milliways_bar | (no subject)

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She comes in through the lake door, dressed for riding and with her hair in a long braid down her back... and marsh violets woven into the braid.

As Susan Delgado goes to the bar, it's apparent that soon there will be hot chocolate, as well. Sometimes, it's the little things that bring contentment, say true.

[OOC for Millichannel: Susan and Anthy discuss how to braid hair, which Anthy does not know and which Susan offers to help with; Tony Almeida and Susan are well-met and talk about different worlds, languages, terrorism, military strategy, and oh yes, gunslingers; Roland and Susan discuss Tim's death, Pat Delgado's visit, Joanie, and then Joe's St. Christopher's medal, which brings woe; and then later on, Ace bounces by and shares hugs and the joyful news of Tim's return to the living, for great yay.]

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She'd not seen him, distracted as she was by the funeral proceedings.

"Nay-- I didn't know him, although others did, I ken. Ace, though-- I know her."

He nods. Quietly: "Say sorry, Sue."

Much death here, of late. Roland's used to it. Doesn't mean he has a taste for it.

Not this way.

Her smile is sweet, if sad. "Aye, well -- it's not easy for anyone, I'd think."

She looks up at him.

"There's something else happened, Roland, say true." A pause, then, for the emotion is strong still, oh aye.

"I saw my da'."

Roland looks up sharply, then -- but his voice is gentle. "Say on."

"Here." Her voice is quiet, soft with grief and wonder both, still.

"He were -- he were still alive, Roland."

He's silent for a moment.

Then he holds out a hand to her.

"Is he here still?"

She takes the hand he offers, curling her fingers around his while she shakes her head.

"Nay-- he's not. He were only here for a few hours, at most."

Long enough, and yet not enough, but she's thankful to have had at least that much grace.

Concern in face and voice: "Are thee well, Sue?"

He can't imagine what it must have been like. Can't imagine what it would be like were Steven Deschain to walk through the door.

"Well enough, Roland, say true."

A breath, and she looks up at him with a wistful smile.

"He liked the stables, and--"

A pause. "-- he met a few people, although I'd wish that he might have been able to meet all of ye."

Roland nods, and his smile is wistful, as well. "As do I." A pause. "Who'd he speak with?"

"Faith said she'd met him, although I didn't see them speak; mayhap there are others, as well--"

"-- and he met Cuthbert."

And oh, the irony is not lost on Susan, say true. Not at all.

Silence.

"Do you say so."

A brief thought flashes through his mind: Poor Bert. Then he dismisses it.

"Aye."

Another silence.

"They got along well enough, I think."

Roland nods. A small smile, now. "It is very well."

And he studies her, for a moment. "And it was good for you to see him, I wot."

Her grasp tightens on his, just a little, as she nods.

"Ye say true, oh aye."

"Although it were a surprise to him, as he'd seen me not five minutes before, he said."

A surprise to Susan as well, but that is left unspoken.

"And thee were...younger, then."

He shakes his head.

"How'd he take this place?" And he nods to the observation window.

"I were but eleven when he died." Said very quietly.

Her glance follows his, and she laughs a little. "Aye, well -- he said he didn't understand it, and I that I didn't know how best to explain it, and we talked of other things instead."

"I did tell him that for all its strangeness, it's-- it's not a bad place, say true."

A very quiet sigh; and his smile is wry. "Most of the time."

An exaggeration, if you're Roland. But Susan doesn't know all the things that Roland does. Death, for instance.

"And if thee are happy here, Sue...that is very well indeed."

Such a change, from the moment she entered. And it does him just fine to see it.

"I am," she says simply, and hesitates, looking at his rueful smile.

"But I'd wish to see thee happy, too, Roland."

"And I say thankya for that."

She's said it before, and he believes her.

She squeezes the hand that still holds hers, gently.

"Are thee well, Roland? Truly well?"

For she's worried over him, oh aye, for all that's happened.

He returns the gesture. "I'm never not."

He's a liar, of course. But he doesn't let himself think about that.

Susan, daughter of Pat, is trig enough not to believe that for a moment-- aye, she knows better, knows it very well-- but she's also wise enough to know that there's no kindness in pointing it out.

Silence between them, then, for a moment; but not an uncomfortable one, mayhap.

"So. Tell me -- how close are the stables to being completed?"

"Very near, say true." She brightens visibly at the thought. "A few days at the most, I'd think."