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Jaxon approached the pretty red car with an ounce of trepidation - his grandmother didn't raise a fool, afterall. Just a man who felt profoundly lonely, he reminded himself silently. Not so lonely he was willing to volunteer to be victim number C on a killers list, he firmly added. Maybe he ought not be thinking so much, though, as he was pretty sure the stranger with a hero complex and a creepy vibe was getting impatient.

Jaxon sat down into the car, pulling the heavy door shut with a thud. He pulled the seatbelt across himself out of habit, and held his messenger bag on his lap. Then drummed fingers on the bag awkwardly. He wondered what sort of music the man listened to. He hoped he wasn't the sort to sit in a silent car - he'd known an older woman back home who did that. Claimed the noise distracted her, and that she was always hearing a ringing in her ears anyways. He slanted a gaze on Courtney curiously. At least it was warm in here.

"So... you always pick up strangers and make them go to the doctor?" He offered, and winced because even to his own ears it sounded lame. Where was his game when he needed it? He was definitely nervous. He cleared his throat awkwardly and peeked out the window. "Are you a doctor yourself or something?" He added curiously, gaze drawn back to the other man sitting beside him.

"No. Not everybody runs around bleeding, pretending they're okay, like you do," he answered, first, as he dragged his own door closed. The inside of the car smelled like a stale cigarette. He wouldn't light up while Jaxon was in the car, with him, but the residue clung to the old upholstery.

"And, yeah, actually, I am. Kind of. I'm a forensic psychologist." He unzipped his jacket, opened the flaps, then started his car up. His wrist rolled forward, and the old vehicle whinnied, like a horse -- like it had, before Dominique fixed it -- except, this time, the whinny ended with a motorized purr, thrum.

Courtney was the type of man who sat in a silent car. He wasn't a huge fan of music, finding it had a raging effect on his empathy.

He waited in that silence, as the car heated up, as the windows slowly defogged.

"I mostly do file work. I get to, uh, look through a bunch of pictures. Photograph crime scenes for the homicide department. I also do a lot of witness work for social workers. Kids in bad spots, that type of stuff... You?"

When the car finally started, Jaxon was a little surprised. For a second he was pretty certain it wasn't, and wouldn't that be awkward. The awkward cherry on top of the awkward sundae. Inside the awkward bowl. At Cafe Awkward. His mind jumped back to the present, and he was surprised again that the man was speaking more than a few words at a time. And they didn't even sound snide. That was a change. Jax wasn't usually one to judge a person on a moments introduction, but he realized he'd done so with this stranger - Courtney.

"That... that sounds pretty tough, actually." Jaxon replied with a sympathetic smile. He didn't know this man - not by a longshot - but looking through pictures of dead people and talking to abused children had to be hell. "You sure you don't need that coffee, afterall?" He chuckled and shook his head, peeking at the frosty passenger window. He extended a hand to the vent, letting the hot stale air blow over his frigid fingers.

"I'm a street magician." He replied after a natural pause, flashing a much different smile. There was a hint of pride there, though his job description had more to do with his talents and less to do with his actual dreams. "Sleight of hand, card-tricks. Some bigger stuff, when I can afford it." He leaned across the seat just a little, careful not to jar the cut on his stomach, and rolled his wrist as he touched the collar of Courtney's jacket. Naturally, a scarf was produced. A somewhat thick, black, warm thing. He tucked it around the mans neck with a flourish. "It's cold out." He said as a finish to the trick, and sank back in his seat.