(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]

"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.*

[lastgunslinger]

It's hard to let the person holding onto your arm lead you, but he does it, and if he sees Paris in another light now and if it maybe hurts a bit -- they're walking, aren't they? and so Roland hides what he is thinking.

[balletrat]

*Meg is not paying much attention to where she is going, lost in her own thoughts.

So it is only when they have already crossed back over the bridge across the Seine that she starts.*

Oh, merde - I left, I dropped my bag -

wait here, Roland, all right?

*She disengages her arm, gently, and turns and starts to dart back the way they've come.*

[lastgunslinger]

Roland waits, watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.

Hands in his pockets.

He picks up a bullet and runs his fingers over the contours, worrying it gently.

[balletrat]

*Meg is not paying attention to where she is going. At all.

This is kind of a problem when a small running person accidentally misses the bridge.*

[lastgunslinger]

And without a second thought --

Or.

He takes off his jacket, knocks his hat from his head, and makes sure his gun is secured in its holster -- and then he goes in after her.

[balletrat]

*Maybe all those swimming lessons came in handy after all. At least her head is above water.

Well, most of the time; she's swallowed a few gulps, enormously, but at least she can breathe through her nose.

Vaguely, she approves of Roland saving the top hat.*

[lastgunslinger]

Roland can swim, too. He hauls her out, and carries her up the bank. They're both soaked.

The reason why he took off his jacket is now apparent, as she is a drowned rat, and the jacket is dry.

The gunslinger is now kneeling next to her, and he puts the jacket around her shoulders, and looks closely at her. "You all right?"

[balletrat]

*Meg coughs out some water, and lets her head thump back on the grass.*

Feeling, *she says wryly, sounding far more like herself,* like a total idiot. Otherwise, yes.


Thanks.

[lastgunslinger]

"Still want your bag? I can go get it."