Glaring.
That's all he did.
Sit and glare and worry and stuff every emotion in to a little glass bottle he knew would cause some sort of mental disorder in his later years.
But...
Father's been missing. For a year. Gone and probably dea-No.
No, he isn't dead. Can't be dead. He's been a crime lord for years. All his life, even. If he was supposed to die, he would have died back then.
But of course not.
No, he had to die because of a stupid illegal market.
Of course.
"Father..."
Every screen flashed new. Every now and then they'ed report, "...Mr. Fowl, of the Fowl estate, is still missing. If you have any information, call your local police..." in 20 different languaes Artemis II had already learned and had grown fluent to.
"Arty." Mother. Of course, mother. The mother who had bouts of rage, screaming and yelling and telling him he wasn't her son. The mother who was dead inside. All because his father was gone. And if he didn't return, she WOULD die. Physically...melt away.
And there's nothing he could do about it.
"Arty, Butler has made dinner. You must...go and wash up. Your father should...he should return tonight. He promised...promised." She turned, and, sulked away, a mere corpse of her former perk.
It made Artemis's heart flip and flop.
But...he supposed dinner would be nice. It's the one thing Mother generally kept sane during, what with her being used to Artemis Senior gone at this time.
He sighed, and got up, walking the stairs down to his living room, sitting down. The dinner, it smelt wonderful. It really did. Butler smiled at him ever so softly, his large and fit body odd in comparison to the 'Kiss the Chef' apron he bore.
"Bon Apitite, Master Artemis."
Everybody ate quietly. Juliet, mother, Artemis himself, and Butler.
And...there was something off about the silence. His mother generally ranted for a few minutes, died down, and started back up. This time is different. Which isn't good.
Artemis looked at his mother, awaiting her smal speech about saving the world-something his father promised to do after this small...buisness oppertunity. If you could call it that.
"...I donated $400 thousand to a Zoo today."
A spoon clattered into the bowel, soup never touching Artemis's lips. "...what?"
"$400 thousand, Arty, dear. To a zoo with a large amount of panda's. Large being 5. And don't worry, we have pleanty of money."
No, they didn't. She doing percicly THAT had dropped the family fortune--heafty few million-into a shadow of itself. And that may have just killed it.
"...mother, you didn't. Mother, you didn't! Father told you not to touch the money in the bank. Right?" He didn't sound worried, at least, not as worried as he was. Angry yes. But never worried. Fowl's don't worry, they solve. They get what they want how they want. That is the Fowl heritage. Money is power. Money is life. Money is survival.
Apperantly, Angelina didn't understand that. either way, Artemis sat in a slight huff, trying to figure out a back way out of it. Oh god. Oh god. This isn't good, this is not good.
"Oh Artemis. Your so much like your father."