Running. I hate running. Who am I running from? Even I am uncertain. But I know they are trying to capture me, and honestly, they probably will. I am scrawny, if you will, and I was in my pique of athleticism around two years ago. Now I am nineteen and still only five foot six inches. I know why they want to capture me. I can… move things. Not with my hands; with my mind and my mind only. I have to have eye contact with it, specifically my left eye. It was a piercing marble-blue that had a hazy look over it. My other eye was hazel.
My hair is white-blonde. I keep it in a loose ponytail on my back, held with a loose blue ribbon. I wear a white dress to my knees with another blue ribbon around the waist. My shoes are simple blue loafers.
I list the things I can tell about my captors: One was young; one was old and appeared disgruntled. Both had guns. Both were fast. And both knew that with the lonesome night streets of Cardiff, Wales, they had the advantage. I wouldn't be saved nor heard. The word "rape" slithered its nasty way into my mind and urged me to go faster although my stomach wrenched nauseously. I ran as hard as I could. And suddenly, I run into something, yet nothing stands before me. I am yanked off my feet painlessly.
"Miss! Miss Amorette D'Autrey!" The younger captor calls (sounding very American), finally catching up and placing a brotherly hand on my shoulder. I look up and nod. "I'm Special Agent Tom Sawyer," He announced proudly, "I'm from the American secret service."
"We are giving you an invitation… to, if anything, save the world from peril. An Armageddon," The older one tells me wisely. "We invite you to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I am Allan Quatermain." Peril. I think. An Armageddon. "The British Empire is allowing you to live in their country in peace, under security, safe from the power-seekers. But we need you to join first," Mr. Quatermain offers seriously.
"Rodney Skinner, Gentleman Thief," A voice from nowhere says, and I look up in front of me to see hovering makeup and a jacket that seemed to appear from thin air. The face with makeup has shaded glasses on. "Whaddaya say, love?"
I smile lightly. "I'll give it… a try. But I ask you one favor, and that is to allow me to fetch my violin before I go with you." My voice carries lightly and it's rather wispy. I am quiet and cowardly, and joining a league that sounds very much like a crime-fighting league may not be the path I should take. I do not do well under pressure and this could turn out to be catastrophic.
Sawyer smiles charmingly and says, "Sure thing, Miss. Do you want us to come with you?" He hold the rifle protectively, with the butt of the gun in his right hand and the barrel in his left, twisting it in his hands so the barrel is facing skyward. Mr. Quatermain holds his gun with one hand on the barrel. In his other he holds his hat.
"Given that you want to. I won't make you," I reply politely, twirling the ribbon in my hair around my finger. I began to walk toward my meek home, and hear three sets of footsteps behind me, so I assume they had decided to follow. As we are walking, I ask to the three, "So, who exactly is the enemy here? Is it a country, or perhaps a group of people, or even a small militia? Where is this antagonist from, and what is his goal?"
"You've got many questions, and all will be answered in-depth once we return," Mr. Quatermain tells me calmly, and I listen to the man trustfully. "What I can tell you now, however, is that this is going to be no tea party. We must fight and this is, at best, serious. You must be too." We enter my humble little home and I run off to my room and swiftly grab my most prized possession, my violin. Sooner than one would expect, we are heading toward the headquarters of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.
"One question I must know… Am I the last member?" As I say this, I think apprehensively, I shouldn't be afraid of danger anyway. Maybe joining this league isn't such a bad idea.
"Second to last. One more member and the league is set," Mr. Quatermain pauses for an effect, "He's in Paris. We expect to have captured him by tomorrow night."
"Captured? Is he an animal? Or a vigilante perhaps?" I ask, furrowing my brow in thought. I'm not sure I want to work with a person… a thing that had to be captured to join.
Mr. Quatermain chuckles. "I suppose you'll see about that, won't you?"
