[ He picks up his glass, examining the contents, which has the happy consequence of allowing him to avoid Vasquez's gaze. ]
I saw what happened last time. What it did to you.
[ There's the slightest thread of guilt in his voice. As insistent as he may be that he and the wolf are two separate entities, that doesn't stop him from being responsible for whatever the wolf does. ]
If it happens again, then I'm obliged to set it right.
[ It's... fair. Faraday has a reasonable point; if Vasquez is injured minding the wolf, it makes sense that he be able to recover from those wounds, given that he can.
But again, Vasquez understands the aversion to what he is. He understands how distasteful the idea of blood drinking may be.
He's just startled that Faraday is willing to overcome that for fair play. ]
... All right.
[ He nods once, tries to offer something vaguely lighter, ]
[ He snorts, his mood buoyed, apparently, by the spirits in his system. ]
Crawl out of that stupid room, just to end up six feet under.
[ He shifts again, slouching in his chair and stretching out his legs, eating up space. He takes his glass with him, mindlessly tilting it to slowly swirl the whiskey. ]
S'pose you'd know all about life's weird bullshit– [ An unintentional echo, since he has no idea what Vasquez just said in his mother tongue. ] –considering you've been at this a while.
[ Not that Faraday knows exactly how old Vasquez is, or how long he's existed as a vampire. Still, he gets a faint idea – from the quieter moments, when he sees something in Vasquez's eyes, like he's slightly removed from it all. ]
[ As Faraday makes himself comfortable, practically filling every inch of space he can, Vasquez readjusts in his chair, leaning to rest his elbow on on the back of it. ]
I've seen a lot of it, sí.
[ Perhaps the understatement of the century. Or of the last couple of them.
And with a sharper, teasing grin, ]
You might still be some of its weirdest, my friend.
[ Faraday hums, nodding sagely as he sips more of his whiskey. ]
On account of me turning into a wolf and, occasionally, wanting to eat people.
[ He's never talked about his curse so flippantly before – hell, he's never talked about his curse with anyone, full stop.
This experience with Rose Creek has been strange, even if it's also been strangely freeing. Everyone knows exactly what he is, and while he can tell more than a few folks are still wary, he also knows that they don't intend to chase him out of town or shoot him dead. Once he leaves – because there's clearly no way he could stay – he's going to sincerely miss that. ]
[ When Faraday is the one in control, that is. When the wolf is relegated to some distance place in his mind and his body, waiting and prowling for its chance to take control.
Sometimes, Faraday takes a step back and lets it take over, even without the full moon – usually when he's on his own, exploring some lonely patch of forest or desert. Sometimes, he defers to the wolf's instincts to guide them – but it's surely not the same. It's like keeping the wolf in reins, ready to yank it back into submission at the slightest misstep. ]
You've seen what I change into, though. Don't know how you'd see that thing and not call it monstrous.
[ Vasquez tips his chin in mild agreement, but he doesn't look as convinced. ]
Because I have seen men who are half alligator – and worse, south of my home, there are creatures with great big smiles. [ He reaches up to drift his fingers up the corners of his mouth, drawing a line to his ears. ]
And down their throats are sharp spines that they stab into a man to suck out all his insides.
[ He leans back in his seat again, giving a shrug. ]
All right. Comparatively, yes, the wolf sounds far less terrifying than that. And maybe he should find some reassurance in that, but after all these years with the curse—
Well. Maybe part of him feels the need to stick-up for the wolf, for all that it's made a shambles of his life. ]
It's not fluffy.
[ Flat, almost petulant, before he drains the rest of his glass. ]
Stories of those kinds of things haven't made their way up here. Surely would've heard 'em if they had.
[ A crooked smile tugs at Vasquez's lips, but he doesn't try to prod or tease Faraday for his wolf. ]
You'd never heard of what I am, perro, so are you surprised not all monsters have come this way?
Old creatures don't often leave what's familiar to them; their stories stay in their homes.
[ Many of the monsters that plague the world south of the border haunt fairytales more often than they ride in daylight and raid little towns. Vasquez has come to think many of their numbers have dwindled, that they've faded into folk stories or bedtime warnings whispered to little children.
His suspicion is only bolstered by the fact he hasn't met another of the caminante de sangre in almost a century. ]
Yeah. Not a one of them is nearly so reasonable as Sam.
[ Because Faraday has crossed paths with quite a few Hunters. None of them, until Sam, had ever recognized him for what he was. Hell, he's still not sure how Sam managed it, given that the only surefire ways to do it was to either stick a sprig of wolfsbane in his face and see how he reacted, or to toss him a bit of silver and see if it burned him. ]
They're different; they're called Guardianes. They live in towns, in their communities. They're less bounty hunters and more... shamans, I think you would call it. The knowledge is passed down, from one to their replacement.
People come to them for help, and they offer it.
[ Vasquez has been around the his fair share of Guardianes over the years, and they usually proved themselves a worthy threat. They never let the stories of the caminante de sangre die – which meant many (mortals and their kin) remembered to keep an obsidian dagger on their belts.
A relief, up north: he found less travelers kept obsidian handy. ]
{ He lets out a quiet sound as he takes a swig from his bottle, thinking back on the various stories he's heard of Hunters. Like he said, not all of them are as reasonable as Sam.
Quite a few of them were merely bullies, aiming to trick people out of their money with stories of creatures that go bump in the night. And some of them were just as bad as the monsters they claimed to protect people from.
It's also not a direct answer – because he doesn't have one. Vasquez has no idea where he's going after things settle. It's a departure from his original path back to Mexico, but... he doesn't feel the tug south, doesn't feel the need to run so fast and far.
He rubs his thumb across a knot in the table, considering the rest of his reply more carefully. ]
I don't know where I'm going, after. [ "After" what? ]
[ That strange twisting in his gut relaxes with the response. All things considered, it's hardly an answer, but it's better than, "Yep. Can't get out of here soon enough. Be seein' you, hombre."
He licks his lips, catching the taste of whiskey there.
Then, slowly, ]
Haven't quite figured out where I'm headed, either. Back to wanderin' probably.
[ He pauses, casting another wary eye to the slowly dimming sky outside. Still a bit of time left, but he probably needs to start heading out – first to strip, so he doesn't ruin yet another set of clothes, then to find a decent place to make the change, where no one might have the misfortune of stumbling upon the horrific display.
His gaze drops as his mind shifts, as he weighs how much the alcohol in his system might dampen the sting of a negative response. Well enough, he wagers, which is why he continues on in that same conversational timbre. ]
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no subject
I saw what happened last time. What it did to you.
[ There's the slightest thread of guilt in his voice. As insistent as he may be that he and the wolf are two separate entities, that doesn't stop him from being responsible for whatever the wolf does. ]
If it happens again, then I'm obliged to set it right.
no subject
But again, Vasquez understands the aversion to what he is. He understands how distasteful the idea of blood drinking may be.
He's just startled that Faraday is willing to overcome that for fair play. ]
... All right.
[ He nods once, tries to offer something vaguely lighter, ]
I can promise you won't die, perro.
no subject
Wouldn't that just be the way, though? You dig through my guts to save my life, only to have me as a morning snack.
It'd be a funny sorta irony.
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Ay, perro, la vida es una pendejada, y lo demás es consecuencia de la misma.
[ He raps the table with his knuckle once. ]
Would be just your luck after all this time being stuck in your bed, eh?
no subject
Crawl out of that stupid room, just to end up six feet under.
[ He shifts again, slouching in his chair and stretching out his legs, eating up space. He takes his glass with him, mindlessly tilting it to slowly swirl the whiskey. ]
S'pose you'd know all about life's weird bullshit– [ An unintentional echo, since he has no idea what Vasquez just said in his mother tongue. ] –considering you've been at this a while.
[ Not that Faraday knows exactly how old Vasquez is, or how long he's existed as a vampire. Still, he gets a faint idea – from the quieter moments, when he sees something in Vasquez's eyes, like he's slightly removed from it all. ]
no subject
I've seen a lot of it, sí.
[ Perhaps the understatement of the century. Or of the last couple of them.
And with a sharper, teasing grin, ]
You might still be some of its weirdest, my friend.
no subject
[ With all the false modesty his frame can muster. ]
I find that difficult to believe.
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None quite like you.
[ And his tone is still light, but there's an underlying truth to it that not even Vasquez seems to truly grasp. ]
no subject
On account of me turning into a wolf and, occasionally, wanting to eat people.
[ He's never talked about his curse so flippantly before – hell, he's never talked about his curse with anyone, full stop.
This experience with Rose Creek has been strange, even if it's also been strangely freeing. Everyone knows exactly what he is, and while he can tell more than a few folks are still wary, he also knows that they don't intend to chase him out of town or shoot him dead. Once he leaves – because there's clearly no way he could stay – he's going to sincerely miss that. ]
no subject
I've met plenty people who turn into all kinds of things – and most of them want to eat people, also.
[ But— it feels different, the way Faraday tosses around mention of the wolf, like it's less of a desperately shameful secret.
Interesting, even if Vasquez doesn't know what to do with it. ]
Your wolf at least is only big, nothing so monstrous.
no subject
[ When Faraday is the one in control, that is. When the wolf is relegated to some distance place in his mind and his body, waiting and prowling for its chance to take control.
Sometimes, Faraday takes a step back and lets it take over, even without the full moon – usually when he's on his own, exploring some lonely patch of forest or desert. Sometimes, he defers to the wolf's instincts to guide them – but it's surely not the same. It's like keeping the wolf in reins, ready to yank it back into submission at the slightest misstep. ]
You've seen what I change into, though. Don't know how you'd see that thing and not call it monstrous.
no subject
Because I have seen men who are half alligator – and worse, south of my home, there are creatures with great big smiles. [ He reaches up to drift his fingers up the corners of his mouth, drawing a line to his ears. ]
And down their throats are sharp spines that they stab into a man to suck out all his insides.
[ He leans back in his seat again, giving a shrug. ]
You turn fluffy.
no subject
All right. Comparatively, yes, the wolf sounds far less terrifying than that. And maybe he should find some reassurance in that, but after all these years with the curse—
Well. Maybe part of him feels the need to stick-up for the wolf, for all that it's made a shambles of his life. ]
It's not fluffy.
[ Flat, almost petulant, before he drains the rest of his glass. ]
Stories of those kinds of things haven't made their way up here. Surely would've heard 'em if they had.
no subject
You'd never heard of what I am, perro, so are you surprised not all monsters have come this way?
Old creatures don't often leave what's familiar to them; their stories stay in their homes.
[ Many of the monsters that plague the world south of the border haunt fairytales more often than they ride in daylight and raid little towns. Vasquez has come to think many of their numbers have dwindled, that they've faded into folk stories or bedtime warnings whispered to little children.
His suspicion is only bolstered by the fact he hasn't met another of the caminante de sangre in almost a century. ]
no subject
Instead, he just drags it across the table, closer to himself and within easy reach. ]
That just begs the question, then.
If you're so ancient, what are you doing so far north?
no subject
I've always wandered. My kind never stay in one place, but I don't know how many have survived long enough to make it this far.
[ A beat of consideration... ]
Or maybe they were smarter than me and kept away from these Hunters in your north.
no subject
Yeah. Not a one of them is nearly so reasonable as Sam.
[ Because Faraday has crossed paths with quite a few Hunters. None of them, until Sam, had ever recognized him for what he was. Hell, he's still not sure how Sam managed it, given that the only surefire ways to do it was to either stick a sprig of wolfsbane in his face and see how he reacted, or to toss him a bit of silver and see if it burned him. ]
You didn't have 'em where you're from?
no subject
People come to them for help, and they offer it.
[ Vasquez has been around the his fair share of Guardianes over the years, and they usually proved themselves a worthy threat. They never let the stories of the caminante de sangre die – which meant many (mortals and their kin) remembered to keep an obsidian dagger on their belts.
A relief, up north: he found less travelers kept obsidian handy. ]
no subject
{ He lets out a quiet sound as he takes a swig from his bottle, thinking back on the various stories he's heard of Hunters. Like he said, not all of them are as reasonable as Sam.
Quite a few of them were merely bullies, aiming to trick people out of their money with stories of creatures that go bump in the night. And some of them were just as bad as the monsters they claimed to protect people from.
A little wistfully, ]
Must be nice.
no subject
More peaceful, compared to here.
But it's like they see through you, just by looking in your face. Like they look to your soul.
[ He shakes his head, his lips pressed together with displeasure. ]
It makes it hard to pass into a town.
no subject
[ That was the exact sensation he had felt when Sam's gaze had fallen on him. ]
That why you came up this way? 'Cause them Guardians were makin' it too difficult for you?
no subject
[ As Vasquez had been, before Sam.
He breathes out a humorless laugh. ]
With the bounty on my head, that changed. I was going south when Sam found me.
no subject
[ His tone stays conversational – but something in his gut twists with it.
He's not entirely sure why he dreads the answer, but he still asks, ]
That where you're goin' after this?
no subject
[ It vanished centuries ago.
It's also not a direct answer – because he doesn't have one. Vasquez has no idea where he's going after things settle. It's a departure from his original path back to Mexico, but... he doesn't feel the tug south, doesn't feel the need to run so fast and far.
He rubs his thumb across a knot in the table, considering the rest of his reply more carefully. ]
I don't know where I'm going, after. [ "After" what? ]
no subject
He licks his lips, catching the taste of whiskey there.
Then, slowly, ]
Haven't quite figured out where I'm headed, either. Back to wanderin' probably.
[ He pauses, casting another wary eye to the slowly dimming sky outside. Still a bit of time left, but he probably needs to start heading out – first to strip, so he doesn't ruin yet another set of clothes, then to find a decent place to make the change, where no one might have the misfortune of stumbling upon the horrific display.
His gaze drops as his mind shifts, as he weighs how much the alcohol in his system might dampen the sting of a negative response. Well enough, he wagers, which is why he continues on in that same conversational timbre. ]
Suppose there'd be sense in travelin' in numbers.
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