Even if Sam's not like that, Vasquez can't even picture how that would work and he makes it clear from the look on his face and the derisive tone when he looks at Faraday. He might be injured, but Vasquez didn't think that handsome head of his got hit so badly, but maybe not. "What, then he'll tell everyone in town that I just look like Vasquez, the outlaw, when he brings in someone else? Or I get to sit outside, like a child in trouble," he huffs, shaking his head.
"You're loco if you think that's any kind of life," says a man who had been hiding out in a corpse-filled hovel before Rose Creek in order to make sure he kept his head. He doesn't mind robbing what he needs to get by, but now that he's got some Rose Creek money in his pockets, now he could get by. With someone's help, unfortunately, because showing his face in town, well, same problem.
"I don't know," he finally says. "I can't go back to my old hiding place. Too much activity, it will be lost." He stares at Faraday, trying to decide how best to say the next words without ruining his chances. "It was nice, though," he admits, the strain of the words from his worry and not from having to get them out, "knowing I could sleep easy. Knowing that someone was watching." He takes a long drag of the flask and hands it out to Faraday again, not taking his eyes off him, not for a second, not when he wants to gauge his reaction to that, because someone isn't a general someone to him, not right now. It's a very specific one, which is why he's sitting in this room and not in Goodnight's.
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winterfish
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Date: 2017-08-04 12:28 am (UTC)"You're loco if you think that's any kind of life," says a man who had been hiding out in a corpse-filled hovel before Rose Creek in order to make sure he kept his head. He doesn't mind robbing what he needs to get by, but now that he's got some Rose Creek money in his pockets, now he could get by. With someone's help, unfortunately, because showing his face in town, well, same problem.
"I don't know," he finally says. "I can't go back to my old hiding place. Too much activity, it will be lost." He stares at Faraday, trying to decide how best to say the next words without ruining his chances. "It was nice, though," he admits, the strain of the words from his worry and not from having to get them out, "knowing I could sleep easy. Knowing that someone was watching." He takes a long drag of the flask and hands it out to Faraday again, not taking his eyes off him, not for a second, not when he wants to gauge his reaction to that, because someone isn't a general someone to him, not right now. It's a very specific one, which is why he's sitting in this room and not in Goodnight's.