What is he bringing with him? What is he if he's not a gunslinger? If he's not Roland's second?
What would life be like if he really put all that to bed? Not all of it; it was his life, it made him who he is, and yet-- it was brutally short and truthfully, he was filled with regrets. Winning his guns had been one of the most important days in his life, but he can't say in earnest it was one of the best. He'd always thought that one day he'd marry and have kids like his own father. He'd barely had a chance to be a child he'd been so busy preparing to be a soldier, and then had come being a soldier... he'd never even had a proper girl, for Gan's sake, just a string of (occasionally very sweet and memorable) hookers. There had been a few girls, fine, but none he'd really been able to court. And he would've liked to train under Vannay, for instance, if there'd been time. Ideally before he needed a cane to get up the tower stairs. He'd never gotten to see Kashamin or the Western Sea or, now that he's thinking of it, Roland's gods-be-damned Dark Tower... or more accurately, the crestfallen, slightly confused expression on Roland's face when they got to the ends of the earth and he realized it really was a ridiculous fairy tale.
And his juggling still needs a lot of work, say true. The gypsies would never take him at this rate.
He sits down next to her, looking both a little lost and suddenly energized.
"You don't have a handkerchief, do you? That would've made the angels weep."
Bert looks at her, and though his eyes are dry, his half-laugh, half-sigh has a shaky, breathless sound to it.
"Thank you, Lauren. I am remarkably functional for a dead man, if nothing else."
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What would life be like if he really put all that to bed? Not all of it; it was his life, it made him who he is, and yet-- it was brutally short and truthfully, he was filled with regrets. Winning his guns had been one of the most important days in his life, but he can't say in earnest it was one of the best. He'd always thought that one day he'd marry and have kids like his own father. He'd barely had a chance to be a child he'd been so busy preparing to be a soldier, and then had come being a soldier... he'd never even had a proper girl, for Gan's sake, just a string of (occasionally very sweet and memorable) hookers. There had been a few girls, fine, but none he'd really been able to court. And he would've liked to train under Vannay, for instance, if there'd been time. Ideally before he needed a cane to get up the tower stairs. He'd never gotten to see Kashamin or the Western Sea or, now that he's thinking of it, Roland's gods-be-damned Dark Tower... or more accurately, the crestfallen, slightly confused expression on Roland's face when they got to the ends of the earth and he realized it really was a ridiculous fairy tale.
And his juggling still needs a lot of work, say true. The gypsies would never take him at this rate.
He sits down next to her, looking both a little lost and suddenly energized.
"You don't have a handkerchief, do you? That would've made the angels weep."
Bert looks at her, and though his eyes are dry, his half-laugh, half-sigh has a shaky, breathless sound to it.
"Thank you, Lauren. I am remarkably functional for a dead man, if nothing else."