(no subject)

[lastgunslinger]

Roland lets go of Mal's hand and steps forward, moving with tight, hair-trigger grace, as though he could snap at any minute but for steel discipline and control wrought by years of experience. The way he moves, he's not conscious of the weight of the iron at his hip. It's an extension. This is his natural state.

It's terrifying.

He gathers each one of them with his eyes. "Ninety-six minutes. That's what we've got. We don't have time for heroics. Get in, do what you must, and get out."

There's a kind of cold serenity to Roland Deschain. Always has been.

"If there are questions -- if you're not certain what you're supposed to do -- any questions at all -- now's the time."

Complete silence.

His eyes glitter with something akin to

(no prisoners)

malice.

"Then stand, and be true."

He turns to the door.

"You heard Mal. Let's go."

Comments

[mr-brautigan.livejournal.com]

He's read the books.

He's read the books, and now it's the words of John Cullum, one of the founding fathers of the Tet Corporation -- it's John's words that Ted wasn't able to forget when he read them, and it's John's words that Ted can't get out of his head right now.

I denied Discordia and regret nothing; I have spat into the bodiless eyes of the Crimson King and rejoice; I threw my lot with the gunslinger's ka-tet and the White and never once questioned the choice.

If this is to be the end, let it be such an end as this.

Ted Brautigan -- Ted Stevens Brautigan, and you can check for yourself: the letters in that name add up to nineteen -- faces the door.