walk_ins | (no subject)

In a dark room, there is a door. On the other side of the door, it's mid-afternoon; on this side, it's early morning. Time between this world and that rarely runs in synch, and time on this side never runs smooth, anymore.

It's a mechanical door, not a magical one, and lights flicker and turbines grind as the ancient mechanism tries to access its counterpart. Finally, time here and there comes together, and the door lights up; gets a little more solid.

No one comes through. Their welcoming party is late (the train is broken down again, and they're walking, and cursing) and so are the new arrivals.

Time passes, and this is more accurate than you may think. If you think of the time here and the time there as two ships passing in the eternal night of todash space... well, they're drifting apart.

And then the door flies open and spills them out, the gunslinger, the wizard, the mad girl and the Rose Bride. The effects of such mechanical gateways are always nauseating in these days since the world moved on, and with the two doors nearly out of synch--and the destruction of the door they came through, almost simultaneous with their transmission--the effects are much much worse.

And before they can recover, the earthquake comes, the Beamquake, as time hitches forward and the life of Chloe's Beam runs out. They stumble, fall; sparks fly, and some of the monitors in the wall explode.

Darkness takes them all, and hours pass.

They awake in a place completely unfamiliar. It's somewhere inside a building, and it's dark...except for the ghostly light spilled out on the floor by television monitors. Thirty of them, a few shattered. Twenty-one show pictures that Roland Deschain might find familiar, if he had time to look.

Only there's not much time to take in the sights.

There's sound coming from outside the door.

"WELCOME TO ARC QUADRANT OUTPOST 16. THIS IS A MEDIUM SECURITY OUTPOST. PLEASE GIVE -- "

Roland stiffens; the voice sounds like that of Blaine the Mono, and he knows where Arc Quadrant Outpost 16 is --

"Ninety-nine, you sack of shit! Come on! Open the goddam door!"

"THANK YOU."

Roland has time to draw his gun. "Humans. Taheen. Mayhap can-toi. Expect them -- "

The door opens.

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From:

river_meimei

River follows, Anthy trailing after her. The sword glows in her hand, thinning and turning to translucent light, before it flows away and back to Anthy's chest. River hardly notices.

The coast is clear. Roland steps outside, motioning them after.

They stand on a cracked and ancient concrete driveway in the fading light of late afternoon. The air is hot and arid, and the harsh sunlight gilds dusty ground and, farther up a rocky hill, huge organ-pipe cacti; they cast a tangy, bitter scent into the air, like juniper and brine.

River does not so much relax as slump, swaying a little as her head bows. Between one breath and the next, she goes from sharp-eyed and intent to sudden and utter exhaustion, and a trembling relief.

From:

anthy-rosebride.livejournal.com

Anthy's face is set and stiff now, and she stands rigid for a few moments.

They're outside, there's no fighting, and River's -- not relaxed, no, but no longer struggling to stay on guard.

Her expression doesn't change, but Anthy turns to River, with a quiet, shaky sigh, and slips into her arms just as she slipped into Maggie's. Instead of drawing a sword, though, she puts her own arms around River, and she buries her face in River's shoulder.

From:

river_meimei

River's arms go around her automatically. The gesture is eerily like one of her brother's; Anthy is smaller than her, and seeking comfort and protection.

Her eyes close, and she breathes in shakily. She's trembling, just a little.

From:

lastgunslinger

Behind River and Anthy, Roland runs a hand over his face and holsters his gun.

Then he puts a hand on River's shoulder, bends, and kisses the top of her head.

"Well done."

Warm.

From:

river_meimei

She leans into him. Eyes closed, arms cradling Anthy.

She's still shaking.

"The door closed," she whispers after a moment. "They walked through the door and it closed."

From:

young_tmriddle

*He'd wiped the dust off of his wand first, stowing it away in a pocket, then followed them out the door.

Tom stands awkwardly near the others as River and Anthy cling to each other in relief and as Roland goes to River. He wishes he could see Door, right now, to let her know he's all right.

He made it. They made it.*

From:

lastgunslinger

The door closed. Two ways you can take that.

They escaped.

And they have no way to get back. Unless --

Roland knows where they have to go. Up to the cave, first. And then if that doesn't work...a visit to the Redpath Clan of the Manni.

A soft sigh. "Come. Just a little further. It'll be a long walk."

And it is.

They walk down the path...and come to the river. It's safe to drink, so they do...and then they wade across.

Roland leads them to the northwest. It's a two-hour walk to the Redpath Clan...and Roland, listening to that deep intuition that is his version of the touch, lengthens the trip by leading them around it and into the hills.

And it's when they hear the singing that Roland pulls them aside, and behind an outcropping of rocks.

He's pale...and somehow resigned.

From:

walk_ins

"Hear the trumpets and the pipers
One hundred million angels singing
Multitudes are marching to the big kettledrum"

Henchick isn't in the lead, but he looks like a drum major all the same.

"Voices calling and voices crying
Some are born and some are dying
Its alpha and omegas kingdom come"

They're all men, they're all robed in dark blue, and they all march. Some bear caskets. Some bear boxes. All are made of wood.

"And the whirlwind is in the thorn trees
The virgins are all trimming their wicks
The whirlwind is in the thorn trees
It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks
Till Armageddon no shalam no shalom"

And they're singing, in eerie five-part harmony.

"Then the father hen will call his chickens home
The wise man will bow down before the throne
And at his feet they will cast the golden crowns
When the man comes around -- "

They cut off as one. Henchick has raised his right hand...and turned to the outcropping of rocks behind which there are

(beyond lies Mid-World)

travellers.

"Long days and pleasant nights, Roland Deschain of Gilead."

The old man (with a full, luxuriant white beard) sounds both harsh and amused.

From:

anthy-rosebride.livejournal.com

There are some people who find songs about the end of the world soothing and familiar; Anthy is one of them, and though she doesn't need to relax, she watches them without any trace of nervousness.

She's also really too drained for curiosity. Still, idly, she wonders. Father hens and chickens, eggs --

"Are they basilisks?" she whispers, to River.

From:

river_meimei

They're all robed in blue. At any other time, this might provoke a reaction.

Right now, River is leaning against the rocks as though she might fall over without them, resting her head against one, exhausted past fear or curiosity. It's emotional exhaustion, mostly; the battle and adrenaline and the long walk contributed, but they're not the main cause.

She rouses a little at Anthy's question. "Not biologically likely. We don't need mirrors." Her voice is toneless, more from exhaustion than anything else.

From:

lastgunslinger

Roland steps past Tom and comes out from around the outcropping of rocks.

And he bows.

"May you have twice the number, sai Henchick."

He doesn't trouble to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

"You knew we were here."

From:

walk_ins

"I did." Henchick isn't answering any questions. "Thee shouldn't trouble thyself with how, Roland. Just trouble thyself with what's to come."

He looks at the horn on Roland's belt, and then exchanges an inscrutable look with Cantab, a younger man walking beside him, before looking back to Roland.

"Though it seems thee already have."

From:

lastgunslinger

Roland's eyes glitter.

He returns Henchick's gaze, and says, "Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends."

Roland Deschain has spent his time in Milliways reading William Butler Yeats, among other things.

What the hell does Henchick know? Who the hell does Henchick know?

From:

river_meimei

River rouses a little more, and shifts position.

It's not time to rest, yet. Hours later, and the sun starting to go down at the horizon (not true west, but almost due south-west) but it's still not time to rest.

She's still leaning heavily against the rock, her poncho hazed with desert dust, hair sticking to her sweaty and slightly tearstained face. One eye and a shoulder are showing around the edge of the outcropping, now. Just enough for her to watch.

From:

walk_ins

Henchick exchanges another look with Cantab. This one's a little unsettled.

"So thee says."

He nods. "What thee are looking for is still there. Go on. It grows late...and it's upsy, gunslinger. As thee well recall."

Henchick holds his right hand in the air, and then drops it.

The line of blue-robed men begins to move forward, and the singing picks back up.

"Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still
Whoever is righteous let him be righteous still
Whoever is filthy let him be filthy still
Listen to the words long written down
When the man comes around"

Henchick stands there looking at Roland for another long moment.
Listen to the words long written down
"Go, gunslinger. And find what thee will seek." His eyes go to River. "And get her home to her brother. She's not thine. She never was."

He turns away and continues down the path with the rest of his kra.

Great travellers of worlds, the Manni. They know things.

Many things.

From:

river_meimei

River is frozen, for a long moment, staring after Henchick in shock. Tinged with outrage.

Then she turns away, sliding down the rock, her eyes closing as she sets her back against the rough stone and pulls her knees to her chest under Joe's dusty poncho. Her head bows, and her tangled hair falls about her face.

"Not righteous," she mutters angrily, to her knees. Her fingers twist in fringe. "Doesn't know what he thinks."

From:

anthy-rosebride.livejournal.com

He's looking at River, not Anthy.

Anthy stiffens anyway. Shock, and confusion, and the impact of not-even-God-knows-how-many years' worth of a past slamming back into her consciousness.

She's the Rose Bride; she's not River, she hasn't escaped her Academy, and she's not where she should be.

From:

young_tmriddle

*The Manni, these must be the Manni, the Openers of Mid-World, and oh, but Tom would love to speak with them. After all the peril, all the close calls, he would dearly love to sit down and find out about them, how they Open, what their magic is like.

He's tired, and he wants to go home. He can't have been gone more than a day, but it feels as if weeks - long, weary, frightening weeks - have gone by.

"Go, gunslinger. And find what thee will seek. And get her home to her brother. She's not thine. She never was."

Tom's attention focuses sharply on Roland, who's watched after River, looked after her like he would Ingress or Sunny.

Like a daughter.

"Daddy!" Sunny grins, pleased that she's figured it out--silly grownups didn't tell her. "Daddy?" Don't you want to be my daddy?

She's not yours, she never was.

You'll always be safe here, Sunny. You'll never have to go away. I promise.

Tom knows that despite everything on his surface, Roland's heart must be breaking about now.

He knows how he feels.*

From:

lastgunslinger

Roland's face betrays nothing.
Love is not the easy thing
He rounds the rocks again, and crouches, holding a hand down to River.
The only baggage you can bring
"A little further. We must go on before it gets dark. Will you come, my dear?"
Is all that you can't leave behind
You'd think Tom and Anthy didn't exist.

From:

young_tmriddle

*It's pretty obvious to Tom that the only one who matters to Roland right now is River.

He looks to Anthy, giving her a small smile of encouragement. He's here, and if no one else is going to look out for her, he will.

Being protective of ladies has become something of a habit this past year.

He reaches out to take her hand.*

From:

anthy-rosebride.livejournal.com

Anthy blinks her way out of her reverie; then, with a small smile of her own, she grips Tom's hand.

From:

river_meimei

River doesn't answer, or move. Her eyes are closed, and now that she's sitting down she's shaking again, breath coming faster and tears sticking her lashes together.

It's not Henchick's comment, not really. It's... everything.

From:

lastgunslinger

"Mo cuishle?"
And if the darkness is to keep us apart
Henchick's right, and he doesn't care. River's not his. But she's one of his. There's a difference, and a critical one.
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
He moves to sit down beside her, hand on her arm. For this he'll make time. Has to make time. Even if the sun is getting lower and lower in the sky -- and not in the west, either.

From:

river_meimei

She doesn't lean into him. She crumples against him, eyes still squeezed shut, crying silently. Her breath is coming in gasps now, half-stifled sobs, and the tears pour down her cheeks and her nose is starting to run. Her hands are fisted in the poncho that was Joe's.

She doesn't say a word.