“Allan Quartemain hesitated as he approached the doors of the study. His own study. Gray had commandeered it the moment he performed his coup of the Gentlemen. Now he, Quartemain was forced to knock at his own door and beg entrance from the great Dorian Gray like some knock-kneed british schoolboy. Gritting his teeth, he strode into the room to face the face of the one that had taken so much away from him. The face belonging to the one he despised more than any other who graced the Empire's surface. The boyishly charming face of Dorian Gray.

That charm still lingered today, but it was marred by twitching lips and sulking eyes. Gray was clearly not pleased. As well he should not, Quartemain thought. If every victory that the Gentlemen won had wrested power to Gray and away from Quartemain, every failure might well bring it back to him.

"The team awaits your instructions, Mr. Gray." Quartemain tried to keep the sarcasm from creeping into his voice. He didn't try too hard.

"Shut up Allan. If they're going to mull around the pitch like the colonials of this godforsaken land there's little I can do for the wretched lot of them. Haven't you been training them in the off season? We're the champions god dammit!"

Allan smiled as he faced the floor. Just one draw and he was needed again. Gray's powerhold wasn't as strong as he had thought.

"I will do what I can to see they train this time. The dark elves arrive in four days time. That will give me ample time to remind Sawyer and Nemo what a ball feels like. In the meantime the Count asks-"

Gray swore viciously cutting Allan off. For a second something of the twisted evil of the man could be seen truly reflected in his features. In a flash, it was gone. A bag was tossed at Allan. It landed with the heavy clink of expensive coin.

"You will bring the Count the money he is owed. Tell him.. Tell him that that the league thanks him for his efforts and to bear my personal compliments to the Countess, the blind fool."

At least here, Allan was of a mind with Gray. Strutting around on the pitch for half the match like he owned the team and then tripping over his own cape and losing the game to an ignoble draw. If the vampire was to charge this much for his services it was clear he was not paying his way.

"Certainly Mr. Gray. And as for the late Madeline Usher..."

"She can be replaced, damn you!!! They all can be replaced, even you! Never forget that Quartemain! This is my team! My team! My chance!"

Gray literally hurled him out of the office, slamming the door. Picking himself up, Quartemain mildly walked down the hallway, prepared to mildly do the young lords bidding.

Allan Quartemain smiled. Prepared... for now.”