(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

[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?"

[balletrat]

It's so, *Meg says shortly.*

[lastgunslinger]

"It is not right that you must do such a thing so that you may continue doing what you cannot not do."

Some of the anger is back in his face and voice, now.

[balletrat]

*Meg takes a breath. Looks up at him.*

The risks for a dancer are different than those for a gunslinger.

But we both have to do things we maybe would prefer not to.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland shakes his head. "Not that. Never that."

[balletrat]

It's just bodies.

*Meg shrugs, with honest indifference.*

It's not important.

[lastgunslinger]

"If it's not important, why did you react as you did?" And a memory. "And why was there such acid in your mother's voice when she repeated my words back to me -- when I told her that you were friend to many?"

[balletrat]

*Meg flinches, a little, but keeps her voice easy.*

Just because it wasn't pleasant doesn't mean it was important.

As for my mother -

It's complicated.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland waits.

[balletrat]

*Meg sighs and wonders unhappily to herself when storytime will be over.*

She tried to protect me. Parents do that. I wouldn't let her and she gave up.

[lastgunslinger]

"Can you blame her?"

A tight thread of sadness -- and anger, still -- is there.

[balletrat]

No.

Well. I did, then. I don't now.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland doesn't say anything for a long moment.

Then, softly: "We'll come back another time."

He holds out his arm to Meg, courteously. As though nothing in the world were wrong. As though nothing had changed.

He hasn't forgotten Anthy. But it's further back, now.

[balletrat]

*Meg glances up at him, and hesitates a moment.

And then takes his arm, and turns around, and heads away from the street of financiers and the wealthy elite of Paris.*