One Painkiller or Two
Disclaimer:- Nope. Don't own any Artemis Fowl characters. Eoin Colfer does, so ask him if you want to change it so that The Major has an afro :D
Well here we go - I'll let you be the judges on whether it lives up to the last one.
Expect the usual beatings from and to Butler, along with the sense of humor that goes with it.
Enjoy.
CHAPTER 1 - Public Transport
The Major swore under his breath.
"Is something the matter, Major?" Artemis Fowl the First asked, somewhat irritably. He had been waiting a whole minuet and he and his family still hadn't got into the car. His bodyguard had already completed his bomb check and had even entered the vehicle, yet they were still waiting for the younger Butler to open the door. "Come on, man. At least open the damn door we're freezing half to death here."
"Just a moment, sir. Sorry for the delay."
Outwardly, Butler was as respectful as expected, yet inwardly he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the exaggeration. Yes, it was December - and it was late on a clear night, but the chilly drafts and breath-fogging air were hardly Arctic conditions.
They had been at a dinner, celebrating. If it could be called that. Bodyguards didn't celebrate very often, especially not these two particular bodyguards. Christmas, and the opening of a new business Fowl Senior was funding were the occasions. Nevertheless, the meal had been good, or at least not poisoned, the drink had flowed (rather too much of it in some people's cases) and the atmosphere had been a relaxed and inviting one, at least for those not sitting in the eyeline of a watchful Butler.
In Butler's opinion, too much had gone right, to be honest.
Juliet would accuse you of never being happy with anything, he thought to himself, scanning the area in case their luck should suddenly change. On the way out, the corridor was too narrow for his liking, loud, happy people jostled the small group. Those that made contact were neither noisy or cheerful for long.
Back by the car, The Major clicked his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully and popped the bonnet, disappearing behind it as he inspected the engine.
Mr. Fowl clenched his fists and counted to ten in his head. Apparently anger was bad for one's blood pressure and, unlike the majority of the attendees of the meal, he had had a rather stressful night, composed mostly of interviews and conversations involving numbers and statistics. As soon as it was polite to do so, he had excused himself and family from the event, thinking longingly of the plush double-bed back at the Manor. Yet now they were standing outside the building at twelve at night while his bodyguard fretted over the car. His son was almost falling asleep, leaning on his own bodyguard's leg and his wife was playing with her pearl necklace, nervously clicking the shining beads together in an increasingly annoying fashion. Not that anyone was willing to tell her that.
"Well?" he snapped at his manservant.
"It's the engine. It won't start, sir."
"Well then fix it!"
"Timmy dear, try to calm down, darling. It's not as though it's anyone's fault."
"Oh do be quiet, Angeline!"
His wife shook her head gently and turned to stroking her son's hair. To her disappointment he didn't suddenly turn away from the tree-trunk-like limb he was slouched against and embrace her for her love. She was beginning to worry that her little Arty was becoming a little too like his father.
The Major tinkered with something and tried the engine again. It didn't even cough. Slamming the driver's side door with slightly more force than necessary, the giant returned to bending double over the Bentley's engine.
"For heavens sake, man. Is the car fixable or not?" Artemis Senior was beginning to lose patience.
The Major jerked upright, thwacking his shaven crown on the carpeted underside of the bonnet. Refraining from using any more profanities in the presence of his employers, The Major breathed deeply and answered with his usual curt professionalism.
"Apologies for the inconvenience, sir. I just need to check the carburettor..."
"Don't give me mechanics, Major. Give me results!"
Right. That's it, The Major fumed. He too, had had to sit through the same number of discussions as his charge and check every single idiot that wanted to shake the infamous Fowl Senior's hand. He was not in the best of moods and now this infernal vehicle had decided that this exact moment would be a tremendous time to stop working. Letting the Fowls into the car would probably be a smart idea, but he couldn't until he was sure that the reason the engine wouldn't start was only mechanical and not a malignant addition to the engine's workings.
"You!" he spat in the general direction of the near-identical man standing in the shadows. "Stop standing there like a stuffed animal and help me, damn it!"
This time, Butler did roll his eyes in the darkness. Typical that he should bear the brunt of his uncle's employer-induced temper. He leant his charge gently towards Mrs. Fowl and hung his jacket over the roof of the Bentley, joining his uncle at the open bonnet.
There was a few minuets of contemplation, during which the Major forced his nephew to reach right into the innards of the car, getting covered in oil in the process and ultimately achieving nothing.
"The lighting situation isn't helping matters," Butler muttered irritably, looking for a cloth to wipe his hands on. There wasn't one and he wondered about using his shirt. It wasn't as though he had a shortage of them, although it would be nice to return with one he could reuse for once.
"Well then go get a torch," his uncle snapped, shoving him aside and plunging a hand into the machinery, trying to see whether it was causing the problem in the light from the lonely streetlight above.
"We may be here a while. Would you like to wait in the car?" Butler asked, searching the cavernous boot of the Bentley.
"I believe that would be desirable." Mr. Fowl sniffed. Butler was about to return to the front of the vehicle when he realised the reason the Fowls were still standing there.
For Pete's sake can't you see we're busy? he thought, opening the door anyway. A large oily print stained the silver car. Oh for... he breathed deeply and tried not to think about the amount of polishing it would take to remove that mark.
"For god's sake how long does it take to walk the length of a car, boy?"
"Coming," You impatient...Butler finished his mental description colourfully and handed the high powered torch over.
It was slightly warmer than the outside, Artemis thought gratefully. Although the heaters and lights won't work without input from the engine, he concluded.
Consequently, they were forced to sit in the darkness, cuddled together for warmth. Well, not exactly cuddled. More huddled. Two of them rather unwillingly.
"Well, my darlings, I know this isn't the nicest of situations, but we have to make the best of it. I mean, at least we're all ok, if a little uncomfortable."
Her son nodded absently, staring out the windscreen at the glimpses of shiny scalps he could catch every now and then. If his father would let him, he would like to have a look at the engine himself. He wasn't an expert mechanic but maybe he could help - at least more than sitting here between his parents.
"Honestly Angeline, you needn't bother yourself attempting to keep up an optimistic view on things."
"Well I am an optimist, unlike some people," she huffed.
Artemis closed his eyes and tried to ignore the conversation. It was going to be a long night.
"What is wrong with this damn vehicle?" The Major growled and slapped the fender. It popped in an alarmingly dent-producing-like manner and he winced slightly at the idea of paying for the repair of such damage.
Butler attempted to wipe off some of the grease that had somehow migrated from his arms to his face, before he answered what was probably a rhetorical question anyway.
"I don't know, uncle. It was running fine on the way up," Butler peered in the darkness at the silent engine, lighting up a small circle with the torch and frowning at it as though he could threaten it into action.
"It doesn't seem to be anything we can sort here."
"For once you're right," his uncle admitted grudgingly.
"And I suppose we're not going anywhere soon, so..." Butler let the statement hang hopefully, knowing if he suggested a possible solution, it would probably never happen.
"Right," The Major said grimly, heading to the back of the car with about as much willingness as he would apply when approaching a suspicious, and possibly explosive, object.
"Plan?" Butler asked, shutting the lid of the car since it seemed that there was nothing short of replacing the engine that would get the Bentley working again.
"To convince the master we need to find another means of transport, else we're going to be here all night."
Butler leant gently on the wheel rim, hand resting inside his jacket on the comfortably familiar shape of his Sig Sauer. He had known that the night had been too faultless. Now he'd wrecked another shirt for nothing and they were sat like... well, like sitting ducks for any competent assassin to blow up. He caught snatches of the conversation behind him and was glad that he wasn't a part of it.
"Honestly, man. I thought they at least taught you basic mechanics at..." The admonishment.
"...it would seem that..." The explanation.
"Well of course..." The scepticism.
"...I could..." The suggestion.
"Surely there's another..." The utter disbelief.
"... for the best..." The excuse.
"Well if you're absolutely certain..." The reluctant agreement.
"I cannot believe it's come to this. It's disgraceful," muttered Fowl Senior as The Major was rummaging for his mobile phone.
The decision had been made to call... a taxi.
It took a few minuets to find a company number, but eventually the vehicle was booked.
"Commoners' transport. Unbelievable," Mr. Fowl got out of the car, still muttering away to himself.
"There, there, dear," Mrs. Fowl said, as she too stood beside the shining vehicle, nervously patting her husband's arm. "I'm sure it'll be fine..."
It shouldn't have been an irritation, he knew, but her husband still blew his top.
"Don't be absurd, woman! If any of my acquaintances found out what has happened here tonight I'd be a laughing stock! Not only are we sat in our vehicle half an hour after announcing our departure, the best these two imbeciles can come up with for transport is a preposterous solution. I, that is to say we, the Fowls, do not travel in public taxi cabs!"
Butler gritted his teeth. For all he cared he could piggy-back them all home. Unfortunately, voicing his opinion would be a very bad idea indeed. Fortunately, someone did for him. In an uncharacteristic burst of indignant astonishment Mrs. Fowl let rip at her spouse.
"Artemis, stop this nonsense immediately. You really are being petty. A car is a car and we shall be home before long. And as for your associates I do not care what they wish to believe. This whole thing is simply an unfortunate turn of circumstance, entirely unavoidable and no-body's fault. Especially not the Butlers. If you can't see that perhaps you should take a nice long walk, let's say, towards home, to figure that out!" Her eyes burned angrily and she folded her arms, the very picture of a stern, and angry, mother.
Artemis Junior looked up in surprise at her reaction. His father gaped for a moment before closing his mouth with a snap.
"Apologies, gentlemen. Angeline is correct. This is simply an untoward occurrence and I have no right to project my frustrations onto you."
Butler nodded an acceptance absently, barely listening to the rarity that was a Fowl apology. He may have agreed with most of what Angeline had said but he had far too much experience to pass off this turn of events as a coincidence. There was no such thing in the world of a bodyguard.
Unfortunately, the six-seater van was already out on hire for a hen-night so they would be forced to order two cabs and travel separately. Another thing The Major wasn't happy with about this whole cursed situation. At one point in the ('foolishly long' as Mr. Fowl put it - quietly) wait for the taxi, a loud explosion had both bodyguards, guns drawn, leaping to protect their charges from... a firework. Someone's late Bonfire Night celebrations convinced Butler that he had been right about this evening. He hoped that this was where the bad luck was going to end. Of course you should never hope for something like that.
As if it could get any worse, it took nearly twenty minuets for the first taxi to arrive and even then there were only enough seats for a maximum of four of them to go.
"Are you coming, dear?" Artemis Senior asked, with a certain air of meekness about him, once The Major had thoroughly checked (and terrified) the driver of the cab.
"I think I should wait here with Arty, Timmy. He's awfully tired..." Angeline said firmly, unwilling to both leave her son or relinquish her temporary control over her husband.
"Send him with me then." Artemis Senior beckoned his weary son rather impatiently. "Come on son, the meter is running - or whatever they use to charge ridiculous amounts for travelling in these vehicles."
Butler's self-control was tested as he refrained from snorting at the irony of the statement. As if a few notes would make a difference to the multi-billionaire. Even if the driver decided to follow the longest route he could think of, the cost wouldn't even be remotely comparable to the price the head of the Fowl family had paid for the tie he was wearing tonight.
"No thank-you, Father. If it's acceptable with you, I'd rather remain with Mother for now," Artemis Junior stifled a yawn. The evening had not been as exciting as he hoped, and he did not wish to spend the next half and hour discussing the dreary events with his father.
The Major breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He had been dreading having to explain to his boss that the young heir would have to stay behind, as Butler was the one responsible for him and so must be at his side at all times as he had to for the older Artemis. Besides, even if it was feasible to leave Mrs. Fowl behind alone, it would mean cramming two Butlers into one small cab - something that would only ever be amusing in the set-up to a bad joke.
"Very well. The next taxi should be less than ten minuets. And if it isn't, inform me immediately," Mr. Fowl hid his unexpected disappointment at his son's rejection by slamming the cab door. His manservant followed, with a look towards his nephew that translated exactly to the younger bodyguard as "Watch yourself. And more importantly, watch the Fowls."
Well. There we go, Chappie 1.
Go on, tell me what you think. It might make me update quicker.
*snort*
OK it probably won't. But you can pretend it will if you want, and it would make me feel good too. You know, give and take here.
Wolfy
ooo
O
(P.S Finally, here it is Beck, it's been a long time coming - I know. But I said before Christmas and here we are, eh?)
