milliways_bar | (no subject)

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He walks down slowly, as if not quite sure what'll be there. When one is newly dead, one fears heading down far more than one fears heading up but he does in fact make it to the main bar. Another few steps gets him to the bar counter proper and then he's ordering a meal, neat as you please, and taking the bites slowly as if afraid they might disappear as readily as they appeared.

[ooc: in and out due to groceries and parentals, but I'll answer your tag]

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"Pretty much, yeah," Wells says. "Mind you, they've got a security force like you wouldn't believe- not in numbers, in what they can do- but that's no real surprise, given the patrons."

"I'm not an unlawful man, unless I see the law itself as unjust. But those requirements are fair enough and in everyone's best interest."

Wells nods. "Fair enough," he says. "What'd you do back home, anyway?"

"I was..." he smirks "well, the unfavorable term might be 'rabble rouser', but I work to keep the people informed of their rights, to remind them that no matter what a master or a lord might want them to believe, they are free men with the right to a decent wage and a decent life."

"Ah," says Wells. "That'd be a labour union organiser by my time. Not bad. Army, myself."

A slight wince.

"The military. An old acquaintance of mine who happens to be in this place is a part as well, and while the men who do the work in the army are fine enough for the most part, their superiors and the government that uses them uses them mostly to their own ends and not to the ends of the people."

Wells scratches the side of his nose, expression thoughtful; then he gives a very sour laugh. "I'd be inclined to say the same thing," he says, "after my recent experiences. Only there'd be a lot more fuckin' curse words involved."

A true laugh.

"Ah, good to hear. Though I'm sorry you found out such."

"Thanks," says Wells; he knows the fellow means it. "Be putting the screws to the brass when I get back home, if I get the chance. Four of my lads died in Scotland the night I had my wounding. It's one thing to go down in battle, but I'm not goin' to have my boys dead 'cos of some black-shoe fucker's lies."

A nod.

"A man after my own heart then. Good to hear as well, though once again I'm sorry for my loss. I myself have seen men fall for our cause."

Wells has never exactly been comfortable with causes, but he knows enough to recognise sincerity, so he takes it in the spirit it's given. "I can imagine. No one much likes seein' the working man get a leg up on the blokes who've got him where they want him."

"Unfortunately, they show their displeasure with yeoman and rifles."

"Yeah," says Wells, "that sounds about right. Gets better eventually, though."

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