Her presence speaks to him more than words can, and the darkness that swathes her even more so. Regardless, whatever she is doing in his cab at the strange hour is beyond him. Or perhaps he knows but, being a simple man when it comes down to it, he does not dwell. She is there, it is night, and it is not entirely surprising. For how surprising could it be, picking up Hecate of the cross-roads at a cross-road, unlit corner in Manhattan?
He does glance in the rear-view mirror to meet her gaze. Her voice is soft in opposition to the guttural music coming from the speakers. He makes a sudden right turn. He is headed somewhere, maybe for a bridge. He has no destination, now, and no reason to stop. For it is not entirely for money that Hati drives. He chases. And in a cab, he chases time, the night, red-lights and yellow-lights. Yellow lights naturally scream at him to accelerate faster than most would, and he does so, now, as he screeches around another corner. There is no goddess at this corner, however, only a questionable puddle and even more questionable homeless man.
"That could be a long time, Triodia," the word is foreign on his tongue, but he remembers it from somewhere, and Hati often finds ways to speak around what he means to say. Whether he realizes it or not. He lowers his gaze along her face. It is so gentle, soft. He wonders if this is what the face of the moon would look like, if it were female. He wonders if this face is like the face of the lost Sól his brother seeks. Gentle. Soft. But something else, too. "Nowhere you want to go?" He could take her anywhere, at this moment. He could drive them off a bridge.