[ Red Harvest leaves – quiet, and without any fanfare. He simply announces his intentions, offers a few brusque words of farewell, and is gone the next day.
Sam leaves not long after that. He meets with Vasquez and Faraday late in the afternoon, letting them know that he means to ride out, and presses the silver chain into Vasquez's hands. ("You'll need it," Sam says, though not unkindly.) Then early the next morning, Sam is followed by a procession of Rose Creek's citizens as he saddles up and walks his horse out of town. It's the saddest goddamn parade Faraday has ever witnessed, and there's something a little funny about it, watching the awkward way Sam deals with the attention – especially the way he weathers the expectant looks from the townsfolk when he reaches the edge of their town, like they were waiting on some kind of speech.
He never really manages it, except from a quiet, heartfelt, "Take care of yourselves."
He directs the words to everyone, of course, but when his gaze falls on Faraday, dressed after changing back to normal and settling his hat back atop his head, and Vasquez, who's yawning wide enough to crack his own jaw, Sam seems to be silently saying, You two especially.
Faraday shoots him a wild grin, but he nods solemnly in return – a tacit gesture of thanks.
Faraday and Vasquez leave not long after that – two weeks after the full moon, when Faraday's injuries are well enough that he can shoot straight, that he can walk a fair distance without a crutch, that he can ride a horse without wishing desperately to expire. Their exit is quiet – a day spent making rounds and saying their goodbyes, making promises to visit and hearing promises from the townsfolk of having beds ready for them, should they ever have need.
("For a wolf and a bloodsucker," says one tactless but well-meaning individual, "you two weren't half bad."
"For a bumpkin," Faraday quips back, wearing his best wolfish smile, "you sure smelled delicious.")
They wait until sunrise the next morning, when Faraday has changed and changed back, and the only one to see them off is Emma Cullen, wary but respectful to the last. Like, Sam, she tells them to take care of themselves. Like the other citizens of Rose Creek, she tells them there's a place for them here – but from Emma, at least, it sounds more genuine.
Faraday flashes her a sharp smile before they ride away.
They travel together, weathering a third full moon that left them both wounded and exhausted but alive. One of these days, they'll figure out a better alternative, but for the moment, Faraday is content to be satisfied that Vasquez and the wolf hadn't killed one another yet.
Vasquez is still a wanted man, but life being what it is means they still have to venture into civilization every now and again for supplies. They watch each other's backs, and Faraday turns up the charm to keep the attention squarely on him, drawing curious gazes away from Vasquez. A common trick that Faraday learned to employ early in his life: misdirection. Keep your eyes over here, he silently says with his bright smiles and jokes and stories. Ignore what's happening in the wings.
Their payment from Rose Creek has left their coffers relatively flush – which means when Faraday sits down for a game, it's more for fun than necessity, more to keep his skills up to snuff. He cheats sometimes, though not always. Faraday prided himself on reading people better than he played tricks with cards – and considering his tricks are exceedingly clever, that says a great deal.
Of course, most folks don't understand that Faraday's clever playing – knowing when to fold or when to bet high and call their bluffs – comes from years of practice at observation. Most of them just assume he's double-dealing or hiding cards up his sleeves.
Not even a month after leaving Rose Creek, trouble finds Faraday once again.
Faraday is stepping out of a saloon late in the afternoon, pockets full of clinking coins and wadded up bills. Vasquez, he thinks, is readying the horses for their departure, and Faraday aims himself toward the livery.
When he hears the familiar click of a hammer being pulled into place, he instinctively he freezes.
"Remember me?" a voice to his left asks, and Faraday turns a little to spot an older man with a pistol trained on Faraday's temple. Another hammer clicks behind him, and Faraday carefully glances over his shoulder to spot another man – shorter, a little rounder – with a rifle aimed at his back. Anton, he thinks, steps forward and relieves Faraday's holsters of his Peacemakers.
It's funny, Faraday thinks, as a cold, quiet rage twists in his gut, how often history repeats.
"Start walkin', Faraday," the older man orders – Gilbert, if memory serves. He jerks his head toward the empty field outside of the town and Faraday, with the barrel of a rifle digging into his back, doesn't have much of a choice but to do as he's told.
Faraday's reasonably sure he can get himself out of this – he certainly has before.
God, he hopes Vasquez doesn't see this. Shameful, letting these two idiots get the drop on him. That bloodsucking bastard will never let him live this down. ]
[ The leaving was always inevitable; the only question remaining was "when?" For all that Vasquez exists in immortal uncertainty, following little more than the winds roiling across the desert, he isn't preoccupied with the time he has left in Rose Creek.
Vasquez's "when" depends on one thing:
Faraday.
Red Harvest is gone; Sam follows soon after. Sam gives Vasquez his silver chain without needing to be asked, and Vasquez can only offer a small smile of gratitude (grace is not, unfortunately, his strong suit). Funny, how Sam doesn't try to convince either of them that their plans might have explosive potential, given what they both are; he doesn't question it for a heartbeat, like it just makes sense that they're determined to be tied together – at least for a little while.
Like Vasquez said, they wander together.
For how long? Who knows. Vasquez has all the time in the world, and maybe it leaves itself dependent on how long Faraday can tolerate him, how long they can both take the verbal swipes and unreliable moods. Despite how they grate on each other, how they regularly make points of how obnoxious they find one another, Vasquez is in no rush to part ways.
For once, he doesn't travel in silence – and he finds he likes it that way.
The next full moon isn't as much of a challenge. Or, at least, Vasquez has learned to keep more of his distance when he doesn't smell any humans close enough that the wolf poses a risk. As the night wears on, the wolf inevitably turns its attention on Vasquez, and once again, they come at each other with teeth and claws.
The difference now is that Faraday isn't barely holding himself together with stitches and a crutch. With that in mind, Vasquez is less shy about making up for the damage the wolf does; he gets his teeth in the beast, and he drinks until he feels his own wounds healing over, while the wolf seems to lose a flicker of its fire with the anemia.
A decent compromise.
He's still exhausted in the morning, but he looks less like he's being held together with bare ligaments.
It's easier – sort of.
For better or for worse, the price on Vasquez's head is intended to be collected by Hunters – capital "H." His "wanted" posters bear a stark warning – DO NOT APPROACH – to warn away any mortals who fancy his bounty. Unfortunately, that does mean that his face, poor likeness or no, is broadcast on paper as a bloodsucker, to be given a wide berth. Vasquez has to keep a low profile, if for no other reason than to avoid a panic.
Luckily for Vasquez, Faraday is incredibly good at keeping all eyes on him. Vasquez doesn't leave him to poke through towns on his own, but people care less about the moody Mexican when the gregarious man at his elbow tells the best jokes.
Vasquez doesn't partake in Faraday's card games, but he's happy enough to sit at a nearby table, sipping at a drink and smiling to himself whenever Faraday pulls an especially tall tale out of his pocket. Part of it is making sure trouble isn't stirred up over sore losers, that no one reaches for a gun when Faraday just happens to have been a better player.
It's an easy rhythm, a comfortable routine.
Of course that means it can't last for long.
It's time for them to be leaving town before sunset, and Vasquez leaves Faraday to finish up at his table. He goes to ready their horses, get them saddled and set to depart (his stallion is no trouble, and Jack has finally become reasonably tolerant of him).
He's in the middle of getting Jack's bridle in place when something feels— off. Like a shiver that rolls up his spine, sets his hair on end.
Vasquez leaves Jack to the stable hand with a quick reassurance that he'll be right back, to keep an eye on their rides for a moment. Stepping out of the livery, he listens for Faraday's voice, tries to sniff him out, only to realize the werewolf isn't in the saloon or anywhere within sight.
Mierda.
Vasquez quickly leaves the stable behind, following the prominent scent of the wolf that always seems to cling to Faraday's skin. He makes it past the edge of town, and across the fields, he sees a familiar tall figure – surrounded by two men.
Something cold and bitter rises in Vasquez's chest, his lip curling away from his teeth. It's not hard to make out Faraday with his hands up with a pair of guns pointed right at him, and that cold edge turns icy and sharp.
He doesn't even stop to consider his next step.
Vasquez advances through the field, calling out in half a snarl, ]
[ The men at his back recount the tale of their chance encounter a week ago, when Faraday stolen their hard-earned money from them over a game of cards. ]
Don't know how you did it, Faraday, but you're a goddamn cheat.
I didn't cheat, Gilbert. [ And Faraday says it with patience, trying to wrangle the fury writhing and lashing out in his chest. ] It wasn't my fault you were paying more attention to the painted ladies than to your cards and your dwindling funds.
And I'm surprised at you, Anton. [ Faraday looks over his shoulder at the younger man – he had been silent throughout their card game a week ago, and Faraday assumed the man to be mute. ] You seemed a decent fellow. I see Gilbert's been a bad influence on you.
[ Anton just sneers at him, hefting his gun. ]
Listen, gentlemen, you've got the drop on me, fair and square. I'll give you credit for that. Maybe we can compromise. Figure out some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement.
Only thing we'll be arrangin' is your brains on the ground, Faraday.
[ It's the answer Faraday expected, honestly, and he lets out a slow, resigned breath as he turns. The two men jerk to attention, but he only slowly reaches for the pocket of his vest, where his well-worn deck of cards sits. ]
Then as my last act on God's green Earth, allow me the pleasure of astounding you—
[ Then suddenly, Vasquez's voice echoes across the field, and Faraday freezes.
Ah, he thinks, embarrassment starting to twist in his gut. Shit.
He's distracted by the sight of Vasquez charging through the grass and by the sinking realization that Vasquez is playing witness to this shameful display that he doesn't notice Gilbert closing the space between them. The other man kicks at Faraday's leg – and the lucky bastard chooses the exact wrong one. The mostly-healed wound at Faraday's thigh shrieks in protest, and his leg buckles beneath him, sending him to his knees in the dirt with a choked-off gasp. ]
Ain't none of your concern, mister. I suggest you turn right back into town 'fore you get tangled up in this mess.
[ The boiling desire to rip these men to pieces only increases when one of them kicks Faraday, sending him to the ground. Vasquez contains the rumbling growl threatening to escape his throat, finally stopping ten or so paces from the two surrounding Faraday. ]
It's my concern if you are messing with him.
[ He jerks his chin in Faraday's direction. ]
Last chance to drop his guns and get going.
[ Vasquez, however, isn't reaching for his own holsters. ]
[ Anton turns to aim his rifle at Vasquez, uncertain but stubbornly committed. Faraday's gaze flicks to Vasquez, swallowing down the instinct to insist that he has it handled. Instead, he breathes through the throbbing of his leg.
A little strained, ]
I'd listen to him, Gilbert.
Shut the hell up, Faraday.
[ And he jams the barrel of his pistol against Faraday's forehead, knocking Faraday's hat off to the dirt.
Faraday can survive quite a lot of things, he thinks, but a pointblank shot through the skull probably isn't one of them. ]
I dunno who you are, mister, or what you think you're doin', but this man here's a liar and a crook and deserves much worse than a bullet to the head.
Edited (fml sorry for all these edits) 2020-05-25 04:13 (UTC)
[ Vasquez's eyes narrow as Gilbert shoves his gun against Faraday's forehead, his fingers curling at his side.
Maybe he'll just eat that one.
When Vasquez speaks again, his voices comes smooth and deep, rolling like molasses off his tongue. ]
Leave all your weapons on the ground.
[ Over the centuries, Vasquez has learned there are varying degrees to his ability to coerce. Little good it will do him with a great deal of the inhuman creatures he's come across, including Faraday's wolf, but with mortals? He knows that he can push. Resisting the pull of a command has the potential to be painful, if Vasquez exerts his will just so; suggestions become orders, and refusing to acquiesce can result in otherwise undue suffering. He didn't lie to Faraday, when he said his words are more suggestion than force, because when it comes to his average meal (one he doesn't intend to drain dry), it's less convenient to fight them for control.
His life is easier when he can slide in smoothly, take what he needs, and erase any trace of his interference. Those who fight, those who are angry and frightened, are far less likely to abandon unpleasant memories.
In the end, it's more trouble than it's worth.
But circumstances like this? Vasquez has no qualms pushing. ]
[ It's the strangest goddamn thing in the world, hearing Vasquez's voice like that, and Faraday stiffens when he hears it. It's different, like nothing he's ever heard from the other man. Hell, it's like nothing he's ever heard, full stop.
(even if it tugs at a faint, distant memory at the back of his head)
Anton is the first to obey, and Faraday watches, stunned, as Anton drops his rifle and Faraday's pistols. ]
The hell are you doing, boy?
[ Gilbert grits it out at Anton, but he grimaces, his own rage giving him a bit of an edge. He only lasts a heartbeat longer than Anton against that alien pain before he's tossing his gun away, along with a Bowie knife and a spare pistol. ]
[ Vasquez's eyes flash in the glowing light of the approaching evening, and he watches, waits as the weapons steadily hit the ground. ]
Don't move.
[ And he walks forward, gathering Faraday's pistols from the dust.
As he's dusting off the weapons, ]
What do you think, perro? Should we let them go?
[ He closes the distance between himself and Faraday, resting one gun in the crook of his elbow to offer him a hand up.
The thing is, he knows that they're dangerously close to a human town. He knows there's always the potential to draw unwanted attention – ripping their throats out or shooting them point blank – and as the sun slowly sets, their time is running shorter.
(Mostly, he should be commended for not instantly separating these men's heads from their bodies, like his first instinct screamed for.) ]
[ The other two men stand frozen in place, eyes wide and terrified, and Faraday, stunned as he is, is in the same boat.
When Vasquez, cool and calm as anything, comes up to his side, Faraday stares at him for a few heartbeats – time they likely don't have, considering how close they are to town, where anyone might stumble upon them, considering that sunset is drawing close, and the two of them need to be gone before anyone sees Faraday in the middle of his transformation.
He doesn't mean to, but he lets that uncertainty flash across his face as he studies Vasquez, hesitating before taking the other man's hand. When he stands, he tries to make the movement look natural – and he's largely successful, except once he's on his feet, he shifts his weight to his good leg. He takes his guns back; he carefully knocks Ethel against his good hip to remove the last of the dirt, but he keeps Maria in hand.
They should leave. Gilbert and Anton are completely out of their depths, here, and Faraday almost feels bad for them. But the ugly rage is still roiling in his chest, desperate for an outlet. And he knows Gilbert's type – the type to hold a grudge, to chase after it and let it fester in his chest like a sickness.
Instead of answering Vasquez's question verbally, he lifts up Maria, thumbing back the hammer and putting a bullet in Gilbert's head.
He aims at Anton next. ]
You. Go home. Forget everything that happened here today. If I ever see you again, you're gonna end up like your friend Gilbert.
Understood?
[ Anton hesitates, eyes darting wildly between Vasquez and Faraday and Gilbert's cooling corpse.
[ That moment that Faraday just stares at Vasquez, not accepting the hand up, not reaching for him (when their casual contact is usually so thoughtless), catches Vasquez's attention. His gaze is already hard, steely, and there's no external shift – but he feels an odd twinge in his chest beside that burning fury.
He ignores it for now.
Vasquez allows Faraday the time to decide what he wants to do with these two miscreants. They need to leave, but—
—well, at least Faraday makes quick work of one of the bastards.
Vasquez waits with one thumb hooked in his belt, half expecting Faraday to put down the second.
(He's impressed by Faraday's restraint when he doesn't.)
[ Tense as Faraday is, he can't help but snort at that.
Maybe he'll explain the joke later – that Antony seems to be mute – but Anton is quickly hauling ass away from the confrontation, back into town.
Faraday waits until well after the man is out of earshot before he holsters his gun, moving toward Gilbert's body and doing him the decency of shutting those staring eyes. That bit of humanity out of the way, Faraday straightens, keeping his weight off his throbbing leg.
Faraday doesn't look at him, and that feels— off. Vasquez doesn't know what to make of it. Maybe Faraday is just in pain because of his leg? Maybe he's embarrassed because he was caught unawares?
Or the least appealing option: maybe he's been reminded of what he's traveling with.
His voice is still gruff, but without the otherworldly current lying beneath it. ]
[ Faraday nods in response, heading toward the livery with a bit of a limp.
It's an easy enough thing to grab their horses, leaving at a sedate pace before speeding up to put more distance between them and the town – the routine, usually, when they stayed in a town a little longer than planned and needed to get to a safe place before the sun dipped below the horizon.
After a bit, when they've judged they're far enough away, they slow. The light is starting to turn golden as the day starts to fade. Still some time yet before they have to deal with Faraday's change; enough time to start looking for a place to make camp.
The first thing Faraday says to break the silence, because apparently as unsettled as he is, he can't help but defend his pride: ]
[ Leaving town is routine, at this point. They always have to put space between them and the potential for humans to see Faraday's change, and they've done it every night for weeks, since leaving Rose Creek.
It's all habit, so Vasquez doesn't feel the need to breech the tense silence that settles around them like an iron weight.
(Because he still doesn't know what to make of it.)
When Faraday finally speaks, Vasquez glances in his direction, then turns his eyes forward again. ]
I could see that – what with how you were surrounded by men with guns. Very obvious you had it handled.
[ But he also doesn't regularly use that particular skill when at the point of Gilbert and Anton. Once discovered, he was far likelier to just outright kill a loose end that bother applying more force to his "suggestions." ]
I don't usually use it like that – having to push that much.
[ He dismounts Jack with far less care than he's due, and his bad leg buckles a little, forcing him to catch himself on the pommel of his saddle. He curses under his breath, jaw clenched as he shifts his weight to his good leg. ]
So? What did you do? [ And the words are sharp, brusque. ] 'Cause they looked like it was hurtin' them.
[ Vasquez pauses with his reins gathered in his hand, watching Faraday wobble – though he stops himself from reaching out and steady the other man. ]
I don't know. It's just— [ He cuts himself short as he tries to search for the right explanation, huffing out a sharp sigh. ] It's just a part of it. If they don't want to listen, it causes more pain until they do.
[ He echoes the words like he's spitting them out.
Maybe he's angrier about this than he should be, but hearing Vasquez use that voice had stirred something in his head. It had felt faintly familiar, though he had no memory of Vasquez speaking with that voice ever before.
But maybe he wouldn't.
Vasquez did say he routinely made people forget. ]
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will i ever leave a starter of reasonable length
Sam leaves not long after that. He meets with Vasquez and Faraday late in the afternoon, letting them know that he means to ride out, and presses the silver chain into Vasquez's hands. ("You'll need it," Sam says, though not unkindly.) Then early the next morning, Sam is followed by a procession of Rose Creek's citizens as he saddles up and walks his horse out of town. It's the saddest goddamn parade Faraday has ever witnessed, and there's something a little funny about it, watching the awkward way Sam deals with the attention – especially the way he weathers the expectant looks from the townsfolk when he reaches the edge of their town, like they were waiting on some kind of speech.
He never really manages it, except from a quiet, heartfelt, "Take care of yourselves."
He directs the words to everyone, of course, but when his gaze falls on Faraday, dressed after changing back to normal and settling his hat back atop his head, and Vasquez, who's yawning wide enough to crack his own jaw, Sam seems to be silently saying, You two especially.
Faraday shoots him a wild grin, but he nods solemnly in return – a tacit gesture of thanks.
Faraday and Vasquez leave not long after that – two weeks after the full moon, when Faraday's injuries are well enough that he can shoot straight, that he can walk a fair distance without a crutch, that he can ride a horse without wishing desperately to expire. Their exit is quiet – a day spent making rounds and saying their goodbyes, making promises to visit and hearing promises from the townsfolk of having beds ready for them, should they ever have need.
("For a wolf and a bloodsucker," says one tactless but well-meaning individual, "you two weren't half bad."
"For a bumpkin," Faraday quips back, wearing his best wolfish smile, "you sure smelled delicious.")
They wait until sunrise the next morning, when Faraday has changed and changed back, and the only one to see them off is Emma Cullen, wary but respectful to the last. Like, Sam, she tells them to take care of themselves. Like the other citizens of Rose Creek, she tells them there's a place for them here – but from Emma, at least, it sounds more genuine.
Faraday flashes her a sharp smile before they ride away.
They travel together, weathering a third full moon that left them both wounded and exhausted but alive. One of these days, they'll figure out a better alternative, but for the moment, Faraday is content to be satisfied that Vasquez and the wolf hadn't killed one another yet.
Vasquez is still a wanted man, but life being what it is means they still have to venture into civilization every now and again for supplies. They watch each other's backs, and Faraday turns up the charm to keep the attention squarely on him, drawing curious gazes away from Vasquez. A common trick that Faraday learned to employ early in his life: misdirection. Keep your eyes over here, he silently says with his bright smiles and jokes and stories. Ignore what's happening in the wings.
Their payment from Rose Creek has left their coffers relatively flush – which means when Faraday sits down for a game, it's more for fun than necessity, more to keep his skills up to snuff. He cheats sometimes, though not always. Faraday prided himself on reading people better than he played tricks with cards – and considering his tricks are exceedingly clever, that says a great deal.
Of course, most folks don't understand that Faraday's clever playing – knowing when to fold or when to bet high and call their bluffs – comes from years of practice at observation. Most of them just assume he's double-dealing or hiding cards up his sleeves.
Not even a month after leaving Rose Creek, trouble finds Faraday once again.
Faraday is stepping out of a saloon late in the afternoon, pockets full of clinking coins and wadded up bills. Vasquez, he thinks, is readying the horses for their departure, and Faraday aims himself toward the livery.
When he hears the familiar click of a hammer being pulled into place, he instinctively he freezes.
"Remember me?" a voice to his left asks, and Faraday turns a little to spot an older man with a pistol trained on Faraday's temple. Another hammer clicks behind him, and Faraday carefully glances over his shoulder to spot another man – shorter, a little rounder – with a rifle aimed at his back. Anton, he thinks, steps forward and relieves Faraday's holsters of his Peacemakers.
It's funny, Faraday thinks, as a cold, quiet rage twists in his gut, how often history repeats.
"Start walkin', Faraday," the older man orders – Gilbert, if memory serves. He jerks his head toward the empty field outside of the town and Faraday, with the barrel of a rifle digging into his back, doesn't have much of a choice but to do as he's told.
Faraday's reasonably sure he can get himself out of this – he certainly has before.
God, he hopes Vasquez doesn't see this. Shameful, letting these two idiots get the drop on him. That bloodsucking bastard will never let him live this down. ]
i mean. hard same.
Vasquez's "when" depends on one thing:
Faraday.
Red Harvest is gone; Sam follows soon after. Sam gives Vasquez his silver chain without needing to be asked, and Vasquez can only offer a small smile of gratitude (grace is not, unfortunately, his strong suit). Funny, how Sam doesn't try to convince either of them that their plans might have explosive potential, given what they both are; he doesn't question it for a heartbeat, like it just makes sense that they're determined to be tied together – at least for a little while.
Like Vasquez said, they wander together.
For how long? Who knows. Vasquez has all the time in the world, and maybe it leaves itself dependent on how long Faraday can tolerate him, how long they can both take the verbal swipes and unreliable moods. Despite how they grate on each other, how they regularly make points of how obnoxious they find one another, Vasquez is in no rush to part ways.
For once, he doesn't travel in silence – and he finds he likes it that way.
The next full moon isn't as much of a challenge. Or, at least, Vasquez has learned to keep more of his distance when he doesn't smell any humans close enough that the wolf poses a risk. As the night wears on, the wolf inevitably turns its attention on Vasquez, and once again, they come at each other with teeth and claws.
The difference now is that Faraday isn't barely holding himself together with stitches and a crutch. With that in mind, Vasquez is less shy about making up for the damage the wolf does; he gets his teeth in the beast, and he drinks until he feels his own wounds healing over, while the wolf seems to lose a flicker of its fire with the anemia.
A decent compromise.
He's still exhausted in the morning, but he looks less like he's being held together with bare ligaments.
It's easier – sort of.
For better or for worse, the price on Vasquez's head is intended to be collected by Hunters – capital "H." His "wanted" posters bear a stark warning – DO NOT APPROACH – to warn away any mortals who fancy his bounty. Unfortunately, that does mean that his face, poor likeness or no, is broadcast on paper as a bloodsucker, to be given a wide berth. Vasquez has to keep a low profile, if for no other reason than to avoid a panic.
Luckily for Vasquez, Faraday is incredibly good at keeping all eyes on him. Vasquez doesn't leave him to poke through towns on his own, but people care less about the moody Mexican when the gregarious man at his elbow tells the best jokes.
Vasquez doesn't partake in Faraday's card games, but he's happy enough to sit at a nearby table, sipping at a drink and smiling to himself whenever Faraday pulls an especially tall tale out of his pocket. Part of it is making sure trouble isn't stirred up over sore losers, that no one reaches for a gun when Faraday just happens to have been a better player.
It's an easy rhythm, a comfortable routine.
Of course that means it can't last for long.
It's time for them to be leaving town before sunset, and Vasquez leaves Faraday to finish up at his table. He goes to ready their horses, get them saddled and set to depart (his stallion is no trouble, and Jack has finally become reasonably tolerant of him).
He's in the middle of getting Jack's bridle in place when something feels— off. Like a shiver that rolls up his spine, sets his hair on end.
Vasquez leaves Jack to the stable hand with a quick reassurance that he'll be right back, to keep an eye on their rides for a moment. Stepping out of the livery, he listens for Faraday's voice, tries to sniff him out, only to realize the werewolf isn't in the saloon or anywhere within sight.
Mierda.
Vasquez quickly leaves the stable behind, following the prominent scent of the wolf that always seems to cling to Faraday's skin. He makes it past the edge of town, and across the fields, he sees a familiar tall figure – surrounded by two men.
Something cold and bitter rises in Vasquez's chest, his lip curling away from his teeth. It's not hard to make out Faraday with his hands up with a pair of guns pointed right at him, and that cold edge turns icy and sharp.
He doesn't even stop to consider his next step.
Vasquez advances through the field, calling out in half a snarl, ]
Ay, pendejos!
The hell you think you're doing?
no subject
Don't know how you did it, Faraday, but you're a goddamn cheat.
I didn't cheat, Gilbert. [ And Faraday says it with patience, trying to wrangle the fury writhing and lashing out in his chest. ] It wasn't my fault you were paying more attention to the painted ladies than to your cards and your dwindling funds.
And I'm surprised at you, Anton. [ Faraday looks over his shoulder at the younger man – he had been silent throughout their card game a week ago, and Faraday assumed the man to be mute. ] You seemed a decent fellow. I see Gilbert's been a bad influence on you.
[ Anton just sneers at him, hefting his gun. ]
Listen, gentlemen, you've got the drop on me, fair and square. I'll give you credit for that. Maybe we can compromise. Figure out some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement.
Only thing we'll be arrangin' is your brains on the ground, Faraday.
[ It's the answer Faraday expected, honestly, and he lets out a slow, resigned breath as he turns. The two men jerk to attention, but he only slowly reaches for the pocket of his vest, where his well-worn deck of cards sits. ]
Then as my last act on God's green Earth, allow me the pleasure of astounding you—
[ Then suddenly, Vasquez's voice echoes across the field, and Faraday freezes.
Ah, he thinks, embarrassment starting to twist in his gut. Shit.
He's distracted by the sight of Vasquez charging through the grass and by the sinking realization that Vasquez is playing witness to this shameful display that he doesn't notice Gilbert closing the space between them. The other man kicks at Faraday's leg – and the lucky bastard chooses the exact wrong one. The mostly-healed wound at Faraday's thigh shrieks in protest, and his leg buckles beneath him, sending him to his knees in the dirt with a choked-off gasp. ]
Ain't none of your concern, mister. I suggest you turn right back into town 'fore you get tangled up in this mess.
no subject
It's my concern if you are messing with him.
[ He jerks his chin in Faraday's direction. ]
Last chance to drop his guns and get going.
[ Vasquez, however, isn't reaching for his own holsters. ]
no subject
A little strained, ]
I'd listen to him, Gilbert.
Shut the hell up, Faraday.
[ And he jams the barrel of his pistol against Faraday's forehead, knocking Faraday's hat off to the dirt.
Faraday can survive quite a lot of things, he thinks, but a pointblank shot through the skull probably isn't one of them. ]
I dunno who you are, mister, or what you think you're doin', but this man here's a liar and a crook and deserves much worse than a bullet to the head.
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Maybe he'll just eat that one.
When Vasquez speaks again, his voices comes smooth and deep, rolling like molasses off his tongue. ]
Leave all your weapons on the ground.
[ Over the centuries, Vasquez has learned there are varying degrees to his ability to coerce. Little good it will do him with a great deal of the inhuman creatures he's come across, including Faraday's wolf, but with mortals? He knows that he can push. Resisting the pull of a command has the potential to be painful, if Vasquez exerts his will just so; suggestions become orders, and refusing to acquiesce can result in otherwise undue suffering. He didn't lie to Faraday, when he said his words are more suggestion than force, because when it comes to his average meal (one he doesn't intend to drain dry), it's less convenient to fight them for control.
His life is easier when he can slide in smoothly, take what he needs, and erase any trace of his interference. Those who fight, those who are angry and frightened, are far less likely to abandon unpleasant memories.
In the end, it's more trouble than it's worth.
But circumstances like this? Vasquez has no qualms pushing. ]
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(even if it tugs at a faint, distant memory at the back of his head)
Anton is the first to obey, and Faraday watches, stunned, as Anton drops his rifle and Faraday's pistols. ]
The hell are you doing, boy?
[ Gilbert grits it out at Anton, but he grimaces, his own rage giving him a bit of an edge. He only lasts a heartbeat longer than Anton against that alien pain before he's tossing his gun away, along with a Bowie knife and a spare pistol. ]
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Don't move.
[ And he walks forward, gathering Faraday's pistols from the dust.
As he's dusting off the weapons, ]
What do you think, perro? Should we let them go?
[ He closes the distance between himself and Faraday, resting one gun in the crook of his elbow to offer him a hand up.
The thing is, he knows that they're dangerously close to a human town. He knows there's always the potential to draw unwanted attention – ripping their throats out or shooting them point blank – and as the sun slowly sets, their time is running shorter.
(Mostly, he should be commended for not instantly separating these men's heads from their bodies, like his first instinct screamed for.) ]
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When Vasquez, cool and calm as anything, comes up to his side, Faraday stares at him for a few heartbeats – time they likely don't have, considering how close they are to town, where anyone might stumble upon them, considering that sunset is drawing close, and the two of them need to be gone before anyone sees Faraday in the middle of his transformation.
He doesn't mean to, but he lets that uncertainty flash across his face as he studies Vasquez, hesitating before taking the other man's hand. When he stands, he tries to make the movement look natural – and he's largely successful, except once he's on his feet, he shifts his weight to his good leg. He takes his guns back; he carefully knocks Ethel against his good hip to remove the last of the dirt, but he keeps Maria in hand.
They should leave. Gilbert and Anton are completely out of their depths, here, and Faraday almost feels bad for them. But the ugly rage is still roiling in his chest, desperate for an outlet. And he knows Gilbert's type – the type to hold a grudge, to chase after it and let it fester in his chest like a sickness.
Instead of answering Vasquez's question verbally, he lifts up Maria, thumbing back the hammer and putting a bullet in Gilbert's head.
He aims at Anton next. ]
You. Go home. Forget everything that happened here today. If I ever see you again, you're gonna end up like your friend Gilbert.
Understood?
[ Anton hesitates, eyes darting wildly between Vasquez and Faraday and Gilbert's cooling corpse.
Faraday shoots the hat off Anton's head. ]
Am I understood, Anton?
[ This time, Anton frantically nods. ]
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He ignores it for now.
Vasquez allows Faraday the time to decide what he wants to do with these two miscreants. They need to leave, but—
—well, at least Faraday makes quick work of one of the bastards.
Vasquez waits with one thumb hooked in his belt, half expecting Faraday to put down the second.
(He's impressed by Faraday's restraint when he doesn't.)
After Anton nods, Vasquez speaks again. ]
Go. Tell no one what you saw.
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Maybe he'll explain the joke later – that Antony seems to be mute – but Anton is quickly hauling ass away from the confrontation, back into town.
Faraday waits until well after the man is out of earshot before he holsters his gun, moving toward Gilbert's body and doing him the decency of shutting those staring eyes. That bit of humanity out of the way, Faraday straightens, keeping his weight off his throbbing leg.
Without looking back at Vasquez, ]
We oughta make ourselves scarce, too.
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Faraday doesn't look at him, and that feels— off. Vasquez doesn't know what to make of it. Maybe Faraday is just in pain because of his leg? Maybe he's embarrassed because he was caught unawares?
Or the least appealing option: maybe he's been reminded of what he's traveling with.
His voice is still gruff, but without the otherworldly current lying beneath it. ]
Sí.
[ Vasquez nods back towards the livery. ]
The horses are ready to go.
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It's an easy enough thing to grab their horses, leaving at a sedate pace before speeding up to put more distance between them and the town – the routine, usually, when they stayed in a town a little longer than planned and needed to get to a safe place before the sun dipped below the horizon.
After a bit, when they've judged they're far enough away, they slow. The light is starting to turn golden as the day starts to fade. Still some time yet before they have to deal with Faraday's change; enough time to start looking for a place to make camp.
The first thing Faraday says to break the silence, because apparently as unsettled as he is, he can't help but defend his pride: ]
I had that handled.
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It's all habit, so Vasquez doesn't feel the need to breech the tense silence that settles around them like an iron weight.
(Because he still doesn't know what to make of it.)
When Faraday finally speaks, Vasquez glances in his direction, then turns his eyes forward again. ]
I could see that – what with how you were surrounded by men with guns. Very obvious you had it handled.
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It's not the first time I've been in that situation.
I had a plan – a decent one that you made a mess of, chargin' in like you did.
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[ Vasquez rolls his eyes. ]
Yes, that was going well.
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[ This, as they reach a little clearing – it's probably the best they're going to do on short notice. ]
Gil only got as close as he did 'cause you threw me off.
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[ Vasquez tosses Faraday a short glare as he's finally tugs on his reins, slowing his horse. ]
It doesn't matter now. It happened, you're not shot, y esta bien.
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[ This, grumbled under his breath, though he follows suit in coaxing Jack to a stop. ]
What the hell did you do to those poor bastards?
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It was what I told you about before.
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Then, ]
That was what you call a goddamn suggestion?
[ Because Gilbert and Anton didn't look like they could help themselves, looked nearly out of their minds with terror. ]
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[ But he also doesn't regularly use that particular skill when at the point of Gilbert and Anton. Once discovered, he was far likelier to just outright kill a loose end that bother applying more force to his "suggestions." ]
I don't usually use it like that – having to push that much.
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[ He dismounts Jack with far less care than he's due, and his bad leg buckles a little, forcing him to catch himself on the pommel of his saddle. He curses under his breath, jaw clenched as he shifts his weight to his good leg. ]
So? What did you do? [ And the words are sharp, brusque. ] 'Cause they looked like it was hurtin' them.
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I don't know. It's just— [ He cuts himself short as he tries to search for the right explanation, huffing out a sharp sigh. ] It's just a part of it. If they don't want to listen, it causes more pain until they do.
So what?
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[ He echoes the words like he's spitting them out.
Maybe he's angrier about this than he should be, but hearing Vasquez use that voice had stirred something in his head. It had felt faintly familiar, though he had no memory of Vasquez speaking with that voice ever before.
But maybe he wouldn't.
Vasquez did say he routinely made people forget. ]
So what, is when the hell did you use it on me?
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