Returning to Rose Creek is a bittersweet sort of relief that Faraday hardly expected. The town looks a sight better from his last time here – and that feels like ages ago, by now. The buildings have been repaired and rebuilt, and the bloodstained patches of dirt, the ruined stretches of earth, have all healed over, with tall grass concealing the ugly history. It’s practically a new town, with all the life that victory has breathed into it.
He rides down the hill, and a few farmers glance up to watch his coming. He garners more than a few shouts of greeting, and Faraday is startled to realize how genuinely pleased they are to see him. Showman that he is, he manages to flash them all his customary crooked grin, even if below it all, he’s miserable. Angrier than a shaken hornet’s nest that’s been lit aflame. The townsfolk are none the wiser, though, and the small crowd happily guides him to the livery stable, then points him toward the inn, now under new ownership.
“You’ll tell us how you been at supper,” one of the men tells him, in that particular tone that brooks no arguments.
Faraday laughs, lowering his head in a truncated bow. “I’ll do just that.”
The men return to their work, and Faraday moves to offer Jack’s reins to a stablehand, but he freezes immediately, spotting a familiar horse. The stablehand, yet another survivor of the battle, crows with delight when he spots Faraday, rushing over and clapping Faraday on the shoulder. The stablehand delights in how good Faraday looks, how improved his health appears to be, and Faraday only nods along, forcing a small, polite smile.
“Mr. Vasquez beat you here by a good while,” the stablehand says, when he notices the way Faraday’s gaze keeps dragging itself to Vasquez’s mare. “He’ll be glad to see you, I think.”
For a few seconds, Faraday can only nod. Soon enough, he shakes himself back to life, and offers the stablehand a smile and yet another promise to see him at supper.
He’s far too stunned to know what to do with this new information, and Faraday moves automatically, climbing the porch steps and pushing past the batwing doors into the saloon. This early in the day, there aren’t too many patrons, but once again, he’s caught completely off-guard by the chorus of thrilled shouts that greet him. There are a fair number of new faces, obviously, but those that he recognizes are all wearing grins as they crowd around him. They usher him to the bar, offer him glasses of their top shelf alcohol, and ply him with questions. “How the hell have you been, you son of a bitch?” are chief among them. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” comes in a close second.
“You here to see Mr. Vasquez?” comes at a distant third.
“I might be,” Faraday says, much too brightly, with a far too sharp smile.
They give him a vague direction, and Faraday thanks them for their hospitality after he finishes his drink. The booze sits like a leaden weight in his gut, sloshing uncomfortably in his empty stomach. He straightens, adjusting his scarf and coat – both newly acquired for the turning weather – and steps out onto the street—
—to be greeted by Joan of Arc.
Faraday’s fingers brush the rim of his hat, and he inclines his head slightly. “Miss Emma,” he says by way of greeting.
Emma’s always been sharp, and she gives him a piercing once-over. They go through the niceties – “You’re looking well.” “Likewise.” – because Emma has manners, and she gestures for him to follow. He walks alongside her along the wooden walkways, until she’s guiding him to the edges of town. She tells him about how the town has been, how well they’ve done since the battle with Bogue, and while Rose Creek hasn’t exactly flourished, they’re still working, still slowly growing and making a life for themselves.
“All thanks to you and the others,” Emma says.
Faraday snorts. “More thanks to you and the balls of steel you’ve got, I’d wager.”
And Emma startles them both by laughing. Faraday doesn’t think he’s ever heard her laugh before. Before he can comment, however, she shakes her head. “You and Mr. Vasquez left town together. Is that right?”
“That we did,” Faraday says.
Emma casts him a sidelong glance. “But you two didn’t return together.”
Faraday clears his throat, tries to keep his expression from turning thunderous. “That we did not.”
She nods slowly, and even if Faraday tries to keep his fury off his face, Emma seems to have a sense for it. He can practically hear something click in her head. “You didn’t know he was here, did you?”
Faraday clenches his jaw and can only shake his head. Emma nods one last time before lifting her chin toward a barn, its double doors propped open to let in sunlight. When he stands frozen to the spot, Emma plants her hand between his shoulder blades and shoves him, mumbling something about “stubborn fools.” A little louder, she says, “Don’t leave a mess,” before taking her leave. For his part, Faraday stays rooted where he stands for a second or two, before he takes a lurching step forward, then another, then another. And with each step, he feels all that pent-up rage boiling over, bursting through him, setting every nerve on fire.
He spots Vasquez seated next to a milk cow, and his hands clench into fists. He grits his teeth as he storms over, making no effort to hide his coming.
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2018-11-05 06:10 pm (UTC)He rides down the hill, and a few farmers glance up to watch his coming. He garners more than a few shouts of greeting, and Faraday is startled to realize how genuinely pleased they are to see him. Showman that he is, he manages to flash them all his customary crooked grin, even if below it all, he’s miserable. Angrier than a shaken hornet’s nest that’s been lit aflame. The townsfolk are none the wiser, though, and the small crowd happily guides him to the livery stable, then points him toward the inn, now under new ownership.
“You’ll tell us how you been at supper,” one of the men tells him, in that particular tone that brooks no arguments.
Faraday laughs, lowering his head in a truncated bow. “I’ll do just that.”
The men return to their work, and Faraday moves to offer Jack’s reins to a stablehand, but he freezes immediately, spotting a familiar horse. The stablehand, yet another survivor of the battle, crows with delight when he spots Faraday, rushing over and clapping Faraday on the shoulder. The stablehand delights in how good Faraday looks, how improved his health appears to be, and Faraday only nods along, forcing a small, polite smile.
“Mr. Vasquez beat you here by a good while,” the stablehand says, when he notices the way Faraday’s gaze keeps dragging itself to Vasquez’s mare. “He’ll be glad to see you, I think.”
For a few seconds, Faraday can only nod. Soon enough, he shakes himself back to life, and offers the stablehand a smile and yet another promise to see him at supper.
He’s far too stunned to know what to do with this new information, and Faraday moves automatically, climbing the porch steps and pushing past the batwing doors into the saloon. This early in the day, there aren’t too many patrons, but once again, he’s caught completely off-guard by the chorus of thrilled shouts that greet him. There are a fair number of new faces, obviously, but those that he recognizes are all wearing grins as they crowd around him. They usher him to the bar, offer him glasses of their top shelf alcohol, and ply him with questions. “How the hell have you been, you son of a bitch?” are chief among them. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” comes in a close second.
“You here to see Mr. Vasquez?” comes at a distant third.
“I might be,” Faraday says, much too brightly, with a far too sharp smile.
They give him a vague direction, and Faraday thanks them for their hospitality after he finishes his drink. The booze sits like a leaden weight in his gut, sloshing uncomfortably in his empty stomach. He straightens, adjusting his scarf and coat – both newly acquired for the turning weather – and steps out onto the street—
—to be greeted by Joan of Arc.
Faraday’s fingers brush the rim of his hat, and he inclines his head slightly. “Miss Emma,” he says by way of greeting.
Emma’s always been sharp, and she gives him a piercing once-over. They go through the niceties – “You’re looking well.” “Likewise.” – because Emma has manners, and she gestures for him to follow. He walks alongside her along the wooden walkways, until she’s guiding him to the edges of town. She tells him about how the town has been, how well they’ve done since the battle with Bogue, and while Rose Creek hasn’t exactly flourished, they’re still working, still slowly growing and making a life for themselves.
“All thanks to you and the others,” Emma says.
Faraday snorts. “More thanks to you and the balls of steel you’ve got, I’d wager.”
And Emma startles them both by laughing. Faraday doesn’t think he’s ever heard her laugh before. Before he can comment, however, she shakes her head. “You and Mr. Vasquez left town together. Is that right?”
“That we did,” Faraday says.
Emma casts him a sidelong glance. “But you two didn’t return together.”
Faraday clears his throat, tries to keep his expression from turning thunderous. “That we did not.”
She nods slowly, and even if Faraday tries to keep his fury off his face, Emma seems to have a sense for it. He can practically hear something click in her head. “You didn’t know he was here, did you?”
Faraday clenches his jaw and can only shake his head. Emma nods one last time before lifting her chin toward a barn, its double doors propped open to let in sunlight. When he stands frozen to the spot, Emma plants her hand between his shoulder blades and shoves him, mumbling something about “stubborn fools.” A little louder, she says, “Don’t leave a mess,” before taking her leave. For his part, Faraday stays rooted where he stands for a second or two, before he takes a lurching step forward, then another, then another. And with each step, he feels all that pent-up rage boiling over, bursting through him, setting every nerve on fire.
He spots Vasquez seated next to a milk cow, and his hands clench into fists. He grits his teeth as he storms over, making no effort to hide his coming.
“You goddamn son of a bitch.”