His Only Reason

Eight Ill-Mannered Malcontents

The taxi driver stopped when you arrived at Elliott's place, but before you got out, the elderly man reached back and handed you a letter.

"Oh, I'm sorry... what?" you asked, confused, but he simply turned around and waited in silence for you to get out. "I don't think this is for me."

When he still didn't respond, you let out an annoyed huff of air and stepped onto the sidewalk. You peeled back the golden sticker keeping it shut, pulling out a neatly printed card reading:

From the office of Sir Reginald Hargreeves

To my pursuers:

I, Reginald Hargreeves, request the pleasure of your company for a light supper on the 20th of November, 1963, at half past seven o'clock.

1624 Magnolia Street

Dallas, Texas

You stared down at the words, alarmed, before glancing behind you.

The taxi was gone.

You hastily made your way to the building, glancing around at the lightening sky. It was probably  nearing one pm - your fight with the odd woman had taken longer than expected, and the drive had taken some time.

However, as you stared up at the building, you felt a sense of worry come over you. You needed to check on your siblings, make sure they were all ok. 

A hidden part of you that you kept trying to repress constantly reminded you that you could use your power to find your father. However, another part of you remembered what had happened to the man that had searched for his dead mother.

He went into a coma. I can't do that again - not after all those years I spent asleep.

Since the Sir Reginald Hargreeves you knew was definitely dead, what would happen if you tried to find him? Would you be put into a coma, too?

It was better not to test your theory until you had met the Hargreeves from this time period.

Decided, you marched back into the building to find your dress from the night of the party. It was torn and slightly bloody in the front, but you weren't going to walk into your father's dinner looking like someone off the streets, with grass stains on your pants and shirt. You knew for a fact that he was going to dress as fancily as possible, and act incredibly regal. It was his way of saying 'I'm better than you, and always will be' when he didn't feel like actually telling you, which wasn't often.

You peered into the living room and revealed that it was empty - odd. Usually there was at least someone here.

Before you entered the bedroom, you stumbled into Elliott, who made a startled noise in the back of his throat.

"Sorry," you said quickly. You had almost forgotten it was his house - whoops.

"Oh, that's no problem at all, no problem. Actually, it's good - here." He handed you your dress, blood-free and stitched up neatly. Your mouth fell open slightly, and you looked from the dress to him and back to the dress again.

"You did this?"

"Sure did," he said proudly, settling his hands behind his back. "It looked too expensive for me to let it go to waste, and-"

You cut him off by throwing your arms around him, unexplainably happy. 

"Sorry," you said for the second time in the past few minutes, hastily taking a step back. "It's just... you've been so good to us, even though we're horrible to you. Thank you, Elliott."

He grinned at the ground bashfully, and you began sliding to the side awkwardly, unsure of how to continue the conversation. 

"It's my pleasure," he said happily, and you cast him another smile before disappearing into the bathroom to change.