Devil
They were all in shock, Roy most of all. The news that Hughes was dead had hit the entire staff too hard. Havoc sat silently as his desk, still working. He knew that it was the only way that he could keep himself in one piece.
The cigarette smoked sullenly in his ashtray, a stick of tobacco incense lit in honor of the dead.
In a non sequitur that made his head hurt and that lump in his chest/throat tighten ominously, he remembered the military funeral for the man was in less than a week. Then he would have to scrape Roy up from the miserable heap that he had collapsed permanently into and force the man to go.
The devil of it all was that neither of them wanted to see Maes put into the ground with hollow mouth-honor from the Führer. Neither of them wanted to go.
None of them wanted to go.