[ He drinks from the glass with no less ardor, though a touch more carefully this time, and once it's drained, he offers a quiet, ] Thanks. Needed that.
[ He tries to settle into a more comfortable position, frowning with concentration as he shifts. ]
I owe that girl of yours a word of thanks, too, I suspect. [ A pause, as he tries to sort through the haze, pick out the memories that led him to this sorry state. ] Where'd I end up at?
[ He vaguely remembers that, remembers thinking, Well, this is a shitty way to die, and a bit of the haze falls away. He chuckles mirthlessly all over again, bringing up a hand to cover his face. ]
I got shot. [ Simple as that. His palm muffles his words slightly. ] Got sloppy. Wasn't exactly at my best, I guess.
I figured that much when I patched you up. [ Her eyes flick down to his side, then back up to his face ] What I want to know is if someone's gonna come back to finish what they started.
[ He says it with a grim certainty, hand dropping to his bandaged side.
Six shots, when he should've just taken three and ended it before it began. Shouldn't have fooled himself into thinking the men were smart enough to leave well enough alone.
[ She holds his gaze for a very long moment, before she turns to regard the guns hanging on the rack by the door. There are a lot of people out here who carry guns, even her, but not many of them could use them well.
After a moment, her eyes return to him. ]
That’s good to know.
[ With that, she gets to her feet. ] Let me see what’s cooking downstairs. I’ll be right back.
[ The little joke draws a chuckle out of her and she vanishes out the door. She's met with curious and expectant looks from her staff when she makes it back down to the main area of the bar. "He's awake," she says, and just like the the tension in the air dissipates.
A short while later, she makes her way back upstairs with a bowl of simple stew and some bread. For courtesy's sake, she raps on the door with a knuckle before entering. ]
I hope you haven't managed to wander off, Mr. Faraday.
[ True to his word, Faraday doesn’t wander too far; in fact, he doesn’t wander at all, mostly because even the idea of getting out of bed makes the ache in his side flare in warning. He already has a hole in him – he doesn’t need to add a busted nose to the list if he falls flat on his face.
So he stays put, reaching over to the window’s curtain to pull it aside. Light spills into the room. His eyes shut reflexively, and he turns away as his sight adjusts, but when it does, he looks down on the street below. It’s a small town, which means it has little to recommend it – a general shop, a schoolhouse, a church, all the usual stops. A man with a horse and carriage drifts down the road at a slow, leisurely pace. A couple more horses stand tethered in front of a watering trough directly below.
Peaceful. You’d almost never guess that just outside of town, three bodies rotted in the heat, or that it was very nearly four.
When Madigan reenters the room, Faraday looks up, and it’s only when he sees the food in her hands that he realizes he’s damn hungry. He puts on a crooked sort of smile, carefully pushing himself to sit up a little more. ]
I’m far from it, but I like to think I make a decent bowl of stew at the very least.
[ She offers said bowl and a spoon to him first, setting the bread aside next to the pitcher of water from earlier. Once again, she perches on the edge of the bed, observing as he eats for a short while before, ]
If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you do for a living, Mr. Faraday?
[ He sets into the food quickly, only sparing time enough for a quick, grateful glance and a word of thanks beforehand. The stew is hot, fills his stomach with a pleasant warmth, and the first spoonful is enough to remind him that it’s been literal days since the last time he’s had a hot meal, even if he wasn’t aware of time passing. It could have tasted like mud, and he would’ve scarfed it down – but it’s just as well that it doesn’t. Makes swallowing it down a whole lot easier.
He chews on a piece of meat thoughtfully at her question, buying himself some time. Hard to pin down a direct answer, he thinks. “I do what I have to” isn’t exactly the most comforting way of replying, so he decides on the easier response. ]
I play cards, mostly. Guess I’m a professional gambler, if you like.
Really? You just wander from place to place, gambling?
[ To her credit, she doesn’t seem to be judging him. It’s just idle curiosity. Most folks who came through were on their way somewhere else- headed towards a job in a bigger town, or making deliveries. She’s never come across a roving gambler before. ]
It’s nice. [ He says it honestly enough, wiping away the sweat on his brown with the back of his wrist. ] Place as small as this, you expect ‘em to serve up rotgut. Cut the whiskey with gunpowder to spread out their profits. Surprised to see you folks don’t.
[ A beat. ]
‘Less you do, in which case, you’re real subtle about it.
[ She hums a little, as though considering his statement. True, she doesn’t know him from Adam, but a man that badly wounded wouldn’t be able to cause much trouble for her or anyone else, and if he really wants to turn around and bite the hand that feeds him- well, that was his problem. ]
Maybe it’ll come back to bite me one of these days, but it hasn’t yet.
[ He offers her a long, considering look from the corner of his eye. Complete stranger, a businesswoman, but someone charitable enough to nurse a misfit like him back to health – and his isn’t the first case, from the sounds of it.
Odd. Practically impossible, where law and decency were more suggestions than actual rule. Faraday has seen how rough things can be this far west, knows what it does to a man. Kindness like this tends to get trodden pretty quickly. ]
Guess you’ve been fortunate enough to just be pickin’ up the right patient. [ Slightly gruff, despite the forced levity in his tone. ] Looks like your luck’s holdin’ out.
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Considering there's no doctor here, yeah. Sometimes.
You're lucky one of my girls found you when she did.
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[ He tries to settle into a more comfortable position, frowning with concentration as he shifts. ]
I owe that girl of yours a word of thanks, too, I suspect. [ A pause, as he tries to sort through the haze, pick out the memories that led him to this sorry state. ] Where'd I end up at?
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[ She perches on the edge of the bed, canting her head to one side. ] What happened?
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I got shot. [ Simple as that. His palm muffles his words slightly. ] Got sloppy. Wasn't exactly at my best, I guess.
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[ He says it with a grim certainty, hand dropping to his bandaged side.
Six shots, when he should've just taken three and ended it before it began. Shouldn't have fooled himself into thinking the men were smart enough to leave well enough alone.
He takes a breath, catching her gaze again. ]
I don't make mistakes twice.
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After a moment, her eyes return to him. ]
That’s good to know.
[ With that, she gets to her feet. ] Let me see what’s cooking downstairs. I’ll be right back.
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I’ll try not to wander too far, in the meantime.
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A short while later, she makes her way back upstairs with a bowl of simple stew and some bread. For courtesy's sake, she raps on the door with a knuckle before entering. ]
I hope you haven't managed to wander off, Mr. Faraday.
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So he stays put, reaching over to the window’s curtain to pull it aside. Light spills into the room. His eyes shut reflexively, and he turns away as his sight adjusts, but when it does, he looks down on the street below. It’s a small town, which means it has little to recommend it – a general shop, a schoolhouse, a church, all the usual stops. A man with a horse and carriage drifts down the road at a slow, leisurely pace. A couple more horses stand tethered in front of a watering trough directly below.
Peaceful. You’d almost never guess that just outside of town, three bodies rotted in the heat, or that it was very nearly four.
When Madigan reenters the room, Faraday looks up, and it’s only when he sees the food in her hands that he realizes he’s damn hungry. He puts on a crooked sort of smile, carefully pushing himself to sit up a little more. ]
You’re a saint, you know that?
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[ She offers said bowl and a spoon to him first, setting the bread aside next to the pitcher of water from earlier. Once again, she perches on the edge of the bed, observing as he eats for a short while before, ]
If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you do for a living, Mr. Faraday?
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He chews on a piece of meat thoughtfully at her question, buying himself some time. Hard to pin down a direct answer, he thinks. “I do what I have to” isn’t exactly the most comforting way of replying, so he decides on the easier response. ]
I play cards, mostly. Guess I’m a professional gambler, if you like.
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[ To her credit, she doesn’t seem to be judging him. It’s just idle curiosity. Most folks who came through were on their way somewhere else- headed towards a job in a bigger town, or making deliveries. She’s never come across a roving gambler before. ]
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[ he finishes off the stew, leaving the bowl in his lap as he settles back. ]
This place yours? [ A loose little wave of his good hand, gesturing vaguely to the building as a whole. ]
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At his question, she nods. ] It is. I inherited it from the little ol’ lady who built the place. It’s not fancy, but it’s home.
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[ A beat. ]
‘Less you do, in which case, you’re real subtle about it.
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I make it a point not to cut corners. It’s a matter of professional pride.
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‘S good, though, your place. Can’t say I see the wisdom in puttin’ up the random strays you find, but it’s hard to complain about that.
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Maybe it’ll come back to bite me one of these days, but it hasn’t yet.
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Odd. Practically impossible, where law and decency were more suggestions than actual rule. Faraday has seen how rough things can be this far west, knows what it does to a man. Kindness like this tends to get trodden pretty quickly. ]
Guess you’ve been fortunate enough to just be pickin’ up the right patient. [ Slightly gruff, despite the forced levity in his tone. ] Looks like your luck’s holdin’ out.