Chapter Text
It was raining in London. Then again, it often did. And on this day, in the year of our Lord 1886, it was particularly miserable. The streets were streams of umbrellas, heavy coats, and high hats. Rainwater cascaded down drainpipes and flowed over rooftops, always moving towards the gutters where they would then reach their final destination, the sewers. That shadowy, stinking underbelly of this grand metropolis. Above ground, those fortunate enough stayed indoors, warming themselves by the fires, behind the facades of their respectable homes or exclusive clubs and societies. Totally oblivious, or purposefully ignoring, the rest of the world caught in the rain.
While the rain had not yet reached the countryside which lead into the city, it soon would. Great, dark clouds rolled over the horizon. And yes, the weather was still miserable. Today, outside was not somewhere anyone wanted to be stuck. Yet, that’s just where Victor was.
Trees of all sizes and varieties, each with autumnal colored leaves that would occasionally fall from their branches and twirl to the ground, lined the beaten dirt path and blotted out the grey, clouded sky. Leaves and dirt crunched under Victor’s large boots as he trudged down the path, barely dragging his two large suitcases above the ground. Cold wind hissed and howled around him and the abysmal temperature was making his ears and nose go numb.
“This can’t get any worse…” He huffed.
As if a malicious god had heard his declaration, a crack of thunder erupted through the air, and the heavy clouds gave way to a downpour. Victor stopped in his tracks, letting out a sigh of defeat before he continued on his treacherous way. The rain had reached the countryside, and still, there was a terrible length until London to go.
His blond hair clung to his hatchet face as rain pelted down on him. Heavy beads of water rolled over his cheeks and lips, dripped off his upturned nose, stuck in his eyelashes. He tried to find some warmth by pressing his shoulders to his neck, his thick, bristly coat rubbing against his skin and scratching it. His fingers began to burn with the cold.
Was this the end for him? Cold, lost, and alone in the world, doomed to a cruel finale at the hands of fate? Victor felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he thought about home, as he thought about all he lost.
And the chokehold in his throat suddenly let go as he heard the clipping and clopping of a horse’s hooves and the sound of carriage wheels bumping over the uneven path.
Victor stopped abruptly, letting the suitcases drop to the ground as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of him. The carriage was a sleek black, pulled by a noble-looking brown steed, and was driven by a rather uncomfortable-looking driver. When it stopped beside him, the door opened from the inside.
Within the carriage was a dark-complexioned man, older than thirty but not nearing forty, with shoulder-length hair tied into numerous braids, and a small gap between his two front teeth. He wore a lavender frock coat and a matching cravat, a sky blue waistcoat, and black buckle shoes. Quite the picture of a dandy.
“What on earth are you doing out in weather like this?” The man asked.
“Uh, going to London,” Victor said quietly, trying to not shiver uncontrollably.
The man smiled, opening the carriage door fully.
“That’s my destination, come inside out of the cold.” He said as he extended his hand.
Victor tried not to nearly run inside and took the man’s hand and stepped into the carriage, sitting across from him on the cushy leather seats inside. Judging by both the inside and outside of the man's carriage and the man himself, Victor could guess that he came from money.
“What’s your name, young man?” The man asked, folding his hands in his lap.
“Victor. Victor Frankenstein, sir.” Victor said, rubbing his hands together over and over and trying not to make eye contact.
The man smiled. “Dr. Hastie Lanyon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Frankenstein.”
Lanyon extended his hand and it took Victor a few seconds to realize he was supposed to shake it. Lanyon only winced slightly from the dirt and rain on Victor’s hand.
“You seem awfully desperate to get to London if you’re out in this weather,” Lanyon asked, slight concern in his voice. “May I ask why you’re going?”
Victor brushed a lumped lock of wet hair from the middle of his face, still avoiding eye contact. “I-I'm a scientist, sir, and London a hub of progress in many scientific matters.”
Lanyon’s face lit up in a jovial smile. “A scientist! Is it Dr. Frankenstein then?”
Victor looked up, making eye contact with Lanyon for the first time. He nodded. A lie.
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place!” Lanyon declared. “I have a friend, a scientist as well. He’s in want of an assistant.”
Victor’s eyes widened as he slowly pushed another lock of wet hair from his face. “A proper scientist? With a proper lab?” A smile spread across his face.
“Would you be interested?” Lanyon asked.
Victor bounced up and down in his seat ever so slightly, before stopping to regain his composure.
“I’ll... Yes, that would be rather nice.” Victor nodded quickly.
“Splendid!” Lanyon clapped his hands together, startling Victor a bit. “We’ll see him tomorrow as soon as we can.”
The rest of the ride to London was uneventful and quiet. The rain pattered outside. Lanyon would occasionally shoot Victor the odd question, which Victor would answer in a vague manner.
They finally arrived in London, it was well into the night. Victor stayed at Lanyon’s rather large home that night. He assumed that the excitement was going to keep him up all night, but went he hit the mattress, Victor realized he hadn’t slept that well in quite a long time.
°°°
Henry awoke with a start from a knock at the door, shifting to sit up straight in his armchair. He promised himself that he was just going to shut his eyes for a few moments last night, but he supposed he had fallen asleep in his laboratory again. Henry stood up, straightening his waistcoat as he trotted up the metal steps to the door of the lab.
He opened the door, finding his aging yet steadfast butler Poole looking back at him.
“Dr. Lanyon to see you, sir,” Poole said in a deadpan tone.
Henry rubbed sleep from his eyes, leaning one hand against the doorway. “This early in the morning?”
“It’s half-past eleven, sir.” Poole sighed in reply.
The living room Victor waited in with Lanyon was impeccably furnished. The centerpiece of the room was a large fireplace against the back wall paralleled by two comfortable armchairs. The mantle of the fireplace was lined with a few books and above it was the barely noticeable outline of where a large portrait used to hang.
Eventually, he realized his mind had wandered from thinking about the furniture to thinking about whoever he was going to meet. Victor ended up simply picturing someone just like Lanyon again. Proper, posh, uptight, and his excitement began to wither. He had essentially already met the man he was about to meet.
Suddenly, Victor’s attention was drawn to the opposite hall as the sound of footsteps clicked on the dark hardwood floor.
A man about the same age as Lanyon was walking down the hall, pulling on a grey coat over his dark waistcoat and high-collared, white shirt. There was also a royal blue cravat tied around his neck.
Upon seeing him, Victor knew his new employer to be a handsome gentleman. Victor had never been considered particularly handsome himself, not that particularly minded, but he knew it when he saw it. He was tall, no doubt helped by his rigid posture, and surprisingly fit for a scientist; broad-shouldered and well-made.
But his face, of course, was the important thing. Sharp, strong features, like he had been carved and sculpted from stone. Dimples were impressed into his cheeks and deepened when he smiled. He was well-groomed, his hair of a light brown hue just slightly tousled, with a pair of good sideburns to match. The only things of peculiarity were his crooked nose, which indeed only added a very human charm, and the dark circles beneath his steel-blue eyes, that bordered on profound.
“Good morn— Afternoon... Hastie.” He said. His voice was a warm baritone. “Who’s this?” He gestured to Victor.
Lanyon put his hands on Victor’s shoulders. “This is Dr. Victor Frankenstein, and he’s going to be your new assistant.” Victor almost immediately flinched, and Lanyon removed his hands.
The man stepped forward, shaking Victor’s hand a little vigorously. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Frankenstein! Can I call you Victor?”
Victor was a bit taken aback. “If that’s what you prefer.”
The man pulled his hand away, clasping them together. “Victor, this is absolutely wonderful, your timing couldn’t be better.”
He looked over Victor’s shoulder to Lanyon. “Hastie, you’re a godsend.”
Lanyon gave a bit of a smug smile. “Oh, I do try.”
“It’s nice to meet you as well but,” Victor began as he looked back at the man, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I don’t believe I ever caught your name, sir.”
He looked back at Victor, his mouth still in a smile but slightly agape.
“Oh, how silly of me, I got so excited!” He laughed slightly. “My name is Dr. Henry Jekyll, and I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.”