A Poorly Chosen Pick-Up Routine.

[Seth Cohen] He waits for Imogen as patiently as he can.

Just as he said on the phone, Seth lays behind the bar in a dirty alley. His back is propped against the brick wall of a neighboring building, his face is a mask of agony illuminated by the full moon. Each breath escapes his lips in short bursts, visible clouds that dissipate quickly in the ever-present wind.

Whatever happened, it happened to his abdomen. He clutches a spot just between his ribs and hip with his right hand. Even in dim-lighting it's easy to see the fingers are red and dripping.

[Imogen Slaughter] There had been a pause when he had explained what he needed. Perhaps his voice showed his pain, perhaps he even groaned. Perhaps he managed it as stoically as he could.

A pause that for a man with blood seeping through his fingers, must have seemed like an eternity. Then she'd agreed, and asked him where he was. Said she was on her way, and rung off.

The woman that steps to the mouth of the alleyway does not seem hurried - her pace indicative of someone with a walking stride. She pauses there, her gaze touching on the kinfolk leaning against the wall, then scanning the area, before stepping in. In one hand she carries a stainless steel briefcase,

The kinswoman is well dressed for this area - too well dressed. Slacks with pressed creases, a woollen overcoat. She pulls it off, revealing a sweater beneath, letting it drop on the stinking ground as she pushes up her sleeves, her gaze moving to his hands pressed to his abdomen.

"What happened?" she asks, turning away from him to thumb open the brief case, retrieving latex gloves.

[Seth Cohen] The relief on his face is plainly evident when she arrives. The young man even manages a weak grin as the redhead begins preparing herself to provide medical care. "Jesus, I'm glad to see you. It is fucking freezing out here. I'm pretty sure my ass is stuck to the ground until spring thaw."

There is a pause and a quiet grunt as Seth repositions himself, leaning slightly to the left for better accessibility. "I think it's pretty bad. This might seriously be the end of me. I've been slashed before but man..."

Each word is spoken through clenched teeth as he watches the kinswoman through half-closed eyes.

[Imogen Slaughter] "Well," she says, with a tight smirk, "that's why yeh try not to get stabbed in Chicago in Winter." He shifts to give her access, and she speaks again, somewhat sharply, "Just a second, I'm not ready for you yet."

She slides the gloves on with ease, but they do little in the way of warmth. Already, the fine hairs on her arms have begun to stand up, the bares skin of her forearms prickling with gooseflesh. "Slashed by what?" she asks, gloved hands briefly rifling through the contents of the briefcase, before looking up. "A human?"

A beat. "Yeh want somethin' fer the pain?"

[Seth Cohen] Again he grunts and shifts his weight, hand tightening around the injury just enough to squeeze more crimson fluid from between his fingers. "No, nothing like that. I must've hit a piece of rebar or something coming down the alley. I was just cutting through so I could head inside and have a few drinks alone and all this happened..."

Multiple layers of clothing have done little to insulate him from the freezing concrete he's been sprawled on all this time. The ruddy flesh of his cheeks stands out sharply against his lips, which are slowly turning blue. He shivers visibly as he continues to watch her. "Sorry to bring you out here like this."

[Seth Cohen] "No pain-killers, just check it for me please."

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen's eyebrow arches when he refuses the pain medication, but shrugs slightly, in a silent suit yourself gesture, before inching forward to toward him, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder, "It's goin' t'be cold, but I need t'get yeh on yer back. Lie down and bend yer knees up."

The kinwoman's grip is firm on his shoulder, guiding him down, supporting him if necessary. Though he might have never expected it, the change of position does something to alleviate the pain.

Combat technique.

"Let's take a look, shall we?" She reaches down and pulls his hand away, her fingers closing at his wrist, then letting go when she's moved it aside. If there is a spurt of blood, the kinswoman's hand promptly covers the wound herself, the blood seeping between her gloved fingers.

[Seth Cohen] There is no spurt.

As she wipes the blood comes away easily. Too easily. Because most open wounds tend to continue bleeding, which makes cleaning a constant neccessity. In this case every bit of Seths blood comes off with a few quick wipes, revealing...

Perfectly uninjured flesh.

Seth's expression changes immediately. He waits for her to meet his eyes, then offers a smile that is at once apologetic and confident. Very slowly he lifts his head into his left palm, elbow propped on the ground, and stretches casually. Like a man on a sunny white-sand beach. "Sooo...are you originally from Chicago, or...?"

Yes. With all of the bravado and blatant self-assuredness that only a man his age can muster, he is really doing this.

[Imogen Slaughter] Imogen looks at him for a moment, in perfect and silent stillness. Then, her mouth tightens, and before anything else shows on her face, she has stripped her gloves off, and dropped them, promptly into the case, snapping it shut. Just like that, she's on her feet.

"Find yerself a silly little girl to impress, if you please. I haven't the time."

[Seth Cohen] Based on his reaction to her reaction, that sort of behavior has probably worked in the past. He immediately scrambles to his feet. "Hey wait! C'mon, I'm really sorry! I was telling the truth mostly!"

With a quick dash Seth places himself between Imogen and the mouth of the alley. He lifts his palms to her in an attempt to show contrition, then spots the "blood" on his right hand. A weak smile is flashed as he quickly tries to shake it off behind his back. "Look, please hear me out..." Not that he intends on shutting up anyway.

"I really was walking down the alley to get a drink, and then I remembered 'Hey, I hate drinking alone'. And then I remembered you giving me your card. The rest of it is a blur of bad desicions and regret. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you."

[Imogen Slaughter] The kinswoman pulls down the sleeves of her sweater sharply enough that for a moment, they stretch over her wrists, before the flexibility of the fabric draws them back.

"Look," the words are even, almost quiet. This does not belie her irritation, which seethes beneath in an undercurrent, "even if yeh had called me, like an adult and invited me out fer a drink, I would ha' still said no."

A tilt of her head, her chin lifting - she is a small woman. He, like everyone else, overtops her, though in this moment, her height seems utterly inconsequential.

"What kind of chance do you think you have now?"

[Seth Cohen] There probably isn't a correct answer to that question. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Seth is smart enough to at least understand that much. But he has committed so whole-heartedly to this endeavor at this point there's not really any turning back. And so he shrugs and works up a smile. "I dunno...sixty/forty? I mean, you are still standing here."

He steps back from her as he speaks, pulling his old fatigue coat closed against the chill air. "Ok, I know what I did was stupid. I admit it. But I only did it because I already knew you'd say 'no' if I just asked you. And I really wanted to have a drink with you. So I went through all this trouble just to get a chance to hang out with you. It was a lot of trouble, by the way. Do you think that ground was even a little comfortable? Some women would be flattered that a guy would do something like that. And even if you're not, which is fine by the way, you should still have a drink with me. If for nothing else than to show appreciation for my moxie. I think I've earned it."

His case stated, Seth straightens his posture and waits. "Now, you look like you might hit me. If you do I only ask this: Not the balls."

[Imogen Slaughter] "No," she says, clearly, concisely. "Yer chances are zero. Excuse me."

He is standing in her way - if he permits her, she will step around him, her brief case scraping the side of the alleyway as she avoids even the slightest contact with him or his clothing. Should he not allow her to pass, she'll turn and start in the opposite direction.

Either way, her parting words are the same, "And I'm from bloody England."

[Seth Cohen] He stands aside as she moves past, palms spread out in that awkward way they do when you give someone the right of way. She speaks before exiting the alley. That's all the encouragement he needs to call after her, grinning as if he'd actually accomplished something positive here tonight.

"England, huh? That's cool! See? We're opening up a dialogue! This is good, this is how friendships start! I'm already growing on you!" She continues to walk, and he continues to let his mouth chase her while he remains in the alley. "Ok, so I guess we'll just take a raincheck on that drink Imogen! It was nice seeing you again!"

[Imogen Slaughter] She never answers aloud, but lifts a hand - a single backwards flap that shows her palm in a gesture which might be a dismissal or at best, a careless farewell.

With that, she turns the corner, and heads out of sight, leaving Seth in the grimy alleyway.

[Seth Cohen] "I bet she misses me already." He gives her a moment to get a fair distance away before he exits the alley himself, licking barbecue sauce from his fingers. There are a few strange looks from patrons as he enters the bar that was his original destination. He ignores the stares, and simply finds a barstool to call home for the next hour or so. No need to run any cons or pull any boosts tonight. A well deserved night off.