Faraday, for his part, looks a bit like he’s been standing out in the sun, with how flushed his cheeks are; restraint has never been his strongest suit, after all. But he follows after Vasquez well enough, thanks to years and years of practice of handling his liquor, with only a couple of stumbles that set him snorting with self-deprecation.
He’s content to walk in silence, breathing in the crisp, chilled air and hoping it will sober him, at least a little. The combination of cheap booze and Vasquez’s unhurried pace keeps him from feeling the soreness of his body. In recent days, as the sun dipped beyond the horizon quicker, as the temperatures dropped, old wounds had been roused to life by the cold, like a storm revealing hidden depths in riverbeds. It’s one of the many reasons why he came back to Rose Creek: he needed a temporary haunt to weather the colder days to come, when traveling with aching ribs and an uncooperative leg was certain to spell disaster. He could have chosen any little town, but the siren call of familiar faces – and more than that, familiar faces who might actually respect him – proved too tempting.
Finding Vasquez had been an unplanned consequence.
He’s only a pace or two behind Vasquez, as the other man enters his home. Faraday pauses on the threshold before tentatively stepping in, shutting the door behind him. He shrugs out of his own coat and doffs his hat a little slower than necessary. Away from the noise and light and heat of the saloon, Faraday suddenly feels out of sorts. He licks his lips for a brief second before turning back to Vasquez.
“Not much to look at, is it?” he asks a little teasingly, with an absent flick of his hand toward the room. Given the absent delivery and the fact that Faraday has hardly looked around, there’s a high probability that he would have said the same thing, even if Vasquez had walked him into the finest palace known to man.
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2019-02-01 09:57 pm (UTC)He’s content to walk in silence, breathing in the crisp, chilled air and hoping it will sober him, at least a little. The combination of cheap booze and Vasquez’s unhurried pace keeps him from feeling the soreness of his body. In recent days, as the sun dipped beyond the horizon quicker, as the temperatures dropped, old wounds had been roused to life by the cold, like a storm revealing hidden depths in riverbeds. It’s one of the many reasons why he came back to Rose Creek: he needed a temporary haunt to weather the colder days to come, when traveling with aching ribs and an uncooperative leg was certain to spell disaster. He could have chosen any little town, but the siren call of familiar faces – and more than that, familiar faces who might actually respect him – proved too tempting.
Finding Vasquez had been an unplanned consequence.
He’s only a pace or two behind Vasquez, as the other man enters his home. Faraday pauses on the threshold before tentatively stepping in, shutting the door behind him. He shrugs out of his own coat and doffs his hat a little slower than necessary. Away from the noise and light and heat of the saloon, Faraday suddenly feels out of sorts. He licks his lips for a brief second before turning back to Vasquez.
“Not much to look at, is it?” he asks a little teasingly, with an absent flick of his hand toward the room. Given the absent delivery and the fact that Faraday has hardly looked around, there’s a high probability that he would have said the same thing, even if Vasquez had walked him into the finest palace known to man.