I'm baaack!
Well… temporarily and on a sort of 'for one night only' basis. But still, here I am! Not dead, not moved to a land with no internet, still not given up on writing that 'Butler-growing-up' biography… (it will happen. Eventually. Eventually. I swear…)
Before anyone gets their hopes up, this is not my usual action-packed adventure and much more of a side-piece to the aforementioned 'Butler-growing-up' stories.
Brace for wordy A/N.
So, it's been a while *cough* nearlytwoyearswhatohshitsorryaboutthat *cough*, but here is a little something I've been working on with motivation from Steinbock – who approved a very rough, much shorter draft about a year ago and, as always, spoke sense to me about posting it for you all to read – and from ghost235 – who gave me the push I needed to return to it and get it finished in time for Christmas. So you have those two to thank.
I realise it's been a long time and although I'm looking forward to seeing if there's any of my 'old crew' and readers still hanging about on here, if you're a new face who is suddenly come across this lunatic writing fics almost solely about Butler and only just tangibly related to the Artemis Fowl universe enough to post in this fandom, then please – give us a wave!
OK, so: quick summary before any of you waste your time reading a fic you won't be interested in. This one focuses a bit more on Butler's childhood influences. It's pre-'Just Reckoning', so those of you who have read that will perhaps catch some references to it in here, but don't worry if you haven't (or haven't *yet*, as is my hope) read that one, it's definitely not essential to do so before you start on this. Although if you later move on to JR, please let me know it was this fic that lead you there :)
OK, enough. On with the fic. I apologise in advance for me being shite at writing emotional stuff, but I have tried hard with this one…
So if you're going to read on, I hope you enjoy it, find it worth your time and if you do, please do let me know :)
DISCLAIMER: If it wasn't for Eoin Colfer's Artemis Fowl series, none of this would have ever existed. Any recognisable characters, details and big, castle-like manors all belong to him. Everyone/thing else is my fault…
WARNINGS: The usual 'YOU ARE ENTERING A WOLFY-WRITTEN FIC' warnings apply. Here there be swearing, violence, stumbling attempts at emotions… No warnings this time for abuse or other sensitive subjects should apply in this fic, but if anyone finds themselves upset or offended by anything it contains, please let me know and I'll be sure to add a warning for it on here.
A KINDRED CHRISTMAS
Definition
'Kindred': similarly, in like or related manner
from 'Kin', meaning 'family' and 'allied'
PROLOGUE
It was December. Domovoi Butler had recently turned seven and was attending a local primary school. Artemis Fowl had entered the senior-school side of St. Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen. And Theresa Brady, Domovoi's mother, had started dating.
All of these things affected The Major in varying degrees he would not admit.
His nephew being submitted to a civilian education bothered him. For sure, the boy had to learn the basics somewhere, but in the meantime he wasn't making the best of his time lolling around with a bunch of idiotic layabouts spending their lives locked in a comfortable classroom counting cubes and writing cursively – and that was just the teachers.
Artemis had begun boarding at St. Bartleby's and The Major was not permitted to stay with him, which of course bothered him most of all – one could not very well protect one's charge if said boy was several miles away in an insecure building. And Eugene Fowl could argue with them all he liked, his Butlers would never concede that the centuries-old institute was anywhere near secure enough to house the Fowl heir without their close protection.
And as for Theresa dating, well, of course he was… happy for her. Obviously…
"Just for the one night. I know you're not busy – Dom told me Artemis is still at school. Mrs O'Neil is sick and I'm not lumping Dom on her whilst he's on his nativity buzz – he'll drive her insane. Please?"
Mrs O'Neil was Theresa and Dom's elderly neighbour. Owner of three cats and grandmother of seven, she was quite capable of handling a quiet, polite young boy like Dom under usual circumstances, however…
"Nativity buzz?"
"Yeah – he's got his school play. I've told you about this. He's told you about this! I knew you weren't listening!"
"I always listen," he snorted. "I just only retain relevant information."
"Ouch. Well don't tell Dom that. He's very proud of his part in it."
"I see. Is it a main part?"
"Well," she said, and he could almost hear her wrinkling her nose. "He hasn't actually told me yet. I thought you didn't care?"
"I never said that," Myles clarified, frowning.
"Anyway, it wasn't why I rang; I really need you to watch him for me. Please? I can drop him off."
Myles sighed. It wasn't as though he had anything better to do. It would even be a good boredom buster to have his young protégé around the place for a few hours.
"Fine," he relented.
"You're a star, My..."
"Ah-ah," he said, and she could almost hear him scowl.
"You're a star, Major," she corrected.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm the best, I know."
"Well, I don't know about the best, but you're certainly the one and only," she said, and hung up with a laugh before he could reply.
Fowl Manor, Dublin
"Thanks for this, Myles," she said as he met them at the grand front doors to the manor. The hall was empty, The Fowls in the reading room for the evening, so this time he didn't bother to correct her on the use of his first name.
"It's no trouble," he said, with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
"Still. Thank-you," she smiled genuinely and turned to her son. "Right you – bed by seven, alright?"
"Seven?" the seven-year-old groaned.
"Seven, understood? You've got a busy week coming up – I don't want you being too tired."
"Yes, Ma," little Domovoi sighed, squeezing her tightly as she hugged him goodbye.
"You should be getting going," Myles said, checking his watch. "You don't want to be late."
She 'pssht' at him and flicked her hair out of her face. "It's always OK to be fashionably late."
He grunted noncommittally; always a stickler for time.
"OK. How do I look?" she asked. "And don't mention the woolly jumper, cheeky – you know I'm going home to get that dress you picked out."
"Pretty, Ma," her boy said honestly. He was a little nervous about his mother going out on a 'date', but he wanted her to be happy and if this made her happy, then he guessed he could be ok with it.
Myles couldn't disagree. Theresa rarely 'dolled up' as she put it, but this date must be something special, for she looked very…. very nice. Well, make-up and hair-wise. He could only guess Domovoi was probably about as good as he was when it came to choosing women's outfits, so he suspected she had had some input at least into the one he had 'chosen' for her.
"Thank-you, sweetheart," she smiled again, then added, looking at his uncle. "I'd ask you, but since I don't have a spoiler or an engine block, I don't much see the point."
"I don't much like the look of spoilers anyway," he muttered, not that she was listening. "Most are far more decorative than functional and…"
But he was being ignored and she stroked her son's hair for one more moment before she began to descend the steps.
"Be good," she threw over her shoulder with a warning raise of her eyebrows. "Or I'll hear about it."
"Promise," the youngster said, and crossed his heart with the little finger on his right hand.
"He better be," the man growled.
"Who said I was talking to him?" she said with a grin. "Look after eachother, my boys."
And with that she went, somewhat nervously, to meet her date.
Myles frowned. He didn't like her going off alone, but he doubted his company would be very welcome.
"Uncle can I show you this thing they were teaching us at Saturday class? I don't think it's right but when I told them they said it was and I just wasn't doing it right…"
His uncle grunted, finally turning away and closing the door before his nephew began pulling at his arm or something equally as excitable and chastisable.
"What have I told you about correcting your instructors, Junior?" he said sternly.
"Erm…" the boy thought for a moment. "Not to tell them they're spouting bullshit in front of the class because it makes me look like a smartarse."
The Major raised an eyebrow. Had he actually said that? He probably had. He sometimes forgot that little Domovoi was 1) only seven years of age and 2) very good at remembering things.
"Hmph. Well don't tell your mother I said that."
"I won't. But I did tell my instructor they were teaching it wrong…"
"Show me," Myles frowned, concerned that a qualified martial arts instructor would be educating a whole class of impressionable youngsters incorrectly.
Dom slung his bag to the floor and took up a stance.
"He said to do this, but I think it'd be better to do this," he demonstrated.
"Ah," he snorted, seeing the problem instantly. "That's because they're teaching you the baby way to do it. Then as you get older, they'll teach you to build on that and develop the technique into a proper one."
"Oh," said Dom, confusion painting itself across his face. "But… why not just teach us the proper way in the first place, so we don't have to learn it twice?"
Myles smiled at him with a slight shake of his head.
"Because, my boy," he said with just a hint of fondness in his tones. "Not everyone finds fighting as easy as you."
Domovoi beamed. That was close enough to a compliment that he was going to take it.
"Come on then," the Butler said, checking the lock on the door and setting off across the grand hall. "Let's go do some proper training, shall we?"
"Yeah!" the boy exclaimed happily, snatching up his bag and racing to catch up with his uncle's long strides.
OK... anybody want to read more? If not let me know and I'll bow out here before I waste everyone's time.
Really, if you even got this far down the page, thank-you so much for reading. I act all blasé and tough, but it really does make me smile to myself when I know people are out there reading my work. Enjoying it? Even better :)
Cheers,
Wolfy
ooo
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