(no subject)

[lastgunslinger]

The hat by his right hand is particularly fine -- a blue top hat.

The hat by his left hand...is a second-hand cowboy hat with felt chickens glued on the brim.

Roland Deschain is drinking his coffee.

It is damn fine.

Comments

[badinlatin]

"That...is a very fine hat."

Mal does not snicker, oh no.

He's worn worse.

[lastgunslinger]

"Blame your pilot." Wry.

[badinlatin]

"For many many things, on the whole, but that hat is news to me."

"'S okay - he gave me a wooden chicken."

[lastgunslinger]

His head tilts, a little. "A strange gift."

[badinlatin]

"It's a nickname Lilly gave me, back when I only met 'er a couple of times. There's a phrase in Mandarin - first one I taught 'er - meanin' someone is stupid, that translates to 'dumb as a wooden chicken'. The mu ji stuck."

[lastgunslinger]

Roland looks amused. "And you had no say in the matter?"

[badinlatin]

Mal eyes Roland with mocking confusion.

"You're tellin' me you've got some say in stoppin' Lilly from sayin' what she likes?"

[lastgunslinger]

Roland looks one way.

Looks the other.

Leans in.

"The secret," he says quietly, "is throwing pistachios at her."

[badinlatin]

Mal laughs aloud at the confidence.

"I'll surely keep that in mind, next time she takes to picking on me."

He sobers. Only a little.

"How's everythin' been? Since you've been back; gotten the latest updates on current events and all."

[lastgunslinger]

"Well enough." Wry. "Your crew has been busy, 'twould seem."

[badinlatin]

"Yeah - we're a...hardworkin' bunch, we are."

Beat.

"Glad you came back for a spell - t'see River, and all."

[lastgunslinger]

"It's been...good." Roland sips his coffee. "I can see the appeal this place holds, now I'm not trapped here against my will."

[badinlatin]

"I can see where that'd change the landscape of it a bit."

Mal'd probably rather shoot himself than never be able to go back to his ship.

"...Are you choosin' when to leave, as well?"

[locks_it_up]

She sits next to him, complete with scotch, half a cigarillio, and a rose in the lapel of her coat.

After a time, she takes another cigarillio out of her pocket (another stolen from Destruction) and offers it to him in silence.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland takes it, and examines it.

Next: a scrape, and a flame.

After a moment:

"Very fine." Appreciatively.

[locks_it_up]

"Destruction has good taste."

There's a smell of cloves and roses and amber that wafts up with the smoke of the cigar.

She's staring straight ahead.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland considers this statement.

"That does not surprise me."

[locks_it_up]

"Shitty painter, and a worse poet. Alright cook. But excellent taste."

Flick of ash. And a long sip of scotch.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland eyes her.

Eyes the scotch.

And sips his coffee.





Low: "You don't have to do this."

He's walked alone before.

[locks_it_up]

"Yes. I do."
And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
She could not do otherwise.

[lastgunslinger]

"Not if it would be easier not."

He's not scared.

[locks_it_up]

She looks over at him, now.
and i know it aches
Eyes the color of the Tower. So deep, those eyes. More shine than usual.
and your heart, it breaks
She smiles, so soft.
you can only take so much
"You're my gunslinger. I have walked with you always. Why should that change now?"

[lastgunslinger]

"Because now I am wholly yours. Before...I was not."

[locks_it_up]

"It's traditional. Quit yer bitchin'."

The last time it was anywhere near this difficult was with Morpheus.

That was worse, after.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland looks down at his cigarillo.

At his cup of coffee.

And says:

"That's the last time I ever try to do something nice for someone else."

Hiding a smile.