Other Fan Fiction ❯ Assembled Again ❯ Chapter 5
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
London
Rodney Skinner’s Residence
“Mr. Skinner, are you here?” The speaker was an elegant man whose poise was not lost by his portly physique. He had a neatly tended mustache and goatee, the former of which he twirled a side of with two fingers. He was dressed in a suit and he looked with disapproval around the room.
Possessions of all shapes and sizes and in all states of disrepair were cluttered about the room. There was little room for even one person to move about the room. The “gentleman thief,” has Skinner called himself, was certainly a packrat.
“Well, Mr. Bond,” a bitter tone seemingly came from the air, and Campion Bond noticed the indent of a man’s weight on the divan, “you would know that if Her Majesty’s scientists had fulfilled Her Majesty’s promise of an antidote.”
“We are working on it, Rodney,” Bond said slowly, apologetically. “By the end of the year, we should--”
“Have another empty promise,” Skinner finished for the other.
“Rodney!”
“Campion.”
“This was outside your door, Rodney,” Campion said, trying to change the subject, “and it certainly seems to be something you would take some interest in.”
A black coat that Campion had not noticed before rose and took the shape of a man’s shoulders and arms. Before Campion was really ready for it, Skinner snatched the small, red envelope from the man holding it.
Campion could almost hear the frown that Skinner wore by the tone of voice that the invisible man read in as he recited what was written on the envelope, “Rodney Skinner of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.”
Rodney Skinner’s Residence
“Mr. Skinner, are you here?” The speaker was an elegant man whose poise was not lost by his portly physique. He had a neatly tended mustache and goatee, the former of which he twirled a side of with two fingers. He was dressed in a suit and he looked with disapproval around the room.
Possessions of all shapes and sizes and in all states of disrepair were cluttered about the room. There was little room for even one person to move about the room. The “gentleman thief,” has Skinner called himself, was certainly a packrat.
“Well, Mr. Bond,” a bitter tone seemingly came from the air, and Campion Bond noticed the indent of a man’s weight on the divan, “you would know that if Her Majesty’s scientists had fulfilled Her Majesty’s promise of an antidote.”
“We are working on it, Rodney,” Bond said slowly, apologetically. “By the end of the year, we should--”
“Have another empty promise,” Skinner finished for the other.
“Rodney!”
“Campion.”
“This was outside your door, Rodney,” Campion said, trying to change the subject, “and it certainly seems to be something you would take some interest in.”
A black coat that Campion had not noticed before rose and took the shape of a man’s shoulders and arms. Before Campion was really ready for it, Skinner snatched the small, red envelope from the man holding it.
Campion could almost hear the frown that Skinner wore by the tone of voice that the invisible man read in as he recited what was written on the envelope, “Rodney Skinner of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.”