milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Roland is stretched out on a couch, his arms folded behind his head, his hat hanging on the end of the armrest. The Lord of the Rings is open, cover-up, across his chest.

His eyes are open.

He's smiling to himself.

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A very small smile.

Precious, precious silver and gold
And pearls in oyster's flesh

"If you'd like to couple my boots with your dress, lady...I await your word."

She laughs.

"Hand 'em over, Roland."

He bends over, unlaces them, slides his feet out. Very white feet. He's missing the big toe on his right foot.

This body will never be safe from harm

And Roland sets them down in front of her -- ancient clodhoppers. They've seen dust and rain and miles and worlds. Traveling shoes.

She likes them. These are the best types of shoes.

She slips them onto her delicate feet, and stands.

"You see, these? So much more comfortable."

And yes, it does look rather absurd, those shoes sticking out from underneath that dress.

"You say true, lady." Smiling, and laughter there in his voice. "Though they're far more suitable for gunslingers than courtiers."

Roland never liked courtiers.

But she's...more.
Love, let me sleep tonight on your couch
And remember the smell of the fabric
Of your simple city dress
He sits forward, his elbows rest on his knees, with his hands dangling in between. Smiling up at her. Aching, and heedless of it.

"Honestly, Roland, do I strike you as a courtier? I haven't been this dressed up in about a million years."

She clomps around a little, enjoying the noise of the boots on the hardwood floor.

"These are good boots. I approve."

She grins back at him, all ancient and irrepressible joy.

And Roland is irresistably reminded of him and Cuthbert, in their youth, sneaking up to their fathers' rooms to try on shirts and pants and boots, such raiment as such hard men wore, stomping and posturing and eagerly awaiting the day when they, too, would be gunslingers. Would enter the service of the one who stands before him in his boots now.
And I never stepped on the cracks because I thought I'd hurt my mother
And I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under
He bows his head, ostensibly to receive her compliment.

She touches his head with the tips of her fingers, a benediction, and kicks off the boots.

"Thank you, Roland. That was fun."

Her voice is gentler than the words she speaks.

If it weren't gentle, there wouldn't be a smile, now, as he looks up at her. It's sad, to be sure -- but there. "Then that does me fine, lady-sai."

And then he busies himself with putting his boots back on.
I feel too young to hold on
And much too old to break free and run
Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage I've done
Sweet lover, you should've come over
Oh, love, I'm waiting for you

She lets him, and flops down on the couch to look at her own shoes.

She doesn't want to put them back on.

Instead, she reaches up and lets down her hair, and as it tumbles back from the brief sleekness into it's usual wild state, the whole of her outfit changes, back into her usual scruffy jeans and tank top.

His mouth goes dry.
When I'm broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it
Where are you tonight? child, you know how much I need it
And he breathes, and settles back.

Doesn't put an arm around her.

Thinks about it.

And softly, now: "Will you be well, lady-sai?"

She smiles at him, so sweet.

"I will, say thankya."

"It is good."

Hands in his lap. Fascinating.

Barest smile.

It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

"I should probably get going. I mean, there's a lot going on out there, and all." A sigh. It never does end.

She bumps him with her shoulder, and grins.

"Good to see you again." Good to see him smile. He doesn't do it often enough.

She stands to go, almost... reluctantly?

She could make him smile more often.
Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
He knows she won't.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch
He watches her. There's no almost about it, with the gunslinger. Her gunslinger.
But love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
"Long days and pleasant nights, lady-sai."

"And may you have twice the number, my gunslinger."

She's not unaware of the irony of her saying that to him... but it's the only thing she could have said.

She picks up her shoes and kisses her fingers and waves goodbye to him.

Someday, he will be hers.

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