Watson did not have a habit of starting a project, only to quit right before its completion. The same could be said about outdoor excursions such as the current one, as it were. What purpose was there in making the journey, and cutting it short just before you reached one’s destination? Granted, with how their journey was turning out, all Watson would want is to go back home.
“A meeting should work well, assuming there are other people to read it. I wouldn’t mind doing it myself, if you’re not up to it.” It couldn’t hurt to try, whether or not there were other people in town. Even if the meeting consisted of three or four, it would be better than doing absolutely nothing. Or getting soaked at the pub, again.
When Jones gave his answer, Watson took a step towards the right path, simply because he could and he wanted to see if Jones would protest. “Finders keepers, is that the rules no-“. The sudden, unexpected crack of thunder signaled the end of their trip, and at first it was because thunder often meant rain: if Hook wanted to continue exploring in the rain, he was welcome to, whereas Watson had a different plan.
But a bit of a storm would be the least of their problems, given how their surroundings changed.. almost like magic. Watson couldn’t bring himself to say that this was a hallucination, because there was nothing to explain it. The last time he’d eaten or drank something was quite a few hours ago, and if anything had been altered, it would have taken effect by now.
Standing by what used to be the right path, Watson took a step back from it, and gestured to Hook with his canesword. "...To press on would be a poor decision, Jones. We should..” Turning around, he had every intention of going back to the pier, but the unmistakeable absence of said pier was troubling, to say the least, not to mention the distant sound of breaking water. Without saying anything else, Watson strode past Hook, and as he walked past, he pulled on one of Hook’s sleeves, encouraging the man to follow.
Since the pier was most definitely out of the question, they had few paths left for them to take. The one he chose wasn’t too clear, but it would lead them to the north, where they would find the wooden bridge that connects the Marshlands to the town. It would not be too a long walk, not unless they wanted to take their time and go sight-seeing. Whatever was in the lake wouldn’t change course; the fog would spread, but the state of reality would remain unchanged everywhere else.