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Roland Deschain, gunslinger, sat at the table watching the woman across from him. At his side, the boy - Jake - eyes her with more curiosity than caution. Roland would have thought the boy would have learned some by this point, but he was young. If he lived long enough, he’d get better at being aware of danger.
This blonde, in her black dress - with intricate black embroidery… what the hell was the point in that? - and nearly serpentine braids, was a definite danger.
Her attitude, evidenced by her response being limited to an arched brow at her barely passable beer, screamed ‘nobility.’ There was no other sign of distaste, not even in the twitch of another muscle. In fact, she continued to sip it as if it were a fine wine. Those kind of manners were not learned in farms or stables.
“What do you want?” He was tired of trying to out wait her. If she was a noble, then she could have sat there until the end of time without speaking. Their games, deadly and deceitful as they were, required almost infinite patience for true success.
“Want?” The barest smile flirted with the idea of touching her lips. “Oh, universal peace, love, and understanding. I’ll settle for sitting here with the two of you while I wait for my date.”
“You. Are on a date?” She nodded once, regally. “And he’s bringing you here?” She repeated the motion.
The gunslinger looked at her - perfect hair, makeup, and clothing - and then let his eyes scan the room. The flooring was so obscured by detritus that he was only mildly sure it was wood. The walls had peeling paint and a few strips of what might have once been a floral wall paper. The ceiling had places where plaster had fallen in, some of which he was fairly sure was part of the debris on the floor. The less said about what passed for a toilet, the better.
Her suitor was obviously insane.
“We went to my favorite place last time.” She gave a delicate and deliberately negligent shrug. “He was going to be here, anyway, so I offered to meet him instead of forcing him to travel to my location. It’s much easier for me to be out and about than for him. His employer is far more strict than mine.”
He met her eyes, a shade of brilliant blue-green that he thought might be called teal, and shook his head.
“Oh, it’s not all that bad.” She laughed at his expression. “The beer is horrible, the environment… antiquated, and the smell unique. But, his company more than makes up for it.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Roland jolted, both because he’d somehow managed to be unaware of the approaching male and because the man should be dead. “Walter.”
“Hello, Roland.” He waved his hand and the gunslinger’s holsters actually wrapped around the guns inside. “None of that, now. I’m off the clock. My dear, it is lovely to see you again.”
“Hello, Randall.” She stood and they exchanged hugs and kisses on the cheek. “New body?”
“Well, the last one was a loss after Vegas.” He took a seat at the table, not waiting for an invitation. A waiter brought him a glass of whiskey, apparently not needing him to order. “I must thank you for that, by the way. It was a blast.”
She actually snorted. This woman of apparently noble stock actually snorted in amusement. Roland had the distant feeling of someone seeing the apocalypse approaching, but unable to look away in fascination at the sheer insanity of the circumstances. Jake looked torn between bolting and crawling under his chair. For the gunslinger, this added an air of hysterical amusement to the proceedings.
“Really, Marten, that was horrible. Besides, I didn’t send the nuke, Mother did. I didn’t have to do really anything in that world.” She took a swallow of her beer and her eyebrow twitched. Walter held out his glass, which she accepted and sipped. “This whiskey, however, is anything but horrible. 1865?”
“1863, a much smokier undertone to the oak.” He smiled at her indulgently, then glared. “Your Mother killed my wife.”
“Mmm,” she hummed in appreciation. “You do always find the good ones - both drinks and women. Except for Nadine. Why that particular airhead? And I thought she was your concubine?”
“Oh, she was for the first two days. One of my minions was licensed to perform marriages, and I didn’t want Junior to be a bastard. Not legally, at least. So, don’t talk that way about my wife.” He accepted his drink back, lips quirking at her lingering glance at it, and took a sip. “I swear you almost sound jealous.”
“Fair enough. I always knew you had it in you to give a shit about someone other than me.” She ignored his indignant noise - whether because she thought he cared for someone else or cared for her was debatable. “And, of course I’m jealous. You’re a fantastic fuck. Anyway, let’s talk about what I can trade you for that liquor.”
“Is that why you keep dropping by the Overlook? The drinks?” A laugh lingered in his voice and his humor clearly showed on his face.
“Well, that and Lloyd is just such a stunning conversationalist.”
“Are we talking about the same Lloyd?” Walter shook his head. “The man brings everything back to alcohol.”
“He is a bartender.” She rested her head on her hand, elbow on the table. “Speaking of friends and family, Victor wants to know if you’re coming for Mabon. I got him a couple of VL-61/79s for his birthday and he’s dying to show them off.”
“You got him proton bombs? Now, I’m the jealous one.”
Roland had thought he’d seen everything. Now that he’d seen Walter pouting, he was sure of it.
She whacked him lightly on the shoulder. “I’ve been asking you what you want for your birthday for centuries. If you wanted one, you should have said something.”
“Well, excuse me for thinking that you’d draw the line at handing your enemy a weapon of mass destruction.” He rolled his eyes.
“Well, I’d put some strings on its use, of course. But, I wouldn’t mind handing you one if you were going to use it on a specific planet or two.” She smirked at him.
His eyebrows raised in interested surprise. “Which ones would those be?”
“How about Tikelme?” He waved a hand for her to continue. “Father won’t let me destroy it because the indigenous species are apparently - thank all that is holy and not - unique in the universe. But, you know how I feel about that place.”
“You could have just said, darling.” He tucked one of the trailing braids behind her ear. “I’d be delighted to destroy it for you. The fire-breathing, fifty foot tall Elmos will die.”
Jake, out of beer, seemed to be choking on his tongue. Roland absently smacked him on the back to help dislodge it.
“Really?” Eyes wide and lips slightly parted, Roland couldn’t help compare her to a child being offered a sweet.
“Of course.” The most vile man that Roland had ever met in his existence wrapped a comforting arm around her. “They hurt you. If I’d known you’d be happy with it, I’d have done it sooner.”
“You are the best frenemy a girl could ever have, did you know that?” She leaned into his hug and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Of course. You and I are the best at everything.” He pressed a kiss onto the crown of her head.
Roland was certain he was going to wake up any minute to find himself heaving his guts out, because this weirdness could only be inspired by mold in last night’s potatoes.
“We are, aren’t we?”
The waiter brought over a refill for the whiskey. A few words from Walter had him leaving to return with the bottle and a spare glass. He poured some into the empty tumbler and handed it to her. She accepted with a murmured thanks and took a sip.
“Oh, I don’t suppose you could swing by Derry sometime soon?”
“I could, but is there a particular reason why?” She sipped her drink again.
“An obnoxious little spider is getting ideas above his station. It’d make me very happy if he was dealt with so I could promote someone better.” He nuzzled into her hair. “It’s primary diet is the pre-pubescent crowd, so I know you’ll find It an acceptable target.”
“Sounds great.” She adjusted her chair to a better position and reclaimed her spot on his shoulder. “I’ll bring Ny and the Ari. We’ll make it a girl’s night.”
Walter laughed. “Only you, my dear, could find friends that accept our natures so beautifully.”
“Well, it’s not like any of us are entirely human.” She shrugged. “And Ari is the Patron Demon of Wronged Children.”
“Point.” He acknowledged it with a lift of his glass, then tried to take a drink and noticed it was empty. He filled his and topped off the one she was holding.
“Who were you thinking of promoting?” Her eyes had shut and Roland could see she was completely relaxed.
“Mm. Blackheart wants to get away from his father….”
“You know he’ll never stay put. That child was born to be contrary.”
“True. One of the Whateleys, maybe.”
“Ugh. Elder god cultists.” She shuddered. “I suppose it would be good to force one to start fishing from the expanded gene pool instead of the family puddle.”
Walter choked on his drink, swallowed, and laughed. “That… was beautifully descriptive.”
She opened her eyes to smirk at him. “Thank you.”
He got his lingering snickers under control. “So, Tikelme. Are you sure you want me in your galaxy?”
“I’ll make and exception this one - and only this one - time.” Roland watched her snuggle closer and, he was fairly certain, start purring. “Those damned things must die.”
“Your Mother’s agreed to it?”
“You know Her. Never says a damned thing. Just drops me where she wants me and hits me with lightning when she gets cranky. She’s too damned busy being the Creator of All Things.”
A feline growl rose in her throat, barely audible but still loud enough for Roland to decide that he had died and gone to some obscure hell.
Walter laughed. “I think our guests are having a minor meltdown, love.”
“Pfft. That’s what humans do.” She downed the rest of her glass and held it out for a refill. “Especially when I’m not pretending to be entirely human.”
He poured, and Roland noticed that the bottle didn’t seem to have any less in it that it did when it got to the table. He wasn’t sure what sorcery it was, but this was one time he was feeling jealous. He’d been out of beer since just after the conversation started and all the waiters seemed to be paying more attention to the two across from him.
“You have gotten a lot more cynical over the years.”
“Gethiiiin,” she frowned reproachfully at him. “That’s what years cause: experience and cynicism.”
“Alyssaaaaaa,” he mockingly parroted her tone, then sighed. “I just miss the little girl who was fresh off her first battlefield and thought humanity was worth something.”
“Oh, I still love the hell out of them.” She shook her head. “I just wish they’d grow up and stop needing me to save them.”
“I thought that’s what your Champions were for.” He gestured to Roland, who hadn’t thought he could get more befuddled.
“Yes, well, they keep cocking it up.” She groaned and buried her head in his neck. “I had to practically bitch-slap Danny to get him to go help that girl.”
“Maybe you should try recruiting them when they’re older then,” Walter pointed out. “Might result in less substance abuse.”
“Gah!” She sat up. “If I do that, then they’re already to the self-pitying, selfish, asinine stage of life. Just leaves them open to you.”
“I didn’t say the suggestion was entirely without an angle,” he admitted.
She snorted. “Come on. I want to get laid.”
Walter allowed her to pull him to his feet and lead him towards the door. He glanced back at Roland. “Kill ya later!”
Roland looked at Jack.
Jack looked at Roland.
Their voices floated back through the slowly-closing door:
“I’m going to rage-fuck you through the mattress.”
“Promises, promises. You’re buying breakfast.”
“Don’t I always?”
Without a word, the gunslinger and his apprentice agreed to never speak or think of this evening again.