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Aug. 12th, 2006 04:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wordslingingTitle: The Lookout
Fandom: Dark Tower
Characters: Cuthbert Allgood, Roland Deschain, Alain Johns
Rating: PG
Summary: Again, a missing scene from Wizard and Glass.
“Bert, enough. You’ve had your fun. Now get rid of that thing, it’s probably filthy.”
“Filthy? Filthy? Oh, come now, Roland, I can understand if you’re not as fond of our new friend as I am, but there’s no call to be insulting.”
“It’s probably diseased, how’s that for insulting?”
Cuthbert adopted a look of comic shock, clutching the rook’s skull to his chest. “Are you suggesting, sai, that our humble lookout might have been engaging in unsavory conduct?”
After a brief pause, he raised the skull to eye level again, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose that’s not out of the realm of possibility. I mean, he’s a damn sight prettier than Cort.”
“He,” Roland said in a tone that indicated rapidly evaporating patience, “is also a bird’s skull.”
“Well, sure, if you want to get technical—“
Roland glowered at him for a moment, then sent a glance at Alain. His friend didn’t need the touch to interpret that look.
It’s your job to keep me from throttling him before we ever get to Mejis, alright?
Alain just shook his head at them both, wry, tolerant amusement clear in his expression.
---
It was only their second day on the trail. Bert had found the skull the night before.
None of them had admitted it out loud, but all three of them had felt...not nervous, exactly, but unsure. None of them had ever been this far out of Gilead without an adult, and as the shadows lengthened and they began looking for a good place to make camp, even Roland found himself thinking of the journey ahead with uncertainty.
(The fact that he technically was the adult in this party didn’t make him feel any better—it was a curiously lonely feeling.)
So, when they made camp in a hollow formed by the spreading, exposed roots of a massive, gnarled tree, and when Cuthbert turned around to find himself face-to-face with a rook’s skull nestled in those roots, all sharp beak and gaping eyeholes—when that happened, it was perhaps understandable that he let out a most un-gunslinger-like yelp and backed straight into Alain, knocking him over.
No one laughed longer or harder than Bert when the nighttime ghoul that had startled him was revealed for what it was, and rather than bear the skull any ill will, he plucked it out from where it was caught in the roots, held it up—alas, he and his friends were from entirely the wrong world to know that he was unconsciously mimicking a rather famous scene from a rather famous play—and engaged it in conversation.
“Well, now, my fine cully! What might such a poor, thin fellow as yourself be doing out on such a—“ he paused, glancing up at the evening sky, “admittedly mild and not at all inhospitable night as this?”
The expectant look that followed this delivery—as if Cuthbert honestly expected the skull to answer him—was such that Alain, who knew perfectly well that encouraging Bert was not always the best of ideas, couldn’t help but play along.
“Mayhap he’s not feeling inclined to talk to strangers, Bert.”
“Shh!” Cuthbert gestured for silence, then bent his head closer to the skull. “What was that, my friend? I couldn’t hear. Ah...ah, yes, I—no! Really? Well, I never!”
During all of this, Roland and Alain went about stolidly setting up camp. Alain cast occasional glances at Bert, chuckling at his friend’s antics. Roland simply ignored him for the most part, although eventually he caught Alain’s eye and jerked his head towards where Bert was still deeply engaged in his one-sided conversation.
“Can we pass him off as tragically addled but harmless, do you think, or should we just glue his mouth shut and tell the people of Mejis he’s mute?”
Bert, completely undeterred, flopped down next to him, still holding the skull. “Now, now, Roland. You do that, who’s going to speak for our new friend here? Neither of you seems inclined to listen to him properly.”
Roland cast him a long-suffering glance. “Oh, is that our trouble? Not listening properly?”
Cuthbert was trying to balance the skull on his shoulder so that it could sit there without his holding it. Now, he paused in this effort, tilted it towards Roland, and made it nod at him. “Exactly.”
“And you are listening properly?” Alain asked dryly.
Bert swung the skull around to face himself and looked down at it, which resulted in him going slightly cross-eyed. “See there, my friend? They’re not so thick as all that, you just have to give them time.”
Alain threw a clump of dried grass—fuel for their campfire—at his head. Cuthbert obligingly fell over, as if the blow had had actual force.
“Alright, then, what’s he got to say?”
“Oh, it’s a deeply tragic tale.” Still sprawled on the ground, Cuthbert placed the scull on his chest, where a trick of the firelight made it look like it was actually peering up at Roland and Alain. “Poor fellow’s lost his way.”
“Has he.” Roland’s voice was as dry as desert dust.
Alain only half-heard Cuthbert’s answer—he was staring at the skull. There was something oddly unsettling about the way the fire played on it, filling the hollow, staring eyes with flickering light and shadow.
A skull on the first night of our journey. Surely that’s an omen of some kind.
A moment later, he shook himself. Such superstitious thoughts weren’t like him. After all, it was just a rook’s skull.
“All’s well, though.” Cuthbert was saying. “He and I have worked out an arrangement that I think will suit everyone’s needs. He’s coming with us!”
Alain blinked, a bit of the uneasiness he would have sworn he’d banished echoing back to him. “He is?”
“Of course! He gets the safety of traveling with us, and we get the benefit of his services.” He sat up, balancing the skull on his shoulder again. “Apparantly, he’s a first-rate lookout.”
Roland eyed him, perhaps pondering his chances of getting the skull away and burying it while Bert slept. “And I don’t suppose he has any explanation for what a first-rate lookout is doing getting hopelessly lost?”
“Oh, well, he can watch a camp like a hawk, but he’s not so good with directions.”
“No?”
“No.” Cuthbert’s tone was one of deepest sympathy. Raising one hand, he rapped his knuckles against the side of the skull. “Empty head, you see.”
In between facepalming and groaning, Alain took a moment to reflect that the response Bert was hoping for there had likely not been a sound thwack to the back of the head. However, if Roland had hoped that the lookout might be tragically destroyed in the bout of wrestling that ensued, he was doomed to disappointment.
Fandom: Dark Tower
Characters: Cuthbert Allgood, Roland Deschain, Alain Johns
Rating: PG
Summary: Again, a missing scene from Wizard and Glass.
“Bert, enough. You’ve had your fun. Now get rid of that thing, it’s probably filthy.”
“Filthy? Filthy? Oh, come now, Roland, I can understand if you’re not as fond of our new friend as I am, but there’s no call to be insulting.”
“It’s probably diseased, how’s that for insulting?”
Cuthbert adopted a look of comic shock, clutching the rook’s skull to his chest. “Are you suggesting, sai, that our humble lookout might have been engaging in unsavory conduct?”
After a brief pause, he raised the skull to eye level again, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose that’s not out of the realm of possibility. I mean, he’s a damn sight prettier than Cort.”
“He,” Roland said in a tone that indicated rapidly evaporating patience, “is also a bird’s skull.”
“Well, sure, if you want to get technical—“
Roland glowered at him for a moment, then sent a glance at Alain. His friend didn’t need the touch to interpret that look.
It’s your job to keep me from throttling him before we ever get to Mejis, alright?
Alain just shook his head at them both, wry, tolerant amusement clear in his expression.
---
It was only their second day on the trail. Bert had found the skull the night before.
None of them had admitted it out loud, but all three of them had felt...not nervous, exactly, but unsure. None of them had ever been this far out of Gilead without an adult, and as the shadows lengthened and they began looking for a good place to make camp, even Roland found himself thinking of the journey ahead with uncertainty.
(The fact that he technically was the adult in this party didn’t make him feel any better—it was a curiously lonely feeling.)
So, when they made camp in a hollow formed by the spreading, exposed roots of a massive, gnarled tree, and when Cuthbert turned around to find himself face-to-face with a rook’s skull nestled in those roots, all sharp beak and gaping eyeholes—when that happened, it was perhaps understandable that he let out a most un-gunslinger-like yelp and backed straight into Alain, knocking him over.
No one laughed longer or harder than Bert when the nighttime ghoul that had startled him was revealed for what it was, and rather than bear the skull any ill will, he plucked it out from where it was caught in the roots, held it up—alas, he and his friends were from entirely the wrong world to know that he was unconsciously mimicking a rather famous scene from a rather famous play—and engaged it in conversation.
“Well, now, my fine cully! What might such a poor, thin fellow as yourself be doing out on such a—“ he paused, glancing up at the evening sky, “admittedly mild and not at all inhospitable night as this?”
The expectant look that followed this delivery—as if Cuthbert honestly expected the skull to answer him—was such that Alain, who knew perfectly well that encouraging Bert was not always the best of ideas, couldn’t help but play along.
“Mayhap he’s not feeling inclined to talk to strangers, Bert.”
“Shh!” Cuthbert gestured for silence, then bent his head closer to the skull. “What was that, my friend? I couldn’t hear. Ah...ah, yes, I—no! Really? Well, I never!”
During all of this, Roland and Alain went about stolidly setting up camp. Alain cast occasional glances at Bert, chuckling at his friend’s antics. Roland simply ignored him for the most part, although eventually he caught Alain’s eye and jerked his head towards where Bert was still deeply engaged in his one-sided conversation.
“Can we pass him off as tragically addled but harmless, do you think, or should we just glue his mouth shut and tell the people of Mejis he’s mute?”
Bert, completely undeterred, flopped down next to him, still holding the skull. “Now, now, Roland. You do that, who’s going to speak for our new friend here? Neither of you seems inclined to listen to him properly.”
Roland cast him a long-suffering glance. “Oh, is that our trouble? Not listening properly?”
Cuthbert was trying to balance the skull on his shoulder so that it could sit there without his holding it. Now, he paused in this effort, tilted it towards Roland, and made it nod at him. “Exactly.”
“And you are listening properly?” Alain asked dryly.
Bert swung the skull around to face himself and looked down at it, which resulted in him going slightly cross-eyed. “See there, my friend? They’re not so thick as all that, you just have to give them time.”
Alain threw a clump of dried grass—fuel for their campfire—at his head. Cuthbert obligingly fell over, as if the blow had had actual force.
“Alright, then, what’s he got to say?”
“Oh, it’s a deeply tragic tale.” Still sprawled on the ground, Cuthbert placed the scull on his chest, where a trick of the firelight made it look like it was actually peering up at Roland and Alain. “Poor fellow’s lost his way.”
“Has he.” Roland’s voice was as dry as desert dust.
Alain only half-heard Cuthbert’s answer—he was staring at the skull. There was something oddly unsettling about the way the fire played on it, filling the hollow, staring eyes with flickering light and shadow.
A skull on the first night of our journey. Surely that’s an omen of some kind.
A moment later, he shook himself. Such superstitious thoughts weren’t like him. After all, it was just a rook’s skull.
“All’s well, though.” Cuthbert was saying. “He and I have worked out an arrangement that I think will suit everyone’s needs. He’s coming with us!”
Alain blinked, a bit of the uneasiness he would have sworn he’d banished echoing back to him. “He is?”
“Of course! He gets the safety of traveling with us, and we get the benefit of his services.” He sat up, balancing the skull on his shoulder again. “Apparantly, he’s a first-rate lookout.”
Roland eyed him, perhaps pondering his chances of getting the skull away and burying it while Bert slept. “And I don’t suppose he has any explanation for what a first-rate lookout is doing getting hopelessly lost?”
“Oh, well, he can watch a camp like a hawk, but he’s not so good with directions.”
“No?”
“No.” Cuthbert’s tone was one of deepest sympathy. Raising one hand, he rapped his knuckles against the side of the skull. “Empty head, you see.”
In between facepalming and groaning, Alain took a moment to reflect that the response Bert was hoping for there had likely not been a sound thwack to the back of the head. However, if Roland had hoped that the lookout might be tragically destroyed in the bout of wrestling that ensued, he was doomed to disappointment.
