Faraday meets Vasquez’s criticism with a flat look. Lord knows Vasquez kept up with his every shot in the nights leading up to the battle, the two of them redder in the face than ripe apples, even without the long days spent in the sundrenched streets. Sure, Faraday wasn’t exactly known for his restraint, but by now his constitution is the stuff of legends.
“Believe it or not,” he grumbles, riffling the edge of his deck, “I’ve been taking care of myself a whole lot longer than I’ve known any of you.”
Granted, he wasn’t taking care of himself well, but considering he’s still alive, Faraday figures it’s still a point in his favor. Any further arguments are silenced once the flask lands at his hip, and the irritated look on his face is replaced with a sort of conspiratorial smirk as he plucks it up. He takes a swig, the liquor burning a path down his throat, and he sighs with it, placing it on the bed within easy reach of Vasquez.
He keeps working the cards – as much to wear the new deck in, to make the paper pliable and easier to manipulate, as it is to ensure that he’s still capable of his old tricks – as Vasquez offers his answer. He understands what Vasquez means, of course. A man wanted for murder and a duly sworn warrant officer mix about as well as oil and water, but Faraday snorts derisively all the same.
Bullshit, he says, though not aloud.
Vasquez’s calloused hand rests atop the deck, though, fingers brushing against his own, and Faraday startles to a stop, glancing up at the other man. Odd, the way he feels color rush up his neck, but he attributes that to the lingering heat of the day. It’s soon forgotten with Vasquez’s teasing, though, and Faraday frees his hands to flick a card at Vasquez’s smug face.
“Weak, my ass,” Faraday grumbles. “And I assure you, I’ve no need to cheat.”
Most of the time, Faraday is content to get by on his own luck, on his ability to read his opponents. Other times, though, he keeps a few tricks up his sleeve – for insurance’s sake, of course.
He looks up pointedly, eyes narrowed at the other man. “If anyone needs protectin’ here, Vasquez, it sure as hell ain’t me.”
The man with the $500 bounty on his head, though? That man might need someone to watch his back.
no subject
“Believe it or not,” he grumbles, riffling the edge of his deck, “I’ve been taking care of myself a whole lot longer than I’ve known any of you.”
Granted, he wasn’t taking care of himself well, but considering he’s still alive, Faraday figures it’s still a point in his favor. Any further arguments are silenced once the flask lands at his hip, and the irritated look on his face is replaced with a sort of conspiratorial smirk as he plucks it up. He takes a swig, the liquor burning a path down his throat, and he sighs with it, placing it on the bed within easy reach of Vasquez.
He keeps working the cards – as much to wear the new deck in, to make the paper pliable and easier to manipulate, as it is to ensure that he’s still capable of his old tricks – as Vasquez offers his answer. He understands what Vasquez means, of course. A man wanted for murder and a duly sworn warrant officer mix about as well as oil and water, but Faraday snorts derisively all the same.
Bullshit, he says, though not aloud.
Vasquez’s calloused hand rests atop the deck, though, fingers brushing against his own, and Faraday startles to a stop, glancing up at the other man. Odd, the way he feels color rush up his neck, but he attributes that to the lingering heat of the day. It’s soon forgotten with Vasquez’s teasing, though, and Faraday frees his hands to flick a card at Vasquez’s smug face.
“Weak, my ass,” Faraday grumbles. “And I assure you, I’ve no need to cheat.”
Most of the time, Faraday is content to get by on his own luck, on his ability to read his opponents. Other times, though, he keeps a few tricks up his sleeve – for insurance’s sake, of course.
He looks up pointedly, eyes narrowed at the other man. “If anyone needs protectin’ here, Vasquez, it sure as hell ain’t me.”
The man with the $500 bounty on his head, though? That man might need someone to watch his back.