Faraday only lets out a small noise of acknowledgment, apparently holding no strong opinions on the future state of Vasquez’s hair. The added length might do well to disguise the outlaw, he thinks, and slicking it back as he is now certainly changes how Vasquez looks in his wanted posters.
(And a part of him is all too glad to remind him of how pleasant it is, running his hands through Vasquez’s dark curls in more private moments.)
At length, Faraday shrugs, releasing the curl to let Vasquez slick it into place. He says, “When we get to Rose Creek, you consider seein’ a proper barber.”
The scarf is settled around Vasquez’s neck, but Faraday still fusses a little with it, a small frown of focus masking his reluctance to pull back. Faraday’s fingers brush lightly across Vasquez’s neck before his hands settle on the other man’s shoulders.
Taking a short step back, Faraday looks Vasquez over critically. The two of them are more or less the same height, but Faraday is far more broad; the shirt Vasquez has borrowed is loose on the other man, a little ill-fitting, but not obviously so from a couple paces away. The oil in Vasquez’s beard and hair make him look more put together than one might expect of a hunted man, but it doesn’t do nearly as much as Faraday would like to make him unrecognizable.
But there’s little they can do on that front, Faraday knows. At least, not with a few drastic changes, like chopping off those curls or shaving off that beard, neither of which Faraday imagines Vasquez would be very keen on.
“Suppose this’ll have to do,” Faraday sighs. Faraday was often accused of being reckless, but he is cautious when he needs to be – even more so, these days, now that more than his own life hangs in the balance.
no subject
(And a part of him is all too glad to remind him of how pleasant it is, running his hands through Vasquez’s dark curls in more private moments.)
At length, Faraday shrugs, releasing the curl to let Vasquez slick it into place. He says, “When we get to Rose Creek, you consider seein’ a proper barber.”
The scarf is settled around Vasquez’s neck, but Faraday still fusses a little with it, a small frown of focus masking his reluctance to pull back. Faraday’s fingers brush lightly across Vasquez’s neck before his hands settle on the other man’s shoulders.
Taking a short step back, Faraday looks Vasquez over critically. The two of them are more or less the same height, but Faraday is far more broad; the shirt Vasquez has borrowed is loose on the other man, a little ill-fitting, but not obviously so from a couple paces away. The oil in Vasquez’s beard and hair make him look more put together than one might expect of a hunted man, but it doesn’t do nearly as much as Faraday would like to make him unrecognizable.
But there’s little they can do on that front, Faraday knows. At least, not with a few drastic changes, like chopping off those curls or shaving off that beard, neither of which Faraday imagines Vasquez would be very keen on.
“Suppose this’ll have to do,” Faraday sighs. Faraday was often accused of being reckless, but he is cautious when he needs to be – even more so, these days, now that more than his own life hangs in the balance.