(Untitled)

[v_knidh8er]

Through the din, smoke and wreckage of the most recent battle to baptize Milliways in flame, the small tinny sound of a classical piece can be heard. The tell-tale door of the Loompas opens in the front of the bar, and from which a cleaning crew of 9 in HazMat suits emerge.

Oompa loompa doom pa de do

Comments

[joewithnoname]

Joe finds Roland, once his arm is healed, and buys some whiskey. His tab is now plus a wide variety of chairs and cleaning and two bottles of tequila. He can't possibly make it any worse.

"So."

[a_gunslinger]

Roland rubs at his face. It's almost numb. Cold as fuck, out there. He hasn't tried to stand up yet.

"So."

[joewithnoname]

Apparently Joe needed to buy whiskey so he could say so. He sits there and smokes.

[a_gunslinger]

His hands grow steadier with each passing moment.

Eventually he takes the cigar that Joe gave him and lights it. It takes him two tries to get the match to flare.

Eyes closed. Exhale. Smoke.

Steady.

"You all right?"

[joewithnoname]

"Yeah." He smokes. "Been thirty years. You still pissed?"

[a_gunslinger]

"More than that."

Roland's quiet.

For a while.

"You did what you felt you had to. Is it not so?"

[joewithnoname]

Joe shakes his head and shift the cigar to the corner of his mouth. "Didn't have to do shit. But it seemed like a good idea at the time."

[a_gunslinger]

Roland looks at the cigar in his left hand for a while.

Lifts it.

Seems to meditate for a moment.

Then:

"Why?"

[joewithnoname]

He doesn't want to know about the books. And why tell him about the fate he missed? Maybe make him remember the other unknown seventeen times this all happened?

"You needed that fuckin' horn. You got the fuckin' horn. Don't ask so many questions."

[a_gunslinger]

Roland's silent.

But not for long.

Reflectively: "You were there."

[joewithnoname]

Joe nods grimly. "First war I ever fought it. Congratulations."

[a_gunslinger]

"We lost."

He smokes for a moment.

"I was a bastard when I was young."

[joewithnoname]

Joe nods. "Yeah."

"I was a bastard when you were young too."

[a_gunslinger]

Roland looks at him.

"Yar."

And a pause.

"You did what you had to do." He draws up his knees, rests his arms on them, hands dangling in between. "Not pissed."

The opposite, really, but they're not the kind of men to say that.

[joewithnoname]

Joe nods. "Good." He refills the glass of whiskey, then slides it along the floor next to Roland. The bottle he takes with him. He straightens up from his crouch next to Roland, his knees popping--not like gunshots, just popping. He knows the difference.

"Long days and pleasant nights, Gabby." He walks away.

[a_gunslinger]

Roland stares after him.

He'd almost forgotten that old nickname.

What else does Joe know?