Vasquez

For the twentieth time today, Ale curses his agent for sending him out into the wilderness because he's got writer's block. He never should have said anything, he should have kept quiet about all of this. Instead, he was the idiot who decided that he would share his inability to get through the chapters of his western romance and now he was being punished.

Well, he was being sent into the West to a ranch with all-expenses paid, but to him, that meant punishment. Adjusting his suitcase, he waddles his way up the front porch after the taxi had dropped him off, staring at the estate he's been sent to.

The Faraday Ranch.

Sam, that damn agent of his, had insisted that Joshua Faraday would help to unstick some of the writer's block that was keeping the chapter from moving forward. He'd seemed so very convinced, too, and it's not like Vasquez can argue that. Besides, none of his old tricks have been working and maybe seeing a real live cowboy will actually do some help. He reserves the right to be wary about that, though.

Dropping his bags at the door, he leans on the bell, feeling disheveled and exhausted from the plane ride and the long cab in. He probably looks a mess, but he doesn't care, because right now, all he cares about is getting inside and trading on the rancher's hospitality so he can put his feet up and worry about writing later.

Besides, how handsome can this one man be? Sam is probably just exaggerating again.

Name: Vasquez
Canon: Magnificent 7
Scrubs Color: Red
Visible Age: 35
Gender: Male
Height: 6'4
Physique: Beanpole lanky lean, slightly underfed from being in a mild starvation state for several months
Complexion: Tanned
Hygiene: By virtue of hiding out with corpses and not having ready access to hot water means that Vasquez can sometimes go a while forgetting to bathe, but once it's available, he's vain enough that he wants to stay clean and with a water source, he'll keep tidy and neat.
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Defining Marks: Bullet wound scar in his left shoulder
Accent/Speech: Vasquez's first language is Spanish, so he has very heavily accented English, as seen here. You can still understand him, but it's clear English is not his first language.
Bearing/Demeanor: Vasquez walks with confidence and moves with a grace of knowing his body, even if he is 6'4 of mainly limbs. He's dangerous, though, and recently, he's been on the run, so his behaviour can be skittish and a touch wary, coiled up and ready to spring. It's lessened in his time in Cadelle, but it's still there.
Gait: Long strides, confident movements, an ease of lazing when required
Habits: He will be smoking all the fucking time. No matter where you are seeing him, he's either just finishing a smoke, in the middle of one, or starting one.
Skills: Excellent with a lasso and a set of guns, not bad with woodworking and animals, and a human food-eating machine.

If you'd asked him why he'd decided to sneak onto Quill's ship and take one of the trinkets lining up the dashboard, Vasquez would be hard-pressed to give any answer outside of, 'because people said it couldn't be done', and maybe he's been an outlaw and a thief long enough to want to prove people wrong. Maybe, also, he's got a bit of a respectable admiration for the things he's heard Quill is responsible for and so getting his hands on something of his had been a goal of his.

Lucky for him, the in and out of the ship is a quick thing, and Vasquez pockets the little trinket with no one the wiser, having to convince himself not to take anything else while he's there. Whatever admiration he has for Quill (and there's reasons he swears he can't put his finger on, but they're there), he can't be too obvious. So he pockets the trinket and he moves on to the next solar system.

Vasquez finds himself the dirtiest, most awful bar, where no one will care about an outlaw drinking amongst them because they're just as crooked. Only when he's deep in his cups does he pull out the strange little trinket, an old-world Earthen cowboy figurine that he's been drawn to. Maybe it's because Vasquez likes the fashion and tries to emulate it.

Maybe it's because he has dreams about the West.

Or maybe it's just because it'd been the first thing he saw. No matter, all that he cares about now is the fact that he's gotten away with it (or so he thinks, but right now, at this point, with a little more ale burning his throat, he hasn't got any reason to think he's a failure).

That time? It will come later.

There's been something strange happening in the barn the last few days that he can't exactly put his finger on. When he goes in the morning, things are in places he didn't leave them and he's sure that the animals are more unsettled than before. It's not enough for Vasquez to go to the owners about, because while they pay him to operate the farm and work the land, they also don't want to be bothered until he's sure and right now, he's not.

After all, it could just be some wild animal getting loose into the barn at night. He sets up a plan, though, and makes sure that instead of falling asleep with a cigarette and a stomach warmed through with alcohol, he's staying up in order to be in the barn near midnight to see what it is that's causing such a change in things. He's hoping that he's not going to find anything, if he's honest, but there's just too many small things to have nothing be at work.

Cautiously, he approaches the barn (not wearing his spurs, not tonight), and gives the door a gentle nudge. It's quiet, so if it is a wild animal, it hasn't spooked the creatures. If it's a person...well, in that case, Vasquez has to be extra careful, but he needs to resolve this before the owners start to notice and they start to blame Vasquez for doing a poor job.

It's been happening for three days since New Years'. He can summon up water and fire, the earth and the air, controlling them to his whims. Only, every time that he does that, he starts to get dizzy and the headaches press in. He's been using his matches and lighter to start a fire, then controlling the flames until they start to dwindle and the blood starts to pour from his nose.

Every time he looks in the mirror, too, he sees the black eye staring back at him. He should want answers, he should want to learn how to control it, but all that he actually wants is to run away from it. It's a bad habit for him, unfortunately, it's one that he doesn't want to break. That's why he sends Sweeney a text to meet him at Vasquez's apartment and to bring as much alcohol as he can.

He probably shouldn't be drinking, not with the blood he steadily loses, but again, running from his problems somehow seems like the better idea than actually facing that he has strange magic powers suddenly and that he can't seem to control without becoming weak and sick like he only is when he's beyond drunk and sick. Grabbing yet another linen handkerchief to press to his nose, he digs out his matches to light up a new cigarette, cursing when the flame goes wildly out of control and reduces the cigarette to ashes.

"Puta madre," he hisses, and what's worse is that the sudden flare of his newfound strength only makes his head pulse worse. He makes it to unlock the door and then staggers back to collapse in one of his very comfortable chairs, grabbing his hat so he can cover his eyes, the light making it hurt.

It's becoming a habit to go to a bar when the day is done. Vasquez has a somewhat regular job now on weekdays, between the gun range and then the odd jobs he picks up in the fields. It affords him the money to spend on liquor and fine clothes and cigarettes, playing to all of his vices. He's been learning about the future, too, and he's starting to get better at it. Not perfect, but better. When he comes into the bar for a drink (maybe hoping to see a familiar face), he does end up finding that.

It's not the one he expects, but he still finds one. Vasquez tempers his disappointment, because Goodnight is still a decent man to drink with and he's becoming closer with him and Billy both (Billy is being helpful teaching him knives, there's no closer you can get than a man teaching you how to kill). He slides into the seat beside him and raises a hand to the bartender, then gestures to Goodnight. "Another for him, and one for me of whatever he's drinking," he says, giving Goodnight a nod of greeting as he settles into the seat beside him.

He's wearing modern clothes, but one of the pair of jeans Sweeney had picked out for him and one of the cardigans he'd found for himself, over a plain t-shirt. He's starting to enjoy those, sadly, maybe because of how comfortable they always are and look. "Where's your deadly half?"

When Vasquez's shirt rips at the seams on his third attempt to wash it, he decides this is a sign from God that he can't keep washing and wearing the same clothes just because of how strong his nostalgia is. He's got money and he needs new clothes. The thought of charging into one of the many stores makes him scowl and very unhappy, which means that he needs help. Better, he needs help from someone who understands exactly what he's going through.

He manages to stitch his shirt back together enough that it's wearable (it's still bloodstained, so maybe it's not in such good taste) and heads for where Goodnight and Billy live after sending a warning message that he's coming (with plenty of typos, because he's not used to it yet). He hates this idea of becoming some modern looking ass like the rest of the men here, but there seem to be enough flashy sets of things he likes in passing that he wouldn't mind, like the vests knit of fabric and shirts like his linen ones.

It's time for Vasquez to face the future, but not without some help. He texts Goodnight that he's there, outside, and then, he lights up a smoke because he already knows that no one else will let him do this once he's in public. What a stupid future, really, that won't let you do such things.