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. ]
[ There's a hesitation in Faraday's tone that draws Vasquez's attention. Sometimes, Vasquez feels like he's pressing a boot tentatively to a sheet of ice, testing his weight before he reaches out; it's difficult to trust the surface, when he's spent decades keeping himself alive by doing the exact opposite.
He doesn't know how he's hoping Faraday will follow up his thought. He doesn't know what the flicker of— something in his chest actually is. He doesn't know where Faraday is leading them, and then—
Oh.
Vasquez's brows rise, though he doesn't look wary or uncertain.
More like surprised. Pleased.
He isn't hesitant in his own reply, but he doesn't leap at it as his first instinct demands. He sounds decisive. ]
[ Maybe it's the liquor, or maybe it's the sheer relief, but the certainty in the reply makes him look up at Vasquez, makes him grin – a crookedly, maybe, thanks to the drink, genuine, all the same. ]
Yeah? I wouldn't mind that.
[ Though the mildness of Faraday's response is belied by the brightness of his eyes and his smile. He tries to smother his grin, hiding it behind the neck of his bottle as he lifts it up to his mouth. ]
You'd have to travel during the day, though. I've seen how sleepy you can get when the sun's out.
[ There's something infectious about that little grin of Faraday's, and some of that brightness is reflected back as Vasquez watches the gambler drink straight from the bottle.
With Faraday's point, Vasquez just gives a small shrug. ]
I have done it before. As long as I get to rest a few hours, I'll be fine.
[ He's sluggish during the daylight hours, but he's functional, certainly, and he doesn't have to shy away from the sun, like others he's encountered. ]
It helps if I feed more often, but since you have to eat everyday, I can do the same.
[ Vasquez doesn't need nightly feedings, and he can go days – a week, at most – without blood. It does take a physical toll, if he can't find anything, even small meals, but he does best on a full belly. ]
[ Faraday nearly makes a joke about not being able to offer himself up for nightly feedings, but considering the strange, prickliness from earlier about Vasquez's feeding habits – and considering Faraday's still not entirely sure what set that off – he decides against it. Partially because he doesn't want to goad Vasquez into changing his mind, and partially because he's still not entirely sure what is and isn't safe to joke about regarding the vampire's nature.
He does, apparently, have some sense of tact. ]
We'll get it sorted.
[ And he echoes some of Vasquez's earlier determination.
Faraday wonders, briefly, if Sam intended to throw two monsters together and expected them to establish this sort of partnership, or if he'll be ruing the day he introduced them. ]
[ This is also offered with the easy confidence of before. He knows it’s no simple task to keep Faraday’s wolf in check, but he’s also not concerned about making it out the other side.
[ He lifts the bottle to his lips with one hand, and with his other hand, he waves a little dismissively. The gesture is small, in deference to the half-healed wound high on his bicep, but the meaning is the same.
I know, I hear ya.
With one last healthy swig in his system, he corks the bottle, sliding it across the table to Vasquez – either as an offering to keep Faraday company, or an unspoken request for Vasquez to hold onto it for him for the morning.
Hard to say.
He collects his crutch, pushing himself to his feet. Unsurprisingly, he's unsteady, and the room tilts. Granted, he's used to both of those things, thanks to the various wounds and bruises littering his body and the medicine he'd been given to dull the pain. But this time, it's familiar, accompanied with a sort of fuzzy warmth and tingling in his limbs.
When he manages to stay upright, he starts hobbling his way toward the entrance. He pauses as he's limping past Vasquez.
He forces his voice to remain mild, forces himself to shove out that little thread of hope, though he's not sure how successful he is. ]
[ Vasquez has no intention of trying to mind Faraday, even if he points out the time. (It’s more deference to how much Faraday has gulped down in the past few hours; he can understand needing a reminder.) Faraday is a grown man, after all, and even if Vasquez may find himself dog-sitting on full moons, Faraday is plenty capable.
His gaze follows the bottle Faraday slides over, and he sits up a little straighter as Faraday sways, ready to reach out and steady him. Somehow, the man is still on his feet.
It’s become almost habit to accompany Faraday during his change, to be with him through the night, but now that Faraday is on his feet again, Vasquez finds he doesn’t immediately want to assume Faraday wants his company.
And then —
Vasquez smothers his smile as he gets to his feet, grabbing the whiskey by the neck. He steps back from the table, gesturing forward to the door. ]
[ It's patently ridiculous that he holds his breath for an answer, steeling himself for disappointment. The agreement that comes instead coaxes another small, crooked half-smile from Faraday, before he forces it away.
He leads them out, the sky darkening bit by slow bit, gold and orange giving way to blue and purple. He's not cutting it close, exactly, but with as hobbled as he is, there isn't much time to dawdle.
The past few weeks, Faraday has been making the change in the privacy of his room in the boardinghouse – mostly out of necessity, considering he was mostly bedridden. Now that he's up and around – or at least, now that he's out, as unwise as it may be – being boxed in by those four walls for yet another night makes his stomach churn.
So he turns to the fields instead, the grasses still burned and stained with blood, some areas still stinking of rot. There's a decently secluded spot near the back of the livery that should be private enough to make the shift.
When they reach the spot – away from the town and prying eyes – Faraday starts to strip. Tugging the shirt off reveals the bandages wrapped around his arm and waist, the fading yellow bruises littering his torso, and that ever-present bite mark wrapped around his side, still a vibrant red, after all these years.
Kicking off his boots is easy enough, but kicking off his pants proves to be an issue, and he reluctantly gestures for Vasquez to step closer, to let Faraday rest a hand on his shoulder for balance – mostly because of the wound at his leg, but the booze certainly isn't helping matters.
It all strikes him as slightly hilarious, which is why he chuckles a little at himself – especially when he shifts, nearly losing his balance. ]
[ Vasquez follows where Faraday leads, not inclined to question where they're going. He'd be surprised if Faraday wanted to spend another night in the boarding house, especially when he has the ability to enjoy the fresh air, the taste of the evening outside four oppressive walls.
When they reach Faraday's place of choice, Vasquez sets down the whiskey, off to the side, glancing back up when Faraday gestures him closer.
Ah, right.
Vasquez steps in just as Faraday wobbles, and he catches him with a hand on his elbow, the other at his waist (the side without the healing bullet hole). He grins at Faraday, amusement flickering in his eyes. ]
You're going to end up doing more damage to yourself before the change, perro.
[ He barks out a laugh, regaining his balance and offering Vasquez a companionable pat on his shoulder in place of a spoken word of thanks. He flashes him another bright, crooked grin. ]
Could do.
[ In a surprisingly agreeable tone. The drink, it seems, does a great deal to sand away a lot of Faraday's prickliness. ]
Can't be any worse than I was before.
[ This, as he's undoing his belt and working at the fastenings of his jeans, one-handed. It should be faster than this, admittedly, but with the whiskey doing its work, and with his arm made weak with the wound in his bicep, he's a little clumsy. ]
And if I end up knockin' myself out, well, at least then I won't have to deal with this bullshit.
[ Fortunately for Faraday, Vasquez is patient enough with the circumstances not to mind the time it's taking for him to ditch his clothes. Better this than have to replace it all.
He huffs out a short laugh. ]
Fair enough.
[ He lets Faraday keep leaning his weight on him, though he glances down to sneak a peek at the fumbling he can hear Faraday doing with his belt.
His grin is goodnatured, and if Faraday didn't look ready to tip over, he might have elbowed the gambler in the arm. ]
You finished a lot of the bottle even before I joined you, eh? You sure you don't need any help?
[ Another snort, as he manages to unfasten the button on his jeans. ]
Told you once, I'll tell you again – been doin' on this my own a lot longer'n I've known you.
[ Maybe modesty would demand that Faraday step away as he's stripping, but Vasquez has seen enough of him &ndeash; especially during his convalescence, when he couldn't do much on his own with how battered his body was – that Faraday doesn't do much more than angle himself away. ]
'Sides. Takes a lot more sweetness than you're capable of offerin' for me to accept any offers to strip me down.
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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. ]
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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?
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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.
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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?
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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.
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[ 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?
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[ 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.
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[ 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?
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[ 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.
no subject
He doesn't know how he's hoping Faraday will follow up his thought. He doesn't know what the flicker of— something in his chest actually is. He doesn't know where Faraday is leading them, and then—
Oh.
Vasquez's brows rise, though he doesn't look wary or uncertain.
More like surprised. Pleased.
He isn't hesitant in his own reply, but he doesn't leap at it as his first instinct demands. He sounds decisive. ]
Then we wander together, perrito.
no subject
Yeah? I wouldn't mind that.
[ Though the mildness of Faraday's response is belied by the brightness of his eyes and his smile. He tries to smother his grin, hiding it behind the neck of his bottle as he lifts it up to his mouth. ]
You'd have to travel during the day, though. I've seen how sleepy you can get when the sun's out.
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With Faraday's point, Vasquez just gives a small shrug. ]
I have done it before. As long as I get to rest a few hours, I'll be fine.
[ He's sluggish during the daylight hours, but he's functional, certainly, and he doesn't have to shy away from the sun, like others he's encountered. ]
It helps if I feed more often, but since you have to eat everyday, I can do the same.
[ Vasquez doesn't need nightly feedings, and he can go days – a week, at most – without blood. It does take a physical toll, if he can't find anything, even small meals, but he does best on a full belly. ]
no subject
He does, apparently, have some sense of tact. ]
We'll get it sorted.
[ And he echoes some of Vasquez's earlier determination.
Faraday wonders, briefly, if Sam intended to throw two monsters together and expected them to establish this sort of partnership, or if he'll be ruing the day he introduced them. ]
Got another full moon to get through, first.
no subject
[ This is also offered with the easy confidence of before. He knows it’s no simple task to keep Faraday’s wolf in check, but he’s also not concerned about making it out the other side.
He lifts his chin, nodding to the window. ]
Speaking of, perrito.
no subject
I know, I hear ya.
With one last healthy swig in his system, he corks the bottle, sliding it across the table to Vasquez – either as an offering to keep Faraday company, or an unspoken request for Vasquez to hold onto it for him for the morning.
Hard to say.
He collects his crutch, pushing himself to his feet. Unsurprisingly, he's unsteady, and the room tilts. Granted, he's used to both of those things, thanks to the various wounds and bruises littering his body and the medicine he'd been given to dull the pain. But this time, it's familiar, accompanied with a sort of fuzzy warmth and tingling in his limbs.
When he manages to stay upright, he starts hobbling his way toward the entrance. He pauses as he's limping past Vasquez.
He forces his voice to remain mild, forces himself to shove out that little thread of hope, though he's not sure how successful he is. ]
Comin'?
no subject
His gaze follows the bottle Faraday slides over, and he sits up a little straighter as Faraday sways, ready to reach out and steady him. Somehow, the man is still on his feet.
It’s become almost habit to accompany Faraday during his change, to be with him through the night, but now that Faraday is on his feet again, Vasquez finds he doesn’t immediately want to assume Faraday wants his company.
And then —
Vasquez smothers his smile as he gets to his feet, grabbing the whiskey by the neck. He steps back from the table, gesturing forward to the door. ]
Lead the way, my friend.
no subject
He leads them out, the sky darkening bit by slow bit, gold and orange giving way to blue and purple. He's not cutting it close, exactly, but with as hobbled as he is, there isn't much time to dawdle.
The past few weeks, Faraday has been making the change in the privacy of his room in the boardinghouse – mostly out of necessity, considering he was mostly bedridden. Now that he's up and around – or at least, now that he's out, as unwise as it may be – being boxed in by those four walls for yet another night makes his stomach churn.
So he turns to the fields instead, the grasses still burned and stained with blood, some areas still stinking of rot. There's a decently secluded spot near the back of the livery that should be private enough to make the shift.
When they reach the spot – away from the town and prying eyes – Faraday starts to strip. Tugging the shirt off reveals the bandages wrapped around his arm and waist, the fading yellow bruises littering his torso, and that ever-present bite mark wrapped around his side, still a vibrant red, after all these years.
Kicking off his boots is easy enough, but kicking off his pants proves to be an issue, and he reluctantly gestures for Vasquez to step closer, to let Faraday rest a hand on his shoulder for balance – mostly because of the wound at his leg, but the booze certainly isn't helping matters.
It all strikes him as slightly hilarious, which is why he chuckles a little at himself – especially when he shifts, nearly losing his balance. ]
no subject
When they reach Faraday's place of choice, Vasquez sets down the whiskey, off to the side, glancing back up when Faraday gestures him closer.
Ah, right.
Vasquez steps in just as Faraday wobbles, and he catches him with a hand on his elbow, the other at his waist (the side without the healing bullet hole). He grins at Faraday, amusement flickering in his eyes. ]
You're going to end up doing more damage to yourself before the change, perro.
no subject
Could do.
[ In a surprisingly agreeable tone. The drink, it seems, does a great deal to sand away a lot of Faraday's prickliness. ]
Can't be any worse than I was before.
[ This, as he's undoing his belt and working at the fastenings of his jeans, one-handed. It should be faster than this, admittedly, but with the whiskey doing its work, and with his arm made weak with the wound in his bicep, he's a little clumsy. ]
And if I end up knockin' myself out, well, at least then I won't have to deal with this bullshit.
no subject
He huffs out a short laugh. ]
Fair enough.
[ He lets Faraday keep leaning his weight on him, though he glances down to sneak a peek at the fumbling he can hear Faraday doing with his belt.
His grin is goodnatured, and if Faraday didn't look ready to tip over, he might have elbowed the gambler in the arm. ]
You finished a lot of the bottle even before I joined you, eh? You sure you don't need any help?
no subject
Told you once, I'll tell you again – been doin' on this my own a lot longer'n I've known you.
[ Maybe modesty would demand that Faraday step away as he's stripping, but Vasquez has seen enough of him &ndeash; especially during his convalescence, when he couldn't do much on his own with how battered his body was – that Faraday doesn't do much more than angle himself away. ]
'Sides. Takes a lot more sweetness than you're capable of offerin' for me to accept any offers to strip me down.
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