Band of Misfits

Small Talk

Modern "You're the biggest pretentious piece of crap I ever drove anyplace, but damn you look good in that suit" AU (prompt pulled from lunarheadcanons.tumblr.com)

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The man was tall and built like a warrior, the effect of musculature enhanced by a business suit, with sleek blonde hair pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck. Elite-bachelor-style, Iko thought, observing him thoughtfully from her taxi across the street.

Yes, he certainly did have that look about him – the severe blue eyes, the handsome jawline ... he could have been a spy in a James Bond novel.

Not that Iko was gawking, of course. Merely appreciating the view. There wasn't much to do in the city square on a hot August day; she'd been stuck in this cab for ages, fanning herself with stifling air coming through the open windows, and she couldn't even step outside for an iced drink.

Dealing with boredom was not her strong suit.

Propping up her elbow up on the window-sill, she went back to analysing the man.

Handsome enough to match Winter ... now there was a thought! He didn't look like the friendly type – even from his distance, Iko could see the disdainful way he looked down his nose at every passer-by – but who could meet Winter and not love her to pieces?

I am a genius, she thought, checking her reflection in the side-view mirror. Her break was in five minutes. She would go over there and strike up a conversation, and once she'd shown him a picture of Winter he wouldn't be able to refuse meeting her. It was officially a plan.

Yet he was just standing there on the sidewalk, one hand calmly raised palm-out – what was he –?

"He needs a taxi," Iko muttered to herself, and her first thought was that she had to get to the man before any of her colleagues did.

Change of plan.

She couldn't twist the key fast enough. As soon as the ignition hummed beneath her, she stomped on the gas pedal and pulled away from the curb.

Less than a minute later, she halted the cab in front of the man.

"Hello," she said brightly, rolling down the window. "How may I –"

"Dragons Mill," the man snapped, sliding smoothly into the backseat. A briefcase thudded onto the seat beside him. "And be quick about it."

Iko almost flinched, appalled at the utter dismissal in his tone. What a cad – to come in without so much as a 'hello'!

Then she remembered: the way to a successful driver-customer relationship was to reciprocate their attitude. If they were chatty, you chatted too; if they were quiet, you allowed a comfortable silence; if they came in sobbing a waterfall, you gave them your handkerchief and didn't ask.

So Iko turned around and deadpanned, "That'll be forty."

Two twenties floated neatly onto the passenger seat. The man said nothing.

"Dragon's Mill it is, then," she announced to no one in particular, and pulled smoothly onto the main road of the city.

Familiar shops and street-corners went by, window-decorations and red flags strung across rooftops. She saw her friend Cinder walking toward the market, tugging no less than six repaired machines behind her on rope, and honked. Cinder looked up just in time to wave.

Several times Iko opened her mouth to say something, but remembered the man's completely horrible greeting and resolved once more to silence.

She drove onto the highway that would take them to the train station. Five minutes passed. The temptation to speak was getting stronger.