DISCLAIMER: We don't own any characters... except for Ferdinand Pierre a.k.a. The Artist, who is copyright to Jin. ;D
-Immisible-
Skinner for Gray
Co-Written by Jin Satoshi, and Rei Nokato.
That house by the docks was empty. As usual. Not a soul crept, not a shadow stirred, even the wind froze. Well, that's what most would think. He was somehow like a shadow, moving swiftly, silently, unseen. Unseen, of course, thanks to that incredible serum that had changed his life completely. The door swung, moved by the thief, though as soon as he was inside, a jacket was slung over his shoulders, holding off the breeze. The house was old, incredibly still standing. And there had to be treasures hidden in there somewhere. Heck, he deserved some extra cash, after that last quite draining expedition with that stupid Indian. Though, he did respect Nemo for putting up with Harker. Spicy lass, but a little annoying at times. The cloaked man walked silently through the house, jabbing at things, picking up knick-knacks on his way. Totally unaware, of what was going on at a painting, hanging beautifully on the wall. A handsome face stared down from it, half-smiling, almost patronizing. Dark hair hung over contrastingly pallid skin, unblemished, smooth.
Though, this didn't last for long. The picture began to crumble, cracks appearing on it, the painted face distorting, growing almost inhumanly terrifying.
The clip clipping of polished boots stepping against the cold cobblestone (Look! Alliteration! Hahahai'msofunny) rang out against the silent night, a figure drifting patiently through the British fog. His top hat was slightly lopsided, and in his hand was something that looked like a cane, though it was obvious he didn't need help walking. That same, patronizing smile was plastered on thin lips, steely grey-blue eyes staring unblinking at the house before him. The man pushed the cane against the door, it drifting open slowly. He arched a brow. Never had he leant a key of all things to someone, or even kept one under the welcome mat. Okay, so there wasn't a welcome mat. But that was better than a flowerpot. Psh, yeah right. Anyway, the tall man, clad in an expensive looking grey suit, stepped into his once home, staring about. Things had been touched. Things had been taken. He fought down a snarl growing on his lips. He moved forward, passing the painting, but daring not to look. Pangs of pain rushed from a strange scar on his chest, where his own sword had impaled him, as he passed the hanging spot of his portrait. He flinched a little, but kept walking, following the mere scent of thievery.
Oh, it wasn't hard to find the intruder. He was rummaging about in his library, drinking a glass of sherry, and mumbling obscenities about a book of Karma Sutra. The man in grey cleared his throat, standing, patiently at the broad doors.
Rodney Skinner, as was his name, blinked a little behind his glasses, and turned. Shock hit him first, then anger, then shock again, which caused him to drop the sherry, which then brought on a bout of idiocy.
"You made me drop my sherry." Skinner stared, half-flabbergasted, half-angry at the loss of his alcohol.
The man in grey chuckled, removing his top hat and placing it neatly on a chair as he moved forward. Skinner watched him warily. How could this be real? The traitor was dead. Mina had told him. She had told everyone. Did she lie? But... why would she lie? What was...? Skinner shook his head, the thoughts beginning to confuse him.
The man looked back to him, both brows arching, as if waiting for an apology. Poor Skinner, thinking he had died. Poor League, thinking they could get rid of him that easily.
For, Dorian Gray was, of course, an Immortal.