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Preacher desperately (as always) wanted to grill Mercer, but she couldn't be rude about it. Well, she could, and often was, but politeness worked a smidge better. So she knocked on his door and waited a bit before calling out.

"So - I'm making coffee. You want some or some water for tea n' stuff?"

"Why would I mind - it's just pressin' a button." More or less. She shrugged. Smiley mother ********. "Can I tear ya away from your papers and ask you a quick question when I come back though?" And, without waiting to hear the answer, she spun around and headed to the coffee machine.

Then abruptly she turned back. "Wait, coffee or tea?"

Tea heathen, she thought. Maybe one day she'd ask and he would magically say 'coffee'. That'd just be ******** weird, though. "Pretty sure I can make hot water happen, boss." Then she was truly off for good.

She came back a bit later, one cup of hot water, one of coffee (creamed enough to be nearly white). "Brought a tea bag, too, but I feel like you probably have fancy ones." Like loose leaf - too fancy. Preacher had some of that, as well. She'd gone into a tea place a while ago and walked out with a free sample of something or other. Couldn't use it, obviously, but maybe he would want it?

"So," she said, and sat down in a chair in front of his desk, scooting up close. "You okay? You were out for a while - was it.... spooky stuff?"

"Head could mean anything." She swirled her coffee with the plastic stirrer, suppressing a pout. But when he continued his answer, she brightened noticeably.

"What happened? Are you o- I mean you're okay now, but, um, did something weird whack you in the head or something?"

"I should hope so. Recovering people shouldn't be at work." Preacher huffed. Mercer had very much been as normal, however, so she couldn't really say more than that.

"What happened? Or wait, was it like a freaky cult and you had to dance around a maypole wearing only ribbons so you can't speak of it?" She was, unashamedly, fishing for information. It was in Preacher's nature to go after everything like a dog on a bone and it often precluded any tact.

"Yeah, I guess you gotta wait for the Winter Solstice to come 'round, huh," she quipped back, then fell silent. Seizures? Her lips tightened and tightened further as he continued.

"The severity is most definitely noted." She paused and took a sip from her coffee cup. "So, who do I beat up?" From what it sounded like, those seizures were other Ashdown s**t in nature and it sounded like someone or something deserved a punch.

She huffed out a breath. "I don't believe you'd do something like this to yourself - that is, with alla the side effects of head stuff and takin' off work - without a good reason. Reason means an outside force at work. Outside force means there's someone else ultimately reasonable n' therefor available for beat-downs." Preacher's logic made sense to her, of course. To other people... well, she didn't care if others didn't really follow her train; she was the conductor.

"I guess that means they only kip around in the rainy version. Damn." She pointed at him with her stirrer briefly before dunking it back into her coffee cup. "Everyone can be beaten up. It's just a matter of power versus accessibility versus well, I guess magic, too." The word magic was said with disgust. Quite frankly, magic was cheating.

"Gotta get gooder, then I can beat up anything, so-" Preacher rolled her shoulder up in a shrug.

"I would know - why? Do they smell like farts and rain?" She was a little perturbed that she couldn't just go beat up a dude. Well, Preacher decided, if weirdo mcgee came around this side, she'd beat him up then.

"I guess I can stick to punching the weird stuff that comes through to this side," she said doubtfully. It was an unsatisfactory solution.