When one travels to Saint Bartelby's, they would be shocked by the school's curriculum – proven to turn your child into a genius within a year. And they would look at its trophy room. They would marvel at the huge case, of oiled oak, filled with polished bronze, silver, and gold medals; it was a rare sight, but they may even notice the only two platinum awards. One for the Miss Dublin award. And two for the Genii2000 brainiac awards.
Under one universal picture was scrawled a name: Artemis Fowl. And under the second one, beneath a platinum dove, was another; Janelle Kelly.
Each dignified personages, yet totally opposite. One, a genius who dabbled in faerie folklore, and the other a devious – not to mention beautiful – crook.
If you were ever lucky enough, you might spy both in the same room – the only class they shared: culinary creations.
If you ever came by to watch, you'd also know they often paired themselves together. Now, after years of speculation, we have proven a myth which has plagued the school for almost a decade.
This is their story, written by a one Lauren McKlearen, respected detective of Scotland yard. One can only guess at her intentions as she investigated this tall tale, but it is speculated she bit off more then she could chew.
In the blue and orange halls of Saint Bartelby's, we enter a whole new world. An alternate dimension, you may call it. Here, we do of course have you're run-of-the-mill thespians, bands, and choirs. And, yes, we've won a culinary battle from time to time. But what we here at Saint Bartelby's are know for, as almost every student is aware of, is the science department.
Every school has their groups, yet we have somehow been able to separate ourselves from the usual stereotypical gymnasium or lunchroom. We here at Saint Bartelby's pride ourselves at knowing that, by far, we have two of the most unique students in the whole world. Yet their secrets remain almost untouched, we have unearthed impossible scenarios in which we find astounding outcomes. Read further to unearth what we here at Saint Bartelby's are known for . . .
As Artemis crossed the courtyard, fearing the worst, he nonchalantly readjusted his messenger's bag. The strap kept slipping, it was old and worn, yet he hung onto the raggedy thing.
Today, he sported something he now always wore: jeans. A graphic tee from some theme park was hidden under his grey tweed blazer, and oiled loafers clad his feet. A Rolex was slipped onto his wrist, a beautiful model that he occasionally glanced at.
In his messenger bag could be found a series of exam books, each hollowed out. There two reasons for this, the first being he already knew the material, and the second being they were too bloody heavy!
His raven hair was cut into a crew, and intense, blue eyes watched every movement around him, calculating each new fact that came up.
Identical rose bushes trimmed the circular courtyard. It was perhaps fifteen paces across, with a compass embedded in the cement middle. North was behind him, according to the compass; this he noted was a fraction of a degree off.
Ornate stone-carved benches hugged each curve of the area, leaving four openings; one for each direction. Sandy-colored stones paved the walkways, and but for the ancient ash trees shadowing the yard, it was a freshly cut lawn.
Red brick enclosed Master Fowl from all sides, five stories high – with a greenhouse on the roof – and two balconies for two of the floors, great for overlooking the courtyard.
Only two ways to exit this place, but Artemis wasn't worried – he'd been undertaking this routine for over three months, and he knew what he was doing.
Artemis turned west as he looked at his Blackberry; a text awaited him.
Janelle Kelly . . .
He quickly ran through the text, reading at almost lightning speed. As he responded, his attention was averted momentarily, for a good reason, too. Artemis looked up, his eyes meeting another's. Smoky turquoise eyes stared back at our young Arty.
In one brief hurtle, Janelle leaped over one of the stone benches – disturbing the people occupying the bench – and rushed to Artemis.
They shared a brief kiss before anyone noticed.
Now, the following is the most controversial. You see, it was evident that our young Artemis dated someone at Saint Bartelby's. Now, who? That is the question. This is the most debated. Several names have been mentioned, and yet until now, it was never confirmed who she was.
If Angeline knew who her young Arty was exchanging saliva with, she'd likely have a heart attack . . . or at least a palpitation.
You know her, of course: Janelle Kelly. But as to her appearance? That's an entirely different matter, isn't it? Well, you'll be humored.
Tall for her age, five feet seven inches, Janelle stood with an air of confidence. She knew she was one of the pretty women in the room, and she liked the fact.
Her hair, tied back in a ponytail with an overhanging fringe, was the color of light mahogany. Perfect ears, with a slight Irish tip, and a well portioned face, with the nose smack middle. Plump dimples; a short neck, with radiant skin and long eyelashes. Eyes that twinkled like the stars. Now, being such a common description of eyes, I wish to clarify something; her eyes literally sparkled. They were filled with life, love, and compassion.
Red nail polish, a plain gold chain necklace. No studs in her ears, but the holes were apparent. And, to keep this book readable for all ages – at least for the time being – we can leave her chest to the imagination.
She wore a white tank top under a thin, flowing, grey waistcoat; blue jeans for her legs, and simple black tennis shoes.
She looked sideways, briefly, leaving Artemis a clear view of her neck; a few freckles, but nothing else. Hardly any acne.
Almost the perfect girl. Almost . . .
Though she looked good, it's what was underneath that was terrible.
The daughter of a Russian Mafiya boss and an Irish immigrant, she knew all there was to know about the illegal underworlds. Lock-picking, drug and arms dealing – all of it, she could, and did, do. Recently, she had gotten better – now only a bit of stealing – but it was still out of control. And I don't need to tell you her looks help her case.
And she was Artemis's. Now do you see why he chose her? Not only was she glorious, but she was practically the devil. One badass chick, if I may say so myself.
Artemis glanced over her shoulder.
He hung his arm around her shoulder, leaning in slightly, and changed their course.
"Don't look back, but my friends are there." He then disobeyed his own advice, and came back to Janelle. "Let's just make our way over to class; I don't feel like talking to them today . . ."
She nodded calmly, not making any fuss about it. She, of all people, knew how to use a poker face.
The two walked to one of the two doors, opened it, and entered the Halls.
Regular carpeting, nothing too extravagant – just a plain fleur-de-lis pattern. Bright lighting, with lockers lining the sides. Every now and then you'd see a break in the gap – a door leading to another classroom – but that was usual.
As the two entered their classroom, they unhitched from each other, walking calmly to their assigned table.
The two started getting out their measuring spoons, as the teacher sulked at her desk until the class started.
"How's your day gone so far, doll?" Artemis asked, after nervously looking around the room. He was always tense, even in his own dorm room, which he only inhabited. It had its own security system, fingerprint sensitive locks, and everything talked. No, Janelle did not want to start the coffee pot!
"Fine," she recited, her usual answer to his questions. Artemis gently took her head in his hands, and brushed his lips against hers, as the Teacher went over the sanitary conditions once more . . . these two wouldn't be observing them . . .
I'm back guys (though not in black). Yes, I know this is an overused plot, but please bare with me on this. I'm going to try and not make it stereotypical, which I think so far I've achieved. Stone me, if you will; but I still think you guys will like this series none-the-less.
I have a Poll on my profile that I'd like you guys to vote on; it could mean life or death for you guys. Okay, in reality it just tells me which fandom I should write a Series for. But wouldn't you like to determine that?
I must thank my Beta, as I enter another series. She'll be there, watching over my shoulder the entire time.
Lastly, I apologize for the OOC; just think of the reason why it was intentional . . .
~ Kalen Bloodstone ~
P.S. You've already done one of those R's, now do the other . . .