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dark tower - randall flagg

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Hey!!! Now this is what I call a party!!! I mean, man!!! Look at the crowd!!!

Seething masses. Teeming masses. Overflowing with excess--an excess of excess today, isn't it? As though the City weren't glutted enough with its pleasures and its pains, as though its desires were as insatiable as it would have us to believe. Do I address the City? Indeed, I do. And not those within the City who are usually so addressed. No. I speak to the City itself and its devices and desires.

We have all followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.

And so:

The participants will be apprised of their roles at the proper time. For now it is enough that they have arrived. As the dance is the thing with which we are concerned and contains complete within itself its own arrangement and history and finale there is no necessity that the dancers contain these things within themselves as well. In any event, the history of all is not the history of each, nor indeed the sum of those histories, and none here can finally comprehend the reason for his presence for he has no way of knowing even in what the event consists. In fact, were he to know, he might well absent himself and you can see that that cannot be any part of the plan if plan there be.

Drink up, drink up. This night thy soul may be required of thee. There is yet more. There is yet so much more

Oh, but I digress. I think there are friends, new and old alike, in these great teeming masses. Yes, new and old alike. Else my eyes and ears and blahblahblah whateverelse deceive me.

In any regard: yay!!! :)

[ooc: You're out there. I know it. I can feel you out there. Come on. Network, action, telepathy, I don't care. Come at me, brosisters. Come. At. Me.]

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[A tactic she has used in the past. She'll have to keep her eyes on him and make sure to drag out her A-Game.]

Not really. I think it's cute, sort of. I would even be alright with themed drinks, assuming they aren't awful.

Themed drinks. I thought it was gin and tonic. [Yeah, the last vestiges of those lingered on the moldering menus in Vegas once upon a time...] Well... As the lady pleases. I'm sticking with the gin and tonic.

C'mon. [Leading her in, of course.] Let's see if the magic shop pays me enough to support your paper parasol addiction.

[As if pretending to be utterly unmagical and working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is really his only source of income. Pul-lease.]

I'd prefer that, but I'll take an embarrassing-looking fruity thing. [She'd take a mint julep, too. If it isn't wine, it's usually classic cocktails.] It's a good starter, so I'm in.

[She unlatches herself from him to find herself a seat, although there was some ulterior motives for being the one to step away first.] Here's hoping this place doesn't have swanky prices. Either way, if you play your cards right, I might make it worth your while.

[She'd like to know more about his hopefully illegal means of making money. When she'd been here, it had been hanging out in alleys and gambling. (It is their own faults for not cutting her off more quickly!)]

[Oh. So that's how it works. She breaks the hold first. Okay. Fine. The game continues.] I'm buying so I would think the prices, swanky or pedestrian, wouldn't be too much of a concern. For you, at least.

[Gambling happens sometimes. He's also not above selling a charm or a hex or a curse or a fortune. He'll do a little for-profit magic. What has he got to lose?

Guileless blue-eyed boy:]

But, ma'am, I don't know too much about playing cards, right or wrong. We didn't play cards too much in Broken Bow, Nebraska.

[That is, indeed, how it works. Hopefully.] I'd hate to be inconsiderate of your wallet, though. I'm only being thoughtful.

[Magic comes with a price. That price can often be hysterical people without money begging you for this or that.]

It's all the luck of the draw in this case, mister. [She finds herself a seat and gets comfortable, crossing and uncrossing her legs.]

Aww, how sweet of you, looking out for my financial well-being like that. Downright touching.

[Stop that. Yes, that. That crossing-uncrossing thing you're doing. Because it makes those fishnet stockings make a very slight, very subtle, whispering, sliding noise. And it's somewhat--perhaps even distinctly--distracting. It's totally unfair to do that kind of thing to a guy who's basically a big ol' sack of Wants wrapped in a denim jacket. Totally unfair.]

I hope luck's on my side. Though there was a man once who said that luck was a fool's name for fate.

I'm a regular bleeding heart. I can't help but be so thoughtful.

[She's still managing to play it all coy. Playfully so, but still with a certain amount of obliviousness to the intentional sexuality of her little movements. She lifts the coattails out from under her and scoots back on the seat before crossing her legs just once more (for good measure, of course) and very purposefully smooths out the fishnets over her hips where they bunch up just slightly.]

Luck's only what you make of it. Once you realize that it isn't some cosmic force controlling each and every action that you and I take, then things tend to come together. [The universe may work in mysterious ways, but there's still some control to any given situation.] So, that drink...

[Will you kindly cool it with all the Sharon Stone "Basic Instinct" shenanigans over there? Geeze. It's making it difficult to philosophize about the universe and fate and existence and stuff.

He could use that drink right now.]

You're still set on gin and tonic? No paper parasols? Well, it suits your...ensemble, at least. Port might too. [A considered look.] Maaaaaybe Scotch.

[He'll even be a gentleman and order for her--because he thinks he can get away with it. How she perceives it is another matter.]

[She's done with it now. At least she's covered. Mostly.]

I think I am, yes. Although I could go for a nice scotch, maybe a bourbon. We'll just see where that gin and tonic takes us.

[She's fine with that, but mostly because he's the one paying. You can order all you want, if it means she doesn't have to lift a finger (or her wallet).] So, you haven't gone back home since you came here, huh?

[He hopes it takes 'em all sorts of places. But wait and see.

He assumes a somewhat philosophical post--fingers steepled, gazing off into the distance...]

"Home." What does that really mean, anyway? "Home." Is it a structure? A general location? A time? A sense of familiarity? After a certain point, one has to wonder what the urge to return to something might be. Or whether that urge exists at all. I'm not a homing pigeon. Or a salmon.

So, no. I haven't. Nor have I gone anywhere else, no matter how much I want to.

In this particular instance? I'd say it's where you were before here, where you spend most of your downtime. A world more than a place, I suppose. [She tilts her head in his direction, just barely peering at him out of a corner of an eye.]

With that kind of spiel, you must have something more to say. Or, maybe it's misdirection at its finest.

Next I'll wiggle the fingers of my left hand while doing a nice little French drop with my right. You know, the guy who hired me at the magic shop didn't even know what a French drop was. Made me downright sad.

[The slightest of pauses.]

I haven't been back to the place I was before. Likewise: makes me downright sad. I've got a lot of stuff to do. I'd kinda like to get back to it.

[You know. Killing monster babies. Destroying the multiverse. Tormenting old enemies. That kind of stuff.]

Careful, I've got a good eye for that sort of thing. [She turns toward him, now, spinning her chair.] Some people are in it just for the money, although magic's not much of a lucrative career. Not for most people, anyway.

[Not for a really, really long time.]

So how much of this do you consider to be a vacation is the real question?

[So he turned away, folding his hands, locking his fingers. Out there was the rest of the room, so he looked at it.]

None of it.

[Places to go, things to do...

He turned back to her, fast.]

I'm bored. I'm bored out of my tiny little skull.

Sure, hang out in the City a while, see what's going on, have some fun, meet some people, keep yourself busy. Hey, we're all stuck here together, so let's make the best of it. Don't worry, you'll be fine. You'll find enough to do. And you do. You go out, you get drunk a few times, someone tries to start a revolution, and, hey, that's fun.

But it only lasts so long. It only lasts so long.

And I'm bored of it now.

[There isn't much to see, but she keens her head to check, just in case. Just as she thought, same as it ever was.]

Yet here you are, having drinks. Maybe on your way to having fun and getting drunk. [Which she's already starting on, herself, now that her drink's been slid on over to her. She takes a thoughtful sip while holding up a hand, indicating that she isn't finished quite yet.] Fine, then let's shake things up. There's no use denying that you have real power to you and there's no use in me pretending that the extent of my power is teleportation or turning this into that.

Consider it my goodbye gift.

[The beginnings of another smile--finally.]

What're you thinking about?

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