A/N:Yes, I know I should be working on Ladies Storm, but oh well. This is
the only CSI/Artemis Fowl crossover known to mankind.
BTW, after reviewing my priorities, I decided that I would focus on this, Ladies Storm, and my TP fic this summer.
Important Notice: I will be gone until Tuesday, so I can't type until then. Sorry!
Dis: Do you really think I own Artimis Fowl?
The sixteen year old was far from normal, by anyone's standards.
Her straight auburn hair was pulled into a messy bun that covered her ears, her hazel eyes were staring at the man and the woman huddled over someone. Her baggy white t-shirt was at least five sizes too big, and was covered in marker.
Her cutoffs, as baggy as her shirt, had doodles all over it. She was wearing long floppy boots. But that wasn't all. There was something lurking just under the surface, something very few could place.
The fact that she was sitting in what was probably the only ancient oak tree in Las Vegas with a wooden art case at midnight clinched it.
Lyra Rivers, known to the world as the mysterious Ruby Smoke, was completing her latest work.
It was a perfect charcoal sketch of the pair under the tree. She caught the expressions on their faces perfectly, and, of course, the expression of the dead woman the two were examining.
I guess my newest project's a bust, Lyra thought dejectedly. I mean, a murder under the tree you were using for a pedestal kinda puts a damper on things, ya know? - - - - - -
I shifted to get a better glimpse of the people on the ground. And wouldn't you know, my sketchbook tumbles to the ground, causing the man, who it nearly decapitated, to look up.
"Sara, come here." The guy must have seen me. D---, why hadn't I shielded? Yes, for those of you who are curious, I'm a fairy. The only reason I'm on the surface is due to a certain centaur's paranoia. Long story.
Anyways, I'm starting to ramble. Oh, well, might as well come down. Foaly gave me some gadget that makes me look like a Mud Man. Let's just hope it works.
Climbing down, I slip and tumble out of the tree. Yeow, that hurt! Thankfully, I didn't fall far enough to break anything. But blue sparks are quickly sealing the multiple gashes and scrapes, as well as a bruise the size of a car. I hope to Frond the people don't notice.
My long hair is pulled out of its bun type thing, (I have no talent with hair) carefully disguised as a nervous movement.
"What's your name?" the man asks. Uh-oh. I'm in serious crap.
"Lyra." I stutter.
"Last name?" A sarcastic remark pops out of my mouth.
"That's on a need to know basis. You don't need to know. I do, however, need my sketchbook back." Lovely, Lyra, get yourself in trouble this fast, why don't you? How 'bout you shoot yourself, as well?
"Grissom, you just got insulted by a teenager," The woman, Sara, is it? laughs.
"Thank you for stating the obvious," I grumble. I really need that sketchbook. If the press finds out the ever-elusive Ruby Smoke is a sixteen year old girl, say hello, end of fairykind, apparently.
"Why were you in the tree?" Grissom? asks.
"Uh, well, um... don't do that!" I fairly howl as he starts flipping through my book. I can't give him the mesmer, he's studying the book, and he seems kinda smart. Too smart for me to do anything but direct eye contact. The woman is staring at me. Um, uh-oh.
Only one thing I can do. "Sorry," I say. Than I kick his shin, grab the book, and run.
Once I'm around the corner, I shield, scared out of my wits. I flip through the book, making sure everything's okay.
"Oh no." My favorite sketch is gone, a pretty one of Lake Mead at sunrise, and the sketch I just did.
Which wouldn't have been bad if I hadn't signed both my alias and my name on the back of the first.
I was gonna get it soon.
BTW, after reviewing my priorities, I decided that I would focus on this, Ladies Storm, and my TP fic this summer.
Important Notice: I will be gone until Tuesday, so I can't type until then. Sorry!
Dis: Do you really think I own Artimis Fowl?
The sixteen year old was far from normal, by anyone's standards.
Her straight auburn hair was pulled into a messy bun that covered her ears, her hazel eyes were staring at the man and the woman huddled over someone. Her baggy white t-shirt was at least five sizes too big, and was covered in marker.
Her cutoffs, as baggy as her shirt, had doodles all over it. She was wearing long floppy boots. But that wasn't all. There was something lurking just under the surface, something very few could place.
The fact that she was sitting in what was probably the only ancient oak tree in Las Vegas with a wooden art case at midnight clinched it.
Lyra Rivers, known to the world as the mysterious Ruby Smoke, was completing her latest work.
It was a perfect charcoal sketch of the pair under the tree. She caught the expressions on their faces perfectly, and, of course, the expression of the dead woman the two were examining.
I guess my newest project's a bust, Lyra thought dejectedly. I mean, a murder under the tree you were using for a pedestal kinda puts a damper on things, ya know? - - - - - -
I shifted to get a better glimpse of the people on the ground. And wouldn't you know, my sketchbook tumbles to the ground, causing the man, who it nearly decapitated, to look up.
"Sara, come here." The guy must have seen me. D---, why hadn't I shielded? Yes, for those of you who are curious, I'm a fairy. The only reason I'm on the surface is due to a certain centaur's paranoia. Long story.
Anyways, I'm starting to ramble. Oh, well, might as well come down. Foaly gave me some gadget that makes me look like a Mud Man. Let's just hope it works.
Climbing down, I slip and tumble out of the tree. Yeow, that hurt! Thankfully, I didn't fall far enough to break anything. But blue sparks are quickly sealing the multiple gashes and scrapes, as well as a bruise the size of a car. I hope to Frond the people don't notice.
My long hair is pulled out of its bun type thing, (I have no talent with hair) carefully disguised as a nervous movement.
"What's your name?" the man asks. Uh-oh. I'm in serious crap.
"Lyra." I stutter.
"Last name?" A sarcastic remark pops out of my mouth.
"That's on a need to know basis. You don't need to know. I do, however, need my sketchbook back." Lovely, Lyra, get yourself in trouble this fast, why don't you? How 'bout you shoot yourself, as well?
"Grissom, you just got insulted by a teenager," The woman, Sara, is it? laughs.
"Thank you for stating the obvious," I grumble. I really need that sketchbook. If the press finds out the ever-elusive Ruby Smoke is a sixteen year old girl, say hello, end of fairykind, apparently.
"Why were you in the tree?" Grissom? asks.
"Uh, well, um... don't do that!" I fairly howl as he starts flipping through my book. I can't give him the mesmer, he's studying the book, and he seems kinda smart. Too smart for me to do anything but direct eye contact. The woman is staring at me. Um, uh-oh.
Only one thing I can do. "Sorry," I say. Than I kick his shin, grab the book, and run.
Once I'm around the corner, I shield, scared out of my wits. I flip through the book, making sure everything's okay.
"Oh no." My favorite sketch is gone, a pretty one of Lake Mead at sunrise, and the sketch I just did.
Which wouldn't have been bad if I hadn't signed both my alias and my name on the back of the first.
I was gonna get it soon.