A large, hulking figure in the older swearers of London took a harsh, labored breath as he curled up, some what pathetically in the swearer water, not even caring that his battered from was surrounded by filth. Nothing really mattered to the figure, it once flawless form was now a hulking, massive mess of disfigurement, and he had been simply lucky to be alive. And it filled him with a seething rage at the thought of the person that had caused this, that had rendered his once beautiful form into this. What never failed to anger him, yet somewhat sadden him, if only the tiniest bit, was that he was alone. How could he, of all people want company? Was it maybe because of his disfigurement? He, after all in the past had never wanted company. His intelligence had always put a bit of distance between himself and his peers, even when he hadn't been evil. Of course, he thought with a slight snarl and growl, Basil had been the only person in his life that had cared for him. After he left his beloved college, he had went to his old friend, asking for him to join him in his newly enlighten path, his path of discovering that he was simply fit to rule over all mousedom. The bastard had vowed then and there to never to rest until he saw him behind bars. Well, that or dead. Since at the moment he was neither, though he felt that he was at least half dead, he simply mocked Basil from the swearers. With a jolt, he figured that he had waited enough. Eight long years had passed, and now that stupid twit of a mouse would never expect to see him now. With thousands of ache and pains, the figure stood, his left leg a little stiff, and his right leg of wood echoing dully in the pungent waters of the swearers. His mouth pulled into a broken sneer, his yellow eyes widen slightly with madness. A rusty, small chuckle escaped him, slightly broken, but there non the less. His voice floated out, the only thing that was not broken of him, still as smooth as ever, and still perfect;
"Basil, Old boy... Be prepared..."
Elsewhere, away in far off Scotland, a small mouse tugged absently on her long hair, placing her freshly sealed letter in the hand of the over night express Carrier mouse.
"Where to miss?" asked the mouse, the letter still in his hand as he made small talk.
"London... I want to give some sort of warning that I'm coming..." responded the mouse, a small and girlish giggle escaping her as she imagined the face of the man that would receive the letter.
"Going there all by ye self?" asked the mouse, his Scottish lit escaping in his worry at the young girl in front of him, not seeing a soul around her.
He just knew that from here she was going to go to the train station, and as a father himself he couldn't help but feel panic at the thought of this young girl traveling alone. To his surprise, her deep blue eyes glared at him, and he found himself comparing them to Loch Ness, because he felt them to be just as dark as the waters, and just as deep. He was also startled to see that her eyes were incredible old for a mouse of sixteen or so.
"I can take care of myself, sir. Do not worry yourself..." she responded, anger leaking into her tone as she turned sharply around, her long blue skirt blowing out dramatically as she started to walk away.
The Carrier mouse felt regret pour into him, put he still felt worry enter him. With a quick glance at the letter, and he hoped that this Basil of Baker street was worth the trip to London for the girl. With a sigh, he went off to deliver the letter to the train that would take it to London post haste.