Discessum

Mudge woke up, he had brought himself to a terrible state, lying on the floor of the church hungover. All the troubles of his past had rematerliazed in his old favourite past time, the dreaded drink. He stood up and wiped a layer of sweat away with some robes. He then stepped outside, feeling the air of Fairfield Farms upon his bare skin. Some of the locals spotted him, they'd never seen him like this. Jaymes was amongst the concerned. He approached the priest, giving him a gentle pat on the back as he stood beside him. "Is everything okay Father?" Jaymes asked.

"I just need some air Jaymes," Mudge replied. Jaymes could smell the drink on him, he never even knew that the priest drank. He seemed the sort to abstain from any alcohol or chems. "I'm sorry for how I acted when we last saw each other."

"It's fine Father Mudge. You clearly aren't feeling right, I shouldn't have intruded like that. It's your business," Jaymes explained. The father turned his head to Jaymes, he looked progressively more distressed. "Do you need something to eat?"

Mudge shook his head. "I should be fine," he replied, he sat down and stared at the dirt surroundings. "I really don't know why those people came looking for me again. I thought it was all over. I thought I could start over, a clean slate."

"Obviously they don't want you to live in peace."

"Then I have to do what's right," Mudge looked up to Jaymes. "I need to deal with them myself, I need to leave the farms. But I don't know how long I will be gone for. Maybe forever."

Jaymes shook his head: "I can't let you leave Father. The community here would be lost without you, if those people come back for you then we can deal with them together."

"No, I'm sorry but this is my mess. I'll deal with it." The priest got up, running the palm of his hand across his hairless head. "Look after the church for me. If I don't get back hand it over to someone who deserves it, who'll treat it right."

"But-"

"But nothing. Please Jaymes," the Father plead. "There's no stopping me," he turned and entered the church. Gathering a few supplies, the essentials of wandering alone. Then left Fairfield Farms, he went quickly, so that nobody else could attempt to stop him. He could feel the alcohol swaying around his insides, rotting him away. The wasteland air would soon clear it away.