He gives Vasquez a considering look when he makes that little promise, and Faraday supposes, in a rare fit of discretion, it’s only fair if he offers the other man the same courtesy. He jams the stopper back into the bottle’s mouth, effectively cutting them both off, and he tucks it back into his saddle bag.
Too little, too late, it seems, with the way Vasquez talks, and Faraday blinks at him, a startled smile curling at his mouth. More often than not, it’s Faraday who dives more deeply into the bottles than Vasquez and starts flapping off at the mouth, or the both of them are equally drunk, setting one another off into peals of laughter. This might be the first time Vasquez has beaten him to it.
Faraday’s nearly about to point out the irony of it all, delighted by the advantageous position, but Vasquez has to go on and say all that, doesn’t he?
He falls quiet, frowning at Vasquez as he studies him by the flickering light of the fire and the last few dregs of sunlight dimming at the horizon. Vasquez is being far more honest than either of them tend to be, and Faraday knows it’s because of the drink. (And what the hell does “querido” mean? Another new insult to add to the list, Faraday thinks.)
“Suppose it’s just as well you’ve got me,” he says brightly, trying to draw Vasquez away from that stormy mood again, like Vasquez hasn’t just dropped that piece of truth on him like a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. They’re treading on unsteady ground, here, and Faraday almost feels guilty, like he’s been eavesdropping on a private conversation. “I’m a delight.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
winterfish
no subject
Date: 2017-10-03 08:59 pm (UTC)Too little, too late, it seems, with the way Vasquez talks, and Faraday blinks at him, a startled smile curling at his mouth. More often than not, it’s Faraday who dives more deeply into the bottles than Vasquez and starts flapping off at the mouth, or the both of them are equally drunk, setting one another off into peals of laughter. This might be the first time Vasquez has beaten him to it.
Faraday’s nearly about to point out the irony of it all, delighted by the advantageous position, but Vasquez has to go on and say all that, doesn’t he?
He falls quiet, frowning at Vasquez as he studies him by the flickering light of the fire and the last few dregs of sunlight dimming at the horizon. Vasquez is being far more honest than either of them tend to be, and Faraday knows it’s because of the drink. (And what the hell does “querido” mean? Another new insult to add to the list, Faraday thinks.)
“Suppose it’s just as well you’ve got me,” he says brightly, trying to draw Vasquez away from that stormy mood again, like Vasquez hasn’t just dropped that piece of truth on him like a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. They’re treading on unsteady ground, here, and Faraday almost feels guilty, like he’s been eavesdropping on a private conversation. “I’m a delight.”