More trial than error, seems like, [ Goodnight chuckles, finally looking up. ] Seein' as you're not pushin' up a patch of daisies.
[ Whatever unease or transparency he feels (preoccupied though he's been, he'd have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to catch what Faraday was getting at on the makeshift range), there's none on his features, the lines of his face lending themselves to amusement rather than those briefly-seen sharp edges of panic. A reminder, really, of the price paid for infamy, for getting away where thousands of other men had met their deaths. (For getting away despite being on the wrong side of the war.)
In truth, he's not sure how to make that reconciliation, either. He means what he says to Chisolm, later β I've become everything I despise β but it's his cross to bear. No one, not even Billy, can walk through the fire in his place.
Setting his gun aside, he gestures for Faraday to join him by the fire. Whatever soul-searching he's come out here to do can wait. Not that he'd ever admit to it, anyway. ]
How'd ol' Chisolm find you, then?
[ A beat, as he produces a flask from his jacket pocket, the fleur de lis matching the pins on his coat. ]
Horne, I heard of, and Vasquez's got himself that pretty little warrant, but youβ you're a man of mystery, Mr. Faraday.
no subject
[ Whatever unease or transparency he feels (preoccupied though he's been, he'd have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to catch what Faraday was getting at on the makeshift range), there's none on his features, the lines of his face lending themselves to amusement rather than those briefly-seen sharp edges of panic. A reminder, really, of the price paid for infamy, for getting away where thousands of other men had met their deaths. (For getting away despite being on the wrong side of the war.)
In truth, he's not sure how to make that reconciliation, either. He means what he says to Chisolm, later β I've become everything I despise β but it's his cross to bear. No one, not even Billy, can walk through the fire in his place.
Setting his gun aside, he gestures for Faraday to join him by the fire. Whatever soul-searching he's come out here to do can wait. Not that he'd ever admit to it, anyway. ]
How'd ol' Chisolm find you, then?
[ A beat, as he produces a flask from his jacket pocket, the fleur de lis matching the pins on his coat. ]
Horne, I heard of, and Vasquez's got himself that pretty little warrant, but youβ you're a man of mystery, Mr. Faraday.