Not nearly as much as I'd need to put up with the likes of you.
[ And even that particular barb is dulled, cast with a fondness Faraday is largely unconscious of – or at least, a fondness that Faraday doesn't feel the need to acknowledge. Exchanging these little verbal jabs in the same way young boys might shove at each other—
It's just— easy.
With all the damage he's taken, with all the scars the battle has surely left him with, both physical and mental – the time he's spent with someone who understands what it's like being a monster, knows what it's like to hide among folks who would fear and despise them if they knew the truth, has surely spoiled him.
And in the late hours between night and morning, when Vasquez is giving Faraday the gift of his time – even if that gift is filled with friendly insults, not all of it in English, made all the more annoying because Faraday can't properly respond – the idea of returning to his old, solitary life fills Faraday with a peculiar, breath-stealing, heart-stopping dread.
Which is why he does his best to avoid thinking on it during slightly more reasonable hours. ]
His own glass, predictably, is mostly empty, save for a mouthful that he quickly downs. He pauses to appreciate the sharp burn of the alcohol as it travels down his throat, as the familiar warmth of it sparks and blooms through his belly. He sighs, pouring himself another glass. ]
And I got a while yet 'fore I'm as corned as I need to be, anyhow.
[ 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?
[ A light hum of agreement in lieu of a proper answer – mostly because he's preoccupied with taking another pull from his glass.
The moon is a little more than three-fourths full, tonight; he can feel it in his bones, somehow, even without checking the sky or the helpful charting in an almanac. There's something a little rougher about the change when the moon brightens – like the wolf knows its time is coming, and it's eager to get the hell out.
He sighs again as the whiskey burns down his throat. ]
Don't got the laudanum anymore to help with it. Gotta use my old tricks.
[ He pauses, thoughtful, glancing down at his glass. He sloshes the white whiskey around.
It's probably the alcohol in his system that makes him more honest, but he offers quietly, ]
Not as well as it used to.
[ Still, Faraday is apparently game to keep trying, and he refills his glass. His hands have always been steady, even with the unhelpful addition of booze in his system, and manages the pour without wasting a drop.
In a tone of voice that seems to have completely forgotten the flagging of his mood from only seconds ago, ]
That's a more somber, realistic response, and the sincerity of it startles the smirk off of Vasquez's face. He can't imagine how daunting it would truly be lose what little control one has over an otherwise uncontrollable situation.
He covers his own surprise by taking a longer pull from his glass. ]
Maybe drunk it will be easier to wrestle your wolf down, no?
[ ... Implying that Vasquez will be there to do the wrestling.
For some reason, it hasn't even occurred to him that he might not be. ]
[ That manages to startle a laugh from him, and the corner of his mouth tugs upward in a reluctant smile. ]
Could do.
[ His smile dims a fraction as he glances toward a window to gauge the dimming of the light. He doesn't really need to do it, considering he can judge the time of day by the way the curse prowls in his chest, rising closer and closer to the surface. But it's habit, by now. Like knowing that five and seven make twelve, but still dutifully adding them together, just to be sure.
Still plenty of time, though, he thinks. Plenty of time before night properly falls, and plenty of time, he hopes, to get properly drunk to dull the pain of his partially-healed wounds and the change. ]
I'd have to be awfully drunk, though, for one of these farmers to manage keepin' the wolf down.
[ Because unlike Vasquez, Faraday assumes nothing.
The vampire had made it abundantly clear how little he enjoyed the experience of "dog-sitting," as he had so kindly put it.
In a few more nights, Faraday figures he'll be on his own; he doubts the man is looking for a repeat experience. ]
[ Vasquez's eyes follow Faraday's, and for the moment, he seems to be taking in the same time, measuring for himself. He doesn't have that feeling to gauge the way that Faraday does, but he's spent enough time at the werewolf's side to begin approximating when to expect Faraday will trade flesh for fur.
They've got a little time left.
However, with the mention of the citizens of Rose Creek, Vasquez just offers a surprised, derisive snort. ]
I didn't mean the farmers, perrito. You would have to be unconscious for one of them to manage you.
I think just a little dizzy, and I can handle you fine.
[ Faraday's brow furrows a little, his gaze sliding back to Vasquez. He's quiet for a second, trying, for once, to pick his words – not an easy thing, normally, made all the more difficult with the whiskey in his gut.
Eventually, ]
You sure you want to go for a second round? You didn't have the easiest time with it.
[ Which is one hell of an understatement.
What he means is, "The wolf tried to maul you and eat you, not necessarily in that order, and I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you wanted to stick a silver collar around it, tie it to a post, and call it a night." ]
[ Vasquez can see Faraday picking things apart for a moment, and he's honestly a little baffled by how readily Faraday had expected Vasquez to wash his hands of the wolf.
... Well, considering he'd ended the night covered in his own blood, it's probably a fair assumption, but— ]
I told you before: it'll take more than un perrito to kill me.
[ And he finishes his glass of whiskey, nudging it back across the table to Faraday for a refill. ]
[ Vasquez accepts his glass back with a little nod, pulling it close to swirl the liquid inside. Faraday's words don't dissuade him, by any means, and it seems like a fair warning.
But: ]
I'll ask Sam for the chain. That seemed to work a bit.
At the worst, maybe I just bite you.
[ This, he says with a sharp grin, though his words carry the lilt of a tease. ]
Oh, right, sure. Let's just add more holes to this mess.
[ A couple weeks ago, the words would have been cast bitterly. Now, though, either from the definite signs of healing and progress or from the whiskey evening out his mood, his tone matches Vasquez's – sharp but light, all the same. ]
[ Faraday is the first to crack, snorting out a laugh. ]
'Course. You can kiss it all better, like a doting momma.
[ But when Vasquez continues, makes mention of "feeding," Faraday sobers a little. They've never really discussed Vasquez's dietary habits – Faraday figures the less he knew, the better – but he's gotta figure that Vasquez doesn't use his magic vampire spit when he's killing rabbits or raccoons.
No, he's gotta figure that's specifically a trick he reserves for mortals – or, in Faraday's case, mortal adjacent. ]
You do that often, then?
[ And unlike that first day, when Faraday had poked and prodded and derisively called Vasquez a bloodsucker at every given opportunity, Faraday sounds genuinely – if cautiously – curious. ]
Heal folks when you bite 'em. You don't just drain 'em dry?
[ Faraday earns another half-hearted kick under the table, but little more as Vasquez contents himself with enjoying his whiskey.
The question seems more serious when it comes, and he cocks a brow at Faraday, assessing him for a moment – trying to tell if he sincerely wants to know or not. It's... not exactly the prettiest of realities, especially considering they'd just put down the likes of Bogue and his minions. While he considers himself to be something far removed from Bogue's kind, he does still live off of blood; he just isn't so... destructive.
He comes from more than a careless leech. ]
Draws too much attention, leaving behind bodies to find. I already have one bounty on my head; I don't care for another to follow me for the next few decades.
[ It's... inconvenient, if nothing else. Moreso with the prevalence of Hunters up North, as he's learned. ]
Besides, I don't usually need a full body, unless I've gone weeks without.
[ Or if he's close to death due to injuries, like more extensive damage he might have sustained from tussling with Faraday's wolf or becoming too closely acquainted with a Hunter's obsidian. ]
I understand how healin' someone up won't leave a body, but I don't see how that stops a person from rattin' you out. Leavin' someone alive would leave a bigger trail, wouldn't it?
[ Vasquez sips at his drink to maintain a careful hold on his expression, on his own apprehension about answering Faraday's questions. They've grown much closer in these weeks together, something Vasquez might almost willingly say broaches friendship, but he's also very cognizant of what he is. He's especially aware of how little trust already exists for vampires of any kind, and for all that he maintains he's nothing like Bogue and the vampires he's found up north, there are unavoidable similarities – and reasons why they're distrusted.
For whatever camaraderie he shares with Faraday over their "afflictions," the amount of time he's spent being what he is has almost entirely removed him from what he remembers of his mortal life. When he thinks of Coyotl, he doesn't recognize the man that came before; by comparison, Faraday is still very much who he's always been. Vasquez finds it hard to believe the curse has affected the man beneath the wolf, even if it's forced him to adapt his behavior.
Vasquez, meanwhile, has spent more time walking through blood than he ever did walking through sunshine. Lifetimes upon lifetimes, he's been this, more creature than man. The strangeness of circumstance now is that he'd previously made complete peace with the monster that he is, and he hadn't ached for humanity or companionship therein.
But sometimes, with Faraday – even with the others of the seven, with many of the people of Rose Creek – he feels seen for more than an unholy thing.
However, part of him is unsure of how much that depends on willfully forgetting the threat he poses. ]
[ A better man than Faraday might see the careful hold Vasquez has on his composure, might notice the deliberate choice of words and control over his body language, and realize that this was a sensitive topic that probably didn't warrant discussion at a table in a small town doggery.
Faraday, however, notices all those things, knows better than to push, but pushes anyway. ]
So you hypnotize 'em, but nicely.
[ A little lightly – at least at first.
His expression freezes for a second, and with as sluggish as the drink has made him, it finally occurs to him to ask, ]
Hold on. So after the full moon—?
[ When Vasquez needed blood to heal, and Faraday had offered up his own.
[ Vasquez offers a derisive snort, though instead of kicking Faraday under the table again, as he had in lighter moments, he doesn't seem willing to indulge that.
He does, however, see the instant Faraday seems to be putting two and two together – even if they far from make "four," in this circumstance. Vasquez is actually— startled by the initial, intense flare in his chest with that truncated question, with what weighs heavily unsaid. It almost feels like indignation, like he's offended Faraday even feels like he has to ask—
But then he reminds himself that night had been at the beginning of their odd friendship; for all that he'd spent the night babysitting the wolf and dealing with the damage it inflicted, it's probably fair to wonder if Vasquez, with no reason to refrain, would have just suggested that Faraday give him enough to tide himself over. Without much in the way of loyalty, what was to stop Vasquez from insinuating the idea into Faraday's mind?
Maybe wondering that is fair.
So why does it sting?
Vasquez sets his glass down, and though a muscle in his jaw tics with grit teeth, he keeps his tone level. ]
[ Faraday isn't so far gone, it seems, that he doesn't miss the sharp reaction Vasquez has to the question. In the daylight hours, he made his money at card tables, learned how to read the subtle hints in the way people held themselves, in the way the timbre of their voices shifted.
It's why he holds up his good hand – an abbreviated version of the universal gesture for don't shoot. ]
Was just wonderin' aloud.
[ And he says it mildly, in hopes of pulling Vasquez back from that prickly edge.
Although it would be just like Faraday, he figures, to alienate the one crazy son of a bitch who seems able, if not willing, to put up with his stupid shit.
It's nothing short of a miracle that Vasquez has stuck around this long – and Faraday is too afraid to ask him what's kept him here. ]
Considerin' the damage the wolf did to you, I wouldn't blame you for wantin' to collect a toll.
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[ And even that particular barb is dulled, cast with a fondness Faraday is largely unconscious of – or at least, a fondness that Faraday doesn't feel the need to acknowledge. Exchanging these little verbal jabs in the same way young boys might shove at each other—
It's just— easy.
With all the damage he's taken, with all the scars the battle has surely left him with, both physical and mental – the time he's spent with someone who understands what it's like being a monster, knows what it's like to hide among folks who would fear and despise them if they knew the truth, has surely spoiled him.
And in the late hours between night and morning, when Vasquez is giving Faraday the gift of his time – even if that gift is filled with friendly insults, not all of it in English, made all the more annoying because Faraday can't properly respond – the idea of returning to his old, solitary life fills Faraday with a peculiar, breath-stealing, heart-stopping dread.
Which is why he does his best to avoid thinking on it during slightly more reasonable hours. ]
His own glass, predictably, is mostly empty, save for a mouthful that he quickly downs. He pauses to appreciate the sharp burn of the alcohol as it travels down his throat, as the familiar warmth of it sparks and blooms through his belly. He sighs, pouring himself another glass. ]
And I got a while yet 'fore I'm as corned as I need to be, anyhow.
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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?
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[ A light hum of agreement in lieu of a proper answer – mostly because he's preoccupied with taking another pull from his glass.
The moon is a little more than three-fourths full, tonight; he can feel it in his bones, somehow, even without checking the sky or the helpful charting in an almanac. There's something a little rougher about the change when the moon brightens – like the wolf knows its time is coming, and it's eager to get the hell out.
He sighs again as the whiskey burns down his throat. ]
Don't got the laudanum anymore to help with it. Gotta use my old tricks.
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[ Vasquez is momentarily preoccupied with imagining Faraday's wolf stumbling around, perhaps running into a tree.
... That sounds hilarious, if he's entirely honest. ]
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It's probably the alcohol in his system that makes him more honest, but he offers quietly, ]
Not as well as it used to.
[ Still, Faraday is apparently game to keep trying, and he refills his glass. His hands have always been steady, even with the unhelpful addition of booze in his system, and manages the pour without wasting a drop.
In a tone of voice that seems to have completely forgotten the flagging of his mood from only seconds ago, ]
Reckon it's better than nothin', right?
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That's a more somber, realistic response, and the sincerity of it startles the smirk off of Vasquez's face. He can't imagine how daunting it would truly be lose what little control one has over an otherwise uncontrollable situation.
He covers his own surprise by taking a longer pull from his glass. ]
Maybe drunk it will be easier to wrestle your wolf down, no?
[ ... Implying that Vasquez will be there to do the wrestling.
For some reason, it hasn't even occurred to him that he might not be. ]
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Could do.
[ His smile dims a fraction as he glances toward a window to gauge the dimming of the light. He doesn't really need to do it, considering he can judge the time of day by the way the curse prowls in his chest, rising closer and closer to the surface. But it's habit, by now. Like knowing that five and seven make twelve, but still dutifully adding them together, just to be sure.
Still plenty of time, though, he thinks. Plenty of time before night properly falls, and plenty of time, he hopes, to get properly drunk to dull the pain of his partially-healed wounds and the change. ]
I'd have to be awfully drunk, though, for one of these farmers to manage keepin' the wolf down.
[ Because unlike Vasquez, Faraday assumes nothing.
The vampire had made it abundantly clear how little he enjoyed the experience of "dog-sitting," as he had so kindly put it.
In a few more nights, Faraday figures he'll be on his own; he doubts the man is looking for a repeat experience. ]
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They've got a little time left.
However, with the mention of the citizens of Rose Creek, Vasquez just offers a surprised, derisive snort. ]
I didn't mean the farmers, perrito. You would have to be unconscious for one of them to manage you.
I think just a little dizzy, and I can handle you fine.
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Eventually, ]
You sure you want to go for a second round? You didn't have the easiest time with it.
[ Which is one hell of an understatement.
What he means is, "The wolf tried to maul you and eat you, not necessarily in that order, and I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you wanted to stick a silver collar around it, tie it to a post, and call it a night." ]
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... Well, considering he'd ended the night covered in his own blood, it's probably a fair assumption, but— ]
I told you before: it'll take more than un perrito to kill me.
[ And he finishes his glass of whiskey, nudging it back across the table to Faraday for a refill. ]
And if you're drunk, it will be all the easier.
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It's practically muscle memory – when Vasquez pushes his glass back over, Faraday picks up the bottle and pours out a generous share.
As he's pushing the glass back over, ]
I dunno how it's gonna be, this time.
[ Granted, he barely knows how it'll be any time, but this instance has a lot more variables than he's ever had to contend with before. ]
I've got no way of knowing if all this—
[ An honest warning, and he punctuates it by gesturing to himself, encompassing the partially-healed wounds and fading bruises. ]
—will calm it down, or just piss it the hell off.
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But: ]
I'll ask Sam for the chain. That seemed to work a bit.
At the worst, maybe I just bite you.
[ This, he says with a sharp grin, though his words carry the lilt of a tease. ]
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[ A couple weeks ago, the words would have been cast bitterly. Now, though, either from the definite signs of healing and progress or from the whiskey evening out his mood, his tone matches Vasquez's – sharp but light, all the same. ]
Lord knows I could use a couple more.
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[ And Vasquez says this loftily. ]
Who knows, maybe I could heal the rest of the others.
[ He gives a vague gesture at... all of Faraday with his glass. ]
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Then, with an all too obvious effort to keep his expression solemn, ]
You mean, with your magic vampire spit.
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Yes, my "magic vampire spit."
[ But, on a more genuinely thoughtful note, he offers a shrug. ]
I don't know what it does; I've only used it when I feed.
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'Course. You can kiss it all better, like a doting momma.
[ But when Vasquez continues, makes mention of "feeding," Faraday sobers a little. They've never really discussed Vasquez's dietary habits – Faraday figures the less he knew, the better – but he's gotta figure that Vasquez doesn't use his magic vampire spit when he's killing rabbits or raccoons.
No, he's gotta figure that's specifically a trick he reserves for mortals – or, in Faraday's case, mortal adjacent. ]
You do that often, then?
[ And unlike that first day, when Faraday had poked and prodded and derisively called Vasquez a bloodsucker at every given opportunity, Faraday sounds genuinely – if cautiously – curious. ]
Heal folks when you bite 'em. You don't just drain 'em dry?
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The question seems more serious when it comes, and he cocks a brow at Faraday, assessing him for a moment – trying to tell if he sincerely wants to know or not. It's... not exactly the prettiest of realities, especially considering they'd just put down the likes of Bogue and his minions. While he considers himself to be something far removed from Bogue's kind, he does still live off of blood; he just isn't so... destructive.
He comes from more than a careless leech. ]
Draws too much attention, leaving behind bodies to find. I already have one bounty on my head; I don't care for another to follow me for the next few decades.
[ It's... inconvenient, if nothing else. Moreso with the prevalence of Hunters up North, as he's learned. ]
Besides, I don't usually need a full body, unless I've gone weeks without.
[ Or if he's close to death due to injuries, like more extensive damage he might have sustained from tussling with Faraday's wolf or becoming too closely acquainted with a Hunter's obsidian. ]
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I understand how healin' someone up won't leave a body, but I don't see how that stops a person from rattin' you out. Leavin' someone alive would leave a bigger trail, wouldn't it?
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Vasquez hesitates a moment, swirling around his whiskey again as he tries to choose his words. ]
I can... talk to them. Make them forget. Make it so there's no pain.
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So you... bewitch them? Hypnotize them?
[ Perhaps surprisingly for Faraday, he still casts the question with curiosity – an attempt to understand, rather than pass judgement.
Hell, what room does Faraday have to judge? The wolf is happy to tear people apart, with or without pain.
... not that the wolf usually leaves much choice in the matter. ]
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For whatever camaraderie he shares with Faraday over their "afflictions," the amount of time he's spent being what he is has almost entirely removed him from what he remembers of his mortal life. When he thinks of Coyotl, he doesn't recognize the man that came before; by comparison, Faraday is still very much who he's always been. Vasquez finds it hard to believe the curse has affected the man beneath the wolf, even if it's forced him to adapt his behavior.
Vasquez, meanwhile, has spent more time walking through blood than he ever did walking through sunshine. Lifetimes upon lifetimes, he's been this, more creature than man. The strangeness of circumstance now is that he'd previously made complete peace with the monster that he is, and he hadn't ached for humanity or companionship therein.
But sometimes, with Faraday – even with the others of the seven, with many of the people of Rose Creek – he feels seen for more than an unholy thing.
However, part of him is unsure of how much that depends on willfully forgetting the threat he poses. ]
Yes, like hypnotizing.
[ The simplest answer. ]
But it's more suggestion than force.
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Faraday, however, notices all those things, knows better than to push, but pushes anyway. ]
So you hypnotize 'em, but nicely.
[ A little lightly – at least at first.
His expression freezes for a second, and with as sluggish as the drink has made him, it finally occurs to him to ask, ]
Hold on. So after the full moon—?
[ When Vasquez needed blood to heal, and Faraday had offered up his own.
Was that you? hangs unspoken between them. ]
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He does, however, see the instant Faraday seems to be putting two and two together – even if they far from make "four," in this circumstance. Vasquez is actually— startled by the initial, intense flare in his chest with that truncated question, with what weighs heavily unsaid. It almost feels like indignation, like he's offended Faraday even feels like he has to ask—
But then he reminds himself that night had been at the beginning of their odd friendship; for all that he'd spent the night babysitting the wolf and dealing with the damage it inflicted, it's probably fair to wonder if Vasquez, with no reason to refrain, would have just suggested that Faraday give him enough to tide himself over. Without much in the way of loyalty, what was to stop Vasquez from insinuating the idea into Faraday's mind?
Maybe wondering that is fair.
So why does it sting?
Vasquez sets his glass down, and though a muscle in his jaw tics with grit teeth, he keeps his tone level. ]
No.
That was your own idea.
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It's why he holds up his good hand – an abbreviated version of the universal gesture for don't shoot. ]
Was just wonderin' aloud.
[ And he says it mildly, in hopes of pulling Vasquez back from that prickly edge.
Although it would be just like Faraday, he figures, to alienate the one crazy son of a bitch who seems able, if not willing, to put up with his stupid shit.
It's nothing short of a miracle that Vasquez has stuck around this long – and Faraday is too afraid to ask him what's kept him here. ]
Considerin' the damage the wolf did to you, I wouldn't blame you for wantin' to collect a toll.
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