milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Roland sits at the bar. "Half a roast chicken," he says, "and coffee."

The chicken appears. So does the coffee. So does a note. Roland reads it.

If it had been an emergency, Eddie would have come to find him immediately. Roland will go see him later.

In the meantime, there's a chicken carcass to demolish.

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Cuthbert claims the barstool next to Roland, disreputable-looking hat and all. He's eying Roland for any signs of further suspicious cheerfulness.

He's also holding a half-eaten chocolate bar in one hand. He holds it out, mumbling around a mouthful. "Want some?"

Roland snaps off a piece and tosses the rest of it back on the bar. "Say thankya."

They only had it on the most special of occasions, back home.

He eats some.

The sweetness is legendary.

Cuthbert breaks off another piece of chocolate for himself, and pops it in his mouth. He is one very contented looking gunslinger.

"So, any new developments I should know about?"

He doesn't mention Anthy's name, but he thinks it pretty hard.

He shakes his head. "Spoke to the Dream-lord. Said it was beyond him; that he could only advise. Still need to speak to Moiraine."

Cuthbert nods. "Alright."

Mmm, chocolate.

Roland eyes him, having finished his comparatively small piece of chocolate.

"Glutton."

Smirking.

"Hey, this place owes us for all the stress it's put us through. If I get my appeasement in the form of chocolate, who am I to refuse?"

This actually does make sense as a justification for chocolate-binging in Bert's head. ~~If not in his mun's.~~

The gunslinger points out, "You don't see me eating that much chocolate, and I've been here longer."

Cuthbert is undeterred. "Yes, well, that's your own affair. Leaves more for me, anyway."

Roland takes the rest of the chocolate and eats it.

Sometimes, he is contrary.

Cuthbert gives him a deeply, deeply wounded look.

Roland smiles.

It's hard to be bitter with that much sweetness in your mouth.

Roland's ankle is subjected to a hop-by hugging. It's terrible. Cabbithairs everywhere. The police pronounce themselves mystified as to the reason behind such a senseless act.

Not this thing again.

Roland looks down at it.

She beams up at him. "Meow!"

Roland gives it a Patented Gunslinger Glare.

The kind that has made grown men weep with fright.

Fortunately, the Cabbit is made of sterner stuff. Bio-organic spaceships have to, or they'd burn up in atmosphere.

His glare bounces off her beamed smile.

Roland shakes his ankle.

Hard.

Why do they do this?

By now, she has experience with holding on for dear life. She does so.

Two words, low:

"Get. Off."

She lets go. Now that she's not in danger of flying off, it's safe to do so.

And Roland turns his attention back to his coffee.

The thought of a malicious second hugging crosses her mind, quickly discarded. It wouldn't do to embarass him by forcing him to become more violent than shaking his leg.

She hops away.

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