The moment they had stepped out of the backdoor of the now less than appealing interior to Mr. Dorian Gray's abode, the members of the newly established League of Extraordinary Gentlemen were meet with the stank smell that swept up from the rundown docks below them. One by one, each member filed out of the building with a sort of follow-the-leader approach. Allan Quatermain gripped the railing as they ascended to the harbor, the uneasy stair proving to be a little bit of a hazard in his old age. Last thing he needed after an incident like the one that had occurred moments before, was a clumsy fall down the stairs in front of the ones he was meant to lead. Nothing says you're in charge like a quick dash down a narrow flight of back steps. Yet, he was still a bit shaken by everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. They all were.
"So," said Dorian Gray with a nonchalant air, as if none of the events that had occurred daunted him in the least bit. "What's the next port of call"
"Paris. Just one last member to recruit," Captain Nemo replied from his space just behind the leading Mr. Gray.
Allan paused for a moment, clearing his throat with a bit of uneasiness. Nemo, hearing such, stopped as he made it passed the final stair to turn and face the tall, elder man. "I'm not mistaken, am I Mr. Quartermain"
Allan smirked, "Actually you are Captain"
"Please, enlighten us Mr. Q.," Mina Harker said as she passed the elder man from the stairs. "For I thought there were to be only six members of the League"
"Well, except for our latest American addition," chimed in Skinner from the back. He smirked and shook his head at the young boy in front of him. "And such a fine piece of work he is, isn't he"
Special Agent Tom Sawyer smiled a silly half-smile, winking at the invisible man. "It's all in the charm, my friend. All in the charm"
"M failed to mention another member besides the one in Paris," Nemo interrupted, in an attempt to regain the previous topic. He folded his arms about his noble chest, staring with an obvious weariness and suspicion at Quartermain. "I'm very surprised, indeed"
"Well, it's a last minute addition, so to speak. He's in Rouen, a French village just outside of Paris, so we'll be able to stop on the way there"
"Ah, very convenient," said Skinner.
Mina sighed, sweeping her long red scarf back over her shoulder in the process.
"And are we to know anything about this...man before we recruit him? Or was your plan to simply wait until we're all caught off guard once again by something else"
"Well, Mrs. Harker, all I can tell you is that he's called the Persian, and who's said to be a great genius in many various fields that pertain to many of the things we'll have to deal with. Nothing too, extraordinary though, I'm afraid. That is, of course, when you compare him to the rather extraordinary display you just showed back in there"
The vampire cocked her eyebrow at the man with apparent displeasure, but did not venture to utter a word in response.
"Wait, the Persian?" Dorian spoke up. "The Persian is an assassin who has killed many with ties to the French government. You can't possibly"
"Well, shall we?" said Allan, putting out his hand in the direction of the docks, in an attempt to allow the lady to go first.
"Oh, I thought you'd never ask," Skinner said, charging right through pass the rest.
The Persian sighed exasperatingly, crumpling the letter in his hand into a misshapen wad of paper, as he gulped a big swig of wine down. The soothing melodies that emerged from the antique grand piano just beyond the armchair in which he sat comfortably by the ornate fireplace, did nothing to calm his nerves. This couldn't be happening. Not now. They hadn't had enough time together yet. Six years hadn't been enough to teach all the things she'd need to know. Was it? He had intended to keep his friend's dying wish, but what if he had failed? Had he failed this precious angel, and thus betrayed the memory of her previous mentor and teacher.
Chopin. That was it. That was what she was playing. He had wondered before what classical piece she would choose to practice this night. She was a master when her fingers graced the ivory keys of that old piano. Every night, no matter where they were, no matter which far off land the traveled to, she always managed to practice her musical abilities in some form or another. She had learned so many forms. Violin from her father, flute from himself, and, of course her favorites, piano and the art of singing...from...him. The Persian assumed her nightly devotion stemmed from the promises she too had made to him, years ago. Or in the very least it was an homage to his great talent. Such a beautiful, tortured soul.
The Persian rubbed his jade-green eyes, ringing the silver bell that sat beside him on the side table. Almost immediately, his servant Darius appeared from seemingly nowhere.
"Yes, master," the slightly younger man said in a hushed tone so that he wouldn't interrupt her playing.
"Darius, prepare her things in the trunks we just ordered from Paris. Everything must be packed up. Her clothes, books, instruments...everything"
Darius looked confused, but didn't dare question his master, "Shall I prepare your things as well, master"
"Yes, mine as well, but in the old trunks. And arrange them separately. They won't be going together"
"Master"
The old man smiled, "You'd better start now, Darius. We leave tomorrow night"
"Yes, master"
As Darius hastened to his tasks, the Persian buried his head in his hand once more, the seriousness of the situation setting back in. His knuckles turned white from their grip on the poor letter that had been now reduced to a crumbled mess. He sat for a moment, deeply absorbed in his thoughts, the only sounds coming to his ears were from the roaring fire beside his chair. In his almost trance like state, the Persian hadn't realized that the music coming from the parlor had ceased, and that a tall but delicate form stood in the doorway, silently watching her master. A quite cough stirred the Persian's attention and he quickly looked up at the woman standing before him. Perhaps it was just the frantic state he had forced himself into, or the terrifying fact that this moment might be the last they'd spend together, but whatever it was, she looked almost angelic. The light from the room behind her gave a warm glow around her, and made her chocolate brown curls shine brilliantly. Her white porcelain face, her deep brown eyes, everything in that moment made his heart stop. His ward, his...daughter.
"We are leaving again so soon"
The Persian sighed, his head sinking at her words. It was time. No matter how hard he might pray, he knew she was ready for their departure. There was no more he could teach her. She no longer needed his nurturing of the other talents she had retained from her previous mentor. She was ready to be without him.
"Oui, mon ange doux. We leave tomorrow."