MHA #15, Monday Evening

[pocketpretzels]

As had become habit over the past few months, on Monday evening Watts found himself seated at his kitchen table surrounded by a stack of paper as he wrote to folks back in Toronto.

The most detailed letter went to the Detective and Dr. Ogden, as per usual, given that the former had experience here and thus Watts could be entirely honest about the things he'd seen and done. Less detailed were the missives sent to George Crabtree and Mrs. Hart. And finally, this week, there was a short note he owed Miss Louise Cherry, who'd written him recently expressing doubt that this address was even real. So he was writing back to assure her that no, no one had killed him in a fit of exasperation and he was in fact alive and well, just in Baltimore rather than Toronto.

It was slow going, of course, as he was making an effort to keep his writing as legible as possible. Even then, there had been more than a few sheets he'd had to discard entirely, and the wastepaper basket was starting to fill up.

[ooc: for the neighbour! that he came over is ok to mention, details NFB please.]

Comments

[hasaknightjob]

It had been a weekend of a great deal of thinking, helped by a conversation with Stark, potentially a conversation Marc had with Liz, and a long chat he and Marc had had that afternoon. ("Since he moved in, Steven. How did you not notice?")

Which was why Steven was stood in front of Watts's door with a lump of fear very much in the pit of his stomach.

And still standing.

And continuing to stand.

And finally he forced himself to knock before he could give in to cowardice and race back into his flat.