03.10.3014: In the Dying Light
Summary: Imogen saunters into the Blue Nirvana on "Club Night" in search of Lincoln. The two find their own Silver lining, and a bit of darkness to behold.
Date: 09 December 2013
Related: None
Imogen Lincoln Silver 

The Blue Nirvana — Blue District, The Ring
Entering through the heavy wooden doors decorated with relief sculptures of flirtatious nude cherubs, visitors find themselves in the tiny waiting room of the upscale brothel and bar, The Blue Nirvana. Only a single, plush red velvet bench sits in the small area, and the walls are covered with a darker, more rich red velvet. Opposite the wooden entry doors is the floor to ceiling black velvet curtain visitors must pass through to reach the main sanctum.

Once inside, light piano music fills the dimly lit air of The Blue Nirvana main sanctum. Unlike the cold steel found in so many other places on the Ring, the walls of the sanctum are covered in plush red velvet curtains and Arborenin cherry oak trim. Larger than the entryway would lead outsiders to believe, this main area is actually two stories tall, the lofted ceiling covered in similar Arborenin oak planks and golden trimmings that flow into several ornate crystal chandeliers that outstretch almost a dozen feet each. A grand piano sits at the far corner of the room, and various love seats and couches made of the same wood and crushed red velvet cushions rest in various positions for privacy or presentation.

A few of the Blue Nirvana's prostitutes relax on these couches, dressed in immaculate, fancy clothing that is sensual but not overtly obscene. Across the back wall is a long bar, again fashioned from the Arborenin wood, where a bartender serves drinks from thousands of bottles, vials and containers lining the wall behind him. The space above the bar is a balcony stretching the entire length of the room, the upstairs wall lined with more heavy, fancy wooden doors that lead to the private chambers of business. The red carpeted staircase gently descends and curves towards the center of the room from the wall to the far right.

March 10, 3014

The pale teal and violet colored lights can be seen shifting from under the door of the BLUE NIRVANA from the outside. It's the first thing that catches Imogen's eye on a night where she was planning to actually bypass the place in favor of a quiet night at home. Intrigued, she lifts her brow and steps past the doorman to push through and is assaulted by the wall of sound that comes from the club-like change of atmosphere within.

Apparently some kind of nightclub night, the raven-haired chemist shifts her eyes over the Johns dancing with the prostitutes they've chosen as their evening's entertainment. She catches the eye of a girl she recognizes, a blonde haired girl with a too-skinny frame and heroin-chic eye makup, who grins at Imogen and beckons her over, but Imogen only stares for a moment as she lets the door close behind her on her glide to the bar.

"Lincoln Dunne please fucking tell me you're around." She calls to the bodies behind the bar, bellying up for her always: Grayson's on ice.

Lincoln looks up at the bellow, but he's not behind the bar. He's actually out on the floor, changing partners. He'll dip his head and whisper something to one of the girls and starts walking towards the bar. he's dressed in a rather trendy, red vest with no shirt on underneath. His pants really don't leave much to the imagination. He'll grin wolfishly, sliding up next to her, "Roberts….get the lady a Grayson's …on ice." His hair is pulled back, but his bangs have escaped and are hanging in his eyes, giving him a slightly boyish look.

The past few weeks have been tumultous ones for one Silver Rickard. There's jobs to be balanced and two lives that wend and wind about one another in opposing orbits that will, soon — too soon — conflict. Which one will come out the winner? Even the woman that oft plasters slasher vid posters in her role as the ass-kicking heroine doesn't know. She is usually not one for the more busy nights within the Blue Nirvana; surprising as it may be. Still, one often needs a distraction…

The dress that shapes her form is one certainly suited; hourglass figure is well-etched out by the glimmering chrome fabric, woven with color-shifting lights that move in a beat with the music. While the low-cut neckline certainly shows off her assets, as it were, it's her legs that are given the chance to win the show tonight. The skirt cuts off at a height that is almost daring even for the brothel, showing the 'gams' as they delve down into ankle boots with heels that could be deadly if used the wrong (or right) way. Silver isn't dancing… she's mingling. Flashes of smiles here, a laugh at a joke there. The woman drifts through the crowd like a spectre… haunting the show.

"For a second, Lincoln, I thought the place had been bought out or Sean got on as a DJ, but no it looks like you and Ren are still churning money," Imogen doesn't miss a beat, reaching out to pluck a stray thread from the hip of Lincoln's pants as she glances to the bartender, watching and hoping he's quickly making with her liquor. "Looks like you guys have a full house tonight. Am I pulling you from a client?" She continues, turning her back to the bar and leaning back in a gentle slump that sets her kohl-rimmed eyes to scan through the strobe lighting. One knee tilting against the other in a playful lean, her black fingernails rap against the bartop as Silver comes into view. "And I think I know that girl. Isn't she famous?"

Lincoln Laughs and grins, "We try." he'll tap the bar, some kind of signal to the barkeep, before he turns and shakes his head, looking out over the dancers. "Me? Nope. Unless I get a specific request. I'm all man power tonight." He'll wiggle his eyebrows at Imogen, a more honest smile peeking through at his joke. He'll look to see who she's talking about and he'll chuckle, "We're all famous here, Imogen." One of the BN's rules, no ratting clients out.

Imogen lowers her head just enough to give the bartender, Roberts, a pair of quiet eyes as she reaches for her drink. With a faint nod, she collects the tumbler and turns her eyes, and her drink, back to Lincoln before her. "MANpower you say?" The quirk at her lip is equally faint as she glances over the vest he wears. "No worries. We're all discreet here, or something like that. I just don't know where I know her from." Imogen's face goes quiet as she lifts the straw to her painted lips, eyes curling back towards Silver Rickard. "Is she an actress? If you're man-power tonight Lincoln and she pulls a knife on me, Linc, I expect you to jump in front of it for me."

Lincoln snorts quietly, his own dark eyes scanning the room. He really is here to bounce, more than whore. Nights like tonight tend to bring in not the regular cliental. "No worries, I'll take a knife for you. As long as you come visit me in the hospital. Maybe smuggle me cigarette while I'm in there." That's new, Linc wasn't really a smoker before. He'll glance back, that smirky smile back, "I think that's only fair."

"Depends on how big the knife is." The twitch in Imogen's brow matches the hint of a smile in her eyes as she sips from the clear alcohol, made chilled over the ice cubes. The first sip always bring a quiet flutter of her brows; a brief respite from the pains of the day. "You know, Lincoln, no one's ever taken a knife for me before. Not on my behalf, at least." Vague and strange her words are, with a hint of black comedy to them. She steps just a little closer and tilts her eyes back to Lincoln's. She shakes her glass gently. "I shouldn't be drinking. You shouldn't be smoking. Don't you want to live to be some old lady's paw, Lincoln?"

Lincoln wrinkles his nose, but it just ends up making him look cute, rather than annoyed, "it's not the size if the knife, but how you use it?" He'll give her another crooked smile and shakes the bangs from his eyes. he'll chuckle, "Fuuuuck no. I'll die young an pretty, thank you." He's smirking, but there's definitely something different in his eyes. He'll look ver as one of the clients lets out a rather loud laugh, his body tensing slightly before he realizes it's just a laugh. No drama.

The red-haired beauty makes a few more passes through the crowd. For anyone watching closely, it's clear that it's all surface. Fluttered lashes, big smiles. If she isn't a professional actress, she's one in practice. Silver works the crowd and after gracefully turning away from a man that tries getting a little… handsy (thankfully, one of the brothel's own girls steps in and distracts him) she heads towards the bar.

There's something in those grey-blue eyes, but perhaps it's just the lights and makeup. Silver sinks into a stool near Lincoln and leans over towards him — perhaps ignoring his current conversational partner — before murmuring in a soft, but audible voice: "Be a dear and get his," she doesn't know the guy tending bar tonight, "attention for me? I need something with cinnamon." Spicy. Strong.

Imogen stares into the red leather of Lincoln's vest as he replies, those words hitting her ears. I'll die young an' pretty. Her cheek tugs into a smirk that could scarcely suffice for vacancy. In response, her finger taps against the clear glass, the ring on her index finger tapping softly as Silver floats into view at his side. "Won't we all?" Imogen murmurs, head turning to focus on the redhead. She reads the signs. She seems familiar with Lincoln; not possessive. Not desperate.

"So which one are you?" Imogen speaks up to Silver, bringing the nearly useless tiny-straw to her lips. "I know you from somewhere."

Lincoln leans his body towards Silver's as she comes up. He'll give her a nod and smile and turns towards Roberts, "Give the lady a double Screaming Blue Messiah on the rocks. Spice it." Roberts nods, happy that Lincoln's kinda directing him. The glass is rimmed with some kind of spicy ingredient and the the cubes and alcohol is poured. Linc doesn't seem to notice any discomfort with Imogen, but he's juggling getting the drink and watching the floor. He'll hand Silver her drink and watch the two's conversation play out.

The drink is accepted with a nod for Roberts and Silver swivels in the chair to lean her back lightly against the bar; an elbow perched on the surface for added support. Holding the glass lightly in elegent fingers capped with a dark polish that glitters purple in certain flashes of light, she looks towards Imogen. A carefully sculpted eyebrow slowly arches. "Which one am I?"

The actress casts a bit of a look towards Lincoln. A questioning gaze. Something with a hint of curiousity. "I grew up on The Ring," she adds, for Imogen. She certainly has the accent of the slums. "That may be it."

No names? No directs? Imogen's dark, brown eyes grow just a little darker as the minor social cloak-and-dagger falls into place. The grin that forms under the swatch of bangs that conceals one of her eyes is mischievous and sinister in a way, and she never forgets to enjoy her drink.

"I grew up on the Ring, too. It's a really big Ring, though." Imogen replies, laughing against her straw. "But I know you from somewhere, you look really familiar. Really familiar." Imogen trails off, her hand reaching out to Lincoln's vest. Her black, painted fingertips splay against the leather and slide down towards his hips. She teases the man, at least until her hand curls into a fist and digs into his hipbone.

"What's her name, Lincoln?" Imogen grins darkly. "Introduce me to her."

Lincoln tilts his head, unsure what the game is the two woman are playing, but he knows better than to get involved. He lets his eyes go back to the floor, doing a quick head count to make sure everyone is still there. It's instinctive that he presses into Imogen's hand as she trails it down his chest. It's also instinctive that after the yelp that escapes him at the hip dig, he does a rather quick wrist grab, pulling Imogen's hand away from his body. His eyes darken and there's no humor in his voice when he responds, "She'll give it if she wishes. Same as you. Same as any one here." His grip is strong, stronger than one might expect. He's not squeezing or anything to hurt her, but she can't just yank her hand away easily. He keeps eye contact with her till he knows she understands. He services everyone from famous actors to Young lords or senators….keeping names secret is important.

"It's quite alright, Lincoln," Silver says with a soft laugh. There's a crinkling around her eyes, the laughter causing a few strands of hair to fall loose. The red kisses gently against her pale skin. There's a sip of the drink taken and she exhales in a slow sigh in the wake of the burn. "I ought to tell her, lest she'll figure it out three steps out the door and feel such a fool."

This all earns Imogen a flash of teeth as dark-painted lips pull back. It's a smile, but there's that subtle danger to it. She's enjoying the game, perhaps. Sliding into a persona and away from the darkness each and every night holds. "Are you a fan of the horror 'vids?"

There are times when someone's true colors show. A waif of a woman, or someone not accustomed to rough edges would flinch at what Lincoln does, but Imogen instead stares up at the man with a quiet look in her eye. Her brows settle into a comfortable place, maintaining her eye contact to make her words equally as clear.

"Let go of my wrist, Lincoln." Imogen fails to ask, or say please, or end her statement in up-speak that makes it sound like a question. If it isn't clear, her tone is that sort of I'm not asking twice monotone. "You're tolerable as far as most human beings manage. Don't change that."

Leaving her wrist in his hands for the man to decide, Imogen turns her attention to Silver. With her bangs still over her eye, her head tilts at a curious angle as her lone eye gathers some intelligence and recognition. "Oh that's where…" Imogen's faint smirk is fake in many ways. "…the boys at the dorms at Academ were big fans. Big fans."

Lincoln narrows his eyes as he watches Imogen, "Same could be said to you. Don't become intolerable." As much as she had hidden tone in her voice, his is clearly a don't make me throw you out, I considered you a friend tone. He'll let go, but makes sure to stay in-between the two woman for now, incase whatever this vag waving contest is gets out of hand. The bartender has stepped up, not quite behind them, but is definitely closer and aware. Linc doesn't grab folks if there's not some kind of issue.

One eyebrow joins the other, arched over those grey-blue eyes. Silver remains in an easy lounge against the bar. She hasn't changed her mien, no, but there's a sort of languid danger about her. Like a tiger just waiting for the mouse to move. And yet… something lingers beneath. Something that she drowns with each consecutive sip of the liquor in her hand.

"I'm sure they were," Silver offers for Imogen. "So," a glance to Lincoln, then back, "do I get the pleasure of knowing who my latest non-fan is?"

Imogen's smile grows, a certain laughter forming behind her dead, brown eyes as Silver asks a question she knows that Lincoln isn't going to give her an answer to. Her eyes lid closed so that she can sip her drink and watch the two of them through the hazy forest of her long, dark lashes. "Oh Lincoln, you're always getting so serious at the wrong times. I was just grinding a nerve cluster, don't be a pussy." Imogen tsks, shaking her head.

Pausing for a quick sip from her drink, Imogen sets the glass aside and shakes her bangs away from her eye. She smiles again and motions to Silver. "The movies were fun but you know how it goes: Girl gets invited to hang out with her girlfriends and the guys. It all goes well, everyone pairs off, the sexy horror movie gets put on and then when it's dark and clothing starts coming off on screen…they start talking to each other." Imogen's lips close into a flat, painted line. "Some men don't know how to avoid ruining a moment, right?"

Oh, for fuck's sake. Linc may need a drink after this. He'll point to both ladies and then point opposite at them, indicating he's not going to say, but they should. Not that he thinks they will at this point. He does give Imogen a small sigh, "The fact that you know you hit a nerve cluster just makes you sadistic, not me a pussy." He'll keep his eyes moving between the two, not really trusting either of them to not do something rash.

Is there a flutter of amusement at the by-play between the two? Or is it interest? There's little to show one way or the other. Silver shifts slightly, crossing her legs as she settles into that lean further. Someone in the crowd must have caught a glimpse beneath because he's grinning broadly and elbowing his buddy.

Pretending not to notice, she looks towards Lincoln and offers a laugh. "Your friend has figured out my name now. So I'm, ah, left in the dark." Imogen earns a smooth shrug. "Perhaps you needed better friends. Or a partner of your own. What can I say, there's something people find sexy about a heroine that doesn't jump into bed with any fella that comes her way."

"Oh I had a partner, lady, but when the room lights up with a bunch of fucking idiots saying stuff like holy shit she's hot like a bunch of fucking apes when they've got a girl on their arm? They lose." Smile fading, Imogen rolls her shoulders to let the tension of her and Lincoln's little moment fade from her body language. All eyebrows now, Imogen cants her head in a more genuine look to the red-headed actress. "Not your fault. I can admire a woman who can help weed out the bad seeds. I'm Imogen."

"And you." Imogen turns towards Lincoln, reaching out for the opposite side of his face to pull his cheek towards her lips for a gentle kiss. "Are very sweet for the things you call me. I forgive you, Lincoln." Imogen laughs against his cheek. "He's cute, but he's moody sometimes, isn't he, Silver?"

Lincoln silently groans and curses Ren for leaving him in charge on a themed night. But he seems to relax a hair when Imogen gives her name. He'll accept the kiss to the cheek with a small smirk, "Sweet, huh? I've been called worse." But then he play frowns and looks to Silver, "I am no such thing." He totally is, but is now fake pouting with his bangs in his eyes. Which makes him cute, which may be what he was denying…or maybe he's denying the moodiness.

"See? I told you she had me pegged." Silver offers a soft laugh, before a roll of the shoulders in Imogen's direction. "Ah, we all have our moody times." She reaches out to pat Lincoln lightly on the shoulder. "It gets him business and isn't that all we can ask for."

Her drink is finished and set on the counter behind her. "As for what boys do when they see my movies, well, it's not as if I'm a huge fan of their behavior myself. I got into the industry where I could and now I'm rather stuck there. Might as well play it up."

"It's all appearances. Me? I don't worry myself with them. The two of you have to, and I don't envy you, but it's not as if you can just switch over to a working world where you can openly not care." Imogen replies to the two of them, finishing the last of her drink. With a shake of her glass, she slides it over to the bartender and signals for a refill. It becomes a moment of consideration, as her dark eyes lower to the bartop in deep thought. "It's like Lincoln says, Silver, he wants to go out early and leave a pretty corpse. What about you? Are you in this for the long game?"

Lincoln looks between the two woman, a slightly annoyed, but playful look. "I'm standing right here…" He's not complaining too much. Kisses and pats are good, especial after the nerve cluster punch. Linc glasses over, eyeing what the barkeep does before looking out over to the dancing crowd. He's still listening, but needs to divide his attention some. His face goes smooth, unreadable as Imogen quotes him back to Silver.

Should her drink receive a refill, Silver will be grateful. The woman, however, isn't pushing for it. She should be careful with her money, afterall. Drinks out are an expensive, frivolous thing that she'll surely regret in the coming days. The woman glances from Imogen, to Lincoln, and back.

"I would love to live to old age," Silver admits, grey-blue eyes brightening for a moment in sincerity, "but I don't think I know how."

One carefully manicured finger with black polish reaches to Imogen's ear, brushing a strand of her long, black hair behind it. She looks up from the bartop to watch the two through a haze of dark lashes, and the smile she gives them is near insulting, as if to say that's cute. The smile disappears as soon as it arrives. "You just wait and learn how to duck, I suppose." She offers, brushing down the front of her skirt and re-crossing her legs as her drink arrives. "So have the two of you known each other long?"

Lincoln thought the crisis was averted, but now there's a different tension. He'll inhale, kinda now wishing maybe a fight would break out so he could excuse himself from this. "Not everyone has the option of ducking, Imogen." He'll motion to the barkeep to give Silver another refill. He glances to the acres then responds to Imogen, "A few months, she's been real crackerjack. She helped get me a bit part in her next movie." He grins, a touch of excitement in his voice.

There's a slight narrowing of eyes at the look from Imogen. Silver recognizes it, yes, but she won't comment on it. Instead, the budding actress allows the topic to drop, entirely. There's something beneath the surface; hints of pain both old and new. She's not one to hold to either or air them in the open.

As Lincoln explains their knowledge of one another, Silver dips her head in a slight nod. "By sight, much longer. The Blue Nirvana has been an escape for me for some time. It's easy to find a quiet corner to relax in." Alone or not, she doesn't answer. The new drink is taken and she looks mildly pleased to have it in hand, taking a sip. "Not my movie," she points out after swallowing. "I had to pass up the part they offered. Previous engagement."

"No…not everyone does, do they?" Imogen replies to Lincoln, reaching out to brush her fingertips over her forearm in a strange quick-switch from bitter chill to sensitivity. Her fingers retreat to turn to her glass of Grayson's, stirring it quietly with the tiny straw. Her eyes turn to Silver, attention turning to her hair and the styling that has been done with it, but never the eyes. Imogen is never fond of much eye contact. "Lincoln's been chomping at this acting for a while, it's good of you to get his foot in the door. Is this a horror movie, then, or something new altogether? Tell me about it."

"It's a horror movie. Just a generic teen flick. I get to get stabbed to death." Linc's grinning again, like that's the coolest thing ever. "I even have lines!" Linc does look Imogen in the eyes, even if she doesn't back when he tells her. She asked, and says they're friends of a sort, so he's sharing. "Make up and hair and costuming and a paycheck!" He'll reach up and run his fingers through his hair, causing his bangs to g a bit wild looking.

If the avoidance of eye contact bothers Silver, the redhead makes no sign of it. Her own attention seems to roam and wander. Taking in everything and nothing at all. She sits up somewhat straighter, only affecting a light lean against the bar's surface now. There's a slow sip of her drink, lips curling at the edges as Lincoln describes his role. It's a pleased, content sort of expression.

Something about stabbed to death brings a smirk to Imogen's lip, finally prompting a slight moment of eye contact between her and Lincoln. "All of that sticky, fake blood is going to get everywhere. Sounds kind of fun, I guess." The straw is brought to her lips for a quick sip, brows rising as she drinks and watches the man before her. "When does this start filming and where? Does Ren know about this?"

In her best effort to appear sociable, though something is no doubt bothering the woman, Imogen breaks that precious eye contact to turn her gaze to Silver. Her fingernails clack gently in a roll against the bartop. "I had friends in college that were into drama. I didn't keep close with them, who knows where they are now, but you drama-types are like a secret society."

Lincoln shrugs, "I'm used to it." Being cover in sticky…anyway, "It's gonna be crackerjack. I'm going in on Tues. Time's already been cleared with Ren." He's still grinning and will glance at Silver. He really is appreciative of it. At Imogen's secret society comment, "If there is, I haven't been taught the hand shake yet…" He's joking but will lightly bump his elbow into her, trying to give her a touch, or encouragement, or whatever she needs . Imo's behaving oddly.

The talk of the specifics of Lincoln's filming gives Silver a moment to turn away and regard the crowd as they dance and grind upon one another. Her eyes half-lid and she seems content enough with that for at least a moment. The woman is quieter than she may have appeared in the midst of the crowd, yet… There's a sip from her drink as she looks back to the two. The secret society comments.

"Are we?" Silver's brow furrows briefly as she mulls that over. "I… never saw it that way. What makes you think that?"

Whatever trance Imogen is in disappears with the bump to her elbow. The grin on her painted lips is made even more sly in appearance by the hanging bangs that cover one of her eyes, as she reaches out to give an elbow back to Lincoln. "I'm not sure, they had all of these breathing exercises; that sort of acting training stuff where you take turns pretending to be something. Lots of roleplaying." Imogen replies, setting her drink down on the bartop with only a few sips taken. She pushes it away as if she doesn't want anymore. "Is it just me or has this conversation gone from tense, to not, to tense and not. What are we doing tonight? Are we dancing?"

Lincoln holds up his hands but smiles at the two, "I'm working. If that includes dancing, Roleplay or making sure two beautiful ladies don't tear into each other.. I'm down with it."

"My apologies," Silver murmurs, dark-hued lips twitching into a frown. She finishes her drink and slides from the barstool she was perched on. Her glimmering dress is smoothed down and she turns slightly towards the two. "I know I'm to blame in that… somewhat." She draws in a slow breath and puts on a smile. It's brilliant and attractive, yes… but also forced, for one who looks too closely. "I can return to mingling and leave you two to your chatter."

"No, you will not return to mingling." Imogen laughs, speaking as if she can give orders, but peppering the words with a tone of sarcasm that spells she's not actually giving orders. "I said what are we doing; that includes you and Lincoln here. I think there's been some misunderstood thing here. I like this lady, Lincoln, and since he can't leave we should make the best of it but as far as drinks go…" Imogen presses her hand to her chest, eyes wincing for a second. "…I'm tapped out. No more for me."

Serious, did everyone take crazy pills? Why are they acting so weird? Maybe Linc's just being a dumb boy, but man! Lincoln will attempt to smooth things over, "Coffee then? I can hop behind the bar and make you two the best coffee you'll ever have." It's not alcohol….and it's not dancing, but it's something he knows he's good at, and should be safe. He'll give them both his best, almost challenging smile. Maybe he can give them a common goal, even if it's harassing him. He'll even throw a wink at Imogen, "It's better than my waffles."

There's a sidelong look for Imogen from Silver, but the woman doesn't move far. She remains standing, yes, but she doesn't continue to depart. Instead, she folds her arms across her abdomen; just below generous bustline. At Lincoln's offer, she gives a small shake of her head, instead pulling out a small device from the midst of her cleavage. Just a messaging device, but a few taps on the display settle her tab with the bar. "I can't, Lincoln. Thank you. I have… bills."

"Your waffles were good I'll give you that, Lincoln." Imogen breathes, brows furrowing as she rubs at her chest and watches Silver prepare to leave. Switching gears, her hand lifts from her bosom to her brow, peeling away her bangs. "We should get together again, sometime, Silver. I'm in a mood tonight. I think we're killing the poor boy." Imogen smiles faintly, then turns to Lincoln. "Maybe waffles later, Lincoln, but what I really need is a tall glass of water, could you help me with that?"

Lincoln frowns slightly, himself very sensately to the word bills in the past few weeks. He knows what that means. "Coffee's on the house, if you change your mind. Ren mostly got it for me to play with, I think. A caffeinated Lincoln works twice as hard." He'll nod turning towards the bar and make a hand motion for water. He's watching the two of them in the mirror though.

The talk of waffles earns a brief, gauging glance between the two. Conclusions are come to and Silver shrugs it away, letting her arms fall to her sides. There's a beep on her messaging device and she lifts it, reading over what it contains. The woman's features… steel. A hardness falls over them and she tucks the bit of technology back in her cleavage as she moves closer to the bar. "Looks like I'll be up late," Silver murmurs with a sigh. "So I might as well take you up on that, Lincoln. I'll owe you one."

"I think I've had too much coffee; too much Grayson's. Sometimes the body just needs water to thin it out a bit." Imogen explains to Lincolns back as she glances down her shoulder line to Silver. Seeing a large span of leg and very short skirt, her brown eyes regard the woman as she prepares to leave. "I'll make sure he gets enough coffee to see you later, Silver. Chances are I'm going to call it an earlier night. Go make your money, he'll be here when you need him. I'll make sure of it."

Lincoln's right here! They do know he can hear them, right? He'll reach and touch Silver's arm, "Let me know if you need anything else, ok?" There's an underlying truth in his voice, a worry. He'll then hand Imogen her water, "Best water you'll ever have, better than my waffles." He winks again, just trying to lighten the mood. And then he quickly moves to go around the bar, dark eyes landing on the actress, "You want something fancy? With cinnamon? or just a straight coffee?"

"I…" The device beeps again and Silver sighs, pulling it forth. What little color her features bare is lost as it drains. She shakes her head, mutely, to Lincoln. Once recovered, the woman has a different bearing altogether. Something wholly put on. Something… drama, perhaps? "I'll have to get a raincheck on that offer, Lincoln. I'm sorry… I must go handle this." And then, with a sweeping motion- she's gone.

Chewing quietly at her lip as Silver turns to leave, Imogen's slender brow forms a rather deft arch at the actress' passing. Strange that. With a slight shake of her head and a wobbling of her eyes, Imogen writes it off and turns on her barstool to face Lincoln and her glorious glass of water. Sighing, she takes a quick sip and regards the man with her cold, brown eyes. "It is just not an easy-flowing night for any of us, is it, Linc?"

Lincoln's already around the corner so he just leans on the bar and watches Silver leave with a small nod. He sighs, looking to Imogen again, "Apparently not." Well, it was for him until he was attacked! "Are you ok? You're acting…off." His dark eyes land on her's and he'll study the woman.

Imogen looks up to Lincoln's eyes, her own having gone dead minutes ago; they're open and aware, but she's placed them inside of a clear fishtank of a cage to be more a view of what normal eyes are supposed to look like. Her expression is two-dimensional, like a magazine cover. "I'm fine; I'm always fine." Imogen smiles quietly, reaching out to the front of his vest to trace a fingertip down the front of it. Her brief eye contact lowers to make work of admiring the stitching on his clothing as her fingers inspect. "Don't think that there's some jealousy thing, there's not. I don't want a man for my own, or a girl, or anything. For your sake I hope you're sleeping with her; she's sexy." Imogen's faint smile returns. "Just some nights are better spent not locked up at home, you know?"

Lincoln laughs, "Fuck…no, I'm not. She's never show interest." He'll quirk an eyebrow, "And you are a horrible liar." he doesn't say what he thinks she's lying about, just that she is. He'll reach up and grab her hand on his vest, but it's not the vice grip from before, now it's a warm, almost soft hold. His smile, a real one, matches the hand hold, "I get that. Not wanting to be home."

"I'm a horrible liar because I don't mind you knowing I'm lying, but it's no one's business why." Imogen replies, her hand turning over in his as she looks up to the hollow of his throat. Her fingers curl into his and for the briefiest of moments, she seems comfort in him. "So don't ask and don't dig." She states, far more a drawn line than a question as she slips off of the barstool to stand before him, her hips pressed into his. "You've gotta work tonight, and I don't want to go home yet. Take me dancing?"

Lincoln frowns slightly. Part of his job is reading people. "Nope. No one business." His fingers brush against her softly and then he'll chuckle, "Finish your water first. Don't want you to get all fainty on me on the floor." He's teasing, but doesn't move till she drinks the water. It's rumored to be as good as his waffles, after all.

"How late are you working tonight? If Silver isn't coming back, I might keep you up late if you don't go fainty on me." Imogen's eyes graze up to his with no lack of suggestion. It's the wink that makes it a thing. Still, she reaches for her water and brings it to her lips, tilting it back as she ignores Lincoln for the moment. She's busy with her water, but her hand presses to the young man's chest. As the last drop passes her tongue, she seems to step away and lower the glass in a single motion.

Lincoln grins down at the tiny woman, "I work till I'm done." He'll chuckle, "I've only fainted once on the job. And that was on request." Creepy clients. He inhales as she drinks, his chest filling out some underneath her hand. There's a sparkle in his eyes, "So…dancing?" He'll hold a hand up, for her to take if she'd like.

Skirt swishing around her legs, Imogen turns with a whip of her hair and snatches Lincoln's wrist. It's an answer to a question as she starts with a bounce towards the dance floor. Leading him deep into the sea of bodies, she manages a laugh and a smile, just for the man, as she drapes her arms over her shoulders and presses into him. As the crowd of people swallow them whole, she averts his gaze and begins to dance with him in her atypical, non-grammar school way…

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