Surprise stands naked on Faraday’s face at Vasquez’s surly attitude. Both of them could fall into dark moods at the drop of a hat, but when he had ridden into town, Faraday had left Vasquez in a reasonable state. To find him sulking and snapping like a building thunderstorm is quite unexpected, considering there’s hardly anything out here to spark it – aside from the heat or the lack of company, he supposes.

“What the hell’s got you all worked up?” he asks, grumbling the words as he reaches for his share of the food. Faraday only ever gambles and spends his own shares, and Vasquez knows that. Faraday has always been particular about his own belongings (folks who threaten to steal his things tend to meet a swift end), and he extends that same courtesy to Vasquez, being mindful of the other man’s possessions.

The saloon girl in question had been a pretty thing, with red lips and rosy cheeks. The scent of new blood in the tavern had drawn her to him the instant he sat down at the table. She had hovered around him like a moth around a flickering candle, doing her level best to keep him in that chair to squander coin on rotgut; admittedly, thanks to a wide breadth of experience, Faraday knew she was quite good at her job, and if he had wandered into that saloon months ago, he would have happily stayed to enjoy her company. Wasting much more time there with Vasquez waiting for him at their little campsite hadn’t sat right with him, though, and he had made his excuses, once he had made a profit.

But here he is now, sitting beside this grumpy bastard, and Faraday almost regrets his decision.

“Is this how you’re gonna act the rest of the night? Like some kinda wet cat? ‘Cause I can’t say that I’m lookin’ forward to it.”