Author: Ariana-Marie/sugaricing
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Action/Adventure/Super-natural/Romance towards the seventh chapter
Basis: Somewhere around the 19th century, perhaps 1880's. This is post-LXG.
Disclaimer: Anyone you recognize is not mine.
Notes: No one from London take the 'London is dark and dreary' crap seriously, please don't. I am posting this fic here because I am hoping to create a novel, and am using this for characterization purposes, and I wanted a League story. So why not this one? I can always change the actual novel, right?
~~~
Prologue
In 19th century London, if you were different, if you weren't 'normal,' you would be disposed of immediately. If some 'thing' began to plague the streets, it was common knowledge that the threat would be gone in only several days. That was why everyone in London took the liberties of looking, and acting the same. Stuck up, snobbish, and almost everyone was of high status. Their logic was that, if everyone from London looked the same, anyone who wasn't from London would stick out like a sore thumb. If a foreigner were to enter London, they would find it a bleak and desolate place, musty and dank, cold and dreary. Rarely would you see someone meandering about the streets without purpose. Nothing was spontaneous is this city. Everyone had a purpose, whether it be good or bad. Carriages rolled down cobbled streets, taking those important and rich enough to afford one wherever they wished to go, no stops in between.
But there was only one carriage this lonely night, a queer happening. It was taking the passenger to the largest public building in the entire west side of the city. The library. Everyone knew that the library had secret passageways, secret rooms below public areas. Maybe, because everyone was downstairs, there were no lights on the 'above-ground' floors. But no, there was a single, flickering candle by the window, putting the carriers face into sharp relief. His jaw was strong, graced with a light scrounge. His lips were set firmly in a line, and his eyes were cold and brown, like the murky waters of the river. His face bore a simple mask of indifference, but his eyes betrayed annoyance with the entire situation. His bowler hat covered long, wiry black locks of hair that looked unwashed and limp, covered with grease and bodily oils such as sweat. His brows were soon knitting themselves in frustration, and his lips turning downwards into a frown. His side-burns made his jaw line all the more prominent. He swung the great double doors open, and beckoned the passenger in with a large gloved hand. His brown overcoat blew around him, revealing a huge figure, burly frame, and large broad shoulders. His shirt was a dark yellow-beige; his vest was slack and undone. His pants were dark, and made of a rough material, obviously tough and hard to tear. Suspenders held them in place, and on his belt canisters of powder rested for his pistols strapped to either leg. The man's huge leather boots clunked harshly on the marble stairway outside the library, as he walked to the last bit of the overhang. As he waited for the passenger to come in, a growl formed in his throat, and his foot began a steady rhythm of taps. With a suppressed snarl, he took long confident strides toward the passenger. A few gruff words, and a weak attempt at humor, they were on their way inside.
After quite a few staircases, the two men were now in what seemed to be a laboratory, with a large glass cylinder in the center of the room. But said cylinder was not empty. It was filled with a paralyzing liquid, and with a girl, around twenty. She floated, unsuspended. She was not moving and could be mistaken for a corpse if not for the machines to her left showing a slow heartbeat, and breathing regulations. The girl could have been quite beautiful, if not for the large black wings protruding from her back, and silver scaled body. None of her extremities were revealed, as her entire body was covered in those diamond hard scales. Her eyes were open, a greenish yellow color, serpentine with little black slits for pupils, and what would have been eyebrows had she been capable of any more hair then what was on her head. Aforementioned hair was long, thick, and platinum blonde. She had full purple lips, a prominent nose, and a well-toned body. The second man gaped. "So, this is the beast?" he whispered, in awe of the sight before him. The weak lights and blue liquid gave her a surreal and ethereal appearance. The first man nodded. "Yes, Mr. Holmes. She is almost complete."
Mycroft Holmes nodded slowly, but then stopped when he noticed the glass cracking. "Or," he said, voice tight with fear, "She doesn't feel like waiting till we feel it safe to let her out."
The fluids began to leak profusely through the ever-growing cracks, and now even the gruff bodyguard of a man was getting frightened. A hand shot up, and eyes flickered open and closed. A hard punch to the weakened glass, and it broke, shards flying helter-skelter across the room. In a fury, the beast screamed, not a normal scream, but the shriek of an eagle flying over a canyon, echoing in the un-carpeted room. Leaping from the broken shards, she raised her hand again, slowly, and gracefully as a swan. She stood, dripping, in a stance with her legs spread evenly apart for balance and control. The ceiling began to melt, cave in. Like many worms, little pieces of the ceiling scuttled away from a hole now large enough for a person to slip through, then drag a horse through behind. "Her telekinesis!" Holmes screamed. Running to the larger, stronger man, Holmes began to shout, "Logan! Protect me!" Logan did so, pulling Holmes out of the beast's view, and out of the line of fire.
"The experiment 626 is free," he whispered, dreading what was going to happen next. 626 let out another one of her unearthly shrieks, and showed long needle-sharp fangs. Spreading her gigantic wings, she flew through the gargantuan hole in the ceiling, large enough for two elephants to fit through simultaneously. But only just big enough for her.
"It has begun."
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Action/Adventure/Super-natural/Romance towards the seventh chapter
Basis: Somewhere around the 19th century, perhaps 1880's. This is post-LXG.
Disclaimer: Anyone you recognize is not mine.
Notes: No one from London take the 'London is dark and dreary' crap seriously, please don't. I am posting this fic here because I am hoping to create a novel, and am using this for characterization purposes, and I wanted a League story. So why not this one? I can always change the actual novel, right?
~~~
Prologue
In 19th century London, if you were different, if you weren't 'normal,' you would be disposed of immediately. If some 'thing' began to plague the streets, it was common knowledge that the threat would be gone in only several days. That was why everyone in London took the liberties of looking, and acting the same. Stuck up, snobbish, and almost everyone was of high status. Their logic was that, if everyone from London looked the same, anyone who wasn't from London would stick out like a sore thumb. If a foreigner were to enter London, they would find it a bleak and desolate place, musty and dank, cold and dreary. Rarely would you see someone meandering about the streets without purpose. Nothing was spontaneous is this city. Everyone had a purpose, whether it be good or bad. Carriages rolled down cobbled streets, taking those important and rich enough to afford one wherever they wished to go, no stops in between.
But there was only one carriage this lonely night, a queer happening. It was taking the passenger to the largest public building in the entire west side of the city. The library. Everyone knew that the library had secret passageways, secret rooms below public areas. Maybe, because everyone was downstairs, there were no lights on the 'above-ground' floors. But no, there was a single, flickering candle by the window, putting the carriers face into sharp relief. His jaw was strong, graced with a light scrounge. His lips were set firmly in a line, and his eyes were cold and brown, like the murky waters of the river. His face bore a simple mask of indifference, but his eyes betrayed annoyance with the entire situation. His bowler hat covered long, wiry black locks of hair that looked unwashed and limp, covered with grease and bodily oils such as sweat. His brows were soon knitting themselves in frustration, and his lips turning downwards into a frown. His side-burns made his jaw line all the more prominent. He swung the great double doors open, and beckoned the passenger in with a large gloved hand. His brown overcoat blew around him, revealing a huge figure, burly frame, and large broad shoulders. His shirt was a dark yellow-beige; his vest was slack and undone. His pants were dark, and made of a rough material, obviously tough and hard to tear. Suspenders held them in place, and on his belt canisters of powder rested for his pistols strapped to either leg. The man's huge leather boots clunked harshly on the marble stairway outside the library, as he walked to the last bit of the overhang. As he waited for the passenger to come in, a growl formed in his throat, and his foot began a steady rhythm of taps. With a suppressed snarl, he took long confident strides toward the passenger. A few gruff words, and a weak attempt at humor, they were on their way inside.
After quite a few staircases, the two men were now in what seemed to be a laboratory, with a large glass cylinder in the center of the room. But said cylinder was not empty. It was filled with a paralyzing liquid, and with a girl, around twenty. She floated, unsuspended. She was not moving and could be mistaken for a corpse if not for the machines to her left showing a slow heartbeat, and breathing regulations. The girl could have been quite beautiful, if not for the large black wings protruding from her back, and silver scaled body. None of her extremities were revealed, as her entire body was covered in those diamond hard scales. Her eyes were open, a greenish yellow color, serpentine with little black slits for pupils, and what would have been eyebrows had she been capable of any more hair then what was on her head. Aforementioned hair was long, thick, and platinum blonde. She had full purple lips, a prominent nose, and a well-toned body. The second man gaped. "So, this is the beast?" he whispered, in awe of the sight before him. The weak lights and blue liquid gave her a surreal and ethereal appearance. The first man nodded. "Yes, Mr. Holmes. She is almost complete."
Mycroft Holmes nodded slowly, but then stopped when he noticed the glass cracking. "Or," he said, voice tight with fear, "She doesn't feel like waiting till we feel it safe to let her out."
The fluids began to leak profusely through the ever-growing cracks, and now even the gruff bodyguard of a man was getting frightened. A hand shot up, and eyes flickered open and closed. A hard punch to the weakened glass, and it broke, shards flying helter-skelter across the room. In a fury, the beast screamed, not a normal scream, but the shriek of an eagle flying over a canyon, echoing in the un-carpeted room. Leaping from the broken shards, she raised her hand again, slowly, and gracefully as a swan. She stood, dripping, in a stance with her legs spread evenly apart for balance and control. The ceiling began to melt, cave in. Like many worms, little pieces of the ceiling scuttled away from a hole now large enough for a person to slip through, then drag a horse through behind. "Her telekinesis!" Holmes screamed. Running to the larger, stronger man, Holmes began to shout, "Logan! Protect me!" Logan did so, pulling Holmes out of the beast's view, and out of the line of fire.
"The experiment 626 is free," he whispered, dreading what was going to happen next. 626 let out another one of her unearthly shrieks, and showed long needle-sharp fangs. Spreading her gigantic wings, she flew through the gargantuan hole in the ceiling, large enough for two elephants to fit through simultaneously. But only just big enough for her.
"It has begun."