I didn't often take cabs. I either walked, or took one of my cars. I would avoid cabs, preferring to take the Metro instead, even. When I had first moved to a bigger city, I didn't like the public transportation at all. My sisters had always warned me against it, which I think deterred me originally because their words, sometimes, were law. I had never seen a benefit to being stuck in something that felt like a cattle car, and was probably three or four times as dangerous. But now? I would prefer to be lost in the middle of a crowd of people in a routine as mundane as I often felt. Before I had left Africa, I had moved into the city for a brief period. The rumbling of cars, of trains, of commerce... It had felt so foreign, away from the dust roads and the Africa I had known. And now? Living in the iconic all-American city of Washington D.C., the cliché of "urban jungle" felt all too familiar. It was like the pavement of the narrow alleys was reminiscent of the dusty, blood-red streets of home.

This cab was nothing like the taxis I had taken there, though. Often times, the roads were so shitty that you wound up with a goose-egg somewhere on your head, or a flat-tire. There was no money in the government to even attempt to fix shit like that, so instead the fabulous populace of the stark raving unemployed generally chose to walk, unless you were in the city. It wasn't safe enough to walk there; you'd wind up with goose-eggs from other sources, and maybe even a little bit of blood to accompany it! Looking out the windows at the fast-moving buildings, it seemed like maybe it was an alternate universe where I used to be afraid of being stuck in a vehicle with a strange driver who knew my end location. Could I give him the wrong address and demand we walk to the restaurant? Part of me said that was safest, because then he could never truly be labeled an accomplice of any kind if I got caught.

Like I would.

The woman slumped beside me in the cab, clearly grateful for the chance to be off her feet. It didn't seem like she was really up for walking, anyway, so the escape route from the cab seemed null. She had been tense walking down the street with me until the idea of a cab rolled off my tongue, and then it seemed like she had immediately relaxed. Good. It would be far easier to deal with a calm, relaxed woman than one who was already pissed off that her feet hurt, never the less one who was pissed off because her feet hurt and she was lightheaded from lack of blood, not to mention from creating a potion designed to kill another human, no less.

"Stalker? If that was the truth..." I couldn't help the amusement from bubbling over in my voice. I almost laughed, but instead felt my characteristic eyebrow rise. " We would be playing a much bigger game of cat and mouse."

I noted the area becoming more familiar, and signaled the cab driver with a brief head nod that we were close enough that he could pull over. " I do believe it's not polite to call your date a stalker. Here is some more appropriate vocabulary for you: suitor, gentleman..." The driver told me the fee, and I quietly handed him the bills before getting out to open her door with the prestigious restaurant in sight. It was far more comfortable to be out of the cab; a change in my demeanor would have been obvious to even a bat. It was almost like the way the air feels on Halloween: until dark, it's a normal day, maybe a little stressful trying to prepare. And once it's dark? Mischief comes out, and the impish twinkle is evident in anyone's eyes.

I left my hand out for her to take, oddly unconcerned that I was bringing a loose end into this "business" deal. "For all intents and purposes, I think this location constitutes a fabulous first date."