He lifts both hands up, like it's no skin off his back, even as he has to duck out of the way out of that pebble, aware that he's a soft touch now because months ago there would be a murderous glare in his eyes. Now, there's just the brimming warmth of amusement and the knowing that there are much worse things that he could be called (and has been, by that man).
Pouring a fresh serving of whiskey into his cup, Vasquez can feel the warmth of the drink start to settle in his fingers and toes, making his limbs easily relaxed, his whole body sinking into that pleased little haze as he can't help his amused snort. "I was trying not to talk about it, I was horrified at the idea you had no idea what it was for," he points out, staring into the cup as he feels like maybe the liquor (a lot of it drank while Faraday was gone) is loosening his tongue too.
Vasquez lets his gaze linger on Faraday's face, the way his fingers drag over it, and chides himself for staring too long. "What, you want to talk about your girl with the lipstick and the perfume?" he demands. "Was she going to charge you? Wouldn't need this for her." Maybe he can steer Faraday away from the other path this topic leads to, the part Vasquez really would be embarrassed to talk about, at least, here. Another drink, swallowing the burn of the whiskey.
The one where, maybe, he keeps this on hand because when you're in the wilderness, easy to find a ranch-hand or another man who's good to help take the pressure off when it's been too long.
"You could go back into the town, you know," he says, even if those dark clouds threaten to storm his face again, but he's drinking still, going through the new bottle too fast, reckless with idiocy. "Just because I'm a wanted man doesn't mean you have to stay here, hearing me snore every night." Why not suggest the last thing he wants? At least then when it happens, he'll have seemed okay with it.
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Pouring a fresh serving of whiskey into his cup, Vasquez can feel the warmth of the drink start to settle in his fingers and toes, making his limbs easily relaxed, his whole body sinking into that pleased little haze as he can't help his amused snort. "I was trying not to talk about it, I was horrified at the idea you had no idea what it was for," he points out, staring into the cup as he feels like maybe the liquor (a lot of it drank while Faraday was gone) is loosening his tongue too.
Vasquez lets his gaze linger on Faraday's face, the way his fingers drag over it, and chides himself for staring too long. "What, you want to talk about your girl with the lipstick and the perfume?" he demands. "Was she going to charge you? Wouldn't need this for her." Maybe he can steer Faraday away from the other path this topic leads to, the part Vasquez really would be embarrassed to talk about, at least, here. Another drink, swallowing the burn of the whiskey.
The one where, maybe, he keeps this on hand because when you're in the wilderness, easy to find a ranch-hand or another man who's good to help take the pressure off when it's been too long.
"You could go back into the town, you know," he says, even if those dark clouds threaten to storm his face again, but he's drinking still, going through the new bottle too fast, reckless with idiocy. "Just because I'm a wanted man doesn't mean you have to stay here, hearing me snore every night." Why not suggest the last thing he wants? At least then when it happens, he'll have seemed okay with it.