Disclaimer: I don't own Rebecca, Phileas, Passepartout, or Jules. I apologize if my warped little mind construes their personalities beyond recognition. Victoria, however belongs to me. *My very own character, yea woo!*
"I must say that you are definitely one intriguing woman, Miss Fogg. Not to mention incredibly beautiful."
Agent Fogg smiled lightly as she lifted her eyes to meet her companion's, her titian hair shimmering in the soft light of the dinner candles.
She laughed lightly as a small smile crept to the edges of her mouth. "I am definitely pleased that you think so highly of me, but really, you flatter me far too much, Mister Byron."
Jeremy Byron looked at his charming, crimson haired companion. She definitely was intriguing, a bit mysterious, and there was something else about her. She had an air of confidence and superiority about her, one that never wavered, but was as constant and refreshing as the North Star on a stormy night. Instead of this demeanor waning in the presence of men, as one might expect it too, it only amplified. She had a wit and intellect that bested even the finest of men. She was their equal, if not superior, definitely not inferior, and she made sure this was known. But at the same time she was very lady-like, as demure and delicate as a porcelain doll. The epitome of a perfect woman. That combination, especially in such an attractive package, was enough to drive any red-blooded man mad.
"You know my dear, I certainly look forward to getting to know you better…perhaps over similar dinners?"
"I must say that that is a distinct possibility, Mister Byron."
"Please, please, enough of this Mister Byron business. We certainly know each other well enough to be on a first name basis. Call me Jere-"
Agent Fogg's companion didn't get to finish his sentence because his throat had closed up, literally. Panic flooded into his eyes as he realized he couldn't breathe at all, neither through his throat nor his nasal passages.
The substance she had slipped in his drink worked like a charm. She reminded herself to once again praise PPT for his discovery. It had been synthesized completely by accident, when PPT was trying to make a substitute for yeast in a recipe for baklava. Damn near killed himself, too. It took him nearly a full day to recuperate from the effects. The recipe was a disaster, of course, but she immediately realized what "other" uses the substance might have, and had him whip up some more for her immediately.
Agent Fogg raised an uninterested eyebrow and watched her companion as his throat constricted, and he fell to the floor, gasping for help.
"Don't worry, your air passages will open back up a bit after you've lost consciousness. I have no intention of taking your life, if I did that, then I would be no better than you and your associates. And you should be out cold just long enough to miss your rendezvous with your League of Darkness companions." The League hadn't gained much ground over the years, much due to the work of agents like herself, but they certainly hadn't gone away either. Even now, twenty years after they first surfaced, they were still going strong.
Jeremy Byron had somehow procured top-secret files on agents who were undercover contacts inside the League of Darkness. As a result, two of them had been discovered and executed before they could be notified of their exposure. He had used this information to wriggle his way into the League and gain their trust. Byron had even acquired a place of somewhat power among them, particularly after revealing that he had similar information on their minions trying to infiltrate the agency. He had now obtained documents detailing how the agency was attempting to counteract the League of Darkness' increasingly daring exploits, which he had planned to use to further ensure his place of power. That is, at least until Agent Fogg intervened he was.
Standing up, she straightened her gloves, and tidied her hair from a reflection in the dinner silver. "And when they discover the information that you have let slip through your fingers, I am certain that they will be quite perturbed."
She lowered her face to hover just above Byron's, who was undoubtedly now slipping in and out of awareness, she added, "A transgression, for which, you will undoubtedly never be forgiven and punished using the most painfully efficient methods.
With that, Agent Fogg left the room and walked down the hall and into a parlor. A perfectly ordinary parlor, or at least it seemed to be. Her trained eyes scanned the room, looking for anything out of place or peculiar. She gracefully floated over to a bookcase, pulled out one of several large books that perched there, and upon opening it, pulled out a file folder. (These men and their hollow books, don't they realize a hollow book is one of the most obvious hiding places?) "Hmm, Precisely what I was looking for", she said with an air of satisfaction.
On her way out she stopped back in the room where Byron lay on the floor, just slightly floating on this side of consciousness. She stood in the doorway and waved the folder towards him. "And I will be taking these. I do believe these are our files, as well as the ones you stole from the League of Darkness." Turning to leave, she stopped again and looked back over her shoulder. "Oh, and by the way, JEREMY, thank you for the lovely dinner, I did quite enjoy myself." Agent Fogg now left the scene and sauntered outside to where her carriage was just pulling around to meet her. Perfect timing, as usual.
"Mission accomplished", she said to herself as a satisfied, Cheshire-cat smile slid onto her face.
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Rays from the early evening sun filtered through the large windows in Sir Jonathon Chatsworth's office at agency headquarters. Agent Fogg briskly got up from her chair, obviously aggravated, and crossed the plush office to gaze out the window. Chatsworth had insisted she be there to greet the agency's newest gopher. She had absolutely no idea why she in particular had to be here, besides the fact that it satisfied one of Chatsworth's capricious whims. He probably wanted his new man to meet one of the female agents. There was now more than one female agent in the service. She was one of four, but by far the best.
(He'll undoubtedly turn out to be some pompous new upstart who will waste no time in making a complete idiot of himself. Well, I for one certainly don't plan on babysitting Chatsworth's new pet project.) They had been waiting for him for over an hour, and her patience was beginning to run beyond thin. She could wait silently in the shadows, alert as a tiger, for hours on end waiting for a contact to appear, or protecting a potential assassination target, but this waiting, sitting around with absolutely no purpose, this, this-idleness bothered to the point that it nearly made her skin crawl. If she were at least in the comfort of her own home, she could stand it. But being cooped up here, and with Chatsworth of all people! Good Lord!
"Exactly where is this new agent of yours, Chatsworth?", she barked as she crossed to stand in front of his desk. "I must say that I do not enjoy being at the mercy of someone who has no consideration for their own time, much less anyone else's."
"Patience, Agent Fogg, you'll meet our new man shortly. Punctuality may be a trait he lacks, but he does make up for it in pure skill."
"I certainly hope so", she muttered as she impatiently went back to look out the window of the spacious office. She then turned to look back at Chatsworth. The man definitely was still dedicated to the service, even after all these years. Though he was no longer head of the agency, he did still pull some respect and was trusted with some very important affairs. Nothing requiring any physical stress of course, purely deskwork-paper pushing, as she liked to call it-beurocratic things like rubbing elbows with the right people in the name of the agency and all that. Agent Fogg let out a sight of exasperation. (Where is this idiot?)
As if one cue, a tall young man suddenly sauntered through the door, as if he was completely unaware of the fact that he was ridiculously late, and being quite a nuisance to others. "I apologize for my tardiness, Sir Chatsworth, though I am quite sure that you will forgive me. I was unexpectedly detained"
(Typical. Another agent who thinks he's the most important thing in the world.) The truth of the matter was, that the agents, though immeasurably useful, were quite expendable. They were simply cogs that helped a great machine to run efficiently. An agent could only completely reach their potential after fully realizing and accepting this.
The young man was dressed very dapperly, but his black hair was slicked back so much that it looked as if it had been painted onto his head, and his moustache was ridiculously long and went into hideous curls at the end. Chatsworth rose from his desk to greet the young man, and Agent Fogg allowed a slight smile to creep onto the corners of her mouth as she looked at the new arrival. (We've been waiting all this time for him? Good Lord, he looks like a complete idiot. Is he trying to call attention to himself?) It took nearly all the control Agent Fogg had not to laugh at the new agent's appearance, but she settled for a slight smile, and an amused, slightly raised eyebrow.
"Agent Smith, there is someone that I would like you to meet. Let me be the first to introduce you to Agent-"
"Becky Fogg, Victoria Rebecca Fogg", the young man said, happily extending his hand out, "I've heard so much about-" Agent Smith didn't get to finish his introduction because there was now a small knife embedded into the back of the door, not a centimeter from his throat, it's ivory handle shimmering in the filtered in sunlight. Agent Smith simply stood there, with a look on his face that was a cross between shock, confusion, and mortal fear. He suddenly found himself face to face with Agent Fogg, her soft, delicate face now showed a look so fierce that it would make the very demons of Hell cry. As he stood there mesmerized, he could see fire flashing in her dark eyes. Her expression remained unchanged as she deftly retrieved her throwing knife from beside the young man's throat.
"Agent Smith, is it?", she said as she raised the tip of the knife to meet with the man's nose. "First of all, Agent Smith, no one calls me by my middle name. That is my mother's name, a name which you have not earned the right to speak aloud or to even think, for that matter." "And second of all", she said as she flicked the knife shut and replaced it back in it's holder just under her ruffled sleeve. She now paused for a moment and backed up a step, widening the gap between the two of them, and looked at her fellow agent with the sweetest smile she could muster on her face, "You may call me Victoria. Pleased to meet you Agent Smith." "Now that we are acquainted, I am afraid that I will have to take my leave. It is getting late, and I do have other things to do. Good day."
Wilford Smith watched the young woman walk gracefully down the hall, his mouth still gaping open in shock.
"That, Agent Smith, was Agent Victoria Fogg. Daughter of Phileas and Rebecca Fogg, two of the best agents to ever grace these halls. I do hope that you make a better impression on her the next time you see her, as you will have to work with her from time to time. Now do sit down, there are a number of things I need to discuss with you."
Victoria stopped short just before the front door of headquarters, catching her reflection in the glass. It sometimes shocked her how much she looked like her mother-her hair, her facial features. Except her eyes, those she had definitely gotten from her father. He almost seemed to stare back at her, from their dark depths. They alone reflected him in her; one would be tempted to say that was all that she had inherited from her father. Besides a touch of his temper, that is. The Cheshire-cat smile crept onto her face once again. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so hard on Agent Smith. After all, he hadn't known any better. Becky was a pet name her father had given her, perhaps because she reminded him so much of her mother. He called her that so often that eventually everyone who was around them called her that as well. Uncles Jules and Passportout, and even her old aunt Earmitrude picked up on it. Only her mother had called her by her full first name. Smith was probably trying to be cheeky or cute, calling her Becky knowing who her mother was. (He'll know next time, now won't he?) Victoria chuckled to herself, and proceeded out the door.
"You're carriage is ready, Agent Fogg."
She had wasted precious time waiting on Smith, and now she had other things to attend to. After all, it was her birthday, and undoubtedly her family and friends were going to try their usual *surprise* party. At least she would get to see them all together again, and after all, things definitely got interesting when Foggs got together.