[Vasquez holds his gaze, not flinching, maybe preening just a little with the way he stands up straighter. He knows he can be good to look at, so there's no point ignoring it.]

The only music I know are old lullabies and whatever someone decides to sing in a saloon.

[The last few songs he'd heard had been awful warbling, because all the pretty songbirds had flown away. Then, they'd all been forced to sing things here. He glances at the other man with a sheepish shrug, because maybe he's not in great condition, but it's not so bad.]

I've had worse. I'm barely even passing out.