The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Resurrected.
Prologue – The Beginning Of The End
She lay there her eyes closed in an uneasy sleep. Her blonde hair flailed around the pillow and her breathing was harsh. She frowned, in her dreams the same scene came, the man shrivelling and screaming in rage and pain then disappearing into somewhere she couldn't see.
Her eyes flashed open and she looked around the dark room. The sounds of the night filled it with the comforting and yet unnerving promise of unseen eyes watching from unseen places. The rustle of curtains, the squeaks of animals from outside and the sound of her own breathing all bonded together to make a flammable environment.
She couldn't help it. She couldn't stop it. She lay still for a minute trying to persuade herself that she wanted to go back to sleep, but she was too disturbed by her dream. She sighed in exasperation as she was deprived of her sleep for another night. Her hand reached out to a chair that stood by her bed and groped for her shawl. Eventually it caught hold of the woollen material and pulled it towards her. She sat up in bed and slipped the shawl over her shoulders. Her feet slid out of bed and she gasped as the cold air hit them. Idiotic man with his idiotic picture, how she hated it some days. She didn't know why she kept it, it was mocking her with its smile and cocky look and yet, there was something there...an unnatural flicker of life, as though the artist had captured the very soul itself. But that was stupid. Art was art and that was that.
She walked out of her room and down the hall to the landing of her house. There illuminated in the light of the moon was the very picture of the man that seemingly haunted her every step. Her hand reached out and she traced the waves of his hair with pale fingers. He was laughing at her, she could see it in his face. She should never have bought this picture, never. She couldn't have resisted though, she couldn't have stopped her hand raising that sign, it was as though she had been bewitched. Those rich brown eyes stared down at her and she looked up helplessly at them. Who was this man who had looked so handsome and yet so arrogant at the same time?
A draught swept through the dank house and she shivered. The clock near her struck two and she jumped, startled at the sound. After the chimes though came a strange emptiness, fuelling her imagination and at long last…she was sure she could hear something.
A voice hissed through the dark and her eyes widened in fear, "Free me." It said to her, "Let me live again." She shrank back in complete terror. Irrational thoughts, alien to her mind flickered through her, impulses both foolish and desirable. Who was this? Why was she still dreaming? The woman stumbled backwards, her eyes imagining the shadows of demons dancing around her. She moved back further but she hit something solid. She screamed in utter panic as she fell back over the chair that leaned against the wall and there was a loud crash complimented by the splintering of wood as they both hit the floor.
She lay on the floor her wrist throbbing with pain, unwelcome pain. It had been flung out in the hopes it would break her fall, but she felt as though she had broken the wrist instead. How very suitable. There was the sound of a door opening and another girl came out. Her dark hair was all askew as she peered out into the gloom, asking uncertainly, "Miss, is that you, Miss?"
"Yes, Rosa it's me. I seem to have fallen over. Would you be a dear and come and help me up?" After a pause and noting that the pain wasn't fading, she added as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, "I do believe I've hurt my hand."
The girl hurried over to her mistress and looked around curiously, "If you don't mind me asking, Miss, what are you doing out here at this time of night?" The girl had a right to ask. It must look a strange picture after all, a noble lady all askew on the floor with a broken chair next to her. The man in the portrait certainly appeared to see the humour in it. Then again, the man in the portrait seemed to find humour in everything. Born laughing. Died laughing. (Probably) Preserved for eternity laughing.
The servant put her hand under Rosaline's arm and gently lifted her to her feet, still looking rather puzzled having received no immediate answer. The blonde haired woman was cradling her left wrist, looking close to unusual tears, "I, I don't know Rosa," she murmured uncertainly at last, "I've been hav-ving such f-funny d-dreams." Rosaline closed her eyes, still not certain that her confusion had been lifted. Her mistress was not the superstitious kind. Yet here she was stuttering and having taken a fright all because of some dreams. Most peculiar.
Determined do to something to ease her mistress's distress, Rosaline gently prised the injured wrist from the anxious grip that clutched at it, seemingly unsure that should she let go the pain would fade and so would the reality of what was going on. The servant gazed at it and then sighed softly, "I think we'll have to put some light on Miss, I really can't see very well. The house is full of shadows and so damp, it's no wonder you tripped up over that chair. Must have slipped or something. I can have a look at the floor tomorrow if you like?"
Her mistress had grown completely fraught in the shortest space of time and Rosaline frowned in genuine concern, something had clearly frightened her and recently. She could see the tension radiating from the body in front of her, a flutter of terror growing in the chalky face. Her eyes darted around the room perceptively, there was no one there. Nothing except the odd portrait her mistress had purchased on one of her very few whims. Slowly Rosaline led her mistress back to her room and she sat her, quite forcibly, on the bed. She turned away, lighting the lamp above her mistress' bed. For a fleeting moment she thought she saw a flicker of movement from the landing. Dark eyes narrowed and then dismissed it, was probably just the shadow of something. All that mattered now was the woman on the bed.
She sat down next to her mistress, sinking into the soft covers as she took hold of the damaged hand again. She examined it closely, it had swollen slightly and there was an ugly red mark, which would form into a beautiful bruise…but nothing other than that. Quite lucky really, however, she hadn't been expecting a break. If the bone had snapped the cries of pain would be much above the occasional whimper.
"Miss, I don't know whether it would be too bold to ask," she poked tentatively, whilst rummaging around in a chest of drawers at the foot of the bed, "but what are these dreams you have about?"
"What good would it do if I told you, Rosaline?" questioned the older woman. Things had shaken her in the hall. Another state had come over her. A state she had felt before only when she slept. Alien and cold but there was always something there. Like sinking into a pool of wonderfully warm water but knowing another strange presence was making the ripples you saw.
"Well, it's just I've heard that if you share your nightmares they become less frightening," bartered the servant carefully, taking advantage for better or worse of the confused state her Lady was in, "Your hand, by the way, isn't too badly hurt, I know you probably wouldn't think it from the pain," she smiled, attempting to make light of the situation, "You haven't jarred it or broken anything, actually, you might have jarred it. I'm going to check it again in the morning. I think bind it up tonight and some salve for the bruise that will form, that'll be the best course of action to see you get at least a bit of rest. If that's alright with you?"
The blonde girl nodded, flopping back onto her bed weak with exhaustion. The voice had been so real. It wasn't as if it were normal to hear voices in the first place, but this was a man's voice. The painting was special, special to her in a way no one else could understand. She hadn't seen something quite so real in so long, it almost made her fear for her safety. The old works echoed around her brain, what had that man done? "It's hard to explain, Rosaline," she began, regaining her original composure, "I simply see someone dying again and again and I want to help the poor soul so much, but," shrugged the woman softly, "I don't know how. It's almost like he's blaming me for not knowing, suggesting I could save him if only I thought about it a little harder."
Rosaline nodded in an understanding way, although she didn't really follow. Her mistress was dreaming about a man dying? Perhaps she should look into that matter. It surely wasn't normal. Not normal for a woman like the lady she served so faithfully. The servant moved swiftly, helping her mistress into bed. As she turned down the light she promised, "Don't you worry, Miss, I'll give you something tomorrow that will get rid of those dreams for you. Meanwhile do try and stay in bed, please? It's terribly cold out just now, which is odd because yesterday I could have sworn I felt the sickly heat of a storm building. Nothings been the same for a few years, the house mirrors our unrest. That's what Naina says," she offered by way of explanation, "I don't believe a word of it mind you, but it might help you if there was some sort of…answer."
Her own answer was the sound of heavy breathing. The brunette smiled, she had gone to sleep already. At least that was a good thing. Pulling the door shut behind her, the girl carefully made her way along the dark corridor all the more aware of what was going on by way of floorboards after the accident. She picked up the chair her mistress had knocked over and put it back against the wall so as to prevent any other mishaps. The girl failed to notice the broken bars that formed the supportive back. They would receive her attention tomorrow, however, very little did not receive attention from Rosaline.
She reached her room and assessed the area, confused again. What was leading her mistress out here? She hadn't made a habit of strange dreams and sleep walking before. It was all giving her that nasty sensation that something was wrong. She rubbed her nose, retreating into her room, still thinking it over. She'd ask around tomorrow when she went into the village to get some vegetables for Sunday. Maybe she could buy something that the folklore suggested would work against nightmares. There was only one great force Rosaline believed in truly, anything to help her mistress, however, anything.
The man sat with his back to the fire hunched and proud all at once. His eyes and face set in deep thought, buried deep in the notions of many things. The shadows danced their way around the vast hall of his house and he could hear faint murmurings coming from the rooms next to it. They were annoying, yet comforting. The sound of his hard work in action. The hard work and meticulous care that was finally to pay off.
He shifted his position slightly so as to awaken deadened parts of his body. He unfolded his legs and stretched them out, inviting the blood to being circulating once again. He was frustrated, so very frustrated. In fact, scratch that, he was damned well near furious. How dare those stuffy politicians do that to his country? Just how dare they! What did they think they knew? They didn't understand the people. They never had. Only deigning to mingle among the masses when it would work well for them. Their two faced hides and lying propaganda made him sick. Peace? He'd give them peace. Hands squeezed the arm of his chair tightly, bringing his knuckles to attention by forcing them that sickly white colour.
"Now, now, do calm down. You'll burst a blood vessel."
"Why do you care about my blood vessels?" he answered with an empty tone.
"I don't. I was just trying to be polite and open a fluent and brightening conversation with my one and only saviour."
"Don't try, Mr Gray, it's unnerving and it's impossible to have a brightening conversation. Look at the two of us. Can you see happynothings about the weatherfitting inhere? Anyway, I though you were supposed to be getting somewhere by now? I am relying on you for all this to work, you know we're on a schedule."
Now what would seem strange if someone were to walk into this scene at that precise moment would be the fact that the owner of the second voice was no where to be seen. No body. No second chair. In fact, it would look like the man deep in thought was going completely insane and was talking to himself. The two sides of his mind engrossed in a debate each opposing the other on a very important moral matter. However, this was not what was happening at all, in one hand the man was holding a tiny portrait. This was known as a miniature and the face on this miniature was extremely close to the original, which it of course been based upon. Silly girl who'd had it commissioned all those years ago. Far too stupid for her own good. Too stupid to deal with emotions as strong as hers and magic. This was the result. Indeed it was.
The original was currently sitting on or decorating if one could bring oneself to give it that much credit, a wall in a nondescript house in Romania. (Quite near the border of Hungary, if you wanted to be more specific.) This, however, may have become more apparent if you had taken the time to look around the room before asking stupid questions. There was a large round table in behind the man and on that table lay a map. There were borderlines done in a bright red ink, and then another set down in a rich purple. These had been done recently which became evident when you saw the smudges caused by someone in a hurry, this line had either been not so well thought out or happened upon in a moment of genius. Both can be used to describe one moment for each person, choose as you will.
On this map were also several points marked with a little white flag. One was the position of the aforementioned house in Romania, one was in central France, one was in mid Austria and showed the position of the house were the man himself was currently staying and one was just in Northern Italy.
The man stood up, taking the miniature with him. His grey toned eyes looked over at these points with a dark expression, "I need you be to be in France before everyone else gets there. We know where they're all going to sign it, you know I need you there Mr Gray now stop fooling around!" He grew more alive as the vehemence poured out to garnish the final reprimand. He had no time to entertain stupid romantics.
"I, Schlasser am not fooling around. I try and get to the girl and she does nothing. Every time I get her near the portrait someone interrupts us! Life's hard when you have no physical body. Whether it's her servant or that damned clock, it's almost like she's not the one who's supposed to do this…" his own tirade trailed off, his own frustration exhausted and explained at last. No one understood his woes. No one had ever understood completely. Not even Basil.
The man straightened up visibly, a look of disbelief crossing his heavy features, "Do you mean to tell me that you have been working on the mistress," he clicked his fingers, trying to find some clear way of identifying her, "the blonde woman for this past week?"
The voice came a little doubtful now, but still holding its mocking tone (a brave feat), "Well, yes, you said the descendant lived in that house. That was why you arranged for my portrait to be available after that auction and why I charmed the Lady of the house into her impulsive purchase."
Schlasser half sighed, half groaned, "You idiot, Gray, you complete and utter imbecile. The mistress is not the descendant! It's the other girl, her servant. Use your head, her ancestors were Greek. Do you think she'll be blonde?"
"Widening of the gene pool?"
"Shut up, Gray, and for once just listen to someone who knows more than you. Strangely enough some people choose to hide their talents, gifts, whatever out of fear. Particularly in places like Romania, Eastern Europe," then he remarked almost as an after thought, "very superstitious countries. Not helped by the war, you understand."
The voice sounded faintly put out, no laughter now, "Do you mean to tell me that I've been wasting my time over the wrong girl because of your lack of information?"
The man snorted in frustration and burst away from the chair, nostrils flaring dangerously, "You will not blame me for this. I am keeping with my part of the deal, Sawyer will be here within two days and are you ready to be reborn yet? No. You are procrastinating, cheating me of my time and, Mr Gray, I am warning you: I will destroy that portrait of yours so truly you will have no more second chances unless you are ready in time. Understand?"
"Completely," Schlasser relaxed, thinking he'd at last won one of the many arguments between them, "Oh really," the voice continued with its self assured phrasings, "and how do you intend to pull off your little caper then, hmmm? You need me Schlasser, face it like the man you profess to be, and I will have my way. As for the servant," he made a dismissive noise, "her mind will be weak. Just a few intoxicating kisses and promises of love for all of time and I'll have her wrapped around my little finger."
Schlasser interrupted the voice with a cold and empty chuckle, "You think descendants from the gods submit to mind control just like that? What century are you living in. You will need to work on her all hours of the day, she must see and hear nothing but you. She must be obsessed by the need to release you, the compulsion to follow you. She's is our back up plan should things taken a less welcome tone. Not totally important, you understand, but necessary. Like a complimentary piece of jewellery for a dress."
"You worry far too much, Ussell. I'll be ready by the end of the week, I want it just as much as you do. Never forget that."
"And don't you forget how..."
"How much this treaty means to you and your country? Yes, yes, fine, I know. Please, do not go into another one of your martyr likes rants about patriotism. They are incredibly dull, you get into that state of mind and no one can talk to you coherently for hours afterwards. Why do you think I attempt pleasant conversation? Anything is better than that."
"You, Mr Gray, have to be singularly one of the most horrid men I have ever worked with," he held up his hands in despair, "and you're dead, though I use that term most loosely, at the moment. I hate to think what you're going to be like in flesh and blood. If my heart weren't so black already I'd probably feel for the poor girl who you're going to bewitch, she'll probably have to put up with a lot of rubbish from you."
"The girl and I will be much busier with other things to worrying about what I say and how I act. She's actually very attractive," his reasoning for mentioning that was to annoy the man more than being serious, he wanted to get right under his skin and see what made him tick. It wasn't going to be like what happened with Moriarty. He would not be manipulated this time around, "she reminds me of Mina," he continued lightly, "only she seems a lot less feisty. That was always the problem between Mina and I. We were both so stubborn and had such fiery tempers."
"You talk about me giving you sermons about patriotism, your trips down memory lane are even worse. The trouble is that you've lived so long the seem to take an extraordinary long time to tell anything. It must be nice to have time like that. If you will insist on carrying on I hope you'll forgive me if I fall asleep. These past few days have been stressful."
"Schlasser, I am going, I have a girl to ensnare with my charms. Why on earth would I waste my time on you? I'll talk to you again tomorrow, same time, and the day after I want confirmation that you have Sawyer, most of my own plans hinge on him. That is a most horrid concept, you understand. I bear the boy nothing but ill will and I intend to make him understand that."
"I know Gray, I know."
Right now, Authors Notes
First of all I'm just posting this as a taster of the story that would follow. I have the chapters mapped out and the full story planned. I'm just interested in feed back and whether people think it's worth me carrying this on at the moment...
Secondly I know this isn't exactly the best piece of writing and the chances are I will probably re-do this is people give positive comments on it. This chapter has now been improved, I would sincerely hope the comparison between this and the next chapter would be evident. Don't worry the rest get a makeover soon as well. 27/10/05
Thirdly, I am trying to make this a good LXG fic so I have done a lot of background research into things and I have already read most of the Novels from which the characters were extracted so I do have some knowledge of where they have all come from, though not all of them, so I would hope you would forgive me if I make mistakes.
Fourthly, this will not turn out to be a 'Mary Sue.' I am working on some very complex love triangles and pentagons and the such like. Also the plot will be historically based and involve fair amounts of politics.
Fifthly, it will be more exciting, this was sort of just to bridge the gap vaguely between the first film and my story.
Read, Review and hopefully enjoy. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
All the best,
Emerald3