Author's Note: Told you it wouldn't take me long! Didn't I? Yay! *throws confetti all around, and then remembers the tone of her story, and vacuums it all up at once* Ahem… not the time for confetti really. Hope you like this one… Oh yeah! Check out my site for the cover art supplied by a fellow author! P.s. Thanks to 'Archaon' for the name… he knows what I mean…
angelic katty: As always…
Raven Silver: You and your praise! You're going to give me a fat head!
Graymoon74: *blushes* You and your compliments as well. You and Raven just spoil me. I kinda used the Mina/Quatermain from the first comic… they were always bickering.
drowchild: Tom is going to get more and more scary… as you will see. But he'll still look damn good! Ahem… did I say that out loud?
Sethoz: *watches you strangle* Who will help Tom if you kill them all? Other than Mina of course, who can't suffocate. You know me and tension…
Emily M. Hanson: Will do.
Rayne: Ah yes… like father, like son… I'm going to stop rambling one day… I swear! *puts a blanket over her chapter plan*
Andromeda Trance-endent: Welcome, and I thank you kindly for your high praise. Please don't burn your writing… Glad you enjoy my work, and I hope you'll stick around to find out what happens!
A. L. Nowicki: Ack! All the plushies are getting upset! *hands out plushie-sized Kleenex*
LotRseer3350: Well done for getting that story up at last! It's cool!
Captain Nemo stood at the helm of the Nautilus when Mina Harker and Henry Jekyll stepped onto the bridge, both quiet and pensive. He could see on their faces that they – like everyone – were having trouble adjusting to the fact that their American associate was not how they had always known him anymore. Nemo sighed delicately, and inclined his head as an inquiry.
"I have heard of a woman in Scotland who may be able to help," Jekyll managed to fumble, taking his pocket watch from its concealment and fiddling constantly with the chain and shutter. "I was going to go to her when I first created Hyde… but… I never did." He hung his head slightly as if ashamed.
"From what Dr. Jekyll told me of the woman, she is a kind of… she sees herself as a medium between our world and that of the animal. She might be able to help Agent Sawyer with his 'problem'." Mrs. Harker raised a brow. "I don't think we have a choice. Quatermain told me that Agent Sawyer almost lost control in his cabin again… after attacking Jekyll that is."
"He didn't exactly attack me," Jekyll interjected, "I just startled him is all. I don't blame him for jumping me like he did."
"And if Quatermain hadn't been there, he may have changed, and you wouldn't have stood a chance, Doctor." Mina eyed her companion in an almost scolding manner, and the chestnut-haired man backed down visibly.
Nemo simply watched them stand there for a moment, and then nodded. "Then we are to go to Scotland. Thank you for your help."
Mina and Jekyll threw him acknowledging glances, and then left the room. Nemo turned to his crew and passed on the message, watching them as they milled about to fill out their duty.
Dinner that evening was a sombre affair. No one spoke, at least not during the meal. Allan had the distinct impression that his sudden arrival on top of Sawyer's altered anatomy were the combining factors in the silence. The five sat around the long table, one chair empty should Sawyer decide to join them at the last minute. Allan had asked Nemo to send some food down to the young man's cabin, but they had not seen him out of the room all day. The hunter was the only one who had spoken to him successfully since the ice room, and as he thought about it, his fist clenched around his cup, and he had to remind himself to put it down before he broke it.
Why won't they even attempt to speak with him? Allan thought as his eyes travelled around the table, taking in the grim expressions on the faces of his companions. He is still the same person… he just carries an abnormality along with the majority of them now. They should know how it feels to be shunned.
Instead of musing it over in silence, denying himself the answers, Allan decided to speak his mind; "Were any of you planning on talking to the boy?"
One by one, the League turned their gaze upon the resurrected adventurer, and all looked as awkward as one another. Allan raised his eyebrows to emphasise he had asked them a question, and that he expected an answer.
"You saw what he nearly did to Jekyll," Skinner mumbled, removing his trilby and setting it lazily down on the table next to his cup. He looked to Allan through his pince-nez, and furrowed his brow. "What if you're not there next time he feels a bit jumpy, 'eh? What happens if he loses control?"
"Skinner," Allan growled, very tempted to tell the man to shut up, before reminding himself that at least the thief had chosen to reply, "the only way he's going to learn control is to go through situations that would cause the monster inside to surge up. Mrs. Harker has learned to stem her urges by being around her lure… Sawyer must do the same. He won't make any progress if he is ignored."
"I'm not ignorin' the kid," Skinner cut in, seemingly feeling as though he had been insulted, if only slightly. "I like the American… a lot. It's just, I also happen to like my limbs where they are, thank you very much. I want to help him as much as anyone, but he needs a little time, that's all."
Allan and Skinner locked gazes tensely over the table, before simultaneously, they both looked to the liquid in their cups. Allan wanted to apologise for accusing Skinner, but felt no need after a moment's consideration. He had simply voiced his mind, and Skinner had stated his case… that was all. Apologies were not called for.
"How long until we reach Scotland?" Mina Harker asked quietly as she lifted her cup to drink. Allan had almost forgotten their destination, and there was a light feeling of comfort at knowing they were going to one of the places he had claimed as a home over the years.
"We will be there shortly. I informed my crew this was of the utmost importance, and they have pushed the Nautilus to her limits in order to get us there as soon as possible." Nemo nodded his head after he spoke, and sipped his tea, afterwards falling silent.
The rest of the League followed suit, and for a long time, the only sound was that of the cups and saucers clinking.
Yellow eyes blinked in the darkness, the only shape discernible from the shadow and mystery all around. A growl emanated from the form, the owner of the eyes, and they lidded halfway in a silent threat as the snarl died down into nothingness.
Tom pushed forward, only then realising that four limbs touched the ground instead of two… he was walking on huge paws… the wolf. He cocked his head, and sniffed the air. An odd scent travelled to him on the wind, before a blinding flash exploded out of the shadows from where he had seen the eyes, and he was forced to turn himself away suddenly to avoid damaging his oculi.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back in human form, clutching his Colt pistols and standing in an alleyway. He knew he was here for a reason… though he couldn't remember why… and his head ached as though he had been dealt a blow from behind. The explanation for this was lost on him as well, and he heard a slight shifting from around the corner. He brought the guns up, cocking the hammers simultaneously, and laid flat back against the brick behind him, registering his surroundings. Paris…
In one swift motion, he rolled away from the wall, spreading his feet wide as his coat swirled around his ankles with the movement. His arms lowered, and the barrels of his twin pistols landed, pointing at a face.
Tom shot up in his bed, panting and perspiring heavily. He was underneath his blankets, though they had become tangled around his feet, and as he closed his eyes to try and make sense of what he had just seen, he tried to unravel his legs, unbalancing himself in the process, and rather majorly.
His weight shifted as he started to fall off the bed, and his feet came free of the blankets. Though the distance from the mattress to the floor was only small, somehow he twisted himself, and choked back a gasp when he realised he had landed in a predatory crouch. The realisation was enough to make him topple to his side, looking at his hands. He closed his eyes again, and rubbed his face with his palms.
I need to get out of here.
It was getting dark once again, and most of the day had passed by the time they docked at the very edges of Scotland. The moon was partially concealed behind clouds of wispy grey and white, and the occasional star peeked out from its confinement. Something howled in the distance, and an owl hooted close by as Mina Harker and the others descended the ramp. Tom Sawyer stood at the head, and looked down at them pleadingly.
"Please, Agent Sawyer… understand," Mina began, turning back. The look in his eyes was painful to her. It was like denying him something he needed to survive. He had emerged from his cabin about an hour ago after sleep, and had asked to come along. "It is imperative that you remain here, in safety, whilst we go and ask this woman for her services. We can't risk the werewolf taking over in you again… I know you do not wish to harm anyone, and with all this open space… the animal inside may only wish to emerge to roam, if nothing else."
The American's head drooped slightly, and her vampiric senses picked up his light sigh of defeat. "All right," he mumbled, and turned to go back inside, casting another longing glance out to his companions before vanishing into the Nautilus altogether. Mina stared after him guiltily with blue eyes, and then turned back to lead the others into the town she could just make out in the failing light.
Skinner had removed his coat before setting out from the Nautilus, and if it was possible, Scotland was even colder than Paris. He shivered; glad no one could see his vulnerability to the cold. He had hugged his arms over his chest, and followed behind Jekyll, thumping into him when the man stopped all of a sudden. Looking around, Skinner realised they were in the town. They were being watched by the locals… save for the invisible man himself that was. How could they see him? He tried to hide his breathing, and walk where they would not be able to see his impression on the ground, succeeding for the most part. When Mina turned her icy gaze upon the not-so-subtle observers, they quickly decided they had other things to be tending to.
One man did not waver in his watch, and he smiled at them in a friendly, welcoming manner as they approached. Mina and Allan had noticed his interest and lack of 'subtlely', and so had decided that inquiring what they needed to know of the man surely couldn't hurt.
"Excuse me," Allan spoke up, and the man brightened at the hunter's accent. "We were wondering if you would be able to help us."
"Well, that all depends on what you need," the man replied in an accent equally as thick. Skinner furrowed his brow. How did the people around here understand one another?
"We're looking for a woman," Mina cut in, wishing to cut out the small talk and pleasantries… as always. When she had something on her mind, time always seemed to be of the essence. "A woman by the name of…" She turned to Jekyll.
The doctor cleared his throat and said, "Margaret Doohan."
The man nodded his head. "Ah yes," he muttered, "Maggie."
"You know her?" Nemo inquired, and the man looked to the captain in a most confused manner, as though he had never seen anyone dressed so uniquely in his life… which he probably hadn't.
"I do," the man responded slowly. "She lives out on the rim of the town… haven't seen her in a few days though. She normally comes down mid-week to get some groceries." He shook his head. "Not this week though. You tell her Andrew says hello."
Allan paused, before nodding. "We will. Thank you."
The man who had called himself Andrew tipped his cap to them, and went on his way. The League watched him for only a moment, and then went on their way in the direction he had pointed them to take, silent as they moved.
Tom paced his cabin, running his hands continually through his tousled hair, until he realised what he was doing and dropped his hands to his sides. What was taking them so long? They had only been gone a little under an hour, but they should have been back by now… shouldn't they?
Tom was getting restless… and he knew it. He couldn't keep still. He was itching to get out and stretch his legs. Mina's words circled in his mind; "We can't risk the werewolf taking over in you again… I know you do not wish to harm anyone, and with all this open space… the animal inside may only wish to emerge to roam, if nothing else…"
Tom groaned, and leaned against the door in the wan lamplight of the cabin, resting his head back against the wood, and closing his eyes. She's right… but I just need some fresh air… that's all. I can't take this much longer, being cooped up. He had hated it as a child, and he despised it now. It just wasn't in his nature to stay in one place for too long, despite the heartfelt advice of a friend.
Before turning to the door, he paused, and subconsciously removed his guns and holsters, and rested them down on the desk. As he moved out of the door silently, he didn't even register what he had just done.
Tom moved stealthily through the corridors, checking around him frequently. When a crewmember appeared suddenly, he pretended to be going to the kitchens for a drink of water or something of the like, and acted as naturally as he could muster. When they disappeared again, he changed directions, and jogged to the bridge and the stairs to the conning tower. He just needed fresh air… that was all. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
It did not take him long to reach the staircase, and he climbed it quickly and quietly, pushing through the door to the exterior of the submarine, and taking in a lungful of the air of the night, looking out to the trees nearby. Peering over the railing confirmed what he already knew. Nemo's men were roaming about around the hatch, many of them armed, protecting the captain's pride and joy.
Drumming his fingertips along the rail, he bit his bottom lip in thought. His head turned this way and that. Deep down, he knew he was doing, but his conscious mind seemed to be clouded over, blocked from logic. He paced to his right, and peered along the length of the Nautilus, glancing down to the ground of the makeshift dock again. Swallowing, Tom gripped the rail… and swung himself over it using only his hands for the vault.
When he landed, he made little noise, and balanced perfectly, his knees bending, and he started walking at once, moments after setting down on the hull. He paced across it, crouching down halfway so as not to be seen. The fact that his eyesight was improved did not even startle him in the slightest at that moment. All that mattered was reaching the rear of the vessel.
Don't make a sound, was the only thing that rolled through his mind now, a steady stream of instruction that served to remind him of what would happen if they caught him sneaking around.
He halted when he reached the very end of the Nautilus, looking down to where he imagined the propellers were under the murky water, and narrowed his eyes. Now what? His green eyes scanned the shoreline, and a crooked smile crept onto his face. Then it dropped as soon as it had hovered for a brief second.
What am I doing up here?
Then all logic was gone again, as sudden as it had popped up, and with a deep intake of cool air, he backed up a little on the Nautilus. After a moment of hesitation and measured consideration, he ran forward… and jumped.
Mina halted when they were drawing up to the rather secluded house at the edges of the woods, and allowed her senses to take over for a moment… there was something wrong.
"What is it?" came Skinner's disembodied voice on the breeze, and she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the dark and small building.
"Something is wrong… the smell here is… not what it should be." Mina paced forward slowly and with a certain amount of caution, noting the way the others hovered back a little way, but stayed with her. She approached the doorway.
As she got even closer, the dread settled in. Something was most certainly wrong, and as she reached for the handle, her heart started to pound in her ears. She swallowed dryly, and tried to open the door, which gave with little resistance, swinging open on hinges in need of oil. Her eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, and then the smell hit her. She covered her mouth with a choked, "Oh my…"
Allan was the next to inspect the room, and he visibly paled. Quatermain turned to Jekyll and threw him a look that said it all; 'don't look'. Skinner… they couldn't see him, but Mina heard a groaning noise, and felt something brush past her in recoiling from the door and the sight within.
From the brief glance she had gotten before turning away, even as Nemo inspected the sight stoically as ever… she had been able to determine the poor woman would not have stood a chance against whatever had torn through her like paper. There had been barely anything left of a solid form even resembling a human being, and there had been blood everywhere… though oddly, Mina's stomach had lurched instead of yearned.
The smell hovering was perhaps the most unsettling though… werewolves.
Tom glanced over his shoulder as he sat, jaw gaping, in the large tree he had just managed to jump to. He breathed rapidly, trying to come to terms with what he had just accomplished, before he decided to get down. He hung from his arms for a moment after swinging down from his perch, and dropped lightly to the ground, trying to determine the distance he had jumped, and failing. He quickly turned and walked away, ignoring the chill that bit at his skin on his bare arms.
He traversed the ground quickly, ignoring the gnawing sensation in his gut again, pushing it down with nothing more than self-control to guide him as Allan Quatermain had told him. He couldn't let it take over… even though, in a way, he already had, by letting his urges about getting off the ship come into reality.
Tom was only about fifty feet from the Nautilus when he collapsed to one knee, his stomach feeling like it was going to tear itself apart from within, and he gasped, retching and fighting back the urge to vomit. He succeeded by a very small margin, and struggled back to his feet, shaking and panting heavily, but pushing himself forward nevertheless. He was reaching a small and seemingly abandoned farm, its lights long dimmed and the windows broken, wood planks dilapidated and fields untended. Tom stumbled alongside the barn, and gave a cry of agony, collapsing to his knees, and clutching at the ground, tearing up great handfuls of dirt and dead grass.
A second cry caught in his throat and he almost choked on the sound, feeling another wave of nausea rise up in him, and he clenched his teeth, closing his eyes tightly and feeling his limbs tremble with what he knew was coming… he tried to fight it, and slipped further and further from anything resembling control with each passing second.
His left hand flexed and clenched over and over again, as though he were trying to return circulation to a strangled limb, and he looked down at it, suppressing a yell when it started to change shape slightly and darken with thick hair.
No… not now… please not now…
His silent pleas did him no good as he threw himself back against the barn and bit off another cry as he doubled over, hearing a crack from inside his own body, screaming as he felt his ribs break and reform. His whole structure started to twist and expand, and it wasn't long before he was lying on the floor in excruciating pain, trying to fight futilely against what rose up in him. He clutched at his chest as each rib snapped and took on a broader shape individually, making him wish he would just pass out from the agony. There was no such luck as his back arched, and he managed to roll onto his knees, curling up and hugging his hands over his head, trying to shut everything out and concentrate on anything but what was happening.
That was when he felt his entire body start to contort and grow, and he heard the rip as the fabric of his shirt gave way under the strain. He tried to scream again as he threw his head back, opening his eyes and finding everything partially distorted even as his head started to change shape. He clenched his fists, but had to release the pressure when he felt vicious claws push forward from the tips of his fingers. Fangs pushed through his gums, even as his shirt fell free of his torso, coarse dark fur bristling all over his back, chest and abdomen, rising like a wave up to his neck. His hair seemed to recede slightly, and black bled through from the blonde roots, swarming over the light locks and covering them with ease until all traces of his natural colour were gone. He pressed his head back down again, gasping with agony, until the sound slowly changed and became hoarse and throaty; a bestial pant, followed through with a rasping growl as his neck cracked and his muzzle finished taking shape.
Tall ears pushed up through the hair, and pricked, twitching with every nightly sound in the area, until the shape that had been Tom Sawyer stopped writhing, and the imposing black head rose, blinking its silvery liquid eyes with a feral snarl, sniffing the air. The meaty, sinewy forelimbs pounded into the dried ground outside the barn, until the powerful back legs pushed the mighty frame from the grass where he had been cowering.
Turning his head this way and that, the werewolf that was Tom Sawyer curled back its lip in a snarl; catching something on the wind, before setting off on two legs in a run, before feeling the certainty of the owner of the scent register in its instinctual mind.
With a bellow, it dropped to all fours, and charged off into the night.