First I'll be needin' yer full name, honey. It's for my confidential records. Lord knows none o' the goils actually uses 'em.

Mama, ya knows my name. *rolls her eyes* Theodosia Hartwick.

So what do people actually call ya? An' why?

Trill, on account o' my singin'. Only the fam'ly calls me Theo, an' no one calls me Theodosia.

Age an' birthday? Just estimate if ya ain't sure, hon.

July 14, 1882. I'm seventeen.

Now you's gonna give me a physical description. Height, build, hair, eyes, the clothes ya wears--everythin' down to the last freckle, ya hear? *gives you a sober look* If one o' my goils goes missin'...well, it pays to be prepared, I always say.

*sighs* Mama, ya know what I...a'right, fine. I'm 'bout average height for a goil, an' I got the kinda figure that makes boys turn their heads in the street. *at her mother's expression* I ain't braggin' 'bout it! Just meant I had to loin to t'row a punch earlier'n most goils. I'm Negro, like anyone ain't noticed--half white, technically, but I don't look it. Got dark brown skin, black curls that puff out from my head an' do whatever they like, an' brown eyes. In the street, you'll see me in a shirtwaist dress an' stockin's an' maybe a nice hat--I make my own clothes--but when I'm hangin' 'round the theaters an' saloons, ya might spot me in somet'in' a bit... *eyes her mother nervously* ...uh, a bit more darin'.

I know you'll be sellin' papes, but are ya doin' any odder kinda work? If so, I gotta know about it. *gives you a sharp look* Yes, even that.

*looks scandalized* I can't believe I just hoid that from my own mudder. No, I ain't doin' that, but I've been known to sing on stage or in a saloon from time to time, which is the next woist t'ing as far as some people are concerned. *snorts* Like anyone'd ever approve o' me anyway. Black mudder, white fadder, a goil sellin' papes on the streets...might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, eh?

What's yer personality like, dearie? Sweet, grumpy, shy, outgoin', overly fond o' the boys? *smiles* It's all perfectly fine here in Greenwich Village.

*chuckles darkly* I ain't overly fond o' no one--boys, bulls, East Side or Midtown goils lookin' to steal my corner, the hoity-toity folks from Washington Square, the Hudson Dusters... *face darkens for a moment* Yeah, some o' the goils say I should lighten up, give my trust more easily, but they ain't been in this town long enough. Not that I ain't got friends--I love the goils here, an' I look out for 'em, just like they do for me. I teach 'em to stay outta trouble when they can an' fight their own battles when they can't. Just like my mama taught me. *smiles* Anyway, that's who I am--protective an' loyal wit my friends an' ruthless wit my enemies. Also got a passion for music, a kinda dark sense o' humor, an' a tendency to tell t'ings like they is.

Now, most o' the Village is real keen on the arts. Got any special talents I should know about? If ya sing, dance, act, draw, paint, write, or sweep a stage, I guarantee the goils'll find ya some extra work. *winks* You can tell me about any non-artistic talents while you's at it.

I sing. I'll sing anyt'ing, anytime, anywhere, an' I loves a good crowd. Toined my back on more'n a few nasty crowds, though.

Any ghosts hauntin' ya that I should know about? I don't mean the kind that supposedly haunts the attic--I mean the bad things that follow ya from yer past, or the bad habits ya just can't seem to shake.

I've had my share o' quarrels, over everyt'in' from the color o' my skin to the ever-disputed border 'tween Greenwich an' the Bowery, but nothin' hauntin' me as such.

Who d'ya know in the area, hon? Friend or foe, I wanna hear about it. An' have ya got any fam'ly left?

*grins* Well, I should hope I've got fam'ly left, Mama, 'less this house is bein' run by a dead woman. There's also my big brudder Arthur runnin' a black-'n'-tan saloon over on Thompson Street, an' Grandma an' old Aunt Jane an' Aunt Ellen, who are still on Minetta. An' I knows all the goils here, o' course, an' the boys over on Duane Street, an' I already talked about enemies...let's just assume I knows ev'ryone, huh?

Seein' anyone special, dear? *smiles slyly*

You'd be the foist to know, Mama.

Now, last of all, baby, I need ya to tell me why you's here. Where'd ya come from, an' what kinda life did ya have before?

Ya really need this in the records? *sighs* A'right, I grew up right here in Greenwich--on Minetta Lane, part o' the section they calls Little Africa. Dad was runnin' the saloon, an' you was woikin' at that fact'ry makin' silk flowers, Mama. Me an' Greg an' Arthur was always woikin' at somet'in' since we was kids--collectin' bottles, blackin' boots, sellin' papes-- whatever we could find. 'Course, plenty o' people didn't like a black'n white couple bein' married an' havin' kids, even in the Village, an' we was always gettin' into fights wit the odder kids 'cause o' t'ings their parents told 'em 'bout us. *hesitates* Then, when I was twelve, a bunch o' the Hudson Dusters gang came into Dad's saloon, sky-high on cocaine, yellin' nasty t'ings at him, an'...well, Dad got stabbed an' didn't make it. Greg left town, Arthur took over the saloon, an' you an' me opened this place. Been here since.