Then you'll have it. I've bought you a quarter of an hour of privacy, at least.
[Roland, not a man prone to long or elaborate goodbyes, only nods at the man whose name he doesn't know, then stands and slips out. He doesn't think so much about the man later. Roland's more concerned with going over memories of his own, rolling himself a cigarette while he watches people dance, looking out for familiar faces and finding very few. Other than the gods themselves, so far he has found none. That they brought him back here, but brought him here alone - well, nevermind it. He is here, all the worlds are safe, and if there is any danger in this place at all it only comes from those who've had too much drink. That is all he needs to be concerned with.]
[Well, that, and Asgard's own uniquely annoying brand of magic, powerful enough to be unavoidable, harmless enough that it never becomes anything truly exciting. There is a time in this long, city-wide party in which Roland is pretty concerned with that, can be found trying to shake a lantern off his hand, frowning down at it, looking annoyed. There is a name on it, and it is a name no one around him recognizes. He may be well used to compensating for his left hand and those first two fingers it's missing, but his right is still the one he counts on and it's got some ridiculous god's idea of a joke stuck to it.]
Forgot what a damned pain in the ass this place was.
[Roland mutters it to himself, giving his right hand another quick, irritated shake. The longer this goes on the more aware he is of the fact that his right is the only hand that can hold the gun hanging from his side. He doesn't need to reach his left over to brush what fingers are left on it against the gun's handle, but he does it anyway.]
no subject
[Roland, not a man prone to long or elaborate goodbyes, only nods at the man whose name he doesn't know, then stands and slips out. He doesn't think so much about the man later. Roland's more concerned with going over memories of his own, rolling himself a cigarette while he watches people dance, looking out for familiar faces and finding very few. Other than the gods themselves, so far he has found none. That they brought him back here, but brought him here alone - well, nevermind it. He is here, all the worlds are safe, and if there is any danger in this place at all it only comes from those who've had too much drink. That is all he needs to be concerned with.]
[Well, that, and Asgard's own uniquely annoying brand of magic, powerful enough to be unavoidable, harmless enough that it never becomes anything truly exciting. There is a time in this long, city-wide party in which Roland is pretty concerned with that, can be found trying to shake a lantern off his hand, frowning down at it, looking annoyed. There is a name on it, and it is a name no one around him recognizes. He may be well used to compensating for his left hand and those first two fingers it's missing, but his right is still the one he counts on and it's got some ridiculous god's idea of a joke stuck to it.]
Forgot what a damned pain in the ass this place was.
[Roland mutters it to himself, giving his right hand another quick, irritated shake. The longer this goes on the more aware he is of the fact that his right is the only hand that can hold the gun hanging from his side. He doesn't need to reach his left over to brush what fingers are left on it against the gun's handle, but he does it anyway.]