her did. That way when she left, people didn’t feel bad because she wasn’t real. The logic was beyond flawed, but it made sense to Poppy and she never stayed long enough for other people to tel her otherwise.
“It’s okay though,” She tried to stop the inevitable skepticism, to no avail, “I have everything I need in here. I don’t like clutter.” Even as she spoke, she knew that Tim had other plans that included owning things that didn’t fit in her trusty backpack.
- - -
Tim rolled his eyes. She would learn the ways of thievery, even if it killed both of them. One of those rules was stealing things you intended to keep. Good thieves weren’t about making money and living the lavish lifestyle, though many good thieves could make a pretty penny whilst stealing and building a collection. Tim had once met a thief turned historian who made a living as a historian and occasionally stole ancient artifacts from museums. Everyone had their something, their interest. Poppy would find hers.
She seemed to be defensive about her backpack, and Tim could understand it. In the beginning, he had lived out of his backpack. It made it easy to flee. Even now, Tim had a wheelie suitcase with vouchers for a plane ticket if he ever needed to make a quick escape. Though, he had put down roots here, so he’d always try and come back. “Wheelie suitcases hold more things,” he replied, turning to walk up the stairs and clearly expecting her to follow. He led her to the first door on the right, across from the open door revealing a bathroom.
“Here’s your room,” he explained, opening the door to reveal a mahogany four poster bed with deep burgundy sheets and a gold and burgundy comforter. There was a long dresser against one wall, with a large mirror above it, and a night stand next to the bed. On the opposite wall from the dresser there was an open closet with enough room for five times Poppy’s wardrobe.
- - -
Poppy nodded noncommittally and followed Tim up the stairs, she’d used a backpack her whole life, but she appreciated that he understood where her concern came from. She followed him up the stairs and into the room she was to stay in. The room was large, much larger than she was comfortable in, but she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she placed her backpack next to the bed and sat carefully on top of the neatly made bed. She wondered if she should unpack, but all she owned was a laptop, a handle of clothes and the books that Tim had sent her via stockings. Smiling up at Tim again, she gave him a genuine smile, “Thanks, the room is really nice.”
Reaching for her bag, she decided on unpacking after all. She unzipped the backpack and dumped the contents next to her on the bed. The clothes she owned fit in a single drawer in the dresser and she placed the books in a neat stack on the nightstand. Not knowing where to put her laptop, she placed it back in her bag and pushed it under the bed. Surveying the room again, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit empty. She’d unpacked her entire life and the room still looked exactly the same, save for the books on the nightstand. Shoving her hands into her pockets she looked back to Tim. What was she supposed to do now?
- - -
Tim stayed in the door way, observing her. She seemed uncomfortable almost in the room. He imagined it was probably larger than some of the other places she had stayed in, but surely she had managed to con her way into high priced suites before? He watched her as she unpacked and the full scope of just how little she had hit him. They would have to remedy that.
Sitting there on the bed, she looked as if she needed direction and Tim offered her a warm smile. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He turned then, and led her down the hallway, through the closed door at the very end. It was his room that he was showing her. There was a bed identical to hers, though in green and silver coverings. On the wall hung various paintings that were, again, originals. His room was laid out in much the same way as hers, though it was clear that his room was lived in. Shoes were lined up under the dresser, and his closet was full of clothes. He bypassed all of that and knelt next to his bed. In one swift motion, he pulled out a black wheelie suitcase.
“My get away bag,” Tim explained, as he unzipped the outermost pouch and pulled out the flight vouchers, and two fake passports (though they would never be recognized as fake). “Complete with false identities and an escape plan.” He put them back in the bag and slid the bag back under the bed. “There’s compromise in everything, Poppy,” he explained quietly.
- - -
All the stubborn brattiness from the trip over seemed to have drained from her system as she followed Tim wordlessly to another room. As soon as they entered, she realized that it was none other than Tim’s own bedroom. She stood beside him as he pulled out a small suitcase from under the bed, the same place she had put her backpack just moments ago. She nodded as she watched him explain the contents.
“I don’t play the game that big,” She spoke quietly, she knew that Tim had a lot of hope for her but the truth wasn’t that great. The fake passports and the escape plans, that took a lot of foresight and Poppy didn’t even know where she would be living next month. It would be nice, to collect things and have a nice place, but that meant that when she left, she’d be leaving something behind that she could potentially miss. She thought quietly for a few moments before speaking again. “But you were here,” She paused, “I mean, no matter where you go now, someone here will remember and maybe find you and that means that you can never really get away, y’know?”
- - -
Tim wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her. It didn’t matter how big she played the game, though he supposed she needed to realize that this wasn’t a game. It was a way of life. Another lesson he would need to teach her, and it wouldn’t hurt to start now. “Poppy, it’s not a game,” he said quietly, moving to sit on his bed. He pat the mattress next to him.
“This is how I live my life. I steal art for a living, sell them to an Art House and keep a few for myself. The finder’s fee plus the occasional reward money keeps me living a relatively stable lifestyle.” He paused, then, unsure if he should share his ability with her. After being quiet for a few moments, he decided to withhold it. “Someone will recognize me here, sure, but only one person here knows what I do for a living. Everyone else assumes I’m a curator or art collector or something.” He pondered the last part, about getting away. “Honestly, Poppy, I don’t want to get away from here. I’m happy. Maybe I’ll need to lie low for a while one day, but I doubt I’ll ever leave here without the people I care about.” He hoped she knew that included her.
- - -
Poppy sat down next to him on the bed, pulling her legs towards her so that she could rest her chin on her knees and wrap her arms around them. She looked lost and small and completely unguarded for a moment, but her eyes hardened without warning and her lips shifted into a stubborn pout. Wasn’t it a game? He played for fun, and she played because she had to. Right? She contemplated arguing with him, but just let it go, she really just wasn’t up for the discussion that would surely follow.
“Why art?” The question came out before she had the chance to stop it. Poppy looked away as he went on. Why go back to somewhere that you left? Don’t look back, keep moving forward. Those were the words that Poppy lived by. The only word that stuck in Poppy’s mind was leave and she could feel herself panic a little bit. Leaving, that’s what she did now. People didn’t leave her anymore, she left them. “Um, I’m going to go,” She paused, stalling for a reason to leave, “Unpack... the rest of my stuff...” She trailed off distractedly and walked out of the room and down the hall without looking at Tim. There was nothing left for her to unpack, but she was feeling weird and she just needed to get out of that room.
- - -
Tim noticed the shift in her demeanor and wondered if it had been smart of him to show her his contingency plan. He had hoped it would let her know that it was safe to settle down if the conditions were right, but as soon as he saw her reaction, that hardening of her eyes, he knew he had pushed her too soon. He sighed and let her go without attempting to stop her. She would understand sooner or later, or she would leave. Tim sighed, and promised himself that he would do everything he could to prevent her from running. Her question went unanswered, but she would realize why art sooner or later.