Trooper Station, Friday

[pocketpretzels]

Following Miss Smith's food class, Watts headed to the station. As per usual, there wasn't a lot to be done besides paperwork ("You there. My writing is atrocious. You fill it out, and bring it to me to sign," he instructed... one of the Troopers. Couldn't remember the name.), so there he was, sitting on the corner of his desk, flipping through a Portugese phrasebook.

"Meu postilhão foi atingido por um raio," he murmured to himself. "Well. Some things haven't changed, it seems." He couldn't help but recall the conversation he'd held with Jack, a lifetime ago it felt like now, where he'd suggested they sail to Portugal together. And for the first time in a long time, there was no aching emptiness as he did so.

Some things, on the other hand, certainly had changed.

[ooc: open! though will be SP in the afternoon as I am dragged off to an In Person Work Function. again.]

Comments

[hasaknightjob]

"I did notice that," Steven said. "It does raise questions about how wicked you are."

In spite of the word choice, Steven's tone did not in any way imply this was considered a bad thing.

[pocketpretzels]

“I think you’ll find,” Watts said, voice low and full of promise, “that you’ve only just scratched the surface in regards to how wicked I can be.”

[hasaknightjob]

The hand that was resting on Llewellyn's tie took hold of it, using it as a rather convenient handle to pull Llewellyn closer for a kiss hard enough to make it clear how much Steven didn't mind getting past that surface at some point. You know, if circumstances were amenable.

"I think judges might be tempted to reconsider," Steven added, when he could remember talking was also an option.