He's pissed. The sun hasn't even set, and the evening already isn't going the way he figured it would. He figured Vasquez would have the good sense – and the self of preservation – to keep his guns on him, to have those silver bullets chambered and ready for the wolf.
Obviously Faraday doesn't want to go through the experience of getting shot again, assuming he survives it, but he's always prided himself on being practical. If faced with a bloodthirsty, nearly unstoppable monster, it's always wisest to arm yourself with what can stop it.
He works at the fastening of his jeans. ]
For the record, Sam's gonna think you're a goddamn idiot, too. And if we both come back from this, I ain't explainin' to him why you're missin' half your body.
[ Maybe? Vasquez has never lost an appendage to test the theory, and he's content to continue that pattern.
But he still doesn't think he needs the silver bullets. He's confident that he can physically handle the wolf, and with Faraday's consent, he has few compunctions about sinking his teeth into the wolf to let it tire itself out with anemia. ]
[ Vasquez snorts out a short laugh, giving Faraday a pat on the shoulder as he gets to his feet. ]
Have a little faith, my friend.
[ He doesn't expect the evening to be easy, but he also feels more prepared this time – at least knowing what to expect. Last time, he underestimated the wolf, but, even if the creature has the potential to be slowed by healing wounds, he won't make the same mistake tonight. ]
[ Angry as Faraday is, he still shoots Vasquez a sharp, heated glare. They’re certainly going to talk about this, should they both manage to survive the night. Faraday is far from done berating Vasquez’s lack of intelligence and his misplaced sense of confidence.
Once his clothing is tossed away, he settles back, breathing through the familiar chills that run through him – exclusive to the full moon, when the wolf fights for control of his body. He wipes at the cold sweat on his brow again, tipping his head back against the wooden wall of the shed. ]
Whatever you’ve gotta do, don’t let it bite anyone.
[ This demand sobers some of Vasquez's projected confidence. He may be less concerned about how he'll come out of the night, but other casualties are not negotiable.
He nods once. ]
You have my word.
[ Faraday won't wake with lives on his hands – corpses or a newly-infected victim. ]
[ That, at least, manages to dampen some of his anger, and while he still certainly looks irritated, he manages to give Vasquez a grateful little nod.
With the sky darkening and darkening, Faraday knows there isn’t much time left. He licks his lips, readjusting himself on the floor to sit on his haunches. ]
Try not to die.
[ His voice is strained, breathing growing erratic as the wolf rises to the surface, but he still casts it out as a feeble joke – though he means it.
It’d be at least a little funny, he thinks a little darkly, to hitch your wagon to someone else’s, only to be the one that wrecks it.
[ The crook in his smile lacks genuine amusement, and he takes a few extra steps back; there's little room in this small shed, but he needs to offer Faraday what he can.
... And to make it harder for the wolf to snatch Vasquez up in his teeth. ]
[ Mighty optimistic of you, is what Faraday wants to say.
But he's interrupted when his eyes flash gold, when something in him cracks, and he doubles over with a startled grunt.
It's the same as it always is – hideous and agonizing and awful, even with the booze in his system helping to dull the pain. His screams turn to guttural, canine groans, interspersed with the grinding of bone and snapping of muscle. The only difference between this and a normal night is the queer way he can feel his mind slipping sideways, fading away into sleep.
The wolf falls to the floorboards, kicking up a faint cloud of dust as it wheezes. Its body throbs in a way it's hardly ever felt, and for a few seconds, it whines to itself, licking at a scar on its hind leg. ]
[ There's a bitter twinge Vasquez always feels when he watches Faraday transform (because seeing him in pain is—).
But there lies the wolf, trying to get its bearings. Vasquez keeps his posture relaxed (but ready) as he maintains their distance. He keeps his hands visible, but he's still just a flinch away from the silver in his pocket. ]
Sore, eh? I can only imagine.
[ A flash of sympathy crosses his face as the wolf licks at a healed-over wound that Vasquez knows well. ]
[ It jerks to attention, gold eyes focusing on Vasquez. Slowly, it rises to its feet, ignoring the protests of the various wounds across its body. Its ears swivel forward, hackles raised and tail held out.
It sniffs at the air, takes in the scent of cigar smoke and gunpowder, sawdust and sweat. The stench of old blood and old flesh and death.
If it recognizes Vasquez from their last run-in, it shows no signs of it; instead, it snarls baring its fangs. ]
[ Vasquez lifts his hands up, palms out, and he takes a demonstrative step back – as much as the shed allows.
He doesn't want to present a threat too early, doesn't want to look challenging. Ironic, that he's actively trying not to bait Faraday, considering their usual back-and-forth. But animals don't understand bickering and banter, and he's not fool enough to try offering it. ]
Easy. Easy, perrito.
[ His voice takes on that rolling timbre, smooth like velvet and sweet like chocolate, with an underlying command. ]
[ One of its ears twitches at that alien tug, and unconsciously, its growling quiets. It doesn't relax from that aggressive stance, muscles still coiled tightly and ready to leap at the slightest provocation, but its gaze loses a bit of its sharpness.
Slowly, the wolf starts to circle around in the confined space, getting the lay of the land while sizing the man up. The stench of wolfsbane muddles its senses, and the wolf snorts, trying to clear the stink from its nostrils. The dried herb keeps it from getting a good idea of what lies outside – but it thinks it catches the smell of cooking meats and old, dried blood. Its stomach yawns, and the wolf lifts its head, sniffing for a trace of fresh air, something that might signal a weakness in the walls. ]
[ The answer of "Out" isn't altogether a surprise. Of course the wolf wants to be out in the night air, and considering how much it tends to eat on these moons, Vasquez can't blame it.
Vasquez moves with the wolf, keeping the beast at his front. He watches it sniff around the walls, and after a moment longer, he gestures to the door. ]
I let you out, and you go into the woods.
[ He doesn't mind following behind while the wolf devours whatever it likes (shy of people), but he's hoping he can at least redirect it without needing to physically drag it around on the silver chain. ]
[ It refocuses on the man again, intent and focused, once it feels that strange tug again. The words are foreign to it, but somehow, the wolf still understands the meaning. A bargain and a command, all in one.
It doesn't answer – how could it? – but it seems to accept the deal by reluctantly padding to the door and sitting on its haunches beside it. It waits, staring at the man all the while. ]
This isn't a sign guaranteeing the whole tune of the evening, but at least this is easier.
As the wolf takes a seat, looking expectantly back at Vasquez, some of the tension eases out of the vampire's shoulders. He's careful about his approach, keeping his hands visible and his movement trackable, until he can lift away the wood barring the door. He steps back, out of the way, to let the wolf bolt as Vasquez expects it to. ]
[ As it turns out, the wolf is predictable, at least to some degree, and when the bar falls away, the wolf lunges forward, bursting through the door. Once again, the poor thing is nearly taken off its hinges with a metallic screech.
The ring of wolfsbane gives it pause, makes it snarl in protest, but it rallies itself and leaps – and nearly collapses to the ground when its injuries shriek at the strain and the impact of its landing. It yelps, staggering, but instead of succumbing, it manages to get its balance again, keeping its hind leg lifted to avoid putting weight on it.
It turns gold eyes fixing on Vasquez – a warning to keep his distance – before it shoots off.
And to its credit, it heads off into the woods, ignoring the temptation to try its chances with the humans in the town. ]
[ Vasquez is right behind the wolf once it darts out, just to make sure it doesn't try to bolt for the town before Vasquez can pounce on the damned thing. He stays beyond swiping range, but he keeps his line of sight fixed on the wolf as it deals with the wolfsbane—
—easily.
Vasquez may elect to forego that little annoyance at the next moon.
He can't help the lurching impulse that swarms up in his chest as the wolf stumbles – to just help it, to keep it from hitting the ground. Before he takes a step, the wolf recovers, and Vasquez immediately chastises himself for the slip. This isn't the time to be catching Faraday's falls – especially since Faraday isn't the one at the helm right now.
Vasquez's hand hovers again by his pocket, ready to snatch up the silver, but the wolf takes off in the right direction before he has to worry about it. He huffs out a soft breath of laughter. ]
Buena caza, mi perrito.
[ The wolf disappears into the trees, and Vasquez follows close behind. ]
[ The instant the wolf crosses the threshold of the woods, it throws back its head and pierces the quiet night with an ear-splitting howl.
It waits, as it always does, listening.
And as it always does, it never receives an answer.
It does what it does best, after that – running through the woods, hunting whatever poor creatures have the misfortune of falling along its path. There's no art to how it hunts, no strategy. It runs and runs and runs, killing anything it happens upon, rendering its prey into fleshy ribbons and mush when it has devoured what it could.
Its wounds slow it down, keep it from reaching its full potential, and as much as its body begs it to stop, to rest, it doesn't. That ungodly hunger, the desperate twisting pain in its stomach, drowns it all out.
(If Faraday were in his right mind, he might wonder how badly this night will have set back his healing.)
The wolf is intelligent, but it loses that as the night drags on, madness and rage and blood thirst overcoming its senses – until eventually, it's nothing but a feral, volatile monster. There's a wide-eyed wildness to its gaze when it sights Vasquez from a distance, and it only grows worse as the hours pass.
And eventually, it happens – it turns on Vasquez, barrels into him, tries to rip him to shreds as it had with all its other prey. Unlike its other prey, though, Vasquez is more than a match for it, is able to fight, is able to hurt it with silver and claws and teeth. But the wolf doesn't back down, doesn't shy away, as it should – even after that bitter, corrupted blood washes over its tongue, tasting like goddamn poison.
But Vasquez makes good on their agreement, taking what he needs from the wolf to keep himself in fighting condition, until eventually— the blood loss is enough to slow the wolf down. It manages to throw Vasquez off with its last bit of flagging strength until exhaustion finally overcomes it, sending it to the dirt.
The only blessing, Faraday will think later, is that he's unconscious when the sun rises and forces the wolf away.
For the second time in as many full moons, Faraday wakes up in pain.
He's covered in blood again – and when he recognizes that dark, tar-like shit that Vasquez claims as his own, his gut twists. He's clawed to hell again, but the wounds look largely superficial, and the lingering throb at his neck tells him Vasquez must've gotten another taste. Faraday has no goddamn idea if he ought to take that as a good sign or bad.
He forces himself up onto the elbow of his good arm, in spite of how every inch of him pleads for him to stay down, and he casts around a little desperately.
[ Coming from weeks of watching Faraday and the wolf, Vasquez has a better frame of reference to observe the deterioration of the rational wolf (for all that the beast is rational). He used to think werewolves were feral whenever they changed, but seeing Faraday be himself has redefined the wolf's behavior on the full moon. The desperation drives it in a terrifyingly fierce way, and Vasquez can see animal give way to monster.
He expects the fight, unfortunately. He wasn't sure when it would come, but he braces himself for it as the hours wear on. He stays out of easy reach, and when the wolf lunges for him, Vasquez responds immediately in kind. Unlike the last moon, he doesn't try to talk the wolf down, because he knows there's no reasoning with it; the wolf comes at him with teeth and claws, and Vasquez does the same.
The chain comes in handy to distract the wolf with flashes of pain, and eventually, finally, Vasquez has done enough damage that the wolf is thoroughly wrung out.
Of course, that doesn't mean the beast immediately drops to the ground.
Of course not.
Vasquez is thrown free by the wolf, his fangs are wrenched from its neck. He ends up with a mouthful of fur for his trouble and teethmarks curling around his shoulder. His vision spins as he looks up at the night sky, the smear of pinpricks of stars overhead, and he huffs out a breathless laugh.
What a mess.
When the wolf doesn't get back up, Vasquez does the same.
Morning comes, and Vasquez's exhaustion from the night before is amplified by the sunlight. He's out like a light in the grass, covered in the wolf's blood and his own—
—and snoring.
Under his shirt, the bites and scratches are still open, but they look less like gaping wounds with the meager hours they've had to recover (with minimal blood from the wolf, comparatively). He's clearly not on any dangerous precipice, and he stirs when Faraday speaks. ]
Mmn—
[ He cracks one eye open, turning his head to look over at Faraday. ]
[ His gaze hones in on Vasquez, sprawled out in the dirt, and—
Once again, the bastard looks like he's been through the wringer.
Faraday winces to himself, scrubbing at the dried blood clinging to his beard and chin – though he knows there's nothing for it aside from another dunk in a river. He pushes himself up, holding his breath against the various warning flares from his various wounds – new and otherwise.
With obvious strain, ]
You look like shit.
[ Ostensibly a joke, but there's an undercurrent of genuine concern in his voice. ]
[ Which, considering everything that could have conceivably happened last night, he'll take as a win.
His hand goes to the ugly wound at the juncture between his neck and shoulder; it doesn't seem to be actively bleeding, and neither does it seem any worse than surface-level damage. ]
[ Faraday frowns all the more, looking uncertain as he traces the edge of the wound. Vasquez must've tried to take what he could from the wolf, but it clearly wasn't enough, considering his current state. The vampire's movements are slow, made with obvious effort – and considering the preternatural grace Vasquez usually exhibits, this is telling. ]
You look like you can barely move.
[ Hardly surprising, considering Vasquez looks about as sliced open as one could possibly get.
Faraday steels himself, gesturing to his neck. ]
Well, c'mon then. Hurry it up and take what you need.
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[ He says it with open derision.
He's pissed. The sun hasn't even set, and the evening already isn't going the way he figured it would. He figured Vasquez would have the good sense – and the self of preservation – to keep his guns on him, to have those silver bullets chambered and ready for the wolf.
Obviously Faraday doesn't want to go through the experience of getting shot again, assuming he survives it, but he's always prided himself on being practical. If faced with a bloodthirsty, nearly unstoppable monster, it's always wisest to arm yourself with what can stop it.
He works at the fastening of his jeans. ]
For the record, Sam's gonna think you're a goddamn idiot, too. And if we both come back from this, I ain't explainin' to him why you're missin' half your body.
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[ Maybe? Vasquez has never lost an appendage to test the theory, and he's content to continue that pattern.
But he still doesn't think he needs the silver bullets. He's confident that he can physically handle the wolf, and with Faraday's consent, he has few compunctions about sinking his teeth into the wolf to let it tire itself out with anemia. ]
Don't worry about this part, perro.
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[ Faraday mockingly grumbles it under his breath as he strips down. ]
All the vampires in the world, and I get stuck with the only one with a goddamn death wish.
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Have a little faith, my friend.
[ He doesn't expect the evening to be easy, but he also feels more prepared this time – at least knowing what to expect. Last time, he underestimated the wolf, but, even if the creature has the potential to be slowed by healing wounds, he won't make the same mistake tonight. ]
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Once his clothing is tossed away, he settles back, breathing through the familiar chills that run through him – exclusive to the full moon, when the wolf fights for control of his body. He wipes at the cold sweat on his brow again, tipping his head back against the wooden wall of the shed. ]
Whatever you’ve gotta do, don’t let it bite anyone.
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He nods once. ]
You have my word.
[ Faraday won't wake with lives on his hands – corpses or a newly-infected victim. ]
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With the sky darkening and darkening, Faraday knows there isn’t much time left. He licks his lips, readjusting himself on the floor to sit on his haunches. ]
Try not to die.
[ His voice is strained, breathing growing erratic as the wolf rises to the surface, but he still casts it out as a feeble joke – though he means it.
It’d be at least a little funny, he thinks a little darkly, to hitch your wagon to someone else’s, only to be the one that wrecks it.
It would be just Faraday’s luck. ]
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... And to make it harder for the wolf to snatch Vasquez up in his teeth. ]
See you in the morning, perrito.
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But he's interrupted when his eyes flash gold, when something in him cracks, and he doubles over with a startled grunt.
It's the same as it always is – hideous and agonizing and awful, even with the booze in his system helping to dull the pain. His screams turn to guttural, canine groans, interspersed with the grinding of bone and snapping of muscle. The only difference between this and a normal night is the queer way he can feel his mind slipping sideways, fading away into sleep.
The wolf falls to the floorboards, kicking up a faint cloud of dust as it wheezes. Its body throbs in a way it's hardly ever felt, and for a few seconds, it whines to itself, licking at a scar on its hind leg. ]
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But there lies the wolf, trying to get its bearings. Vasquez keeps his posture relaxed (but ready) as he maintains their distance. He keeps his hands visible, but he's still just a flinch away from the silver in his pocket. ]
Sore, eh? I can only imagine.
[ A flash of sympathy crosses his face as the wolf licks at a healed-over wound that Vasquez knows well. ]
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It sniffs at the air, takes in the scent of cigar smoke and gunpowder, sawdust and sweat. The stench of old blood and old flesh and death.
If it recognizes Vasquez from their last run-in, it shows no signs of it; instead, it snarls baring its fangs. ]
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He doesn't want to present a threat too early, doesn't want to look challenging. Ironic, that he's actively trying not to bait Faraday, considering their usual back-and-forth. But animals don't understand bickering and banter, and he's not fool enough to try offering it. ]
Easy. Easy, perrito.
[ His voice takes on that rolling timbre, smooth like velvet and sweet like chocolate, with an underlying command. ]
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Slowly, the wolf starts to circle around in the confined space, getting the lay of the land while sizing the man up. The stench of wolfsbane muddles its senses, and the wolf snorts, trying to clear the stink from its nostrils. The dried herb keeps it from getting a good idea of what lies outside – but it thinks it catches the smell of cooking meats and old, dried blood. Its stomach yawns, and the wolf lifts its head, sniffing for a trace of fresh air, something that might signal a weakness in the walls. ]
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Vasquez moves with the wolf, keeping the beast at his front. He watches it sniff around the walls, and after a moment longer, he gestures to the door. ]
I let you out, and you go into the woods.
[ He doesn't mind following behind while the wolf devours whatever it likes (shy of people), but he's hoping he can at least redirect it without needing to physically drag it around on the silver chain. ]
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It doesn't answer – how could it? – but it seems to accept the deal by reluctantly padding to the door and sitting on its haunches beside it. It waits, staring at the man all the while. ]
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This isn't a sign guaranteeing the whole tune of the evening, but at least this is easier.
As the wolf takes a seat, looking expectantly back at Vasquez, some of the tension eases out of the vampire's shoulders. He's careful about his approach, keeping his hands visible and his movement trackable, until he can lift away the wood barring the door. He steps back, out of the way, to let the wolf bolt as Vasquez expects it to. ]
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The ring of wolfsbane gives it pause, makes it snarl in protest, but it rallies itself and leaps – and nearly collapses to the ground when its injuries shriek at the strain and the impact of its landing. It yelps, staggering, but instead of succumbing, it manages to get its balance again, keeping its hind leg lifted to avoid putting weight on it.
It turns gold eyes fixing on Vasquez – a warning to keep his distance – before it shoots off.
And to its credit, it heads off into the woods, ignoring the temptation to try its chances with the humans in the town. ]
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—easily.
Vasquez may elect to forego that little annoyance at the next moon.
He can't help the lurching impulse that swarms up in his chest as the wolf stumbles – to just help it, to keep it from hitting the ground. Before he takes a step, the wolf recovers, and Vasquez immediately chastises himself for the slip. This isn't the time to be catching Faraday's falls – especially since Faraday isn't the one at the helm right now.
Vasquez's hand hovers again by his pocket, ready to snatch up the silver, but the wolf takes off in the right direction before he has to worry about it. He huffs out a soft breath of laughter. ]
Buena caza, mi perrito.
[ The wolf disappears into the trees, and Vasquez follows close behind. ]
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It waits, as it always does, listening.
And as it always does, it never receives an answer.
It does what it does best, after that – running through the woods, hunting whatever poor creatures have the misfortune of falling along its path. There's no art to how it hunts, no strategy. It runs and runs and runs, killing anything it happens upon, rendering its prey into fleshy ribbons and mush when it has devoured what it could.
Its wounds slow it down, keep it from reaching its full potential, and as much as its body begs it to stop, to rest, it doesn't. That ungodly hunger, the desperate twisting pain in its stomach, drowns it all out.
(If Faraday were in his right mind, he might wonder how badly this night will have set back his healing.)
The wolf is intelligent, but it loses that as the night drags on, madness and rage and blood thirst overcoming its senses – until eventually, it's nothing but a feral, volatile monster. There's a wide-eyed wildness to its gaze when it sights Vasquez from a distance, and it only grows worse as the hours pass.
And eventually, it happens – it turns on Vasquez, barrels into him, tries to rip him to shreds as it had with all its other prey. Unlike its other prey, though, Vasquez is more than a match for it, is able to fight, is able to hurt it with silver and claws and teeth. But the wolf doesn't back down, doesn't shy away, as it should – even after that bitter, corrupted blood washes over its tongue, tasting like goddamn poison.
But Vasquez makes good on their agreement, taking what he needs from the wolf to keep himself in fighting condition, until eventually— the blood loss is enough to slow the wolf down. It manages to throw Vasquez off with its last bit of flagging strength until exhaustion finally overcomes it, sending it to the dirt.
The only blessing, Faraday will think later, is that he's unconscious when the sun rises and forces the wolf away.
For the second time in as many full moons, Faraday wakes up in pain.
He's covered in blood again – and when he recognizes that dark, tar-like shit that Vasquez claims as his own, his gut twists. He's clawed to hell again, but the wounds look largely superficial, and the lingering throb at his neck tells him Vasquez must've gotten another taste. Faraday has no goddamn idea if he ought to take that as a good sign or bad.
He forces himself up onto the elbow of his good arm, in spite of how every inch of him pleads for him to stay down, and he casts around a little desperately.
He croaks out, ]
Vasquez?
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He expects the fight, unfortunately. He wasn't sure when it would come, but he braces himself for it as the hours wear on. He stays out of easy reach, and when the wolf lunges for him, Vasquez responds immediately in kind. Unlike the last moon, he doesn't try to talk the wolf down, because he knows there's no reasoning with it; the wolf comes at him with teeth and claws, and Vasquez does the same.
The chain comes in handy to distract the wolf with flashes of pain, and eventually, finally, Vasquez has done enough damage that the wolf is thoroughly wrung out.
Of course, that doesn't mean the beast immediately drops to the ground.
Of course not.
Vasquez is thrown free by the wolf, his fangs are wrenched from its neck. He ends up with a mouthful of fur for his trouble and teethmarks curling around his shoulder. His vision spins as he looks up at the night sky, the smear of pinpricks of stars overhead, and he huffs out a breathless laugh.
What a mess.
When the wolf doesn't get back up, Vasquez does the same.
Morning comes, and Vasquez's exhaustion from the night before is amplified by the sunlight. He's out like a light in the grass, covered in the wolf's blood and his own—
—and snoring.
Under his shirt, the bites and scratches are still open, but they look less like gaping wounds with the meager hours they've had to recover (with minimal blood from the wolf, comparatively). He's clearly not on any dangerous precipice, and he stirs when Faraday speaks. ]
Mmn—
[ He cracks one eye open, turning his head to look over at Faraday. ]
Some of us are trying to sleep, perro.
[ Ha... ha... ]
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Once again, the bastard looks like he's been through the wringer.
Faraday winces to himself, scrubbing at the dried blood clinging to his beard and chin – though he knows there's nothing for it aside from another dunk in a river. He pushes himself up, holding his breath against the various warning flares from his various wounds – new and otherwise.
With obvious strain, ]
You look like shit.
[ Ostensibly a joke, but there's an undercurrent of genuine concern in his voice. ]
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Says the man who always looks like shit.
[ He turns his head in the grass, clearly in no rush to get up. ]
How's your leg?
[ And his everything, technically. ]
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[ Which, considering everything that could have conceivably happened last night, he'll take as a win.
His hand goes to the ugly wound at the juncture between his neck and shoulder; it doesn't seem to be actively bleeding, and neither does it seem any worse than surface-level damage. ]
How bad off are you?
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[ He scrubs the heel of a dirty palm over his eyes. Moving reminds him of how sore he is, and he absently marvels at the sensation.
When was the last time he was sore?
(Other than the last moon.) ]
I just need to sleep when we get back.
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You look like you can barely move.
[ Hardly surprising, considering Vasquez looks about as sliced open as one could possibly get.
Faraday steels himself, gesturing to his neck. ]
Well, c'mon then. Hurry it up and take what you need.
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