[ 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.
[ Vasquez is polite enough to turn his eyes away as Faraday manages to get his jeans undone – more to offer Faraday the courtesy than because he hasn't seen basically every inch of the man in his varying states.
Vasquez is an asshole, but he's still willing to grant a man his dignity.
His chuckle is a little lower, but warm. ]
I think we both know I do not do "sweet" much, perrito.
[ He's not incapable of it, and he does have plenty of charm in his pocket; he usually prefers to woo his meal, after all, and it's much easier to enjoy a feeding when his prey isn't grouchy or terrified.
But with Faraday? He doesn't feel like he needs pretenses of charisma to keep him around.
And, really, if he did, Vasquez wouldn't bother. ]
[ His mood is definitely lighter than usual – and while the drink has a lot to do with it, the fact that Faraday doesn't have to keep counting down the days where he finally loses this. The camaraderie, the banter, the almost flippant treatment of the disease darkening his veins. The fact that he can go into the change with a laugh, rather than curling in on himself and hoping desperately that no one will see him making the change, or hating every goddamn second and cursing his own existence.
There's no telling how long Vasquez will wander with him, but at least he knows it doesn't have to end the second they both depart from Rose Creek.
The last few bits of daylight are fading, and Faraday's eyes flicker gold before he grimaces, doubling over like he's taken a blow to the gut. He's still gripping Vasquez's shoulder, but he wraps his other arm around his middle, guarding the gash on his side, reaching for the wound at his back. ]
[ It's— nice, seeing Faraday in such a good mood, seeing those easy laughs and smiles. It's contagious, even if Vasquez is sure it's just the whiskey getting to him or maybe the relief of being out of that damned room.
Whatever has done it, he finds he's glad to be around to enjoy it.
The sun dips lower, the light fading faster, and Vasquez can practically feel the shift in the air as the first wave hits Faraday. He doesn't try to step back, doesn't try to put distance between them, and he just braces Faraday's elbow, gives him something to hold onto for now.
Vasquez curses low under his breath, his eyes flickering to the horizon and back to Faraday. ]
Estoy aquí.
[ For all the good it does him, at least he wants Faraday to remember he's not alone, to maybe focus on that – just enough – while he weathers the change. ]
[ He wants to grumble, "Speak English," but the words are stolen from him when another wave hits him, sending him to his knees. His hand is still twisted into the fabric of Vasquez's shirt, but Faraday feels Vasquez's grip on his elbow, providing him an anchor. He flashes Vasquez a grateful look, his eyes that familiar shade of gold. ]
Step back.
[ A warning, rather than a desperate command, and even in that brief statement, Faraday's voice shifts from human to something strange. His breathing sharpens, grows ragged, as he forces himself to release the vampire's shirt, wrapping both arms around himself.
It's never pretty, the transformation. It's never easy, either, even with all the years of forced practice. His health being what it is, these days, doesn't help in the slightest, but it seems the whiskey certainly does.
His bones crack and shift beneath his skin, his muscles and tendons stretching and lengthening – but his shouts and groans aren't quite as sharp as when he first stopped taking the laudanum. He's certainly not quiet, because short of being fully unconscious for it, the change will never be anything but agonizing – but he's quieter, which is— something.
Not much, but something.
And when the transformation is over, when the last rays of daylight have been snuffed out, he collapses, a heap of fur struggling to catch his breath. He aches like he's roused all those faded bruises, like he's torn open all those wounds again, even if a logical corner of his brain knows that physically, he's probably fine. ]
[ Vasquez doesn't move, doesn't leave Faraday's side until his fingers finally release Vasquez's shirt. He finally heeds that warning, taking a few steps away to give Faraday the room he needs for the brutal transformation. Having witnessed it so many times, watching Faraday, hearing and seeing what it does to the man's body, Vasquez is still amazed that Faraday can tolerate it.
Not like the gambler has much of a choice.
When the wolf lies where Faraday used to be, Vasquez moves forward again, kneeling down with him. ]
All right, perro?
[ Without even thinking about it, he reaches out to rest a hand on the top of Faraday's head – not really petting, but offering the point of contact again. ]
[ His breathing is rough, but slowly, it starts to even out as he gets his bearings.
When Vasquez touches him, Faraday lifts his head, looking at him a little blearily. At his question, Faraday lets out a low rumble.
Seems so.
It's awkward, it's slow, but he tries to maneuver himself upright. His shoulder and hind leg throb in time with his heartbeat, even with the whiskey dulling the sharpness, and he tries to put as little weight on them as possible – which means mostly balancing on two legs.
[ Vasquez drops his hand as Faraday tries to stand, instead keeping his palms up to brace Faraday as he tries to stand. He can see how awkward it is for the wolf to get up, and he offers a wry smile. ]
You'd think it might be easier with the four legs, eh?
[ Faraday chuckles a little, though in this form, it comes out more like a few quick puffs of air.
He carefully tests his weight on his front leg, and while it still aches, it's manageable. He knows without trying that putting too much weight on his hind leg is liable to send him straight to the ground again, so he doesn't attempt it.
He's steady on his feet, for the most part, aside from a slight, telltale sway from the liquor, but he looks up at Vasquez expectantly, like he's asking, Where to? ]
[ Faraday seems to steady, and Vasquez takes that as reassurance enough, climbing up to his feet. Even like this, Vasquez can still read that anticipatory look in Faraday's eyes, and he cocks an eyebrow at him. ]
I don't know where you think you're going like this, my friend. We try to get anywhere farther than here, and I doubt your legs will hold you long.
[ Faraday's eyes narrow, and if he could, he would immediately start arguing. Clearly he's not physically in a fantastic state, but he could surely manage to wander, at the very least.
In lieu of words, Faraday lets out a low, annoyed growl.
The question interrupts him, and unsurprisingly, Faraday had been preoccupied with drinking that eating fell by the wayside. The last time he had any proper food was probably around midday.
[ Apparently the response is agreeable enough for Faraday, because he starts heading in that direction without further prompting.
His gait is awkward, and while his front leg is reluctantly holding his weight for the time being, he's still favoring it. His hind leg, however, is another matter entirely, and he keeps it lifted, close to his body. ]
[ Vasquez doesn't drastically change his pace, if only because he doesn't want Faraday feeling that he's being accommodated.
(Even if he is.)
Vasquez leads the way into the woods, and though Rose Creek isn't a rowdy or loud place to be, there's always a sense of peace that comes being away from structures and the latent thundering of a host of hearts. He pauses in the treeline, closing his eyes as he turns his face up to the stars.
After a beat, he glances over at Faraday with a wry smile. ]
[ Faraday, for once, is content to follow, limping along in Vasquez’s wake. The other man doesn’t get too far ahead, but neither does he make any obvious pauses in an attempt to let Faraday catch up – and both things do wonders for Faraday’s sense of pride.
Secretly, that’s what he appreciates about Vasquez. The vampire doesn’t cut him those worried looks, doesn’t wear those pitying moues when he thinks Faraday isn’t looking, doesn’t treat him like he’s thin, delicate porcelain, liable to crack at the slightest touch. He hangs around, of course, but his company is far from smothering – and racked with pain as Faraday might have been in those early days, he was at least aware enough to catch that familiar scent close by. Cigar smoke and sweat, gun oil and death, and something warm and familiar and earthy. Sun-warmed dust and stone.
(a small feeling. something that took in the scent and concluded, ally)
He lifts his head at the question and seems to give it some thought.
Eventually, he cocks his head one way then the other in a gesture that’s probably meant to be a shrug.
[ As it turns out, wolves can, in fact, petulantly glare – or at the very least, Faraday’s wolf can.
And so he does, and he accompanies it with a low, exasperated growl.
Annoying bastard.
He halfheartedly snaps at Vasquez’s hat, too, once he doffs it, just to prove a point. Even with Vasquez doing him a favor – by offering his time, by keeping Faraday company, by not treating Faraday like a goddamn invalid incapable of taking even three steps under his own power – Faraday apparently has no qualms with petty acts of retribution.
[ "Charm," indeed, and Vasquez pauses long enough to kick a small twig back in Faraday's direction.
So there.
Vasquez disappears into the woods, silence replacing the fall of boots on grass. Hunting comes as naturally to him as breathing, and for all that the caminante de sangre and their gifts are made for elegance, they're also predators. (Another facet of the duality of Tezcatlipoca, Vasquez would guess.) He can hear the animals of the forest, breath and heartbeats, those asleep and the ones who wander in the dark.
Hooves draw his attention, and he slows, quiets, until his only point of focus is the deer. The moment is quick, the death – painless; the animal doesn't even realize something's happen before its neck is snapped and its body goes limp.
Vasquez catches the buck before it hits the bed of leaves beneath them.
Nothing if not efficient, Vasquez returns to Faraday in under twenty minutes to present dinner. He pulls the deer off of his shoulder, dropping it without ceremony onto the grass. ]
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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'?
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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.
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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.
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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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Vasquez is an asshole, but he's still willing to grant a man his dignity.
His chuckle is a little lower, but warm. ]
I think we both know I do not do "sweet" much, perrito.
[ He's not incapable of it, and he does have plenty of charm in his pocket; he usually prefers to woo his meal, after all, and it's much easier to enjoy a feeding when his prey isn't grouchy or terrified.
But with Faraday? He doesn't feel like he needs pretenses of charisma to keep him around.
And, really, if he did, Vasquez wouldn't bother. ]
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More's the pity.
[ His mood is definitely lighter than usual – and while the drink has a lot to do with it, the fact that Faraday doesn't have to keep counting down the days where he finally loses this. The camaraderie, the banter, the almost flippant treatment of the disease darkening his veins. The fact that he can go into the change with a laugh, rather than curling in on himself and hoping desperately that no one will see him making the change, or hating every goddamn second and cursing his own existence.
There's no telling how long Vasquez will wander with him, but at least he knows it doesn't have to end the second they both depart from Rose Creek.
The last few bits of daylight are fading, and Faraday's eyes flicker gold before he grimaces, doubling over like he's taken a blow to the gut. He's still gripping Vasquez's shoulder, but he wraps his other arm around his middle, guarding the gash on his side, reaching for the wound at his back. ]
Shit—
no subject
Whatever has done it, he finds he's glad to be around to enjoy it.
The sun dips lower, the light fading faster, and Vasquez can practically feel the shift in the air as the first wave hits Faraday. He doesn't try to step back, doesn't try to put distance between them, and he just braces Faraday's elbow, gives him something to hold onto for now.
Vasquez curses low under his breath, his eyes flickering to the horizon and back to Faraday. ]
Estoy aquí.
[ For all the good it does him, at least he wants Faraday to remember he's not alone, to maybe focus on that – just enough – while he weathers the change. ]
no subject
Step back.
[ A warning, rather than a desperate command, and even in that brief statement, Faraday's voice shifts from human to something strange. His breathing sharpens, grows ragged, as he forces himself to release the vampire's shirt, wrapping both arms around himself.
It's never pretty, the transformation. It's never easy, either, even with all the years of forced practice. His health being what it is, these days, doesn't help in the slightest, but it seems the whiskey certainly does.
His bones crack and shift beneath his skin, his muscles and tendons stretching and lengthening – but his shouts and groans aren't quite as sharp as when he first stopped taking the laudanum. He's certainly not quiet, because short of being fully unconscious for it, the change will never be anything but agonizing – but he's quieter, which is— something.
Not much, but something.
And when the transformation is over, when the last rays of daylight have been snuffed out, he collapses, a heap of fur struggling to catch his breath. He aches like he's roused all those faded bruises, like he's torn open all those wounds again, even if a logical corner of his brain knows that physically, he's probably fine. ]
no subject
Not like the gambler has much of a choice.
When the wolf lies where Faraday used to be, Vasquez moves forward again, kneeling down with him. ]
All right, perro?
[ Without even thinking about it, he reaches out to rest a hand on the top of Faraday's head – not really petting, but offering the point of contact again. ]
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When Vasquez touches him, Faraday lifts his head, looking at him a little blearily. At his question, Faraday lets out a low rumble.
Seems so.
It's awkward, it's slow, but he tries to maneuver himself upright. His shoulder and hind leg throb in time with his heartbeat, even with the whiskey dulling the sharpness, and he tries to put as little weight on them as possible – which means mostly balancing on two legs.
It's not ideal. ]
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You'd think it might be easier with the four legs, eh?
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He carefully tests his weight on his front leg, and while it still aches, it's manageable. He knows without trying that putting too much weight on his hind leg is liable to send him straight to the ground again, so he doesn't attempt it.
He's steady on his feet, for the most part, aside from a slight, telltale sway from the liquor, but he looks up at Vasquez expectantly, like he's asking, Where to? ]
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I don't know where you think you're going like this, my friend. We try to get anywhere farther than here, and I doubt your legs will hold you long.
[ A brief beat of pause, and then, ]
Ah, but have you eaten yet?
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In lieu of words, Faraday lets out a low, annoyed growl.
The question interrupts him, and unsurprisingly, Faraday had been preoccupied with drinking that eating fell by the wayside. The last time he had any proper food was probably around midday.
He gives a quick shake of his head. ]
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[ He nods out to the woods beyond Rose Creek, where he knows they're likelier to find a rabbit or a deer.
... Vasquez expects to do the catching for now, but he's not bothered. ]
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His gait is awkward, and while his front leg is reluctantly holding his weight for the time being, he's still favoring it. His hind leg, however, is another matter entirely, and he keeps it lifted, close to his body. ]
no subject
(Even if he is.)
Vasquez leads the way into the woods, and though Rose Creek isn't a rowdy or loud place to be, there's always a sense of peace that comes being away from structures and the latent thundering of a host of hearts. He pauses in the treeline, closing his eyes as he turns his face up to the stars.
After a beat, he glances over at Faraday with a wry smile. ]
So, perro. A rabbit? A buck?
no subject
Secretly, that’s what he appreciates about Vasquez. The vampire doesn’t cut him those worried looks, doesn’t wear those pitying moues when he thinks Faraday isn’t looking, doesn’t treat him like he’s thin, delicate porcelain, liable to crack at the slightest touch. He hangs around, of course, but his company is far from smothering – and racked with pain as Faraday might have been in those early days, he was at least aware enough to catch that familiar scent close by. Cigar smoke and sweat, gun oil and death, and something warm and familiar and earthy. Sun-warmed dust and stone.
(a small feeling. something that took in the scent and concluded, ally)
He lifts his head at the question and seems to give it some thought.
Eventually, he cocks his head one way then the other in a gesture that’s probably meant to be a shrug.
I’m not picky. ]
no subject
(He'd taunt Faraday sometimes, say he preferred fewer words out of the gambler's mouth – but it's only to get a rise out of him.)
Vasquez hums, plucking off his hat. ]
Then stay here and try to keep it down. Wouldn't want to scare away dinner, eh?
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And so he does, and he accompanies it with a low, exasperated growl.
Annoying bastard.
He halfheartedly snaps at Vasquez’s hat, too, once he doffs it, just to prove a point. Even with Vasquez doing him a favor – by offering his time, by keeping Faraday company, by not treating Faraday like a goddamn invalid incapable of taking even three steps under his own power – Faraday apparently has no qualms with petty acts of retribution.
Part of his charm. ]
no subject
So there.
Vasquez disappears into the woods, silence replacing the fall of boots on grass. Hunting comes as naturally to him as breathing, and for all that the caminante de sangre and their gifts are made for elegance, they're also predators. (Another facet of the duality of Tezcatlipoca, Vasquez would guess.) He can hear the animals of the forest, breath and heartbeats, those asleep and the ones who wander in the dark.
Hooves draw his attention, and he slows, quiets, until his only point of focus is the deer. The moment is quick, the death – painless; the animal doesn't even realize something's happen before its neck is snapped and its body goes limp.
Vasquez catches the buck before it hits the bed of leaves beneath them.
Nothing if not efficient, Vasquez returns to Faraday in under twenty minutes to present dinner. He pulls the deer off of his shoulder, dropping it without ceremony onto the grass. ]
Que aproveche, perrito.
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