And now for something completely different. An AU!

This whole this was Krystal's idea. We wondered what VR would be like if placed in a victorian setting. No powers, no bang, just them as characters. And this is the result! Lets see how many chapters I can take this into, shall we?

For this AU, lets just assume that racial issues aren't present, ok? I also take no responsibility for any historical inaccuracies in this: Its just for fun!

Also, excuse my complete inability to write cockney accents. lord have mercy.

Disclaimer: I don't own static shock, and I don't even know why I add these disclaimer things? Does anyone ever REMEMBER this show enough to want to sue me?

November 7th, 1879

"B-back off Francis! You aren't allowed t—"

"To what, prit'y boy?" Francis sneered in his thick cockney accent. "Whot, You think you're bet'ah than me? Than us? Whot, because you 'ave some stupid scholarship? Roight?"

Richie backed into a bookshelf. Overhead, the dusty books rattled ominously. Francis, and two other large thugs advanced on him. The boy on the right—larger, with greasy black hair and Christmas hams for arms—cracked his knuckles menacingly. Richie held on tighter to the small book in his arms, hoping it might provide as a useful shield. Though the idea was ludicrous, he thought only of escape.

Francis stepped forward, so close that Richie could hear him breathe. He didn't wear a uniform as Richie did, his clothes were dirty, and torn in places. The same went for the boys on either side of Francis. They were not students; they were kitchen servants, and hated Richie for his privilege over them. Richie was in their domain, the lower library's next to the servant's quarters. No students came down this far.

Richie saw a speck of dirt on Francis's nose, the cold hard hatred in his eyes; all pretense of cruel folly vanished.

With a swift movement he swat the book Richie was holding to his stomach out of his hands. It clattered to the wooden floor. Richie felt his spine shiver at the sound. He had nowhere to run.

"Answer me, you lit'ul maggot" Francis whispered threateningly, and Richie flinched as if he had screamed it.

Richie was no match for Francis alone; with his two friends, Richie had just about as much chance of escaping as man did of reaching the moon. Even if he screamed, no one would hear him this far below the main library.

He closed his eyes, hoping that Francis and his goons would be quick about it.

Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound to Richie's right, and the dull thud of something making impact.

"Whoops! How clumsy of me!"

Richie snapped open his eyes and looked to the source of the disturbance.

He stood on the top of a shallow stair case and holding a large book in his hand. His skin was like chocolate on a hot summer's day. His hair fell around his face in wavy dreadlocks, like the sailors from faraway lands in story books. On his face he wore a smile that challenged the remaining two boys down below.

At Richie's feet, Francis began to stir, pushing away the book that had hit him squarely in the head. He turned his head around to spot the boy who had thrown the book. His eyes narrowed.

"You'll pay for tha' 'awkins!" Francis screamed from the floor.

"Challenge accepted." The dark skinned boy said with a wink, and tossed the remaining book in his hand. He did not wait for Francis to get up or dodge his second attack. His eyes looked only at Richie.

"Run!"

Richie needed no telling twice. He stooped down quickly, grabbed the book that Francis had knocked from his hands, and tore off towards the staircase in a sprint.

The moment he reached the top of the small stairs, he heard Francis yell at his two accomplices.

"Whot are you two idiots waiting for! After 'em!"

Richie looked for a way out. These lower levels were a labyrinth. They were also not well lit, and many of the lines of bookshelves led to dead ends, as Richie had learned earlier.

But up ahead, he saw a beacon of light; the boy with the dreadlocks was waiting for him in the corridor to his right, his hands frantically motioning for Richie to follow him.

He did.

The boy ran down the hallway, the gas lamps lining it half-burning in the musty library. He took a sharp left, and then a right, and then up a steep flight of stairs that led them into more shelves teetering with books, but no other people.

Behind him, Richie could hear Francis uttering a string of instructions to his associates, following the sound of Richie's panicked footsteps. When the boy ahead of him rounded a corner, Richie stopped momentarily to knock over a torn and faded armchair, in hopes of slowing Francis down, and kept running. He turned a corner and found himself in a long hallway with a closed door up ahead.

Ahead of him, Richie saw the boy running at top speed. He looked back momentarily to see that Richie was still with him, and in his moment of distraction, tripped on the edge of a rug. Richie ran to catch up, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling him up.

"Who approved these rugs? Ugly and Dangerous." Said the boy, recovering from his fall quickly and running by Richie's side. Richie could not even fathom humor at this particular moment.

Behind them, Francis had kicked the old arm chair out of his way with such force that a leg broke off. He had spotted them. "They're down here!" He screamed behind him, alerting his accomplices.

They reached the door and the dreadlocked boy gave it a tug.

It didn't budge.

The boy uttered a curse under his breath and looked to Richie, panic finally showing in his eyes.

Richie chanced a look behind him. Francis's two ungodly large thugs had caught up. They were red faced and out of breath, but not too much so that they did not still appear threatening. Francis himself was striding towards them, his mouth in a wicked half smile. In the dim lighting of the hallway, the dust floating in the air from the disturbed rug, Francis's eyes seemed to glow, as if on fire.

Richie turned to the boy next to him. "Buy me some time." He whispered, rummaging quickly in his trouser pocket.

For the other boy's part, Richie understood that 'buy me some time' was a rather opened ended phrase. He had not, however, expected the dark skinned boy to brace his hands upon the nearest bookshelf and heave with all of his strength.

The sound of wood colliding with wall pierced the air. Books fell from the overturned shelves. On the way down, the bookshelf hit a gas lap and it broke from it's perch on the wall, clattering onto the wood of the crooked bookshelf.

The stunned moment of silence was all Richie needed to procure the sharp ink pen from his pocket, push it against the hinges of the old wooden door, and pry the loose nails from the metal joints. Then with all the strength he could muster, he kicked the door exactly at its weak point.

The lock held fast to the handle of the door, but the weakened hinge gave way on the opposite side. There was just enough room to shimmy through the opening.

Richie tossed aside the ruined pen and grabbed the collar of the other boy's vest just as Francis was climbing over the fallen bookshelf. He squeezed himself and his partner through the crack in the broken door and they immediately climbed the stone steps just beyond the door.

The room above them was well lit, and Richie could hear panicked voices somewhere to his left. He ran towards the right, the boy who had saved him running close behind.

They turned into a row of shelves, and Richie could feel a hand tug on his leather suspenders.

Richie stopped, and turned around to face the boy. He had his finger over his mouth, and motioned towards a gap in the books on the shelf. Richie looked through them at the place they had just sprung from.

On the other side they could see students emerging from the study cubicles. These students, like Richie and his ally but unlike Francis and his, were all wearing the rigid school uniform of Spence Academy for Boys.

It was only then that Richie realized that they had managed to reach the top level of the large library and some of his panic evaporated. What they had broken was the alternate doorway to the lower levels of the library, which lead down deeper into what the many students of Spence liked to call the 'servant's library'. It was called such because it had a direct connection to the servant's quarters, down by the kitchens. That, and it was notoriously unkept.

The students spoke in hushed tones, obviously having heard the loud noise of the bookshelf falling in the level below. They had not seen Richie and the boy next to him run into the isle immediately next to the stairway. From down below they heard the curses of Francis and his accomplices still trying to come through the wreckage that had been the heavy doorway mere moments ago. Up ahead, they heard the stern footsteps of the residence librarian. One she saw this carnage, there was sure to be repercussions. Severe repercussions.

At that, Richie could feel a tug at his shirt. The dark skinned boy motioned with his head that they leave, and Richie, with a reluctant look back at Francis emerging through the dark staircase amidst a crowd of bewildered and scandalized students, nodded in agreement.

When they had managed to silently snake their way out of the library, they ran down a high ceilinged stone corridor, stopping only when they had put a good distance between themselves and the library.

When they stopped to catch their breaths, the boy opposite to Richie chuckled to himself.

"Quite a ride huh? Shame we didn't get to see Franny punished for destroying school property."

Richie laughed, despite the stitch in his side from the run. Francis's punishment would be far more dire since he, after all, was a lower class employee of the Academy, and not a student. He did not have parents who could afford the replacement and repair of even the most decrepit school artifacts. He might even be expulsed from the school property.

But that was thinking a little too optimistically.

Richie looked over at his savor. On his coffee face he wore a triumphant smirk. Richie could not help but return it for a moment, before curiosity got the best of him.

"Why did you help me? Francis could have pulverized both of us."

The boy next to him shrugged. "You looked like you could use the help." Then after a moment of thought, he added; "That, and that I couldn't possibly study while listening to someone being beaten to a pulp."

Richie wondered if this boy was truly as unfazed by this situation as he seemed. It was then that the boy in question offered his hand to Richie and smiled.

"My name is Virgil. Virgil Hawkins. And you are…?"

Richie was stunned for a second, perplexed as to why that name sounded so familiar. Then it came to him.

"You…you mean…the Hawkins? As in Admiral 'Hawkeye' Hawkins?"

Richie was of course referring to the famous sea captain of England, knighted by Queen Victoria herself for his impeccable service to his country. Richie had been told by his father that he would be attending school with the sons of men whose names were known all over England, but he never suspected a Hawkins.

Virgil, for his part, rolled his eyes. "Something tells me that isn't your name."

Richie brought himself out of his mindless admiration. "I-I mean…My name is Richard. Foley. Richard Foley." Richie reached forward and clasped Virgil's hand.

"Well Richard Foley you cert—"

"Actually…just….just call me… Richie." Richie felt like the name 'Richard' was much too demure for the meeting of a Hawkins. But the moment he corrected Virgil, he somehow felt even more unoriginal.

But Virgil's smile did not falter as he withdrew his hand and pushed a stray dreadlock behind his ear. "Well Richie, I must say, fine work destroying that door. I'm impressed."

Richie laughed aloud. "You're impressed? Did you see what you did to that bookshelf? That thing had to weight twice what I do!" He and Virgil joined in laughter; the feeling of freedom was intoxicating, as if every breath was more special without Francis and his fists at their heels.

"I must ask," Said Virgil after their chuckles subsided. "What book was so important that you would risk getting caught? I thought for a second you wouldn't catch up to me."

Without a word, Richie reached into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a small hardcover book. It was a dull green color, stained in one corner. The pages were yellowing, and, for the most part, this book looked like it had seen better days. The title inscribed in dark emerald read: 'L'homme du feuilage'. Virgil's French was not as good as he would have liked it to be, but roughly translated he deciphered the words to mean 'the man from foliage' or 'the man of plants.'

His jaw dropped.

"It's my favorite book." Richie said, looking at the book fondly and half shrugging. "Not sure if it was worth it, looking back, but—"

"That's my favorite book too!" Virgil said enthusiastically.

"Huh?"

"Yeah! My dad used to read it to me. Before…before he became an admiral. When I was a kid."

Richie smiled. "Really? That's...Wait…so you're dad is Admiral Hawkins!" Richie could not help himself. He was the son of a simple trade merchant who was lucky enough to score a scholarship at the prestigious Spence Academy for Boys. To be in the company of the son of admiral Hawkins was an honor in and of itself. But to have been rescued from certain mutilation by him was…

A one in a million chance really.

Virgil, for his part, rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed by the subject. But in a moment, his smile returned, and he put an arm around Richie's shoulders. Richie smiled.

"So, all that running gave me quite an appetite." Virgil said. Richie beamed.

And as Virgil led him to the tea hall, Richie felt as though his shuffle with Francis and all his worries before that were far, far away.