cuddletalk | text | un: vaquero

I escaped dying, but not everyone else was so lucky. I was going to ride away, head somewhere safe and quiet.

Instead, I'm in a very loud engine.

[ He says it with mild distaste, but it's not Reyes or the car's fault, not when he just wants to be somewhere that he has control. It's not like Rose Creek or any other small town would have been better, but at least it would have been his choice.

Glancing at where they end up, he heads inside after Reyes with more approval on his face, taking a seat and glancing around before taking off the hat. No one seems to be smoking, so he doesn't take out a cigarette, but he wants to, very much. ]

What kind of bar is this? No gambling, no fighting? Much more civilized than I know.

They've got a bar like that here. It's called CriminALES. I just don't like their lack of variety when it comes to beers or other booze.

[he's not that much of an elitist, but the cheap piss water and liquor that reminds him of kerosene rather than a smooth tequila aren't really his idea of a good time.]

But this is a good middle of the road. I don't feel like I'm out of place.

What kind of booze do they have?

[ He's really not picky, so long as it doesn't end up blinding him and given the lack of quality in some of the things he's drank over the years, it would take a very good deal of booze to be able to actually blind him. This is good, too, though. Better because he has someone who can help him navigate this strange new world. ]

I do. Out of place, that is. Does that ever stop? Do people start feeling like they belong?

Uh. A couple lagers and ales. Whiskey. I think they've got vodka and maybe rum?

[honestly, the number of times he'd visited criminales could be counted on one hand and the grime on the counter coupled with the lack of service had left him feeling more than a little annoyed and he'd left after a couple drinks each time swearing that he wouldn't be back unless absolutely necessary. if vasquez wants a change of venue so he'll feel a little more at home, he'll be happy to oblige but that doesn't mean he has to be happy about it.]

I feel a lot better than I did when I first got here. Helps that I've got someone from home to make it feel normal. [he pauses for a moment to thank their bartender for bringing his beer and to take a well-deserved sip] Of course, I'm not dealing with a case of severe culture shock.

Everyone in my life has had to learn to accept when things change. I hope you feel like you belong at some point. Otherwise... this whole being here thing is gonna suck.

Whiskey. Always good to start with whiskey, move on to rum when that starts to burn a little too much.

[ Truthfully, you could hand anything in a bottle to Vasquez and he'd end up drinking it. It's been a very stressful few days and right now, he could use the numbing sensation of not having to think or feel anything at all. He'll go see this CriminALES later, now that it's piqued his interest, but for now, he's going to appreciate someone making an effort]

I haven't belonged anywhere in years. I haven't had anyone to belong to or a place to belong in. I think I stopped remembering how.

[ As much as part of him doesn't know why he'd stayed in Rose Creek when Sam had given him a chance to leave, he thinks he knows. For a brief, tiny moment, he'd belonged in a group of people trying to do one good thing. That had been enough. ]

Thanks for the tip. I'll be sure to use it the next time I'm planning a night of heavy drinking.

[he's trying to envision an evening spent drinking enough that he'd feel like one liquor was burning down his throat and that he'd have to switch to another. robbie chuckles because he really can't fathom that ever happening. a few drinks, maybe, but not so much as to have to completely drown out his sorrows.]

You know, I thought that too about myself for awhile. Thought that I was caught between two very different worlds and didn't quite fit in either. But, I met some people not too long ago who changed that.
[robbie thinks of daisy first, but there's others too, ones he's met here who make him surprisingly happy and help foster a sense of belonging that he'd been anxious to feel for quite some time.]

Made me feel more like me than I had in a long time. Who knows. Maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe you'll find that here.

Most nights of heavy drinking for me were because they were necessary, not for fun. Sometimes, you don't want to remember what your life is like.

[It's bliss for about three hours, then you wake up and your head is pounding and you hate everything. That's what Vasquez has to deal with, but maybe he doesn't need to be that drunk in a place like this, because if it's true and he's not wanted, then all he has to be miserable about is the fact that he's in this alone.]

How did you find it? Where do you even start? Or is it with loud engines and strangers like you in bars?

[Because if that's the case, then Vasquez is off to a great start.]

Damn if I don't know what that feels like. I wish drinking helped me.

[vasquez speaks about drinking out of necessity, out of a visceral need to forget about the mess that life brings. robbie knows that all too well, knows that the nights he preferred the most were ones where his voice, thoughts, and awareness faded into the backround, where the ghost rider took control of the wheel and he didn't have to fret about the fact that he was sending people off to their doom with a touch of his bare hands.

sad thing is, drinking never really helped him forget those nights where he wasn't consciously aware of the blood on his hands. in a way, he envies vasquez if the other man can manage to actually forget, if only for a little while, while.

it's part of the reason why robbie's so damn happy to be here. the other part being that he honestly didn't think he'd survive what happened in that giant quantum battery.]

My life changed the minute some punk of a girl with sad eyes came into my life and tried to kill me.
[there's a smile playing at his lips when he mentions daisy, because truly, meeting her was a turning point in his life. he stopped keeping secrets from his family. he met people who, he hoped, understood him and understood what he was going through a lot better than he could've hoped for.] She's my best friend now. If you want, I can introduce you two.

But I think, if you want to start feeling comfortable, if you're looking to find somewhere to — I'm sorry, but you'll have to pardon the phrase — [he has to chuckle at the phrase because he's literally never seen a cowboy until today] hang your hat, maybe we can just get things rolling with a few drinks. Who knows. Maybe we can find you a horse even.

Not very typical for someone to be your best friend after they try and kill you. Not in my experience, at least.

[He understands blustering and putting up a show and acting tough and insulting someone and talking about killing them, but then, the actual act? No, this is much different, something Vasquez doesn't think that you would be friends after, although, didn't he taunt Goodnight with his grandfather potentially being murdered by Vasquez's? So maybe friendship can come from that.]

Hang my hat? [He snorts in disbelief, can't help it.] If I had a horse, all that it's good for is getting from one place to another. Is that what you do with your car? Use it to escape places?

Yeah, well. She and I had a little misunderstanding about my night job, but that all worked out in the end.

[he and daisy were strangers then, and from what she knew at first, he was just mowing people down like any other vigilante, but eventually they came to an accord. he's really glad they did too, because he honestly can't picture his life without her in it in some way.

he hopes vasquez finds that too. though maybe without the side of murder and mayhem.]

What else does a cowboy put up in his home exactly? [he shrugs in uncertainty. forgive him, vasquez. he wouldn't know a real cowboy from a cartoon one.] Yeah. Car's good for that. Also fun just to drive around.

[Vasquez isn't sure how a disagreement about a night job could turn out so bad, but he gives a shrug because that's none of his business, is it?]

I haven't had a home in so long, I don't know what you would put in it. Food. Lots of food. Maybe even some company.

[That 'maybe' is pretty firm, not because he wants to stay lonely, but because he's spent so long not trusting people that he thinks he couldn't be safe or feel it for a long time.]

I'm not a cowboy, though. Vaquero, sí. Might be the same, but it's plenty different. With your car, how did you learn? How did you afford it? A horse is expensive, what does a car cost?

[robbie can appreciate the desire for food in ample quantities, nodding along as vasquez talks of filling his pantry. he'd never gone hungry, bless his tio, but things were definitely dicey more than a few times growing up.]

You'll have to tell me all about the differences sometime. But my uncle taught me. It's his old car. I... [robbie can't help but grimace a little thinking about his uncle and what had become of the man who'd been his idol for years.]

I got his car when he went off to jail. Cars can be pretty pricey, but not all of them are. Depends on what you're looking for. A few hundred will usually only get you a hunk of junk. A few thousand isn't too uncommon though for a used car.

[He doesn't have any uncles left, but the ones he did have showed him how to lasso the cows, make it so that he could make a living. His mother showed him cooking, his father taught him to shoot and to smoke. His sisters taught him how annoying they could be, but they're all a distant, faded memory now.]

Hundred, though? Where I come from, you can get a horse for twenty dollars.

[And his head for five hundred.]

Jail is still around in the future? What's it like, then?

I think everything's gotten a whole lot more expensive since your day and age.

Take this beer for example. [he mentions, casually holding his glass up before taking a drink.] On the cheap end a beer will run you maybe 2 dollars at the bar.

But for one of the fancy ones [and robbie wrinkles his nose at the thought] They're easily half the price of one of your horses.

[damn. with inflation that's gotta be enough to net him a house and then some. good thing that robbie's not a bounty hunter.]

Jail's still around. From what I hear? Crap food. Orange jumpsuits.

You're kidding. That's loco.

[It's said bluntly because as far as Vasquez is concerned, he wouldn't pay that much money for anything in his time, not unless it was practically made of gold. He snorts and shakes his head, thinking that it's wild to think of how much it's come to be.]

Orange jumpsuits? Why orange?

No kidding. Rich keep getting richer and so on too. [as he realizes that he's getting a little soapbox-y with things, he pipes down, clearing his throat after a minute or two of silence and continuing.]

So you can't hide, I guess. Kind of hard to miss orange when buildings are grey and brown with glass windows that are taller than a person.

[Vasquez is scowling as they talk about rich people, because that's always going to be a reaction when he hears about rich people, getting richer, but he schools the sneer on his face because it's not time for him to complain about his poor circumstances.]

Really? Most people, where I come from, they don't bother with the prisons. Turn to the 'dead' part of 'dead or alive' pretty fast.

[they're not too unalike in that circumstance. robbie's not exactly rolling in the dough as the phrase goes. but he does what he can to survive, keep a roof over his and his brother's head. he'd like for gabe to head off to college already but money's tighter than he cares to admit. conversations for another time.]

Yeah. Modern criminal justice. They don't kill you unless you're sentenced to death and some places don't permit that. So, there's prisons filled with people who're just there to die a lot slower.

[Prison would've meant that Vasquez had a chance to escape and get out. He would have, eventually, too. Now he can understand why it is that he wouldn't have been given the option of being locked up, at least, not for the bounty on his head.]

But it's not here, right? Whatever you did before, no one is going to try and put you in the orange suits here because of it?

[there's nothing about this place that leads robbie to believe that vasquez or anyone else for that matter might be in danger of being jailed. no, if anything, he figures if the city didn't want them here, they'd just send them packing. return to sender as it were.]

I don't think they would. I'm not a saint, but they didn't put me in a cell. Besides, I don't know that they would've let us in if we were really just meant for a jail cell. Why bother at that point?

Entertainment, maybe, for someone very sick.

[ Snorting, he shakes his head, half wishing that he were given the choice of a jail cell over a hanging (or a shooting), because then he could pick that and he could escape. He'd be very good at escaping, he thinks. ]

That's messed up and sounds like the kind of thing they'd do on a reality tv show.

[he shakes his head trying to clear the thought of being on some kind of show where they put strangers in a house and force them to manipulate one another. this definitely doesn't feel like that.

does vasquez know anything about reality tv yet? if not, then he's in for a serious education.]

On a what now?

[Isn't everything reality? How would it be a show, then? This is just more painful looks into what passes for the future and he's really not sure how much he likes it.]

Reality tv. Uh. Moving pictures? They record people's lives.

[this is really going to be a thing that's easier to explain by showing.]

Remind me the next time we grab a drink. I'll just show you.

I feel like I'm going to need a drink. I feel like I'm going to need all the drinks to understand this place. How does everyone do it?

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acuerdo - 2017-11-18 22:44 (UTC) - Expand

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