(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]

*By the time they reach the financial district, it's mostly men in the streets; important-looking men, dressed much as Roland is, bent on business.

Meg forges her way through the crowds, ably ignoring them -

and then sees a man in her path and stops.*

[lastgunslinger]

Roland stops as well, but doesn't look down at Meg.

Not yet.

[balletrat]

Mademoiselle Giry.

*The man is obviously wealthy; it's noticeable from the size of his waistline as well as the size of his rings. The look on his face is something akin to disdain.

There might be other things in there, as well.*

Monsieur le Baron, *Meg says politely, and dips a curtsey, her eyes fixed on the ground.

She does not look at Roland; in fact, she is doing her very best to send out 'random-stranger' vibes. How successful they are is dubious.*

[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 -