[voice test]

[assassinwithahairpin]

Even at night, Rose Creek was a city of desert heats this time of year. Billy had shucked his jacket in the room of the boarding house and excused himself from Faraday and Vasquez's increasing revelries in favor of a cigarette. Though the heat still lingered in the clapboards and railings, the night had a breeze that carried mining smells in from the east.

Billy leaned his elbows on the railing of the balcony, cigarette pinched between his fingers, and considered. This was not his sort of a play, if he were perfectly honest. He was here because he was Robichaeux's man, because he needed him; and Robichaeux was here because of--a debt? A promise? An inescapable and inexplicable need to right his past? And what about the others? Money, connection, promises. He and Red Harvest seemed the odd outliers which Billy could not explain.

A door opened to his left, but he didn't react to it. He knew who it was. He brought the cigarette to his lips and looked up at the moon, wan on the horizon, providing no real light to the evening.

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[assassinwithahairpin]

Billy leaned over as Goodnight continued to huff and vibrate with his agitation. He kissed his lips, his chin, across his jaw and down his neck. If he could not make Goody believe that he could do this, than he would carry him through it. He knew what Goody was capable of, was confident in him. It filled in his chest.

He hummed, vaguely. Billy was sure that Faraday would certainly try and find plenty to occupy his interests. Drinking, maybe a couple of women. Vasquez and he kept glancing at each other so heatedly that Billy wanted to laugh at them both.

[goodnight_robicheaux]

Goodnight tried to relax, especially when Billy leaned over, lip brushing along his skin. He turned his head toward him, kissed his forehead, his hair. "Mon cher," he murmured. "I'll be to rights in the morning."

Or he damn well hoped so.