Sometimes, Faraday forgets what an infuriating son of a bitch Vasquez can be. He hardly knows how he forgets, considering he’s been victim to it nearly every day since they had met, but every now and again, it slips his mind until Vasquez practically slaps Faraday in the face with it.
As he does now, and Faraday wants to reach over punch the smugness right out of him.
The instant Vasquez picks up his gun, an old instinct kicks in, a sour note of jealousy that runs through him. Faraday loathes when other people touch his guns, and indeed, the first time he had seen his peacemakers in Vasquez’s hands, something cold had washed over him. It’s only with time and necessity that he’s learned to trust the other man with his Colts – early in his recovery, he hardly had enough energy to stay awake, much less clean and maintain his guns with the respect they were due – but he still finds himself watching Vasquez like a hawk.
He snorts derisively as Vasquez lists out his options, the cards snapping a little more loudly, a little more sharply as he riffles two packets together. The brief burst of Spanish earns Vasquez a flat, uncomprehending look, and serves only to kick up another notch of annoyance in his chest.
Still, Faraday plays along, because he’s honed the fine art of bullshitting over decades at card tables.
“You try askin’ Jack yet?” he asks, keeping his tone light and conversational. “You’d never have need of another Bible again. Or Teddy Q. Wager he’d be pleasant enough company, till you ran outta things to talk about, ten minutes in.”
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As he does now, and Faraday wants to reach over punch the smugness right out of him.
The instant Vasquez picks up his gun, an old instinct kicks in, a sour note of jealousy that runs through him. Faraday loathes when other people touch his guns, and indeed, the first time he had seen his peacemakers in Vasquez’s hands, something cold had washed over him. It’s only with time and necessity that he’s learned to trust the other man with his Colts – early in his recovery, he hardly had enough energy to stay awake, much less clean and maintain his guns with the respect they were due – but he still finds himself watching Vasquez like a hawk.
He snorts derisively as Vasquez lists out his options, the cards snapping a little more loudly, a little more sharply as he riffles two packets together. The brief burst of Spanish earns Vasquez a flat, uncomprehending look, and serves only to kick up another notch of annoyance in his chest.
Still, Faraday plays along, because he’s honed the fine art of bullshitting over decades at card tables.
“You try askin’ Jack yet?” he asks, keeping his tone light and conversational. “You’d never have need of another Bible again. Or Teddy Q. Wager he’d be pleasant enough company, till you ran outta things to talk about, ten minutes in.”