Tim studied the purple knit sweatshirt, evaluating whether the drape could convincingly minimize the breadth of his shoulders. Puberty had been kind in regards to this particular pastime, but it had still left him with signs of masculinity that needed disguising.

He set down the sweatshirt and trailed down the floor towards a dark blue wool poncho. He tossed it in his basket along with the red sweater, embroidered top, and black undershirts he had grabbed earlier.

Western clothing was always a difficult sell. Headscarves and modest dress forgave a multitude of sins. But his new identity couldn't be Muslim, more's the pity. The Islamic population of Gotham was roughly two point five percent of the whole, making a Muslim girl far too noticeable.

Tim browsed through the clearance rack for an appropriate pants, the new identity slowly shaping itself as options were considered and discarded. Nothing with holes or other purposeful distressing. No slacks, no dress pants. He took a pair of cargo pants a size too big, a pair of red jeans, and a pair of black pants with flounces down one leg. Maybe. He threw it into the basket, and headed for the cash register.

"My little sister's stuff got lost by the airline," Tim lied easily when the cashier raised her eyebrows at his purchases. He shifted his accent a bit, more New Yorker than Gothamite "And she's totally wiped from the flight." The cashier winced obligingly.

"Sucks," She agreed, folding the pants and stuffing them into a goodwill bag. Tim listened to her speech carefully, filing it away for later reference. "Any luck getting it back?"

Tim snorted and rolled his eyes. "They say they'll get it to us in a week. I'm not holding my breath." The cashier snickered at that.

"Good luck then, dude. Hopefully your sis won't get totally screwed over." She winked at him, and tossed a few bracelets on the counter into the bag.

"Hope springs eternal, you know?" Tim grinned at her, blowing a theatrical kiss her way on his way out the door.

"You done?" Jason asked, stubbing out his cigarette. Tim smiled at him, ad-hoc persona burning off like mist in morning sunlight.

"I think so," Tim said, trailing after Jason on the way to the beat-up van that accompanied their cover. "How badly does Father need this information? I got the impression he wasn't happy asking me to help."

Jason unlocked the van and helped Tim up the high step before getting in himself. "Pretty bad. The gang's only looking for female couriers, and pretty bird's never been good at acting."

Jason smirked. "And me and Dickie have been way too built for cross-dressing for years, thank-fucking-god."

"Damian's not going to be happy with that particular Robin duty," Tim commented. He pictured his little brother's reaction to being asked to pass, and giggled.

"You have an evil mind, little red. I like it." Jason reached out and ruffled Tim's hair before starting the car.

"Said the kettle," Tim mock-scowled at Jason. Jason flipped him off, and Tim broke down into giggles again.

()()()

The new identity's small wardrobe lay spread out on the motel's bed before Tim- eclectic pieces, that made the various little tricks of passing look like fashion statements. He had a nice pair of boots that coded feminine to American eyes, and a serviceable b-cup bra with built in false breasts, which thankfully took care of most of the basics. A few pairs of 'boy-briefs' style underwear in plain colors took care of the rest.

Tim considered himself in the mirror, clad only in a pair of black cotton underwear, the false bra, and a black undershirt over that.

Amelia, he summoned up. Her name was Amelia Jones, sixteen years old, child of parents clinging to middle-class respectability by their finger tips. A proud girl, an independent one, with few friends, and far too many tormenters who targeted her whenever she bothered showing up to school. She'd given up on the straight and narrow, and had settled for the path of the slightly crooked and broad-minded.

She'd been in a few fights, wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty for a bit of pocket money. She'd been running drugs and messages between gangs in her hometown of New York since she was thirteen, and was looking for similar employment now that she'd been forcibly relocated to Gotham.

Amelia opened her eyes, and smiled slyly. It was new day, full of opportunities to make some money, and get a sense of Gotham's underworld. She shucked on a pair of tan cargo pants, loading the pockets with change for the arcade, some hard candy, a few pens and a tiny notebook. She bounced her butterfly knife in her palm consideringly, and set it down on the nightstand. She'd heard some nasty things about Gotham- it was probably worth taking.

She held up the embroidered top, and shoved it back into her overnight bag with a sigh. Nothing too pretty today- everybody knew what happened to a pretty girl who didn't have a reputation or a man to protect her. She pulled on her hooded poncho instead, tucking the butterfly knife into the front pocket.

A quick dash of gel spiked up her black hair, and she made a mental note to cut it soon- it was getting dangerously close to girly-looking, and that was so not her scene. She toed on her boots- the nice ones she'd swiped from a hoity-toity department store back in New York. She really needed to get some new docs, but these would do. For now, anyway.

Was there enough time to go her nails?

"Oy! 'Me-li, are you done primping yet?" Jay Malone hollered, knocking irritably at her door. Amelia rolled her eyes. Boys! No patience what-so-freaking-ever.

She opened the door in the middle of yet another flurry of knocking, resulting in Jay overbalancing and stumbling into the room.

"Yeah, I'm done Jay. Are you done making an ass of yourself?" She asked, eying the overgrown man-child.

"Hey!" Jay began irritably, before catching a look at her and choking.

"Obviously not," Amelia concluded smugly, prodding Jay with her toe. He winced and scrambled upright.

"fuck, Ti- 'Me-li, you're good at this," Jason said admiringly, slipping out of character for a moment.

"Thanks for noticing, Jason." Tim allowed himself a satisfied smile.

Amelia snapped her fingers. "Come on, you said you'd introduce me to the people worth knowing. Let's go already."