Yeah! Here's the next chapter for the story, for those who are reading this. I'm trying to balance working on this with some of my other writing projects. If anyone was curious, I still don't own the LXG, and I doubt I will in the foreseeable future. In this chapter, Riley meets Dorian Grey, and figures out that she's in London, 1899. I think this one is less of a novelization, so I'm happy there. I'm also happy about the reviews and follows. Thank you to FireheartNinja again, RushMaiden and muse-in-waiting (I liked the German, thanks!) for the follows and reviews- they are much appreciated. Anyways, I should probably shut up now since I'm sure you don't want to read about me being cheesy and that and should just let you read the chapter. Enjoy!
As I follow Skinner, the first thing I notice is the rain. It's pouring, and the day is cold, dreary, and grey. The weather doesn't do anything to help my sense of confusion. I'm not used to the rain, since where I live, it's almost never cold, or even chilly. It just makes me all the more annoyed that I can't remember anything for around a twenty-four hour period, by my estimations. It's like I was asleep the whole time, and it makes no sense.
"What in God's name is that?" I hear Quatermain ask, having apparently come out as well. With a cursory glance, I find that the rest of the league has left the building as well while I zoned out. I search for the object of Quatermain's inquiry, and get even more confused. In the street, there is a vague gathering of somber dressed people staring at a sophisticated looking car. It is only then I realize that it's the only car out there. The only other moving things are the people and some horse drawn carriages. What is going on here? I wonder. It's just not adding up.
"I call it an automobile," Nemo says in a somewhat proud tone. I can tell he's pleased about the creation, and I'll admit, it does look kind of cool. It has six wheels, which I pretty much never see back home.
"Yeah, but what is it?" I hear Skinner ask in a curious tone. But Nemo doesn't answer his inquiry with anything but a mystic reply, saying only, "The future, gentlemen. The future."
We walk down the steps and I follow silently behind as Mrs. Harker leans the umbrella's protection over towards me a little more. I smile gratefully, and she nods.
"This is my first mate," Nemo introduces.
"Call me Ishmael," he says. I recognize the name from Moby Dick, which I read some time ago, and almost laugh, but manage to control it. The last thing I need to do is to get marooned wherever I am because I offended someone. I always walk on eggshells around new people anyways, and now, I have even more reason to do so.
"Miss, are you getting in?" I hear him ask. It's only then I realize that I've, yet again, zoned out, and everyone but a slightly annoyed looking Mrs. Harker and a confused Ishmael is inside the vehicle. I blush viciously and nod, ducking into the car, squashing in between Skinner and Mrs. Harker as she gets in.
"This is cozy. Nothing like being stuck tighter than peas in a pod," Skinner mutters, and I give a half grin. The car is silent, almost stuffy as we head off to wherever it is that we're going. Then the not so invisible man decides to break the ice. "So how did M get you?" he asks Quatermain. If I could speak, I would tell him not to waste his breath- the old grouch probably wouldn't tell anyway- and to my prediction, Quatermain doesn't. "None of your business," he huffs. I roll my eyes at my feet. What a grump. Unfortunately, there isn't too much I can do about it.
Luckily, Mrs. Harker doesn't seem to have the same restriction. "You're a bit testy, Mr. Q," she says. "Mrs. Harker, I doubt if you measure danger the way I do," he challenges. I look up just slightly, and see Mrs. Harker leaning forward to glare icily at Quatermain. "And I imagine you with quite the library, Mr. Quatermain. All those books you must have read merely by looking at their covers." I smile at the ground as she argues, finding it quietly entertaining.
"I've had women along on past exploits, and find them to be at best, a distraction," Quatermain fires back.
"Do I distract you?" Mina asks innocently. I try to bite back a laugh and instead end up grinning like an idiot. Quatermain gives me a pointed look that says quite clearly that he wants me to shut up and stop smiling. I ignore him.
"My dear girl, I've buried two wives, and many lovers, and I'm in no mood for more of either," Quatermain states. That kills the mood, at least until Skinner starts talking again,
"You can send them my way," Skinner suggests, only to be interrupted by an irritated Quatermain, telling him to shut up. I stop feeling sorry for the man. Just because he's had a bad day or twenty doesn't mean he has to make that true for everyone. Besides, it's not like he's the only one who has ever had a crappy time of it. Nemo probably has people like Quatermain calling him a pirate every time he's in civilization. Mina is a woman chemist, and she probably is shunned by society for being a woman who doesn't stay at home meekly and provide for her family. It can't be easy being invisible for Skinner. It would be so much easier to forget you're even real, when you look in the mirror and see nothing staring back. You would forget who you were. I've had my fair share of times like that, but I've gotten used to it and try not to dwell on it too much, since doing so will change nothing anyways.
No, Quatermain certainly isn't the only one who has bad days.
The car can't stay silent for too long though. It isn't long before Skinner is back to speaking again. "So, Riley. Why don't you like talking?" he asks. I shrug, then write two words on my leg with my finger. I can't. He raises his eyebrows and nods. "That explains it." He doesn't say anymore, nor does anyone else. It isn't long before I find myself falling into a quiet sleep, if only for a short while…
I am young, only about 10 or so. Mom looks at me. "Hey, Riley. I know that this is…well it's six years today since it happened. I guess I should get used to the fact that you're not going to speak anymore but…if you need to talk, I'm here. I'm here," she says. I look up at her for a moment as she pats my hand, then flick my gaze back down, giving her the smallest of smiles to show I heard her. Then she stands and walks away, and it isn't long before I hear her fiddling around in the kitchen. I pick up my book, a classic, and head up the stairs.
I look back down when I reach the top, and notice Mom's head peering around the corner of the kitchen. There's something in her eyes, something that looks like pain and wishes that things were different. I wonder if mine look the same way. I don't know, but there's nothing I can do to change it. It's too late to take back the past, and right now, I know it's too late to do anything about the future, for me at least. This is my life, and this is how it will always be. So I go into my room and turn on music and get lost into the story of Moby Dick.
"Call me Ishmael…"
"Riley, you alive in there?" I hear Skinner ask as he shakes me awake. I open my eyes and smile at him. He gives a half grin back. "Tell me, do you always sleep like the dead? Our Fantom friend could have attacked and not woken you up just now."
Sorry, I write. It's been a weird day. Skinner laughs lightly. "If you think this is strange, you'd better look out, because I'm sure that this isn't even the half of it." I smile. I'll keep that in mind.
"Do," he says. "Now we'd best get out of Nemo's automobile before it starts rolling off with us still in it. We're off to pick up our next league member. I must say, if he's half as cheery as his house, we'll have the grim reaper on our side." My smile widens as I crawl out and stand, stretching for a moment. The rain seems to have stopped, which is good, except that it's still chilly. For a moment, I wish that I worn warmer clothes when I decided to pass out. The moment passes, and I hug myself as we head up towards where the rest of the league is gathered.
"This is a charming spot. Does Jack the Ripper live here?" There's amusement in Skinner's tone, and I smile again. Then I realize that he was just talking about Jack the Ripper. I had read my fair share of stories about the guy, and I was in no mood to meet the fellow any time soon. But why would Skinner ask such a question if Jack the Ripper was notable around 1888? It's over a century later, so why would he be alive?
Wait a minute… I stop in my tracks. I search in my mind for the dress of the time period and realize that Mrs. Harker, Skinner, even Quatermain are all wearing clothes for around the late 1890's to the early 1900's. I check to make sure no one is watching, and even Skinner has his back turned for a moment. I jog across the street in search of some kind of news paper, and am rewarded in a few moments by finding what I'm looking for tossed in a bundle on the porch of an abandoned looking home. I swipe up the newspaper and the date and place immediately catch my eye.
London. July 1899. I drop the paper. I want to say it's impossible, but my gut tells me it's not, as does all logic. It all adds up- the dress, the less than wonderful weather, Skinner's mention of Jack the Ripper, the lack of technology… It would seem that, somehow, I've ended up back in London, 1899. But how? Why here? I shake my head.
As disorienting as it is, I'll have to worry about that later. Right now, Skinner is giving me a somewhat annoyed look from across the street. I jog back over to the house and give him an apologetic grin. "You should have seen it. You missed some kind of lovers reunion between Mina and some other fellow named Dorian Gray. Come on, maybe we can figure something out here between our motley gang of misfits." I nod and duck under his arm and into the doorway as Skinner follows.
The inside of the house is every bit as drab and dreary as the outside. The walls are a uniform grayish colour and stuffy looking portraits hang on them. The whole place screams boring and I can't imagine living in it. Back home, the walls in my room are sunshine yellow with green edging, and I've painted the ceiling blue with butterflies and clouds, so at least my room seems cheery, even when I'm not. The colouring is monotonous and honestly makes me feel like getting a paintbrush and bringing some life into this place.
Apparently Skinner is having similar thoughts. "Charming décor," he mutters. I smile and he looks at me strangely. "For one who doesn't talk, you sure find a lot to smile about."
I shrug, my smile faltering at his reminder. I pause as we climb the staircase and tap Skinner, who turns to look at me, and then I write on the wall with my finger, I have to smile. It's either that or cry for what I don't have. Skinner raises his eyebrows again. "All righty then. And you're how old, now?" he asks. Seventeen, I write. He nods. "Interesting," he says, and then we move up the stairs again, as I note on the way up that there's a spot on the wall where a portrait is missing.
As we head into the room after the league, my jaw drops. It's a huge library, and it's like I'm a kid in a candy store. I grin and look at the books. Skinner notices and looks around conspiratorially. "Gray hasn't seen you," he says, and then he shoves me into one of the rows of shelves then walks up to the rest of the league, taking off his hat.
"Scotch, anyone?" he asks. I grin. He's clever, I'll give him that. The others are starting to talk about something or another as I start to peruse the books.
Mr. Gray has got quite a selection, all the classics. Pride and Predjudice, Jane Eyre, A Tale of two Cities, Wuthering Heights, some Mark Twain and Shakespeare. I recognize many of the titles, and I remember the plotlines, grinning softly at some, frowning sadly at others while the rest of the league talks.
"It was Grey visiting Eton, and I was the boy," I hear Quatermain say as I poke my head around the shelf corner, just in time to see him pull a gun from his pocket and look around tensely.
"What is it?" Mina asks. The words are out of her mouth for only the shortest amount of time when the gunmen in black start filling in through the second floor balcony windows, guns cocked and loaded, pointing right at the league. My eyes widen in shock.
"Gray?" Quatermain asks. It is only then that I notice the dark haired man with the arched eyebrows and the frilly Victorian clothes, the one I'd take to be Gray. I haven't met him yet, but if I'm any judge of character, which I usually am, he looks like he's got a serious superiority complex. "They are not mine," he sniffs.
"They're mine." My attention is drawn to the top of a spiraling staircase where a silver masked man with a cane is speaking with a hoarse, gravelly voice. I don't know who he is, but even from my hiding hole, I can see that the man has serious scars, maybe from burns. For once, I find myself happy in the slightest of ways that I can't speak. I wouldn't know what to say. Somehow, asking him how he is today doesn't seem appropriate.
For once, Quatermain's talking is useful. "First meetings usually warrant introductions," he says. The man on the stairs doesn't react in any particular way.
"Of course," he says. "I am the Fantom. You are the League of so-called 'Extraordinary Gentlemen.' Introductions made." My jaw drops, and I might gasp if I didn't stop myself fast enough. So this is the Fantom. He seems to be the world domination type to me. "Oh, and I'm scarred, Mr. Quatermain, not blind. Drop the gun," the Fantom says. Quatermain raises his eyebrows but does as he's told, which is shocking to say the least.
"Your mission is to stop me. That, of course, I cannot permit. So I give to you all a special, one-time invitation. Join me." I would love to say something about that. But it would appear that Nemo has me covered there.
"You think we'll help start a war that will consume the planet?" he asks, his voice charged with anger.
"While you profit from your arms race?" Quatermain adds. The Fantom starts down the stairs as he talks. "I cannot deny that fortunes are made at war," he says. As he's talking, I see a gun barrel poke out of one of the empty window openings. It's a blonde boy, but he isn't dressed like the other gunmen. What the heck? I wonder. Something isn't right here. Of course, today I've seen more things that 'aren't right' than I care to see in a lifetime. I'm staring at the new gunman when I'm startled back into the present by the sound of the Fantom kicking Quatermain's gun across the room. I jump, and then I look back at the late arrival, just in time to see him swing his gun around with a grunt and fire it off into one of the Fantom's men. The man stumbles backward, and the room erupts into violence.
Nemo drags Mina behind a bookshelf and Quatermain slides a ladder around, knocking the gun barrels of the attackers up before he runs over to his own weapon, picking it up and wielding it against the gunmen. Pages from the books fly as the bullets rip through them, missing their targets. I have just seen Skinner as he runs toward the shelves, splashing his drink on his face and frantically trying to rub away his greasepaint before I paste myself to my own shelf. But I'm a sitting duck here. All it will take is one stray bullet and I'm toast. But I'm at just as big of a risk if I go into the open. Still, the way I see it, if I'm going to end up dead, I might as well go out trying to do something.
I pick up the nearest available form of a weapon-a huge, leather bound dictionary. Not ideal, but it's something. Then I run out into the eye of the storm.
Everything is hectic around me. I have no idea what is going on, but at first glance, I don't see Mina, but I see Quatermain firing away, along with the blonde man, and I can see Nemo engaged in fierce hand to hand combat with his sword. Looks like the League is fairly well trained for battle. Then I see a guy with a gun come up near me, and I run after him, knocking him upside the head with the book. He spins around, just in time for him to greet another swing with the dictionary. He's just disoriented enough for me to get in one last hit and knock him out cold.
I pause for a moment, shocked at my own audacity. It's not every day I knock someone out on purpose. I don't have all day to consider this though. I turn around to see another gunman running towards me, his finger on the trigger. Then he's interrupted by a flying book. "Hold on," the disembodied voice of Skinner says as he knocks at him with the book. "Night-night," he says cheerily as the man falls down, then I think he spins around to face me. "Who said words can't hurt?" he mutters. Then he points to book accusingly towards me as he continues. "You have a terrible knack for trying to get yourself killed or caught," he says, then shoves me back into the books.
I pause for a second to catch my breath, then come back out. "Dorian!" Mina screams, just as I turn to see the black haired man have an entire clip full of bullets emptied into him. I am shocked, and the book falls from my hands as Dorian stands tall, shuddering as he's filled full of holes. I can't even scream. And then he moves the gun barrel away, and unsheathes his sword from his cane again, cutting off the gunman's armor and stabbing him. As he falls, the man pulls on Dorian's shirt, ripping it. "What are you?" he rasps.
Dorian yanks the sword out of the man, causing him to fall backwards. "I'm complicated."
I paste myself back to the bookshelf. Dorian's immortal. I suppose that would be a useful asset. I have to hang back behind where I am for a while to collect myself before I finally creep out from where I'm hiding, just in time to see Skinner put his hat on as Dorian starts to come down the stairs in a fresh suit.
"And I thought I was special. You're invulnerable to harm," Skinner says.
"I don't like to boast," he says, and I roll my eyes. "What happened to Mina?" he asks. Quatermain emerges from somewhere else in the library, or what's left of it. "Oh, she's probably hip deep in some sort of trouble," he says casually. I really want to go up to him and smack him. I don't care what year it is, but I am getting seriously sick and tired of his 'woman are weaklings' mindset. It would appear that so has Mina.
She comes out from behind a book shelf, flicking her scarf back around her neck and stooping to pick up her hat. "Don't be such an alarmist, Mr. Q. And my hips are none of your business," she says sarcastically, just as one of the fallen gunmen stands and grabs her, holding a knife to her throat. My jaw drops, and I heave my book up threateningly. Quatermain gives me a look of exasperation, even though I already know it's not a particularly intimidating threat. Everyone is holding out a weapon of some kind towards the man, even the blonde guy from earlier, as he comes up, gun cocked.
"Shoot! Go on!" the man says tauntingly, his knife at Mina's throat still. Everyone lowers their weapon. "I guessed as much. That they'd do anything to protect you," he sneers.
Mina is unfazed. "See, now that's your biggest mistake. Thinking that I need them to protect me," she says, her grey blue eyes darkening to red as she turns around and tears into the gunman's throat. I look away in an instant as she feeds. She's a vampire, I think. She is a real vampire. Wonderful. When she's done, it would seem that Nemo is the only one who isn't too baffled to speak. "Extraordinary," he says, just as I turn back around.
"Boy," the blonde speaks. "They told me European women had funny ways," he says. "You missed a spot." Mina turns to look at him, and he touches a spot by his mouth.
"Excuse me," she says. "And you are?"
"Special Agent Sawyer, of the American Secret Service," he introduces.
"Then America is aware of the situation?" Quatermain asks. I want so badly to say something. No duh, America knows. If they didn't, why would they send an agent over here? Had a couple spares and decided to send them to London on a goose chase?
"If war starts in Europe, how long will it take until it crosses the Atlantic?" Sawyer asks. "I followed you. I knocked out a straggler, and I took his place."
"Very noble," Dorian sneers. "But this is a private party, and you're not invited," he says. "Nor are you," he says in my direction, having finally noticed my existence. I glare at him, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Skinner smiling.
"She's already with us," Mina states before returning to the matter at hand with Sawyer. "Actually, Dorian has declined. So we are one shy of a full deck," she points out.
"On the contrary," Dorian interjects. "The battle was just the spur I needed. That and the thrill of a friendship renewed," he says with a look towards Mina. I see what Skinner was talking about, and it makes me want to barf. I'm not much for the seductive romance genre, and it seems to me that Dorian is giving it a whirl. Blech.
"So you're not needed," he finishes. I feel bad for the American, just as Quatermain goes up towards him and takes his gun, aiming it at the balcony. "Winchester," he says.
"That's right. Modified, American style," Sawyer says.
"American style shooting too," Quatermain comments. Sawyer shrugs and chuckles a little.
"Well, whatever it takes. You like it? I brought two," he says. Quatermain looks at him contemplatively for a moment, and I smile softly to myself, even though I'm far from Quatermain's biggest fan and it took a lot more convincing for him to accept me joining the League. I shrug and let my smile get a little wider as he hands the gun back.
"You're in." he says.
So there's the end of chapter three! Thanks again for the followers and reviewers of this story. I really appreciate it, and I'll try to get chapter four up soon. Anyways, please read and review, and I'll type at you later! Bis dann, Auf Wiedersehen!
