Disclaimer: Foaly and Lili and all other material taken from the Artemis Fowl series are Eoin Colfer's, not mine.

Authors Note: Once again, thanks go to my wonderful betas: Gus and Lily.

The Thoroughbred

To Kitty: co-founder of filly.

He knows when you're happy
He knows when you're comfortable
He knows when you're confident
And he always knows when you have carrots.

I called her Caballine. I wonder if they knew why. I'm certain none of them knew the irony. Maybe they think it's her name.

They all assumed that she was a horse. I don't mean to disregard my own kind: I'm not calling myself a nigger or a yid or something, like a hypocritical Mud Man. It's just what they thought; it's just what they imagined. I'm almost certain they didn't even go as far as to see her as a civilised being, like me – let alone the dearest desires of their dicks.

I tried to kill her because of them. I failed.

I got as far as opening the kitchen draw, but I couldn't so much as meet my own eyes in the polished reflection of the knife. I closed the draw and made us a drink instead.

I know everyone's mother has said it to them at some point or another, but I doubt many have thought it in justification for wanting to stab the finest looking lady in the city. In fact, I doubt any have. It's not what you said; it's what you didn't say.

"They think you're a centaur," I lie.

Lili smiles. "Did you tell them any different?"

"No." I don't smile, but she doesn't pick up on that.

"Then what did you expect?" she asks casually.

I stare at her wondering if she's stupid or evil, like they say, after all. It doesn't occur to me that she's both. There's no reason for that.

I suppose that if I'd thought about it I'd have expectedthis, but that doesn't stop it feeling like shit. "I don't know," I say, which, I guess, in a way is true.

"You could always tell them," she says.

I laugh humourlessly at the absurdity of the quip.

She frowns for the first time that evening. "Cheer up, furry." She feeds me a bit of chocolate.

I'm tempted to bite her hand off, but just eat the chocolate.

I wonder, not for the first time, why she's with me. It's not for the money – although I am well off. She's accumulated wealth enough for a lavish lifestyle, and I can see that, as I sit in her house: spacious enough for a family of mudmen, and modern enough to be the domestic equivalent of my workroom.

She's far too me beautiful for me, I know. Her hair is long and perfectly kept, her teeth are whiter than the clouds she's never seen, and her skin is soft and smoother than glass. I don't even examine her figure, for fear that I might be aroused. I know it's there, though: I've explored it before – although I know she despises me on those occasions as much as I despise her now.

If I'm a donkey, she's a Thoroughbred.

"Why are you with me?" I ask – though I know the answer and that she won't give it to me.

"Because I'm in love with you," she says, beaming.

I grin back, but it's synthetic. She's too stupid to know that, of course.

"I'll go get us some drinks," I say.

I leave to get the knife.

No one with half a brain-cell believes in love at first sight, which, come to think of it, is probably why it happened with Lili Frond.

The central police plaza was crowded; that didn't mean a damned thing when Lili was around. She stuck out like the only not-sore thumb in the LEP.

She dropped her bag – probably on purpose. I, aroused as I was, spotted it from across the hall, and scampered over at top speed to save her the horror of picking it up.

She thanked me profusely, and then said with all the sweetness she could muster (which was a lot), "You're that adorable technician, aren't you? Foaly, is it? I've always been a fan of your inventions – especially that make-up applier."

I was seduced easily, and made a sound that was probably somewhat reminiscent of a giggle. "I have always been impressed with your performance in the, err, adverts."

Her response was definitely a giggle.

She tickled me under the chine, which was almost certainly inappropriate, given that we'd known each other about two minutes, and that I was supposed to despise her. "Want to get a drink?" she asked.

There was only one possible reply to that question.

One thing led to another, and I hated myself all the way to her bed and under clothes – probably for Holly, as she didn't have a chance to hate me for herself.

But all I had to do was glance at that angel of a body, and my guilt vanished for primal instinct. She wanted me.

And for months the tickling, and stroking and feeding didn't matter to me, as long as I remembered that I, Foaly, the geek among geeks secretly held the object of a thousand stares.

Then, one evening as the pile of LEP work was easing from our respective desks, a colleague said to me casually – for I had the bounce of the previous night in my step, "Is your centaur lady-friend that good, then?"

"What makes you say she's a centaur?" I teased, not snapping at them that they should mind their own business for once. (She had been good.)

The colleague – whose name I don't care to remember – frowned and then smiled. "You're a centaur; if she wasn't, you'd have to be a pet."

I laughed ironically, for he was too big for me to launch the brutal attack I yearned to.

I left with his words ricocheting painfully around my head.

I return from the kitchen, knifeless, spineless.

She strokes my fur affectionately, as we drink; I'm just a horse, after all.

But it's not like I'm calling myself a nigger–

A stagecoach passes outside carrying a happy couple of elves on a romantic evening out, probably an anniversary. The pitter-patter of centaur hooves batters against the high street, and she looks from me to the window and back, half expecting me to nay excitedly.

–she is.

I make my apologies and gallop back to my office to spend the night working and crying. I make a note to myself, and place it at the bottom of my draw.

I'm not a pet; I just want to be petted. And what's wrong with that?

I send her flowers in the morning, and never call her Caballine again.

…you Mud Men wouldn't understand, anyway.

-End-

Authors Note:

Dear readers, both constant - who I love - and not so constant - who I like, but can't love because that would be inappropraite,

I do apologise for posting two fics in such quick succession, but I wanted to get some stuff up before I engage in NaNoWriMo, and simoultaneously compete with my mountain of work and mock-exams over the month of November.

Lili/Foaly Filly OTP! Clearly this is a fandom first. We endevaour to bring you the craziest ships possible here at Mozzie Inc. I hope I pulled it off for you well, as my original aim was to produce a realistic relationship exploring the problems they would face, for a Crimminality challenge, which I've decided to enter this for.

I've also played around with tense, chronology, and I wrote it in 1st person pov, which I've never been overly comfortable in. How did I do?

I hope to see you all in a couple of months time for some longer stuff that i've been plugging away at.

As always, reviews, comments, and feedback of any kind (or questions about the fic) are loffed by my dear self. (I try to reply to them all.)

Oh, and support the Orion Awards, because I don't say that enough.

Mozzie