[Unedited Writing: Read at your own risk!]
Tobi never really knew what to do with her hands. Cross 'em? No. Behind my back? That's jus' too demure. Hands on hips? Nah, that's not my style at all. I ain't the commandin' type. She thought, standing in the hallway, crates of documents lining the dreadfully boring office hallways. Soul-crushing-chic, Tobi labeled the decor. Too bland to leave any impression at all. Beige and eggshell and cream, as far as the eye could see.
The mess accumulating near the elevators quietly delighted her. She liked seeing this place roughed up. Papers were piled into cardboard carriers, stacks of old file folders and manila envelopes sealed away inside crates and wheeled haphazardly to the corners of the reception area. A bunch of worthless information some big-wigs imagined might be important. So a small army of security staff rushed about, collecting everything necessary, dumping the rest, and generally creating a whirlwind of activity that delighted calm, collected Tobi Vasquez. She liked to sit on the sidelines and soak in the action.
"Vasquez." The sharp voice startled Tobi. Still unsure what to do with her hands as she watched the hustle and bustle all around her, settled for planting each hand in her corduroy pockets. The commands continued. "Grab a box. No sleeping on-duty."
The sharp voice belonged to Paige Newport. A hawk with a streak of dirty blonde hair. Her glare cut straight through sheepish Tobi. She wasn't about to fight her boss. "S-sorry, didn't realize I was on-duty." She squeaked out. As one of the fresh fish, she thought it best to put her best foot forward -- time to show these people what I've got!
Effortlessly, Tobi Vasquez lugged a sixty pound container to the outbound cargo zone, skipping the standard elevator trip, ignoring things like hand-trucks, choosing instead to sprint the three floors up and down. The snow outside barely phased her. She had become accustomed to the upstate New York winters. They didn't affect her so much anymore -- maybe the Shive training really did harden her up.
Out of all the black-clad security guards and lab coats and drab office workers, one person stood out from the rest. A taller woman, maybe just under six foot by Tobi's guess, with a shock of messy bird's nest gold blonde hair and silver-rimmed glasses. The orange jeans set her apart. If not the jeans, then her complete lack of coordination -- she tripped over herself as Tobi approached the stacks of crates, labeled "To Be Moved", the stranger spilling a crate (or two) of envelopes and printed papers all across the lobby causeway.
The clumsy woman crouched to clean up the mess. Watchful Tobi, empathetic Tobi, judged the stranger’s state of mind. Flustered, nervous, confused. The whole nine yards.
And Tobi wasn't the type to just watch someone in need. Want some help, torpe? That's what Tobi wanted to say. She really didn't say much of anything. She bent down, and organized the mess, and smiled gently at the clumsy woman in the orange jeans. In most situations, Tobi wasn't sure how this whole “being social” thing worked -- helping out felt right. It came naturally to her. So that’s what she did.
"Thank ya' so much! Ain't I a klutz, huh?" Orange-Jeans said, her voice cracking, clutching a file folder to her chest. Is that a southern accent? Tobi didn't hear many southerners up in New York State. Usually, Tobi felt set apart, with her more languid, faded Texan drawl buried over months of East Coast practice.
Tobi smiled, and said, "Y-yeah, it's no problem."
"Do ya' work here?" Orange-Jeans asked. "I'm Kimberly, by the way."
"Tobi." Politely. Always polite. "And, well, ya' might say that." Tobi couldn't quite explain herself. Not to this stranger. She was new to the position, to the role, to working for the Khoros Group.
"I'm here lookin' for gainful employment. Got my resume an' everythin'." Kimberly hummed proudly, placing a handful of pens back into their toppled container, diligently scrambling to place papers into mismatched file folders.
Quietly, Tobi hoped this weird girl wasn't about to apply for an office job. Or a secretary position. Or anything at all that required patience. As Kimberly handed off bundles of paper to Tobi, Tobi removed the improperly organized documents, carefully fixing the mess. "What kind of job are ya' looking for?"
Beaming, Kim shouted. "Security!"
Relief washed over Tobi. She wanted to see this stray dog find a home. Preferably somewhere far away from her. Tobi didn't do loquacious. "Well, ain't that somethin'. My boss, well, she's practically the Security Chief around here." Tobi oh-so hated to impose on others. She didn't much like dealing with strangers in any capacity, really. "Why don't I -uhm-, I mean, if-"
"You'll introduce me?!" Kim blurted, stunned and delighted. "I accept!"
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