Faraday arches an eyebrow at the other man for a second, turning this bit of permission over in his head like he’s examining some fascinating trinket.
He had heard Vasquez mention his given name in passing, but seeing as how he hadn’t introduced himself with it, Faraday never risked using it. He figured it was a personal thing, in much the same way Faraday preferred being called by his surname, rather than the name his mother had given him. Too personal. Too close, to be called Josh after so many years.
Sam, Goodnight and Billy, and even the reclusive Jack Horne had offered up their first names as easy as you please. And Red Harvest seemed to tolerate being called an abbreviated “Red,” once Faraday realized he understood their language. Faraday’s introduction to Vasquez, on the other hand, had been short, perfunctory, with a level of tension by which Faraday had been puzzled.
(Apparently his actual introduction to Vasquez had hardly been pleasant, but the alcohol had made the memory hazy.)
But they’ve entered the town, and as though some switch has been thrown, Faraday can see the tension creeping into the set of Vasquez’s shoulders. As they’re hitching up their horses, Faraday takes an easy glance around – a marked difference from the wary way Vasquez goes about it. Yes, there are eyes on them, but Faraday figures it’s more from the oddity of two foreign men in their small town.
Vasquez urges them onward, and Faraday lets out a patient sort of sigh. After a split-second decision, Faraday frowns down at Jack, giving the stallion one companionable pat on the neck before putting on a limp (though considering the state of his leg, he doesn’t have to play it up too much) and making his way over to Vasquez. He tosses an arm around Vasquez’s shoulders. To anyone looking, it would appear as though an injured man was seeking the help of his riding companion, and little more.
“Relax, would you?” he says in an undertone – loud enough that Vasquez can hear it over the usual hubbub of a town starting its day, but soft enough that anyone nearby couldn’t hear him. “You keep lookin’ as hunted as you do, someone’s gonna get suspicious.”
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2017-12-09 12:09 am (UTC)He had heard Vasquez mention his given name in passing, but seeing as how he hadn’t introduced himself with it, Faraday never risked using it. He figured it was a personal thing, in much the same way Faraday preferred being called by his surname, rather than the name his mother had given him. Too personal. Too close, to be called Josh after so many years.
Sam, Goodnight and Billy, and even the reclusive Jack Horne had offered up their first names as easy as you please. And Red Harvest seemed to tolerate being called an abbreviated “Red,” once Faraday realized he understood their language. Faraday’s introduction to Vasquez, on the other hand, had been short, perfunctory, with a level of tension by which Faraday had been puzzled.
(Apparently his actual introduction to Vasquez had hardly been pleasant, but the alcohol had made the memory hazy.)
But they’ve entered the town, and as though some switch has been thrown, Faraday can see the tension creeping into the set of Vasquez’s shoulders. As they’re hitching up their horses, Faraday takes an easy glance around – a marked difference from the wary way Vasquez goes about it. Yes, there are eyes on them, but Faraday figures it’s more from the oddity of two foreign men in their small town.
Vasquez urges them onward, and Faraday lets out a patient sort of sigh. After a split-second decision, Faraday frowns down at Jack, giving the stallion one companionable pat on the neck before putting on a limp (though considering the state of his leg, he doesn’t have to play it up too much) and making his way over to Vasquez. He tosses an arm around Vasquez’s shoulders. To anyone looking, it would appear as though an injured man was seeking the help of his riding companion, and little more.
“Relax, would you?” he says in an undertone – loud enough that Vasquez can hear it over the usual hubbub of a town starting its day, but soft enough that anyone nearby couldn’t hear him. “You keep lookin’ as hunted as you do, someone’s gonna get suspicious.”