goodnight

[quinientos]

When Vasquez's shirt rips at the seams on his third attempt to wash it, he decides this is a sign from God that he can't keep washing and wearing the same clothes just because of how strong his nostalgia is. He's got money and he needs new clothes. The thought of charging into one of the many stores makes him scowl and very unhappy, which means that he needs help. Better, he needs help from someone who understands exactly what he's going through.

He manages to stitch his shirt back together enough that it's wearable (it's still bloodstained, so maybe it's not in such good taste) and heads for where Goodnight and Billy live after sending a warning message that he's coming (with plenty of typos, because he's not used to it yet). He hates this idea of becoming some modern looking ass like the rest of the men here, but there seem to be enough flashy sets of things he likes in passing that he wouldn't mind, like the vests knit of fabric and shirts like his linen ones.

It's time for Vasquez to face the future, but not without some help. He texts Goodnight that he's there, outside, and then, he lights up a smoke because he already knows that no one else will let him do this once he's in public. What a stupid future, really, that won't let you do such things.

Comments

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"Son, I was as much of a dandy as I could get away with before the war," he said with a wry smile. "Course I enjoy this."

Goodnight picked up the cardigan. "Here, try it without the vest, see how you like it. I've got a few like it at home." Not just like it, but similar things. "Also, I don't know if you noticed how much I tried to take care of myself and Billy despite spending so much time in the middle of nowhere."

The pair of them had gotten barbered every chance they had, and though their clothes were practical, they had been in good shape and well-tailored.

[quinientos]

Vasquez snorts at the self-proclamation of being a dandy, because that's not the sort of thing that you admit, as far as Vasquez is concerned. Shaking his head, he reaches over and keeps on a long-sleeved white shirt, pulling on the cardigan.

Humming, he thinks that it looks casual and decent for the colder places inside, not sure why everyone chills it so much. He misses the heat on his skin. "I noticed," he promises. "Didn't mind," he guarantees. "I have lots of respect for men who care for themselves like this."

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"You'd be amazed the people that take issue with it," he drawled. "Or maybe you wouldn't."

Once most people heard his name, the trouble tended to back off without Goodnight having to do too much. There was something to be said for having a reputation, even if it was one that he wasn't necessarily proud of.

[quinientos]

"People take issue with me doing something like that, they got shot in the face," Vasquez says flatly, which might be an exaggeration (he'd shoot the shoulder, first off), but it's not far off the mark. "Dressing nicely, being with someone I choose."

He's not stupid enough, of course, to go flaunting it or asking the wrong people, but still, it's what he thinks.

"People really take issue with you? With what you did, what Billy can do?"

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"People might settle down if they hear my name, but that depends on them hearing it to start with." Goodnight shrugged. He and Billy watched their backs, they were careful, and they tried not to stir up trouble.

"Besides... anything ever went down, I know the difference between what might happen to me and what might happen to Billy."

[quinientos]

Vasquez knows all too well what that's like, so the sober sound he makes is one that's appreciative of the bad situation. "I know what it is, to run," he says. "I know you do, too, both of you." He heads back into the stall to start changing clothes, staring at the rest of the things and hoping they'll fit as he tugs on his bloodstained shirt one more time.

Stepping out, he gives Goodnight an appreciative nod. "Now, you have me to help, too," he says, off-hand. "I could use something to shoot, every once in a while."

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"You might have to talk to Billy for that one. I don't shoot anymore."

Goodnight had been to the gun range a handful of times, usually so that he and Billy could walk home together after Billy had finished his required range time. He had thought about trying his hand, told himself it was good to stay in practice, but... he'd spent so much time shooting for so many years, he doubted he would ever lose the muscle memory. But he had long since lost the will. Rose Creek had been an exception, and he had even tried to walk away from that, too.

[quinientos]

"Not even a can?" It sounds strange, but if Goodnight doesn't want to hit targets, then more for him. Vasquez isn't going to step into that pile of danger, so he says nothing, heading back into the small little stall so he can change out of his things, draping them on the door. "Do you want me to try anything else on before I put my clothes back on?"

[goodnight_robicheaux]

"You could possibly talk me into it," he said. Goodnight wondered how he'd handle the sound of gunfire; he heard it so rarely in Darrow, he wasn't sure if it dulled or heightened his sensitivity. He supposed there was really only one way to find out. "It'd have to be outside somewhere. Not the indoor range where Billy practices."

He had not set foot in there, and he never planned to. Exposing himself to an enclosed space with repeating rounds of gunfire did not sound like the foundation of a good day. Whenever he met Billy there, he waited outside.

"You know, you could probably pick some things you like, put 'em on, and let whoever rings us up take the tags off once they're done," he mused. "Especially if you explain you've only got the clothes you showed up in."

[quinientos]

Vasquez waves a hand at the idea of wearing it out. "No, it's okay. I don't want to throw them away, they're still my clothes." The ones he wore through everything, which means that they mean something more to him, but at the same time, he doesn't see the need to go out with a ripped shirt covered in blood. He heads into the changeroom and is quick to get back into his old gear.

When he comes out, though, he's got a pile of new clothes in his arms.

"Fine, outside, yes," he says, with little care where they shoot. "If you don't want to do guns, I could show you the lasso?"