Ugh, Gajeel is so hard to write. Thank you to all the reviewers I couldn't respond to! (Due to anonymous or disabling PMs.)
Gajeel scowled as he stepped out into the rain. Damn that old man and his heavy boots.
His shin throbbed with every step, but he refused to let the limp show. That bastard would probably just rib him about it later. And then get Lily in on it. There was probably a bruise, too.
He got all that customer service crap, since that's what kept them in business and all that, but if his old man thought he was gonna turn on the charm like a moron for some shrimpy woman, he had another thing coming.
Over his shoulder, he caught her bright blue hair bobbing as she laughed at something his father said. The old man was a good actor—he had no trouble putting the charm on in the shop. But Metalicana was just as abrasive as Gajeel was most of the time. He could pretend to be a gentleman or whatever the hell all he wanted, but the old man was just as crude. Had an odd sense of humor too. That she was actually laughing meant there was hope yet. At least for her.
Gajeel glared down the road as he stomped through the mud to her car, the direction those idiots drove off in. From the back, he hadn't caught what happened when they came in, but he heard the whine in the thin one's voice well enough. Their panicked faces as they looked in the window, too. As if they would've had the guts to come in anyway.
Seeing them hang on her just pissed him off. Like ugly, lost puppies. He was more of a cat person.
The woman, whatever the hell her name was, carried herself with confidence—at least enough to talk back to him, which didn't happen every day. She didn't need a babysitter. A woman should know how to stand on her own feet. Or at least that was true for the types he got along with.
He couldn't help but grin at the angry look on her face when he ruffled her hair. It'd been a split second decision. He'd just been curious what she would do. Feisty but not vindictive. That, he could work with. Improving her mood had just been a bonus, since it didn't seem like she was just going to stomp out. Maybe that'd make the old man happy and get him of his back about his surly attitude.
Gajeel let the rain roll down his thick hair as he eyed the only foreign car in the lot. It was an older make, probably a few decades ahead of his time. Likely wasn't something she picked out herself then—although the cobalt paint job made it hard to tell since it was so close to her own coloring. Maybe those nut jobs had a point when they said cars and people started looking like each other eventually.
He walked around the car slowly, inspecting for damage. Overall, it looked like it was in pretty good shape, at least on the outside. When he circled back around, he took a minute to admire the craftsmanship. They just didn't make cars like they used to. Modern ones almost had more wires than metal with all the fancy electronic gadgets they put in now. That didn't mean he couldn't handle it—there wasn't anything he couldn't fix. It was just a pain in the ass.
Sort of like short, blue-haired women with lapdogs.
Twisting the key in the door to unlock it, Gajeel stopped for a second and wrung out his hair. Not that a little rainwater was going to hurt the seats, but it was mostly for his own benefit. He didn't want to sit in a damp seat. Besides, in the very rare instance in which they couldn't help her out—or she didn't want them to, since their place was the best—it probably wouldn't leave the greatest impression if she leaned back into a sopping chair.
A look into the rain-dripping window reinforced that thought. From what he could see, the entire front seat was covered in books. And there were more in the back. Gajeel fought back a sneer.
It figured that she was one of those scholarly types. Was probably why they clashed. Being up on their high horses always made him feel out of place, like what he and the old man did was beneath them, and that pissed him off something fierce. Even more than her two accessories. Women who constantly had to prove how much better or smarter they are were nightmares. And mostly, he told them so. He liked women who didn't mind getting a little dirty—either physically for metaphorically. That part didn't matter much to him.
He didn't have the knack for word battles and that other sophisticated shit—minus a few jabs here and there. But that didn't always win people over. A lot of people just got pissy with him, like the shrimp. And while it was fun to make them angry, that wasn't real productive for business. He just hoped this woman kept her trap shut.
Gajeel yanked open the door and tried to get in. Tried.
He wasn't looking when he put his foot on the floorboard and leaned in. But he did start paying attention as his knee rapped sharply against the wheel. Gajeel flailed for a second as he pitched backward. With a stomp of his boot, he halted his fall, but his shin throbbed.
As soon as he was steady, his first reaction was to check the shop window to make sure nobody saw. Both of their backs were turned to something on the wall. Dodged a bullet there.
"What the hell?" he asked as he rubbed the back of his dark head.
With a scowl, he found the seat was pulled forward as far as it would go. Considering the driver, he was surprised she could reach the pedals even with the boost. Reaching down, he pulled the bar and yanked the seat back enough to get in, picking a strand of stringy blue hair from the head rest before he shut the door.
The rain was a tinny thrum on the roof as he checked the car out. He had to hunch a little to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling—not like he sat up straight when he drove anyway. The seat didn't go back far enough for the sort of leg room he wanted either, so it was a good thing he didn't have to drive it long.
For the most part, the car was clean... if all the books were ignored. He expected them to be girly romance novels and other junk, but that's not what he found.
"The hell is this?"
Stacks of horror novels spilled onto the floor. He prodded another one with a finger like it would bite him. Nautical welding? And was that a manual on medieval weapons up against the passenger door?
Shaking his head, he turned the key in the ignition to light up the dash but not catch the engine. As the symbols flashed, he checked for any odd ones that stayed. The check engine light was on, but he was willing to bet it was a loose gas cap or something—a lot of cars had that. He'd put it on the tester later just to make sure anyway.
He had to brush an orange headband tied to the wheel out of the way to check the mileage. A quick check with the oil change sticker in the top corner of the windshield told him that she was at least semi-competent at maintaining the vehicle. Or at least had someone to remind her. It was a little relieving really. He'd had people come in who didn't even know an oil change was a thing til their engine was frying oil and thick, black smoke was curling out of it.
He popped the hood out of habit as he got out of the car again. It was always best to start with simple solutions to problems. The oil wasn't what was wrong with the car, but he checked it anyway. He'd run the battery test when he put it in the garage. He wasn't the smoothest talker, but nobody could claim he half-assed his job. There better not be any bitching later.
When he got back in the car, he turned the engine over and was nearly blasted away by the music screeching through the speakers. With a frown he nearly turned it off until he realized it wasn't that annoying hip-hop. It was actually sort of like something he would listen to. He didn't take Shorty for a rocker.
He supposed she was... tolerable. And maybe she wasn't so bad to look at.
Through the window, he could just barely see her brightly-colored hair over the logo stickers on the windows as she walked around the front room of the shop. She definitely wasn't his usual type, but...
She wasn't what he was expecting. Not like he could say much, since he was just as guilty of that judgmental shit as everyone else who pegged him. They were right too, most of the time. But she didn't fit that stereotypical mold. It was sort of refreshing.
Sure, she was small physically, but there was a bigness in how she came across. Probably that scholarly thing. But there were perks to being a know-it-all. She didn't just get pissy at his attitude—she gave back. A grin stretched across his face.
He wasn't surprised that the two other places made something it. He was sort of surprised she let them get away with it. A lot of the seedy shops had habits of sucking money out of dumb people. And she didn't strike him as dumb.
He hated assholes like that. Shops like them were part of why he and his old man got into the business. The world was shitty enough without people taking advantage of every little thing.
Gajeel would figure out what was wrong with her car so she'd have no complaints later. And if he noticed other problems, maybe he'd deal with them too. Because that'd be the right thing to do. For business.
And yeah, being pretty didn't hurt her odds either.
Thank you for reading! More to come soon.