Mon, February 06 2012
| TITLE: | Observations |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Kevin Schultz |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | General |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | G, Gen |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | Rebecca, Jules, Phileas, Passepartout |
| DESCRIPTION: | Write story summary here. |
| STATUS: | Complete |
| DISCLAIMER: | SAJV and characters copyright Talisman/Promark/etc., no infringement is intended. |
| AUTHOR'S NOTE: | Ah, the creativity let loose thanks to my insomnia rears its head once again, and you are all my victims. Read on, if you dare! |
Smooth. Her skin, it's so smooth. At least, I imagine it is.
I've never touched it, nor have I seen it up close. At least, not in real life. In my daydreams, I have touched her warm, smooth skin. Many times. But never for real.
She is Rebecca Fogg. And I? I am no one. No one of consequence. At least, not to Rebecca Fogg.
I've watched her for the last ten months. She works for the British government, in their Secret Service. I have seen her come and go from her workplace. I have watched her as she goes home. I have watched her through the windows of her home. I have watched her as she leaves on her various missions. I have watched. But she has never seen me.
Today, she arose at her normal waking time. After performing her toilet (and no, I will not go into detail about that, I respect her privacy too much to reveal such intimate details), she dressed. She put on her undergarments, then her dress. A delightful purple dress, frilly but not too frilly. She tried on two different hats, but discarded them both. She obviously felt neither of them were quite the perfect match for the rest of her outfit. Her perfectly arranged red hair was therefore spared any period of enforced captivity, and was allowed to tumble freely down her head and her neck, onto her shoulders.
After dressing, she had her breakfast. Eggs, and some milk. Not too much, but then, she never ate very much, at least not that I ever saw. Having consumed her morning meal, Rebecca Fogg left her home.
She hailed a passing cab outside her residence. I followed at a discreet distance. I'm quite nimble when I need to be. I nearly lost sight of her cab after about two miles, but never fear, I simply sped up, and, looking all around and taking in everything and assembling the necessary clues, I found her cab once again. She was out of my sight for less than one minute.
Rebecca Fogg arrived at Secret Service Headquarters on time for work, as usual. She entered the building, smiling and laughing along with some men who were heading inside as well. I took up my usual position in the building across the street, and stationed myself at the window from where I had a perfect view inside Rebecca Fogg's office. The rooms I used were currently abandoned. Work was scheduled to begin to renovate them, but nothing was happening on that front as of yet. I dreaded the day when the workers would come and I would lose my hiding place.
Rebecca entered her office shortly after I sat down. She leafed through some paperwork that was sitting on her desk, but put them down after just a few moments. Instead, she picked up the morning newspaper and began reading that instead. She seemed to chuckle at a lot of the articles inside the newspaper, as if she knew more about the events described within than the writers at the newspaper did. I suspect that she did.
Rebecca soon got bored with the newspaper as well. She stood up and crossed over to a cupboard, opened it, and withdrew a fencing sword. She then moved a few pieces of furniture around so she had a bit of space to work with, and then stood quietly in the middle of the clearing, and closed her eyes, holding the fencing sword still. After about five minutes of quiet concentration, she suddenly lashed out with the sword. Her eyes burned like the fires of Hades as she spun, thrust, parried, dodged, twirled, attacked, defended, and performed many more moves. All told, Rebecca spent about forty-five minutes practicing her fencing skills.
Putting her sword away, Rebecca moved her furniture back to normal, and she sat back down at her desk. After drumming her fingers on her desk for a few moments, she jumped up again, opened her office door, called out something to someone, and then slammed the door shut. She leaned back against the closed door, and smiled her special wicked-looking smile, with one raised eyebrow. I had seen that look before, and I knew something was up. I could not wait to see what would happen next.
I did not have to wait long. Several minutes after Rebecca had called out, she opened the door, in response to a knock on the door, I assume. Through the open door I could see the new arrival. It was her cousin, Phileas Fogg. He seemed in quite a mood, and not a good one. Rebecca, however, continued to grin her special grin. She crossed over to her desk and sat down, Phileas following her into the room. He took a chair opposite from her across her desk and sat down. They talked for several moments, and Phileas shook his head several times. Rebecca just continued to talk and smile. Finally, Phileas heaved a great sigh, and nodded his head. Rebecca chuckled.
The two of them stood up, and they both left her office. I took a guess as to where they were headed, and ran across the room to take up position at a different window. I arrived at the same time as the Foggs did, just when they entered the office of Sir Jonathan Chatsworth. Chatsworth was the head of the Secret Service. However, that position on occasion seemed to carry very little weight where Rebecca Fogg was concerned, and I guessed that this would be one of those times.
Sir Jonathan had another visitor in his office as the Foggs arrived, a young blond-haired man. He was another agent, I had seen him in the headquarters building often. I do not know his name, but he seemed well-liked by most who interacted with him. He was sitting down and stood up as Rebecca and Phileas entered the room. From the sudden reaction of both Chatsworth and the agent, I assumed that the Foggs had not announced their presence nor knocked on the door before they entered. Rebecca did that quite often to Chatsworth, and I must say I do not think that he appreciated it. However, knowing Rebecca's value as an agent, he wisely made little of it.
Once they had all greeted one another, everyone in the office sat down. Then the arguing began. Chatsworth and Rebecca did most of the talking. The blond agent interrupted on occasion, and seemed to be rather distressed by what was happening. Phileas merely sat quietly, once in a while rolling his eyes at something his cousin said.
Finally, the blond agent stood up, shoved a file folder into Rebecca's hands, and stormed out of the office. Chatsworth stood and called out something, but it was clearly futile, the other agent had already left, slamming the door shut behind him. Chatsworth spoke with Rebecca for a bit longer, then dismissed her and Phileas. Rebecca left, carrying the file folder in her hand.
The Foggs returned to their office, as I returned to my original position. Rebecca and Phileas spoke briefly together, then, having decided on some plan of action, they left her office.
I headed down to the entrance to my building, and watched as Rebecca and Phileas left the Secret Service headquarters, once more catching a cab. I followed them to a nearby clearing, where Phileas Fogg's airship, the Aurora, was currently moored. I clambered up my favorite tree, from where I had a perfect view into the main cabin. I watched as Rebecca and Phileas entered, and were greeted by Phileas' valet, Passepartout. The dark-haired, goateed man scurried about, clearing away some odd trinkets that he had been working on, and headed up front to the steering globe.
Another figure entered the main cabin, from the hallway leading towards the rear of the airship. It was their friend, Jules Verne. He was a writer of some sort, I had gathered. He was young, too. At times I had caught him looking longingly at my Rebecca. But I did not fear the young Frenchman. He was not Rebecca's type. She would be more interested in a man of action, a man of danger, a man of mystery. Not a simple youth such as Jules Verne.
With Passepartout at the controls, Rebecca, Phileas and Jules walked forward and took up positions at the main window. They looked out at their surroundings as the Aurora slowly rose into the air.
Rebecca Fogg was on assignment once again. And unfortunately, I was no longer able to follow her. I used to be able to follow the Aurora to whatever its destination was. But recently I had fallen out of favor with my employers.
They seemed to think I was "malfunctioning". Indeed, I was marked down to be destroyed. However, I was too clever for Them, and I snuck away when no one was looking. No matter that I overheard Them say, "Let him go, he's broken... useless... he's no longer a threat to anyone but himself." I had outwitted Them all. Broken? Me? Ha!
I had run from my former employers and gone straight to where I felt most comfortable. Watching Rebecca Fogg. I had done it many times before, and I would continue to do it as long as I lived.
My vision seemed to be less sharp and less focused than when I was working for Them. My hearing also was not what it used to be. I didn't understand why. No matter. I could still see and hear in the ordinary manner, just like everyone else. I could still watch my Rebecca.
I could watch her eat, drink, sleep. I could hear her laugh, I could hear her shout.
I longed to touch her, just to let her know I was there, that I was watching out for her, that I would never let her get hurt. I would protect her from Them. I would not let Them get near her, as long as I was alive. I would never let Them touch her, never let Them blemish her perfect skin.
Smooth. Her skin is so smooth. I wish I could touch her, I wish I could confirm that it is in fact as smooth as I imagine it to be. As I hope it is.
But she would never let me get near her. She would think I was still working for Them.
She would never let an Observer from the League of Darkness get close to her.
I made myself comfortable up in my tree, and waited for my Rebecca to return from her new mission...
...THE END...