The cobblestone streets of London echoed with the rhythmic click-clack of polished Oxfords as Geoffrey Blackwell and Edward Collins strolled through the misty evening air. Gas lamps flickered to life, casting long shadows across the rain-slicked pavement that smelled of damp stone and coal smoke.

"I say, Edward," Geoffrey drawled, adjusting his silk cravat against the cool evening breeze, "this new legislation regarding demihumans is absolutely preposterous. Can you imagine? Granting rights to such primitive creatures? It's as if we've collectively lost our minds."

He froze mid-sentence, emerald eyes widening as they fixed on a figure huddled in a nearby alley. A feral demihuman—all matted fur and wild eyes—was scavenging through a pile of discarded newspapers, their movements quick and animalistic.

"Good Lord," Edward muttered, wrinkling his nose at the thought of such squalor. "What a pitiful sight."

But Geoffrey wasn't listening. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face as the gears in that brilliant mind began to turn. "My dear Edward," he said, voice low and thrumming with excitement that made his gloved hands clench slightly, "I believe I've just had the most marvelous idea."

Edward cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? Do enlighten me."

Geoffrey's eyes never left the creature as he spoke, his words tumbling out in a rush. "You recall that one Professor and his little experiment with that flower girl? Well, imagine if we were to take on a far greater challenge. Not some cockney guttersnipe, but a true savage."

He gestured toward the demihuman with his walking stick, the tip tapping twice against the pavement. "Picture it, Edward. We take this... this beast, and through the power of proper education and rigorous training, we transform them into a proper citizen. Think of the accolades, the recognition! We'd be hailed as heroes of civilization!"

Two days later, the study of Geoffrey Blackwell's townhouse was bathed in warm lamplight as the door swung open. Two burly men entered, half-dragging a bound figure between them whose fur still held traces of London's grime.

"Careful, you fools!" Geoffrey snapped, setting down his tumbler of whiskey with a sharp click against the oak table. "I said restrain them, not maim them."

They deposited their cargo unceremoniously onto the Persian rug. Wrists and ankles bound with thick rope, mouth muzzled, the demihuman lay helpless before the professor who circled them slowly, dark emerald eyes gleaming with fascination.

"My, my," he murmured, running a gloved finger along the edge of his mustache. "What a delightfully feral little specimen you are truly."

He crouched down, gently grasping their chin and tilting their face up to meet his gaze. His nose curled in distaste at their unclean state. "Now then, my dear, allow me to explain your new situation. You see, I've decided to take you on as a... project, of sorts. Through my expertise, you will be transformed from this pitiful state into a proper, civilized member of society."

Geoffrey chuckled at their uncomprehending stare. "Oh come now, chin up—there's no need to fret. I'm offering you the opportunity of a lifetime! In six months' time, you'll be speaking the Queen's English, drinking tea with your pinky raised, and mingling with the cream of society."

He stood, straightening his jacket with precise movements. "Of course, I don't expect you to appreciate this gift just yet. Your tiny, undeveloped brain can scarcely comprehend the magnitude of what I'm offering. But in time, you'll come to see me as your savior."

Geoffrey's lips curled into a smirk as he picked up his grammar book from the table. "Now then, shall we begin your first lesson? Repeat after me: 'Thank you, Professor Blackwell, for deigning to elevate me from my wretched state.'"

He sighed dramatically taking a sip of whiskey when no response came. "No? Well, I suppose we have our work cut out for us. But no matter—I very much love a good challenge."