(no subject)

[lastgunslinger]

Roland has a favorite armchair downstairs. He also has one upstairs.

Right now he's sitting in it, smoking -- and thinking about Anthy, and what they can do. Of course Joe has to be off with that woman of his, and of course Moiraine and the Dream-lord are nowhere in sight.

And then there's Meg.

Roland's eyes narrow as he exhales. Smoke hovers over the pile of books on the end table, and dissipates.

Comments

[lastgunslinger]

Roland stands, head tilted very slightly to the side, and watches this interaction silently.

[balletrat]

*Monsieur le Baron Anonyme spares a brief glance for Roland before turning his attention back to Meg.*

Tu as quitte l'Opera, Mademoiselle. Ou travailles-tu, maintenant?

*Meg's gaze is still fixed on the ground; she doesn't answer.

The Baron waits for a moment, then shrugs and smiles; a normal, open smile.*

Ah, ce n'est rien. Au revoir, Meg.

*Meg takes a step to the side to let him pass. Her face is white.*

[You've left the Opera, Miss. Where do you work now?

Ah well, it's of no matter. Until next time, Meg.]

[lastgunslinger]

Roland turns, now, and looks down at her, silently questioning..

[balletrat]

An old acquaintance, *Meg says firmly, in a tone that she hopes forbids further questioning.*

[lastgunslinger]

Roland says quietly, "You expect me to believe that?"

[balletrat]

*Meg looks up at him, and her face is blank.*

How much more do you want to know?

[lastgunslinger]

"What you'd tell." Calmly. "You're a bad liar, Meg."

[balletrat]

*Meg flashes a small, rueful grin.*

Yeah. I know. Major character flaw, isn't it . . .

*She takes a breath.

Cuthbert hadn't minded. She tells herself that, and shrugs, airily.*

Well. Okay. So I told you - Susan and I had a few things in common.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland nods, and waits.

[balletrat]

*Another shrug, calculatedly careless.

She's bad at lying, but she's better at that.*

Well, she never actually gillied. I did. Is all. Bank is that way, should we move on?

[lastgunslinger]

Roland's eyes blaze.

Dangerously soft: "I'd hear more."

It's not a request.

[balletrat]

*Meg looks up at him, almost defiant.*

Well, it's different here, of course - the word's not quite right. Because gillying is theoretically for the sake of kids, right? Didn't claim any noble reasons here. All flat and up-front.

[lastgunslinger]

"Then what is the reason?"

Still in that frighteningly quiet voice.

[balletrat]

Money, of course.

*Meg's voice is thoroughly matter-of-fact.

If it doesn't quite match her eyes, well, who's counting?*

An Opera house runs on money. So if you're a manager, and you have a patron who's giving you money, you make sure that patron goes on giving you money. Which includes - convincing others to cooperate as well.

It's a system. And it keeps the Opera houses running. Would you maybe like a more detailed analysis?

[lastgunslinger]

Roland doesn't say anything.

He's too busy fighting back fury.

[balletrat]

*Meg turns away.

Her voice is bright.*

Now should we maybe try and find that bank?

[lastgunslinger]

"No."

Almost under control, now. Almost. Just a little more time and he'll be able to speak without seeing red.

[balletrat]

Oh.

Well, then.

*Still that brightness in the voice.*

Understandable, I guess - I'll give you the directions and get you a guide, how's that?

[lastgunslinger]

"No."

He forces himself to be calm.

A breath. More of a sigh than anything else.

"It's not you."

[balletrat]

It's the way, *Meg says, her voice almost cool,* the world works.

I told you I wasn't innocent.

[lastgunslinger]

"I never thought you were."

[balletrat]

Then why, *Meg asks warily,* are you -

[lastgunslinger]

"Why am I what?"

Calm again, now.

[balletrat]

*She turns back to glare at him.*

You know what I mean.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland looks at her for a long moment. Sees her very well.

Her glare just proves what he's thinking, so he says it.

"You are a dancer, as I am a gunslinger. Is it not so?"