(Untitled)

[fathers_cleric]

[ A Great Man Dies.. And John Preston is Brought back.]....John Preston is in the bar

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[milkbonesoldier]

"And I thought I was in a fucking awful mood today," Wells says from where he sits with his evening pint. "Who died, Preston?"

[fathers_cleric]

Preston can't hear you. He's too busy trying to hurt the wall. He raises a fist-then drops it. It wouldn't do any damn good anyway.

Growling to himself, Preston whirls about, dripping, and spots Wells.
"...Jurgen."
Point blank. No niceties. If there was ever a moment the man wanted to kick some serious tail, that time is now.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Shit."

Sometimes that's all you need to say.

[fathers_cleric]

Preston drops his guns on the table with an unceremonious clank.

The man does not swear. Swear words went out when they finally evicted most of hollywood and when the MPAA and the RIAA closed their doors forever, but Preston-

He stands, coat still dripping gore, "...I can't be here. I have to go back. There are things that need to be ac-accomplished." Find the guy. Kill Him, "...They have no idea how to handle investigations back home, This has to happen now- I can't stay here-"

[milkbonesoldier]

"Time's frozen out there, Preston. If the door's gone time's not gonna fucking move." wells stands away from the table. "Get a good deep breath into you and think, man- you can't do a blasted thing until that door comes back so you might as well use your fucking brain, all right?"

[fathers_cleric]

Preston's functioning on a level between KILL KILL KILL and OMG OMG OMG-the only thing keeping him from doing something stupid like turning the table over, grabbing his gun, and...shooting things being the knowledge that if Wells wanted to-he could probably turn him into a human pretzel.

There's a pause

Before Preston kicks over the chair closest to him, sending it skidding a few feet away. He then drops to his knees, clenching his fists at his sides.

Is he crying? Probably not safe to approach to confirm it.

[antarianmax]

This startles Max, who at this particular moment in millitime is sitting by himself drinking tabasco hot chocolate, and he turns his head, startled, and uprights the chair with a slight jerk of the head.

... Then, noticing the raw emotion of the situation, immediately starts looking at the papers again like he didn't do anything.

Nothing to see here.

[milkbonesoldier]

Probably just as well. Wells was about to grab the chair before it hit anybody. Since it's not moving any more, he's got Preston to deal with instead.

Safe? Ha. There is quite literally nothing Preston can do that'll leave so much as a mark. He's not talking yet, though. He's just going to stand nearby, until Preston looks like he's about ready to surface.

Not like the man would even hear him at this point.

[fathers_cleric]

Preston raises his head, eyes wet. Now there's-well-shame. And the very real knowledge that he's covered in someone's inner workings.

Librians are so like children sometimes. Take the man sitting on the floor right now, completely oblivious to everything around him.

"....This is...awful."

No other words to describe it.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he puts a hand out to steady himself, ready to clamber to his feet.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Gimme your hand, mate," Wells says quietly, holding out one of his own. "You don't need any more shit right now."

His experience with Jurgen's been extremely limited. He only met him the once, when the man was so dazed from his treatment at the hands of the interrogators that he kept mistaking Wells for Father. (Not that that was a real surprise- that was what he'd been there for.) But he's heard how Preston's talked about the man.

This really can't end well, whatever happens.

[fathers_cleric]

Preston accepts it, getting to his feet like a wooden puppet, or a leaden drone.

True, there's the brief flash of taking his pain out on somebody-but-Preston is a rational man.

Once on his feet, he looks ready to collapse again, "....He was my friend."

First Mary, Now Jurgen.

[milkbonesoldier]

"I know, mate," says Wells. "I know."

Not much you can say at a time like that. The important thing's to get him calmed down to start with.

[fathers_cleric]

"No you don't." Preston pushes himself away, suddenly angered, "-You don't know-because you were never oppressed. Because you didn't have to-to-"

He waves a hand, "-You-"

Ah the frustration of not being able to express your feelings. Preston's knees look ready to buckle.

[milkbonesoldier]

"I know what it's like to fucking well lose someone you'd've given your right goddamn arm for," Wells snaps. "That's not enough for you?"

Today has not been a good day for Wells' mood.

It might get worse.

[fathers_cleric]

Preston stares.

And continues to stare..before he grimaces, "...you don't understand-it-"

Preston grimaces, "-He wasn't just my friend-he was-"

[milkbonesoldier]

"Maybe I understand, maybe I don't," Wells says. "But this is getting us nowhere, either way. Oi, you." He snaps his fingers and points at one of the startled waitrats. "Tea and a paper bag for him, and Guinness for me. We're gonna need it."