[ Vasquez huffs out a breath of a laugh, and under the table, he gives Faraday's ankle a light nudge – a shadow of the reprimanding kick that it might usually be, if he weren't still paying deference to how Faraday is healing.
He shifts in his seat, leaning on one elbow as he makes himself more comfortable. He watches Faraday askance more than he properly faces the gambler; his gaze flicks around the saloon, watching the door, the exits, as a matter of habit. He gives the appearance of lounging, but it's the long-learned casual way of his existence: relaxing, while prepared for conflict, ready to leave before it brews.
But, as Faraday works on his next glass—
The first mention of tonight's moon. ]
This how you usually deal with tu lobo? Drain whiskey until you can't walk?
no subject
He shifts in his seat, leaning on one elbow as he makes himself more comfortable. He watches Faraday askance more than he properly faces the gambler; his gaze flicks around the saloon, watching the door, the exits, as a matter of habit. He gives the appearance of lounging, but it's the long-learned casual way of his existence: relaxing, while prepared for conflict, ready to leave before it brews.
But, as Faraday works on his next glass—
The first mention of tonight's moon. ]
This how you usually deal with tu lobo? Drain whiskey until you can't walk?