(no subject)
Nov. 29th, 2005 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
locks_it_upIt has been some space of time since he found his Tower, and breached it, and fell into her arms.
In that time, he has walked with her, stayed with her as a guest before she walks him on to the clearing.
Today? They are at Disneyland.
They are sitting at a table in the Blue Bayou, as boats splash on in the distance to meet robot pirates, and recorded crickets chirp and fireflies flicker, and Chinese lanterns bob over their heads. In the distance, there is a banjo playing, picked at slow and mournful. She's sipping on a mint julep and grinning widely.
In that time, he has walked with her, stayed with her as a guest before she walks him on to the clearing.
Today? They are at Disneyland.
They are sitting at a table in the Blue Bayou, as boats splash on in the distance to meet robot pirates, and recorded crickets chirp and fireflies flicker, and Chinese lanterns bob over their heads. In the distance, there is a banjo playing, picked at slow and mournful. She's sipping on a mint julep and grinning widely.
no subject
Date: 2005-11-30 01:34 am (UTC)MERRY
As he speaks, he pulls his hand out of hers, and pulls her closer. They've gotten used to this since he's been here. It's not a comfort he's forgotten. Doesn't mean he's not glad to have it, now. This is different, though -- he's wholly hers.
CHRISTMAS
And he won't ever leave her, nor she him.
Mit schlag.
And -- as he bends his head and their lips meet and hands begin to do other things entirely, slow at first and then not slow at all -- Roland Deschain really believes what he's always known, and sees the good in it as well as the bad (and for that matter, the ugly):
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit.
He's one lucky son of a bitch.