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[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Some days are better than others, and some are far, far worse. Wells knew from the moment he woke up this morning that today was going to be one of the bad ones. That's why he slipped away from Annie while she still slept, and why he came here. Oh, sure, he could pummel the heavy bag in his basement, he got one of those a while ago just in case- but he'd be stuck indoors with the knowledge that a city of fourteen million was waiting overhead somewhere. Better to head to Milliways. The bag's outside, for one thing, and the people are a whole lot fewer. He can take company, especially now that he's been working on the bag a good half hour or more. It's just that it goes down far, far better in small doses today.

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[fathers-cleric.livejournal.com]

John Preston wants to apologize. But he's not sure how to do it.

He stills thinks Wells is wrong. He still things that their worlds are far too different, and that his concept of what could happen is still very different from what actually will.

But he's a bit more understanding as far as treachery is concerned.

So after a few moments of watching he says, "-Grima Wormtongue."

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells was in the middle of one of those fits he occasionally has where he treats the heavy bag as if it were the speed bag instead. They're murder on the knuckles, but he heals it eventually, so he's never seen any reason not to push in that direction.

He wasn't expecting anyone to speak to him. When he's at the pistol range, his concentration collapses the world down to an absolute minimum: in front of you, within range, and a little to either side. Everything outside that tends to be written off unless it moves into the cone of possible strikes. He was concentrating just so when Preston walked into the vicinity, so when Preston spoke, he froze. It takes him a minute to realise two things: one, that his hand stopped a bare millimeter from the bag, and two, that whatever was said was being addressed to him.

He looks up and over, otherwise not moving. "Beg your pardon?"

[fathers-cleric.livejournal.com]

Preston is...impressed.

He's not that good. But then again Wells is wells, and well-

The image of Father, with that expression is enough to send both Preston and his mun into fits of laughter.

Preston however, coughs, "-Grima Wormtongue betrayed Rohan's riders. They thought he was their friend, and then Gandalf revealed his falsehood."

How best to explain?

"....Clearly-individuals in remote positions of power are capable of treachery. Not just leaders."

This is John Preston without Dupont (At least, not yet). He-technically-has never been lied to. At least about who to consider the ultimate evil.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

If it's the expression in the previous icon, the laughter should be even more impressive. That's Macbeth, the night of Duncan's murder.

Anyway.

Wells drops his hand with a grunt. "Yeah, that's so," he says. "Just figured it out now, did you?"

[fathers-cleric.livejournal.com]

Preston lowers his head.


"....You're still wrong. But I won't put anything past pre-librians. Humanity...Humanity in all shapes and sizes is proving more complex then I wanted to believe."

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

That gets a snort. "It's a start," he mutters. "Mark my words, though, Preston- one of these days you're going to find out that not even Libria could change human nature, and while you might've got the good side its chance to be free, you're going to have to deal with the shit as well."

He's still feeling just a mite prickly at being dismissed along with all the rest of the 'pre-Librians', whether he's said it or not.

[fathers-cleric.livejournal.com]

Preston swallowed.

"...I concede possibility. I should not-I should not have been so judgemental."

Another pause, "...It's a habit I've found very hard to shake...Everyone's either with us or against us-"

Comes from living in a Dystopian World and being one of the Secret Police, "...and I wanted you to know I'm sorry."

He really is.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

That, he hadn't expected.

Wells turns his eyes away from the other man for a moment, looking down at his fist; he flexes his fingers, turns the hand over. It's a gesture he picked up from the other form, though he doesn't know it (and would likely be horrified by if he knew). Mostly it's just to give him time to think.

"Suppose I can't blame you too much for that," he says gruffly.

[fathers-cleric.livejournal.com]

"You're still incorrect about numerous things-" Preston said bluntly, "...But-I should not have reacted to you in such a way-I should have listened, it was very-" Pre-Librian "...Impolite."

He indicates the punching bag, "-Wouldn't it be healthier to excercise indoors?"

[stopped-signal.livejournal.com]

"Sergeant Wells!" comes a cheerful call from the corner, when Mr. Universe happens to look up and notice him. "How's the device been working so far?"

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Wells looks over and grins. "Just fine, lad," he says. "Just fine. I haven't had to release anything yet, mind you- which is fine with me. How've you been?"

[stopped-signal.livejournal.com]

"Well enough. Plenty of time to work on my projects, and that's all I can really ask. And you?"

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

"Going fucking mad 'cos I'm surrounded by fourteen million people, and maybe- maybe- a million of 'em have any sense," Wells says. "But we've got a house lined up in the country once the baby's born and Phils is settled in with her, so it won't last forever."

[stopped-signal.livejournal.com]

"If I still had access to where I came from", Mr. Universe says apologetically, "it was a lot quieter there. Outside of the black room anyway. Which is kind of what you'd expect, with me being the only person who lived there, and all."

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

"Wouldn't've helped, lad," Wells says. "Not unless your place was open, and maybe green. I don't do as well as I used to with bein' surrounded by walls all the time."

He pauses, considering.

"Where'd you live, anyway?"

[stopped-signal.livejournal.com]

"Now, or before? Now, in a room upstairs. Before, on a little moon I found my way to by the name of Jethro."

He's buried on it.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

"I meant before," Wells says, but he nods. "Right, then. If it's anything like Callisto, it's not the sort of place you'd want to be outdoors in."

He wouldn't even know that if it weren't for Ace.

[banished-to.livejournal.com]

Her hair is the color of unpolished gold and her dress is autumn shades. This probably isn't what he notices first. What he notices first is probably a tie between the fact that she's fifteen freaking feet tall barefoot and half of her body smells dead.

One of the two long braids hangs so that it covers the left side of her face from casual glances, and the left hand is in a leather glove that nearly mimics the color of her other hand.

Inhumanly good ears may pick up the faint click of bones without enough padding sliding into each other with each movement of her left leg and arm, a sharper glance will note that side of her body looks wasted compared to the other.

The visible side of her face has the same stunning beauty that the Norse goddesses were supposed to have. Svava's face has a little of it, too.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

The scent intrudes on Wells' consciousness first, as that's the one sense he can't shut down to concentrate. That's weird. He freezes, turns, looks up-

"Fucking hell!" he exclaims. And that's it, because most of the other words he has in mind are variations on the same theme.

[banished-to.livejournal.com]

"No, I am still virgin."

Her voice is faintly slurred (this is because the left side of her tongue and mouth don't work well),

"And you are?"

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Blink, blink- wait, what?

The 'huh?' look still on his face, Wells answers, "Harry Wells. You some sort of giant or something?"

He's not up on his mythology. Really. She's just big.

[banished-to.livejournal.com]

"Mother was, yes. I am a goddess."

She pauses, just long enough that it might be a private joke,

"I am Hel."

...We never promised that her sense of humor was any good.

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

You sure don't smell the part, Wells thinks, but has wit enough not to say. He nods carefully instead. "All right," he says. "I can buy that, yeah... Whose goddess?"

He's thinking ethnicity-wise, but the phrasing's a little strained at best. C'mon, he's off his pace.

[banished-to.livejournal.com]

"The damned and betrayed."

She says after a moment, then shrugs,

"And the giants, of course. My mother was Angurboda, my father Loki. Most Men don't care for me."

But he should see her cause life to wither! She smells perfect for that power!

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

Loki, at least- that name he recognises. At least, he thinks he does.

"My apologies, miss. Can't say I've heard of you before this- I mean, I've heard of Hell, but it's a bit different in the stories I know. I expect they're the wrong sort."