Vasquez groans as Faraday tugs at the sleeve of his coat and coaxes him out. He pushes it off of himself, but he's still making faces that are more than clear with his hat set aside, not crossing his arms petulantly, but feeling like he's fairly close. "I told you it was going into town," he feels compelled to stubbornly cling onto, even though he's a piss poor liar when he's drunk and even he didn't believe himself when he'd said the words.

He drags the jacket off of him and stretches out one leg beside the fire, heart beating hard for the fear that Faraday might actually latch onto the truth. He's still holding out hope that's not going to happen, but he's getting too curious.

Best to distract him, then. "Drink some more," he encourages, because if he can get Faraday drunk enough, then maybe he'll stop caring about Vasquez's big mouth and confessing that he's jealous of someone else getting their hands all over Faraday, not to mention sucking up his time.