Faraday doesn’t quite notice the dark edges of Vasquez’s mood, occupied as he is with wrestling with his own mounting sense of mortification. Still, he scowls at Vasquez from behind his palm, fingers parted to fix the full force of his glare at the other man. The comments about the saloon girl make Faraday roll his eyes, and his hand finally falls away from his face.
“Henrietta,” he corrects. Faraday’s always been good with names; it’s an easy way to earn trust, he learned when he first set off on his own. Folks always liked the sound of their own names. Once Vasquez finishes pouring his share, Faraday takes the bottle back, pouring a drink for himself. “And the only reason for me to go back is if you empty out this bottle.”
Which is rich, coming from Faraday, considering his own drinking habits, but for once, he’s not the one drowning himself in liquor, as Vasquez seems intent on doing. And as much as Faraday occasionally missed the bustle of towns, the noise of conversation, the off-key dabbling at a poorly maintained piano, and even the simply comfort of a bed and four walls, he finds that he still prefers Vasquez’s company to those of strangers. A few hours on his own in town seems to be enough to sate Faraday’s need for a change in scenery.
“You oughta know by now I don’t do anything I don’t wanna do,” he says. He takes a sip from his cup, savoring the numbing burn of the drink, before he frowns a little. Then, with a wry sort of smirk, he adds, “Unless this is your way of tellin’ me you want some time to yourself.”
And he says that last bit with a pointed jerk of his chin toward Vasquez’s pocket, where he tucked away that little bottle.
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winterfish
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Date: 2017-10-03 06:25 pm (UTC)“Henrietta,” he corrects. Faraday’s always been good with names; it’s an easy way to earn trust, he learned when he first set off on his own. Folks always liked the sound of their own names. Once Vasquez finishes pouring his share, Faraday takes the bottle back, pouring a drink for himself. “And the only reason for me to go back is if you empty out this bottle.”
Which is rich, coming from Faraday, considering his own drinking habits, but for once, he’s not the one drowning himself in liquor, as Vasquez seems intent on doing. And as much as Faraday occasionally missed the bustle of towns, the noise of conversation, the off-key dabbling at a poorly maintained piano, and even the simply comfort of a bed and four walls, he finds that he still prefers Vasquez’s company to those of strangers. A few hours on his own in town seems to be enough to sate Faraday’s need for a change in scenery.
“You oughta know by now I don’t do anything I don’t wanna do,” he says. He takes a sip from his cup, savoring the numbing burn of the drink, before he frowns a little. Then, with a wry sort of smirk, he adds, “Unless this is your way of tellin’ me you want some time to yourself.”
And he says that last bit with a pointed jerk of his chin toward Vasquez’s pocket, where he tucked away that little bottle.