"Of course not." Roland watches her, patient, and if at any point she's stuck what he judges long enough, he'll pull out his own gun and start absently looking it over. He'll turn the finely grained sandalwood grip this way and that, looking over the almost ludicrously long barrel and the symbol at its tip as if he's never seen it before. Then he'll run his finger along the gun's blue-grey metal in a certain specific spot, with a certain peculiar motion almost as if he's inserting and then twisting something. He's just probably gotten bored and decided to amuse himself. Pay no attention.