(no subject)
Aug. 8th, 2005 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
river_meimeiIt's River's Garden, around them. Wildflowers bloom in springy grass; paths twine and cross and dead-end, never quite forming a logical pattern. (Or perhaps it's one large pattern, complex and mathematical and too intricate to be clearly seen from the inside.) The paths are gravel so fine it's nearly sand; a surface to dig bare toes into, to make castles of.
There are rosebushes of every color, and palm trees tall and luxurient, and morning glories and purple clematis twining around treetrunks and delicate trellises. Ferns stud the flowerbeds, and grow unexpectedly in the middle of paths. The spicy-sweet scent of jasmine fills the air, drifting from the heavy white blossoms of the gardenia bushes that cluster and nod over meandering paths and tiny streamlets. In the distance, there's a slope covered with hodgeberry bushes.
There's a fountain, filled with lilypads, and near it hummocks of grass as large and shapelessly soft as beanbag chairs. River is curled up on one.
She's not asleep. But she's silent, and still, and her breathing is slow and steady.
Relaxed.
Floating.
There are rosebushes of every color, and palm trees tall and luxurient, and morning glories and purple clematis twining around treetrunks and delicate trellises. Ferns stud the flowerbeds, and grow unexpectedly in the middle of paths. The spicy-sweet scent of jasmine fills the air, drifting from the heavy white blossoms of the gardenia bushes that cluster and nod over meandering paths and tiny streamlets. In the distance, there's a slope covered with hodgeberry bushes.
There's a fountain, filled with lilypads, and near it hummocks of grass as large and shapelessly soft as beanbag chairs. River is curled up on one.
She's not asleep. But she's silent, and still, and her breathing is slow and steady.
Relaxed.
Floating.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 01:53 am (UTC)He looks up at River. She's...better.
It might be time to start talking about what's to come.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 02:07 am (UTC)River breathes, curled and limp in the soft grass.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 02:10 am (UTC)"Mo cuishle. How is it?"
It's been a few hours since they've said anything to each other.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 02:13 am (UTC)Then, "There's a lark."
There is -- several, in fact, invisible among the bushes. Their soft chirping songs dance through the air. They may or may not have been there a moment ago.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 02:45 am (UTC)It's another minute, before she pushes herself up to a sitting position.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 03:08 am (UTC)And then, quietly: "We've a job to do soon. And I'm worried about you."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 03:22 am (UTC)She's looking away, at a gardenia bush.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 03:42 am (UTC)"It's a deadline."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 03:51 am (UTC)He's studying her, in profile.
"Can you stand? Will you?"
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 04:04 am (UTC)Staring at nothing, now, near the ground.
There's a silence.
"She can do it."
Another pause, briefer.
"They think she can't. But she can. It's the element of surprise."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 04:15 am (UTC)Dry, hot desert wind blows River's hair in a long stream, like a flag. The sun drifts closer, heats up, sidles towards high noon. The shadows crawl under cover, swinging like the second hand of a fine watch.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 04:16 am (UTC)"Showoff."
He might be smiling.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 05:03 am (UTC)Her skirts flutter back in the dry wind. Sand is creeping over the flowerbeds. A bush, masked briefly by a swirl of dust, reemerges as a tumbleweed.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 05:13 am (UTC)The Garden still thrives, an oasis; it's something that no hand can touch. But it's surrounded by the cruel beauty of the waste lands.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 05:19 am (UTC)Pause.
"Though there are blooms." Relenting.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 05:43 am (UTC)Said to the air.
That might be a challenge.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:02 am (UTC)Mayhap it is. An eagle screams, and then it lights on the edge of the fountain; and then with no flash of light or other magic frippery, there's a man in a battered hat and a dusty, no-color poncho.
All right. Might've been green once. But that was years ago.
He nods to Roland Deschain. "This dream again, is it?"
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:05 am (UTC)He looks back and forth between them. "Joe Manco, bounty hunter, meet River Tam, gunslinger. River, this is the hundan who likes to bring his desert into people's Gardens."
Affection in his voice. It wouldn't be there if it was just him and Joe.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:12 am (UTC)Beat.
Head-tilt at Joe, and a very faint smile.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:15 am (UTC)"Maybe you and me better have a little palaver, missy." He jerks his head towards the fountain. "Jus' the two of us."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:18 am (UTC)He looks at them both...and nods. "I'll be around."
And Roland, deadly curious but -- comprehending is the best word for it -- lets go of River's hand and heads off down the path to explore River's Garden, and to stay away from the desert.
He comprehends that Joe helps in this place. Comprehends it very well, say true.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:23 am (UTC)He's changed, now. His hat is gone, and the wind blows his hair. It's a cool wind, driving away the sand and mountains.
His poncho is gone, too, and his flannel shirt is more faded even than time and weather can make it; he looks about to drift away, although as always the jeans look old enough to stand up alone, and the boots are sturdy (and spurless). The jeans are marked with white lines where the constant wear of a gunbelt has left its traces; they're clear now, because he's unarmed.
His beard seems fairer now, unshaded by the hat, and it hides the lines in his face that made him ancient even at Milliways. "You got a cigar? I seem to have give mine away."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:30 am (UTC)The cigars were not there before Joe asked.
If he has a comment on Joe's appearance, and the way the landscape has changed, he keeps it to himself.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:32 am (UTC)"Goddam cheapskate. I can't keep doin' this, you know--showin' up and givin' my guns to your 'prentices."
There's a certain weight in the words, belied by their flippancy.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:37 am (UTC)"There's a reason she doesn't have guns, you know."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-09 06:46 am (UTC)His cigar turned into a cigarette somewhere along the line. He looks shorter too, and less unique; without his signature trappings, he's a generic...cowboy.
And so faded, now.
"You know not to lose the horn. You know to remember your friends. You got my wishes for the Tower. Trust me on this one, old man."
He turns his face up to the sun, and in a haze of gold begins to fade away. For a moment, he seems to be clothed in white. His hair and eyes are different. There's a bottle in his hand, filled with something dark and precious.
"Time to wake up. We won't meet again."
And that's that.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 05:50 am (UTC)Joe was gold. The garden is green.
He has already grieved for Joe; he doesn't know why he's feeling loss right now. Doesn't make sense.
There's a silver St. Christopher's medal around his neck. His hand rises to it without thought.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 05:58 am (UTC)She's wearing a familiar poncho, now, dusty and faded and a bit too large for her. Mostly hidden by the poncho, there's a gunbelt buckled around her hips. That's familiar, too. The rawhide tiedown dangles from one hand, twined absently around her fingers; she's wearing skirts right now, and they'd get in the way of tying the holster to her thigh as Joe and Roland do.
Her face is hard to read.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 05:59 am (UTC)"You'll want to wear pants with that on."
Trying to hide disapproval. It's River, though. Roland might not be too successful.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:02 am (UTC)Pause. She looks at him.
Quieter, "Not wearing it yet. She said. I know."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:05 am (UTC)"Did he help?"
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:20 am (UTC)She touches the rawhide, lightly. Exploring.
Then, fumbling a little at her waist, and she unbuckles the gunbelt. Holds it out to him.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:22 am (UTC)And then shakes his head.
"He gave it to you. You keep it. Here, anyhow. If you don't think Mal will want you with it, I'll keep it for you until we go."
Pause.
"And you'll have it then. All right?"
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:33 am (UTC)She lowers the gunbelt, though, holding it loosely. Her fingers slide across the cartridges in their leather loops. It looks almost careless, but her touch is gentle, and the holster is never at an angle that risks letting the gun fall.
She looks down at it.
"All right."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:36 am (UTC)Finally, quietly:
"What did he say to you?"
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:47 am (UTC)"Isn't polite to ask about a private conversation."
Smile fades, and her gaze drifts over to a hodgeberry bush, heavy with berries.
"He worries. Too. Likes to pretend he doesn't but he does."
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:50 am (UTC)A very small smile is playing around the corners of his mouth.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 06:57 am (UTC)We must speak of other matters
And he holds out a hand.
You can be me when I'm gone
"Shall we walk?"
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 07:13 am (UTC)She stands, and buckles on Joe's gunbelt again. Less fumbling, this time, though the poncho's fringe gets in her way.
Then she curls her fingers around his callused palm.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 07:16 am (UTC)They don't speak.
Roland never really needed to with Joe, either.