(no subject)

[lastgunslinger]

Argument.

Five. Then Desmond died.

Then there were four.

Two days later Jamie DeCurry was killed by sniperfire.

Now Alain was screaming.

Roland stands at the cavemouth on Jericho Hill. His eyes are wide with horror.

Comments

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

Joe smiles. It's sharp and predatory. "Excellent."

"You're pissed off now. And you'll be pissed off later. I don't reckon you much like me in my when either. But it don't matter. You'll have other people--real gunslingers and not busted down bounty hunters whose girlfriends you don't cotton to--an' you'll like them just fine."

"But me--you need me." He stubs out the cigar in an ashtray that just popped into existence. The lights die with it, as this dogan fades away.

Because I'm the one who does the cutting.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland has no idea what the fuck Joe is talking about. He's the last gunslinger of Gilead, for the sake of all the gods -- whether or not they exist -- and there can't be any more. Because Gilead is no more.

He doesn't say anything more to Blondie, only brings himself out of the trance.

It's dusk, now, and the kerosene smell is stronger. The weight is heavier, too -- a pile of corpses. He hears voices, but they're far away, and so slowly he eases himself out. He's still got his guns.

And he opens his eyes -- slitted, first. When he's sure nobody is around, he opens them further, and eases himself out from under the giant's dead body. Covered in dirt and blood and muck, he crouches, and looks around him --

-- and there's the door.

He moves forward. It follows him.

And it keeps following him as he zig-zags his way up the hill.

He doesn't pass Cuthbert's body. Nor Alain's. He doesn't know how to feel about this.

And the cavemouth is in sight, and he keeps scrambling upward, when a sharp pain explodes just below his right shoulder blade.

Sniper.

Roland can't turn and shoot, so he darts behind a blue-black stoneface, and keeps climbing, slowly.

He enters the cave, finally, and he is breathing hard. You still in there?

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

Right here. You're hurt. I'm gonna come forward a bit more an' help--I don't feel it like you do.

[lastgunslinger]

It hurts, yes. Like a motherfucker. His shirt is sticking to his back, though whether it's with his blood or someone else's he can't tell. No. Tell me what to do and I'll do it.

Right now giving up control is the last thing Roland wants to do.

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

Joe does it anyway, lending him strength and making the pain more distant. Nothing Roland can do about it. His eyes swirl, and keep on swirling, from identical eyes to identical eyes, halfway between.

Find the card. Put it somewhere where it'll be safe until you need it. Then... shit, remember to use it.

Joe is privately worried about the wound, and the sounds of people hunting outside the cave.

[lastgunslinger]

It's dark inside the cave, but Roland's eyes are good...when they're his.

He doesn't want to do this. Knows he has to. If Blondie wasn't taking some of the pain away he probably couldn't do it, but now he crawls around the floor, casting around for the card.

It takes a moment, but he finds it. It takes longer for him to struggle back to his feet. I'm putting it in my grow-bag.

And he moves back to the back of the cave, where his gunna is stored. He drops it in, cinches the bag shut, and puts the grow-bag in his pocket.

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

Nothing happens.

And inside Roland's head, Joe facepalms.

I gotta tell you the password, too. It's unknown. The word.

From behind them, there is the gentle but undeniable click of a lock opening.

[lastgunslinger]

And Roland wants to respond, but apparently there's more blood loss than he thought, and suddenly there's much more pain than before --

-- and he's falling, falling backwards, and his back hits some disgustingly solid wood and he screams because the pain's even worse now and then the wood gives -- and he's -- they're -- through the door.