[ Faraday nods at that. He doesn't know the particulars – it's not a topic that interested him much when he was growing up, with as distant as it all felt.
Growing up, he was always more interested in the local legends. ]
[ Vasquez doesn't expect Faraday to be especially well-versed in Mexican history, and he doesn't need to be; Vasquez just wants to ensure Faraday has some point of reference. ]
I lived a little before that, in a small village. I had not much family, but everyone looked out for each other, worked together. It was that way for a lot of the land, before it was taken by the aztectl. Before the Spanish, they were their own empire, taking and destroying everything they wanted.
People, also.
[ He sounds— detached from his explanation. It feels like another life, like it happened to someone else, and in many ways, it did. Vasquez doesn't think there is much of Coyotl left in himself, but it doesn't bother him terribly. ]
They took my village, raped and killed and captured as they liked. Those who lived, they took back to their city as sacrifices for their gods.
At the top of the tall temples, they offered us.
[ Vasquez shrugs, watching the fire now, instead of Faraday. ]
I remember nothing but walking on these bloody stones after others had gone before me – and then I woke again as this.
[ He gestures down at himself with a wave of his hand. ]
See, Faraday had expected another vampire story. Something about being wooed by some alluring stranger, or being stalked in the night by some shadowy figure, or playing good Samaritan to the exact wrong person by allowing them into his house. The sort of story you could tell with suspenseful pauses.
Faraday didn't expect this.
Even if he could speak, he'd have nothing to say. As it is now, he lowers his head a little, ears pressed back – offering his sympathies, maybe. Or offering an apology for asking Vasquez to recount that awful bit of his life. ]
[ Vasquez glances over at Faraday, unsmiling, though there's something soft in his expression, despite the horrible tale he's shared. ]
I don't know if their gods are real or what made me like this. They say that sometimes, when they sacrifice to their trickster, he curses the world with a caminante de sangre.
A prank, maybe.
[ He straightens up, shrugging out of his vest. He lays it on his saddlebag before he reaches for the buttons on his shirt. Vasquez undoes the top few, pulling open the fabric to reveal the nasty, jagged scar down the middle of his chest. ]
They also say it's because he eats the hearts, because they bleed the bodies first, and that's why the caminante need to drink the blood of others.
[ Vasquez's hands fall from his shirt, resting instead on his knees. ]
I don't know what is truth or legend, but... [ He lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. ] Centuries later, I am still here.
[ Faraday's gaze falls to Vasquez's hands as they work at the fastenings of his shirt. He's seen the scar a handful of times – chance glimpses when they bathed, or after the wolf had mauled Vasquez half to death, and the scar was all that lingered after Vasquez's body had healed beneath his ruined shirt.
He had never wondered what it meant, had assumed it was a holdover from his mortal life.
It appears he wasn't entirely wrong.
He's never been more annoyed that he can't speak, especially now that he has a half-dozen questions bubbling in his throat. They left you for dead? Did you have a family? Did you go out and get revenge on those bastards?
He lets out a low, frustrated growl.
For now, he settles on the question he can probably mime out, gaze falling to the scar on Vasquez's chest, head tilted inquisitively.
[ ... He can't interpret the meaning behind Faraday's rumbling growl, but the way he looks at Vasquez's chest, that little tilt of his head – that's clearer.
He huffs a short laugh. ]
Nothing in here, perrito.
You can listen, if you want. It sounds hollow. [ Vasquez's own overly sensitive hearing has told him as much. He can hear his lungs inflate, if he listens, but there's an odd emptiness, a low, almost imperceptible echo. ]
[ Faraday, apparently, is quick to take the invitation, pushing himself up to his feet. He stretches again, extending out his hind legs, though he keeps his bad leg out a little longer; it tends to lock up far too easily, these days.
But after that he pads over to Vasquez's bedroll, sitting on his haunches and looking expectantly at the other man again.
[ Vasquez is a little surprised when Faraday is so eager to accept, but he supposes it's something of a novelty, all things considered. Other vampires still have all their organs, after all, and this is one of the facets that sets Vasquez apart.
He readjusts, sitting up more comfortably and gesturing for Faraday to lean in. ]
[ He does as he's asked, shuffling forward a little more to close the space between them. He has his ears perked as he leans forward, head practically pressed to the scar on Vasquez's chest. Vasquez's skin has always been a little cool, only occasionally warmed by the blood he drank, and the slight chill of his skin doesn't take Faraday by surprise as much, these days.
Sure enough, he doesn't heart a single thing. The filling of his lungs, sure, as he takes in breath to speak, but otherwise—
Silence.
It's a little unsettling, if he's honest.
He pulls back, giving Vasquez space again. His ears flick, eyes slightly narrowing – as if to say, Huh.
[ It says a great deal that Vasquez doesn’t even tense when Faraday draws so close. Vasquez just breathes, lets Faraday listen until he plops down again. ]
It’s strange, eh?
[ Vasquez seems fine with his shirt undone, unconcerned by the sight of his scar. He sits back, leaning to his pack to draw out a cigar and matches. ]
[ Faraday glances up at the other man, and rather than feel mollified by the offering, he looks a little—
Chagrined, may be the best way to describe it.
Faraday had been curious, sure, but he didn't realize he would dredge up all of that. Maybe he should've known better. He shouldn't have lose his goddamn mind and assumed the worst of the other man.
He keeps his head slightly lowered, expression serious – though the wolf's face always tends to be – and after a moment of hesitation, he gently butts his head against Vasquez's arm.
Faraday isn't given to apology, really, but this seems to be as close to one as he can manage in either form. ]
[ Vasquez blinks at Faraday with a flicker of surprise as he butts his head against Vasquez’s arm. But for all that it’s a wildly different means of communicating, he still understands, on some level.
With a faint, crooked smile, he reaches up to rub between the wolf’s ears with his free hand. ]
It’s fine, perro. You probably should know, traveling together like this.
[ He lets out a low, grumbling noise – disagreement, it seems, judging by the quick shake of his head.
Didn't have to find out like that, he wants to say. By pitching a fit, by letting his distrustful nature get the best of them, by insulting Vasquez and his intentions.
It's becoming increasingly common, that bit of contact – Vasquez's hand resting on Faraday's head. Faraday should probably bristle at it, should snap his teeth and treat it like the abasement it is.
Instead, he settles – likely eating up a great deal of space on Vasquez's bedroll, huge as this form is – and lowers his head to rest on his legs. His gaze stays on Vasquez, expression a little expectant and ear flicking.
[ Vasquez actually seems perfectly content with allowing Faraday to settle beside him, no matter how much space he's claiming for himself. He draws his hand away to light his cigar, taking a few slow puffs as he shakes out his match. ]
That should be all, I think.
[ Thoughtlessly, Vasquez rests a hand back on Faraday's head, letting his fingers rustle through thick fur. ]
[ Faraday lets out a low sound in response – a reluctant agreement. Three hundred years must come with a lot of history, he figures, but maybe Vasquez doesn't feel up to the sharing. Faraday's already pried enough tonight, dug deeper than he likely should have.
For now, he thinks he's done enough damage.
He lies at Vasquez's hip for a while, surprisingly content to let the other man sink his hand into Faraday's fur. If anyone asked, Faraday would grudgingly admit he had learned to tolerate the sensation during his recovery, when he shifted to and from his wolf form and was left howling with pain, disoriented and terrified – and Vasquez would be there with a calming voice, holding him steady to keep Faraday from thrashing and reopening his wounds. Not unlike a doting mother calming a child after a nightmare, he figures.
Faraday would never admit it aloud, but it feels nice.
He enjoys it for a handful of minutes, content to watch the flickering flame for at least a little while, but Faraday has always been a little fidgety, has always needed something to do, like keeping his hands occupied with shuffling cards. At last, the inactivity gets to him, and he grumbles a little, mouth opening on a wide yawn. He sits up, then, looking first to Vasquez, then to the wooded area beyond, then back again.
[ Vasquez doesn't mind the quiet, the sitting and smoking and keeping each other company. That's been one of the more pleasant aspects of traveling with someone: the companionable silence.
But leave it to Faraday to get fidgety.
Vasquez offers a hum as he stubs out his cigar, tossing it into the fire. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Growing up, he was always more interested in the local legends. ]
no subject
I lived a little before that, in a small village. I had not much family, but everyone looked out for each other, worked together. It was that way for a lot of the land, before it was taken by the aztectl. Before the Spanish, they were their own empire, taking and destroying everything they wanted.
People, also.
[ He sounds— detached from his explanation. It feels like another life, like it happened to someone else, and in many ways, it did. Vasquez doesn't think there is much of Coyotl left in himself, but it doesn't bother him terribly. ]
They took my village, raped and killed and captured as they liked. Those who lived, they took back to their city as sacrifices for their gods.
At the top of the tall temples, they offered us.
[ Vasquez shrugs, watching the fire now, instead of Faraday. ]
I remember nothing but walking on these bloody stones after others had gone before me – and then I woke again as this.
[ He gestures down at himself with a wave of his hand. ]
no subject
See, Faraday had expected another vampire story. Something about being wooed by some alluring stranger, or being stalked in the night by some shadowy figure, or playing good Samaritan to the exact wrong person by allowing them into his house. The sort of story you could tell with suspenseful pauses.
Faraday didn't expect this.
Even if he could speak, he'd have nothing to say. As it is now, he lowers his head a little, ears pressed back – offering his sympathies, maybe. Or offering an apology for asking Vasquez to recount that awful bit of his life. ]
no subject
I don't know if their gods are real or what made me like this. They say that sometimes, when they sacrifice to their trickster, he curses the world with a caminante de sangre.
A prank, maybe.
[ He straightens up, shrugging out of his vest. He lays it on his saddlebag before he reaches for the buttons on his shirt. Vasquez undoes the top few, pulling open the fabric to reveal the nasty, jagged scar down the middle of his chest. ]
They also say it's because he eats the hearts, because they bleed the bodies first, and that's why the caminante need to drink the blood of others.
[ Vasquez's hands fall from his shirt, resting instead on his knees. ]
I don't know what is truth or legend, but... [ He lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. ] Centuries later, I am still here.
no subject
He had never wondered what it meant, had assumed it was a holdover from his mortal life.
It appears he wasn't entirely wrong.
He's never been more annoyed that he can't speak, especially now that he has a half-dozen questions bubbling in his throat. They left you for dead? Did you have a family? Did you go out and get revenge on those bastards?
He lets out a low, frustrated growl.
For now, he settles on the question he can probably mime out, gaze falling to the scar on Vasquez's chest, head tilted inquisitively.
So you've got no heart? ]
no subject
He huffs a short laugh. ]
Nothing in here, perrito.
You can listen, if you want. It sounds hollow. [ Vasquez's own overly sensitive hearing has told him as much. He can hear his lungs inflate, if he listens, but there's an odd emptiness, a low, almost imperceptible echo. ]
no subject
But after that he pads over to Vasquez's bedroll, sitting on his haunches and looking expectantly at the other man again.
All right, let's hear it. ]</small
no subject
He readjusts, sitting up more comfortably and gesturing for Faraday to lean in. ]
A little closer, tu perro tonto.
no subject
Sure enough, he doesn't heart a single thing. The filling of his lungs, sure, as he takes in breath to speak, but otherwise—
Silence.
It's a little unsettling, if he's honest.
He pulls back, giving Vasquez space again. His ears flick, eyes slightly narrowing – as if to say, Huh.
Odd. ]
no subject
It’s strange, eh?
[ Vasquez seems fine with his shirt undone, unconcerned by the sight of his scar. He sits back, leaning to his pack to draw out a cigar and matches. ]
Now, see, you know what I am.
no subject
Chagrined, may be the best way to describe it.
Faraday had been curious, sure, but he didn't realize he would dredge up all of that. Maybe he should've known better. He shouldn't have lose his goddamn mind and assumed the worst of the other man.
He keeps his head slightly lowered, expression serious – though the wolf's face always tends to be – and after a moment of hesitation, he gently butts his head against Vasquez's arm.
Faraday isn't given to apology, really, but this seems to be as close to one as he can manage in either form. ]
no subject
With a faint, crooked smile, he reaches up to rub between the wolf’s ears with his free hand. ]
It’s fine, perro. You probably should know, traveling together like this.
no subject
Didn't have to find out like that, he wants to say. By pitching a fit, by letting his distrustful nature get the best of them, by insulting Vasquez and his intentions.
It's becoming increasingly common, that bit of contact – Vasquez's hand resting on Faraday's head. Faraday should probably bristle at it, should snap his teeth and treat it like the abasement it is.
Instead, he settles – likely eating up a great deal of space on Vasquez's bedroll, huge as this form is – and lowers his head to rest on his legs. His gaze stays on Vasquez, expression a little expectant and ear flicking.
Anything else you feel like sharing? ]
no subject
That should be all, I think.
[ Thoughtlessly, Vasquez rests a hand back on Faraday's head, letting his fingers rustle through thick fur. ]
no subject
For now, he thinks he's done enough damage.
He lies at Vasquez's hip for a while, surprisingly content to let the other man sink his hand into Faraday's fur. If anyone asked, Faraday would grudgingly admit he had learned to tolerate the sensation during his recovery, when he shifted to and from his wolf form and was left howling with pain, disoriented and terrified – and Vasquez would be there with a calming voice, holding him steady to keep Faraday from thrashing and reopening his wounds. Not unlike a doting mother calming a child after a nightmare, he figures.
Faraday would never admit it aloud, but it feels nice.
He enjoys it for a handful of minutes, content to watch the flickering flame for at least a little while, but Faraday has always been a little fidgety, has always needed something to do, like keeping his hands occupied with shuffling cards. At last, the inactivity gets to him, and he grumbles a little, mouth opening on a wide yawn. He sits up, then, looking first to Vasquez, then to the wooded area beyond, then back again.
Hungry? ]
no subject
But leave it to Faraday to get fidgety.
Vasquez offers a hum as he stubs out his cigar, tossing it into the fire. ]
You thinking about hunting, perrito?
no subject
Might as well.
It's close enough to dinner time, he figures, and he does have an excess of nervous energy, after their spat. ]