Title: Types
Word Count: 993
Summary: Saitou isn't Tokio's type. No, really.
A/N: ALL THE SMALL THINGS HAS BEEN NOMINATED IN THE DRABBLES CATEGORY OF THE RKRC, AND I'VE BEEN NOMINATED FOR AUTHOR OF THE YEAR!
Voting looks like it won't be starting until mid-October, but I'll try to keep you posted on exact dates (hint: LJ is a marvelous thing). Once it does, though, if anyone wants to vote for Small Things or me (or Captain Miserable, for that matter, which is in the running for Alternate Reality and Romance/WAFF), you can mosey on over to www(dot)meijitales(dot)com and click on "RKRC," and directions should follow.
Profuse thanks to those who nominated and seconded Small Things—I'm flattered you all thought so much of it!
She'd have been lying if she'd said she hadn't thought about it before.
But Shiori didn't need to know that.
"I don't think so," Tokio said managing to sound as confident as she didn't feel.
"Why not?" Shiori asked in a reasonable tone, leaning against the counter as if she had all the time in the world.
"He's not my type."
Shiori looked amused by that:
"Oh? And why is that?"
"I don't do wolves."
Shiori laughed.
"That right? I bet he'd love to do you," she teased, and Tokio flushed.
"Shiori-san!" she snapped, voice pitched a little higher than usual. "What in the world's gotten into you?! You sound like that degenerate!"
"Oh come on Tokio-san," Shiori cajoled, laughing. "I mean, okay, fine, he's not exactly the sweetest man that ever walked the planet, but he's not such a bad guy, either."
"For a snarky jerk?" Tokio asked dryly, and Shiori rolled her eyes.
"He's a little rough around the edges—" she began.
"And rude," Tokio interjected.
"And maybe he's not everyone's cup of tea—"
"Really?" Tokio drawled archly; Shiori ignored her:
"But he's a good guy. I know people, trust me."
"Are you trying to sell him to me?" Tokio asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is he a man or a car?"
"Is who a man or a car?" the very person under discussion inquired, and Tokio almost jumped a foot into the air.
"We were just talking about you," Shiori cheerfully informed him, and Tokio sent the older woman a venomous look before sighing and turning to face Saitou and his gleeful taunting.
Instead, he looked rather…wary?
"Talking about me?" he asked cautiously.
"Uh-huh," Shiori said.
"…About whether I was a man or a car?"
Shiori sent him a flat look while Tokio laid her head down on the counter and laughed silently into the lacquered wood, shoulders shaking.
"I don't know why I bother trying to help you," Shiori muttered before moving off to let Kuno know that Saitou had arrived.
"What was that all about?" he asked, looking down at Tokio, who had lifted her head up but was still grinning in amusement.
"Don't worry about it," she said with a careless wave, "it wasn't anything important."
He raised an eyebrow, expression dubious.
"If you two were talking about me, I doubt it wasn't anything important."
"If it makes you feel any better, Shiori-san had nothing but good things to say about you," she offered, and he eyed her.
"What about you?" he asked, and she grinned up at him as sweetly as she could.
"Like I said, Shiori-san had nothing but good things to say about you."
He sighed.
"You really know how to get a man where it hurts, Chiisai."
She sent him a nasty look:
"Thank you," she said tightly, "I do try my best."
"So I've noticed," he replied dryly. Pause. Then: "So really, though—what the hell were you guys saying about me?"
Tokio smirked.
"Feeling a little insecure, Captain?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Are you kidding? Of course I am—I had two women talking about me," he said with a snort. "Nine times outta ten that means my character's being assassinated."
"Oh I wouldn't worry," she assured. "You do that just fine all by yourself."
Saitou winced, gloved hand over his chest.
"Damn woman," he said. "You got right for the heart, don't you?"
"Quickest way to a man's heart is through his ribs," she replied.
"Killer instinct all right," he said, amused. "Maybe I should start calling you 'Hitokiri.'"
"It'd be an improvement," she said.
"Not as much fun as 'Chiisai,' though," he continued, malicious glee twinkling in his eyes as he smirked down at her.
She sent him a flat look.
"Jerk," she muttered.
He winked at her and made her blush, and she saw his smirk widen. Before he could tease her into turning a darker shade of pink, however, Shiori arrived with their food, and Tokio quietly sighed in relief and thanked the gods for their timely interference.
Because once he got her blushing, it was all downhill from there.
"Oi, Saitou-san," Shiori asked, "what's your type?"
"Type?" he repeated, baffled.
"Yeah. Women, I mean," Shiori qualified, and Tokio sent her a warning look; the older woman blatantly ignored it.
"I don't know," Saitou said with a shrug.
"Of course you do," Shiori replied with a roll of her eyes. "What makes you notice a woman?"
Saitou shrugged.
"Lots of things," he said. "Anything."
"Like?" Shiori prodded.
"I like tall women," he said finally, sounding very put upon.
"Anything else?"
"Sense of humor's always nice," Saitou said dryly. "Shiori-san, are you not so subtly trying to tell me that you're dying of love for me?"
Shiori sputtered, shocked, and Tokio laughed into her fist.
Serves you right, she thought gleefully.
The older woman left them alone after that, and Saitou looked over at her.
"What in the hell was that all about?"
Tokio shrugged.
"Must be bored," she replied, and Saitou snorted.
"Saitou-san?" she asked after a moment.
"Hn?"
"How tall?"
He grinned suddenly and leaned over her in that distressing way that always flustered her.
"Interested?"
"You wish," she bit out, face flaming, and he chuckled.
"Five-feet-even's a pretty good height," he said idly. "See, tall women can't always wear heels, or they'll look taller than the man. Looks funny. But a smaller woman, that's different. And women do look so very good in their heels, Chiisai."
"But you said you liked tall women," she pointed out.
He nodded.
"Yeah…but small women have a certain appeal. 'Specially when they're little and scrappy."
"You sound like you have someone specific in mind," she said, intrigued.
He smiled mysteriously.
"I do," he said simply, and then changed the subject.
She wondered, though, who the woman was.
And why it gave her such an odd pang.
After all, she'd said it herself—he wasn't her type.
…Right?