(no subject)

[lastgunslinger]

He has finished Vannay's book on New Canaan; when he perused the Library further he found a book entitled Tales of Markey Avenue.

The author is Eddie Dean.

Roland is engrossed in this volume in the Garden of the Dreaming; overcast skies keep the temperature pleasant; the roses are still in bloom; the nearby fountain still has roses floating on the surface of the water.

The small grey kitten has stalked up the back of Roland's chair to perch on the top and read over his shoulder.

...And the next day Lord Perth's men came back. It turned out that the bag of coins was a magic bag that belonged to the King of Dwarfs, and they'd had to give it back. Which was good--it stopped a war--but it meant they still hadn't really repaid Lord Perth. So they had to give up the chicken...

Roland shakes his head slightly, and keeps reading.

Comments

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

"You might have to get used to it." And Joe never read the sixth Dark Tower book, so it's surely chance that puts the next words into his mouth. "You've been offered a chance to redeem the purpose of your life."

"Don't lose the damn horn. But if you lose your friends over a romance or a change in life or hurt pride, you might as well throw it away right now."

[lastgunslinger]

Joe keeps saying things that Roland's not sure how to reply to.

So he nods, and drinks his whiskey, and maintains a comfortable silence.

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

The things people say in dreams are fraught with meaning. Sometimes it fades with daylight. Either way it doesn't make for good conversation.

Joe's never been much of a conversationalist anyway. He sips his own drink, and silence reigns.

When the whiskey is gone for the third time, Joe inverts his glass and puts it over the neck of the bottle, and stands, and whistles for his horse, which has wandered off to crop along a strip of green outside the courtyard.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland looks at him. Sees him very well.

"Told you once I'd take back my curse if I could." Pause. "I cry your pardon."

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

The horse trots up; it tries to eat Joe's lapel, and he swats it with his hat again. "Given," Joe says immediately, swinging up onto the horse.

"It weren't your fault, Roland. I made my choices and I dealt with 'em. I shouldn't tried to get around the prophecy to begin with. Shouldn't have been so harsh to Tuco. Should've shot the four of them inside the bar instead of squarin' off like an idiot." He shrugs.

"Sometimes things just happen." He kicks the horse, and gallops into the west, kicking up dust and dragging the desolate landscape away with him like a trailing cloak; it melts away like a horizontal fade effect in a movie. The desert wind blows once more on its tails, rifting the overcast sky and lighting up the desert Joe disappears into with gold and copper tones. Then they drift closed, back to the low slate-colored ceiling Roland began with.