Slight spoilers for Artemis Fowl: The Time Paradox, if you ignore the fact that this fic is based around and therefore reveals the final boss of that book, in which case there are huge spoilers.
This fic is based off of a single hilarious paragraph somewhere in the deep depths of book 6. And what does it show? Opal is ccrrrazy, though Bellatrix Lestrange sure could take a few tips from her on how to become more comedic.
An Impromptu Manicure
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"Vertical strokes, Descant. How many times do you expect me to repeat myself? Crisscrossed smudges on my fingernails will not help me strike fear in the hearts of the LEP when I point at them."
"Yes, Mistress Koboi," said Descant Brill, not very enthusiastically given that those same painted fingers had been pointed in his own face too many times to recount. "Vertical strokes."
"And make sure they're straight," she clarified, as though vertical lines had a tendency of suddenly wobbling and betraying her. "I won't have anything like that last sad attempt of Mervall's. I was considering making him practice his precision of hand while wrestling with one of our dear specimens, but time for excursions is short thanks to our Mud Boy running about the continents like a headless chicken."
"Straight," Scant parroted, hoping to lead her away from another maniacal rambling.
Despite the so-pronounced lack of time for excursions—they were currently on the shuttle to Dublin and due to arrive any minute—he was currently redoing Mistress Koboi's nail polish the color of Vigorous Violet Visions since she had blasted off the previous blood-red coats with her magic. The most ludicrous part of it was that he was forced to kneel at her feet while her hand was comfortably supported by a small extendable plastic tray attached to the chair. In one hand he gripped the slender brush; in the other he grasped the polish bottle to prevent the absurdity of having to touch her hand.
Opal stared down at him, her groomed, ink-black hair cascading past her other hand, which was supporting her head. Her expression was that of utmost boredom as she watched him concentrate all of his efforts on not making the nail brush shake.
Scant looked up at passing footsteps; Merv hovered at the door and had apparently stopped to mime a giggling fit at the sight of him painting Opal's nails. The doorway faced the back of Opal's chair so that Opal herself could not see, but Scant had a perfect view.
He frowned at his elder twin, and Merv disappeared past the doorway still silently chuckling. Opal's face suddenly grew dour.
"What are you scowling at, Descant?"
Scant tried to rearrange his features into something genuine and pleasant.
"Nothing, mistress. I have only smiles for your supertastic visage."
He thought this could have been pushing his luck a bit far, but Opal was oblivious to his flat tone. "Quite nice of you, Descant," Here her expression twisted into curiosity, "but hasn't your brother Mervall yet told you that I am unavailable?"
"Eh?"
"The attraction, of course, is understandable," she said, tapping the fingers of her free hand against her neck and winding them around locks of her hair, "but you know that, as future queen of the world, I cannot be hampered by little pixie babies crawling after me."
She put aside her finished hand to dry and lowered the other onto the work tray. Scant reached for a nail file. He was stupefied by her remark, but Opal's eyes were looking at him rather dangerously. Unfortunately, the best he could muster was a, "Ah, Mistress Koboi?"
"I regret to inform you," she said, her gleeful features at painful odds with her words, "but I'll have to kill you if you make any advances. If it helps console your poor little mind, it's unavailable, not taken."
Scant stared at her. Was this another misinterpreted pronunciation of her ego?
He quickly smothered this thought, realizing that he could soon be vaporized smoke if he didn't come up with a placating response.
However, there was no need for one, as Opal said smugly, "Though you have been—are—one of my most loyal and clueless underlings, Descant, and that must be taken into account. When I rule the earth, you may freely tell any future mating prospects that you were once allowed to grovel at my feet."
Heat flooded his ears. Mad, he thought, focusing on the bottle of Vigorous Violet Visions. She's mad.
Opal smiled, under the distinct impression that she could hear his heart break with a single, savory click: though that turned out to be the sound of the nail brush being screwed back into the polish bottle as Scant finished the manicure. Her eyes were suspiciously deviant, whirring away behind their chocolate irises, and Scant didn't particularly like that look. He was probably going to get reprimanded.
"What are you still getting the floor dirty for? Start cleaning up."
He stood, and began to pack away the nail paraphernalia while under Opal's watchful eyes, trying not to look at her flapping her arms to dry her painted nails. In fact, he was wondering when the shuttle would land so he could regroup with Merv. Opal had other plans.
"In spite of what I just said," she spoke, examining her nails, "whatever baboon takes to you in the future is lucky for the salon service."
Scant barely realized that that was a compliment, because he swore he heard her mutter to herself, Oh, just this once, before Opal seized him by the collar-flaps of his jacket and pulled him into a forceful kiss.
Whoa…he thought, a few seconds late. Then: What? He didn't comprehend what was happening and he didn't plan to; that was Merv's forte. The contact had the impact of a meteor on his unsuspecting mind, or perhaps it was an impact in the real world that caused them to stumble back a few feet before staying in one spot. Opal's hands scrunched carefully in the folds of his clothing so that the fabric did not have the chance to scratch her nail polish, and she was kissing him fiercely with the force of the whole world on her lips…
…and left him with a strange sense of weightlessness when she pulled away. Still seizing his jacket and standing close to him, she demanded, "Well?"
Scant's insides were thoroughly discombobulated.
"Well? How was it?"
She slapped him across the face and it felt like a bullet, but nonetheless brought him back to the present.
Crazy woman. Insane. She should be locked up, was what Scant was thinking, despite the fact that his hormones were spiraling wildly somewhere above his head. But as heat spiked his face, he remembered the pigpen earlier.
"Puh-perfection, Mistress Koboi," stammered Scant. He further blathered (just in case), "Flooring. Confunding. Wotally tunderful."
For once she didn't complain of his use of overlong words. "I thought so," Opal smirked.
"Mistress Koboi?" said a hesitant voice.
They both looked over their shoulders to where Mervall Brill stood in the doorway.
Opal unceremoniously flung Scant away like a rag doll before snapping, "What is it?" Scant tripped over the manicure set, shattering polish bottles everywhere, and was sent hurling into Opal's grooming chair, where an armrest jabbed him in a place which caused very, very much pain.
His twin looked on with a mixture of confusion, pity, and the suggestion that he was about to burst out laughing as Scant slumped off of the chair, making every attempt to hide the fizzing maelstrom of blue sparks around his crotch. "Um…Mistress Koboi, we've landed at Fowl Manor."
"Excellent," remarked Opal as she passed Scant, whose jacket was neatly soaking up the spilled nail polish. "And my manicure is all dry too." She turned back, her hand on the doorway. "Mervall, get the weapons. Descant, find me some new boots. Or there will be another ordeal in the pigpen, but with something much worse, and very unhappy that it is stuck in a pigpen."
She left the room and Merv approached Scant, holding out a hand to help him up. Then Merv actually did crack up.
"She seems to put it harder on you for some reason, brother," he chortled.
"You don't say," deadpanned Scant, and a bottle of Vigorous Violet Visions broke under him, staining his pants purple.
/end