“Reyes,” he repeats, testing the name. For once, he doesn’t try to actively mangle it, like his usual forays into borrowing Spanish words and phrases, though his drawl still drags out the vowels. He tests it a couple of more times, trying to commit it to memory – nothing would be worse than slipping up in the middle of a conversation and using “Vasquez” instead of the assumed name.

Vasquez’s excitement is near palpable as they approach the edge of the town, and Faraday feels himself grinning, despite his earlier frustration at the other man. Maybe this was a decent idea, if only to give Vasquez a change of pace. Sleeping under the stars, enjoying the quiet of nature, was all good and well, but sometimes, a man just needed the company of other people to stave off that feeling of loneliness.

“Dunno about the rooms,” he replies honestly. “Didn’t see ‘em, myself.”

He didn’t have reason to, either. His stay in the town was relatively brief, even if he did leave Vasquez waiting a good while.

(Even if Henrietta, the pretty saloon girl from yesterday, did try to coax him into renting a room for the night.)

“Saloon’s alright,” and his review is accompanied by a shrug, as though to silently add, I’ve seen better. “Decent prices. Bartender’s pour could stand to be a little heavier, but they ain’t servin’ the usual rotgut, at least.”

At that last comment Faraday breathes out a quick, soft laugh.

“Food’s decent, too. Try not to let your stomach eat itself whole ‘fore we get there.”