AN: I think a couple of notes are needed before getting into this chapter because I'm not positive many people know what debs is. I guess the easiest way to describe debs is that it's Irish prom, but different? People spend similar amounts on dressing up/limo renting, but whereas people drink *after* prom or sneak alcohol in because the drinking age is 21, if you're at your debs, you're legally allowed to drink. Obviously, you can't get out of control or anything, but you'd be able to buy drinks from whatever venue you're at usually. The venue can be in the ballroom of a hotel or something along those lines, and people do get dolled up since iirc, there aren't any big dances you'd experience in secondary school — it happens in sixth yearish when people are 17-19, and sometimes people also set up preDebs, which are also dances, but at more nightclub-y scenes. Debs also tends to go a bit later than prom, whereas at prom, it ends at like ~10ish and then you go to an afterparty usually or w/e. With that out of the way — the chapter!
Manning the debs was Ms. Orla Grace's least favorite part of working at Saint Bartleby's. The younger teachers always got shoved with the duty of making sure nothing too improper happened at the school-run portion of the night — she didn't know how to make it clear to Guiney that no matter how much he interspersed the dance's playlist with that one depressing Simon and Garfunkel song, his best bet at getting the night to go smoothly was simply kicking the students out at 12.
After months of planning, permission slips sent home to parents, and strongly worded letters to the Sixth Year boys about being on their best behavior, the night was finally here. The school had rented out the Tulfarris hotel's ballroom for the night, and Orla would never have guessed it were a debs had she stumbled upon the dance accidentally. She'd thought her own had been posh when she'd first heard her debs was going to be held in one of the Cavan Crystal Hotel conference suites, but this? Orla looked at the white tablecloths with cream-coloured silk napkins, the glimmering Swarovski crystal chandelier that had been wheeled out just for tonight, and the decorated chairs arranged at each table in the banqueting suite.
Her debs had been posh, she sighed, but Saint Bartleby's was a gold-encrusted nightmare.
Looking away from the students milling into the room, she poured herself a spoonful of the punch. Taking a sip, she smiled into the cup. Fruity ginger ale in a paper cup. That was at least reminiscent of her debs — junky non-alcoholic beverage options were a unifying element to the end of year dance, she supposed. Of course, the drinks at her table weren't labeled Cidona, or 7-Up, or Club Orange. Saint Bartleby's official list of food and drink for the night all listed the beverages on Orla's table as belonging to some organic, chichi alternative to the aforementioned soft drinks. Still, Orla knew cheap ginger ale and juice concentrate when she tasted it — ignorance was bliss, and she wasn't about to tell the parents that their precious sons had been given regular-person soda.
Glancing back towards the door, she caught a glimpse of slicked-back dark hair against near-pallid, pale skin through the gaps between a group of boys chatting as they walked in.
Orla pushed off from leaning against the non-alcoholic drink table, grimacing. Hopefully, her star English pupil would do her a final favor and remain far, far away from her until the Guiney forced everyone out for the night.
She took another sip of her drink.
"Ah, Ms. Grace," she heard a clipped, soft voice announce. "A pleasant surprise. I was not aware you were one of the teachers running the night."
Nearly crumpling the small cup in her hand, she forced herself to give the young man standing across from her a tight smile.
"Artemis," she said, slightly through her teeth. "I wasn't aware you were attending tonight's dance."
He sighed, expression a tad sheepish. "It's not exactly my typical scene, I know. However," he motioned behind himself, a tall, blonde young woman stepping out from the sea of faces. "My… friend wished to experience the night due to missing out on her own debs."
Orla wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed the woman walk in with Artemis. She was remarkably tall — almost 2 meters tall, in fact — and almost the opposite of her shorter companion in every way.
At a loss for words, Orla floundered, eyes flicking between Artemis, then to his companion, and then back to Artemis. The young woman laughed and placed a well-manicured hand on the teen's shoulder, causing the golden bangles on her wrist to jingle.
"Hi — you're the English teacher, right?" she checked, looking at Artemis for confirmation. He huffed, waving her hand off his shoulder.
"Er… yes?"
"Great! He said you were one of the decent ones," Juliet gave Artemis a final hearty clap on the shoulder, straightening to face Orla head on.
"Hm?" Orla started, looking at Artemis. He was pointedly not making eye contact, pretending instead to scan the crowd for someone or other.
"That's… nice. He was a delight to have in class, weren't you, Artemis?" Orla pressed. Artemis looked back at the two of them, pausing.
"I suppose I would say that, Ms. Grace, thank you," he nodded, waving a hand noncommittally.
She smiled at him indulgently, the movement not quite reaching her eyes. She couldn't for the life of her guess why Guiney hadn't simply bit the bullet and let Artemis graduate years ago — sure, he brought the school's test scores up, but gods, was he a terror to have as a student. Although the only time when she would have described him as malicious was the difficult months following the presumed death of his father, Artemis was, at his core, someone who delighted in running intellectual circles around others. She knew when he raised his hand during lectures that he was bound to confuse the other boys. The number of lectures that he'd derailed during the Hamlet unit was unholy.
"You're very welcome, Artemis," she sighed. The three stood in silence, the clamor of the dance diffusing a bit of the awkwardness. "I don't mean to be rude, miss, but are you one of the Our Lady's girls—?"
The young woman looked puzzled and Artemis, surprised, laughed. "Oh, Christ, no — Juliet's a bit too old, I'm afraid."
Juliet smiled, stepping on his foot with her high heel. Artemis made a face, then realization dawned on him. "Oh, not old-old."
"Gee, thanks, Artemis," Juliet put a hand to her heart in exaggerated gratitude.
The more she listened, Orla marveled, the less she understood about the arrangement between the two in front of her.
"Well then, Juliet, I was just… curious, you see, because I don't believe I've ever seen you around," Orla simpered, gesturing with her free hand.
"You would remember if you'd ever talked to Juliet before," Artemis said, looking at Juliet with a hint of mirth in his eyes. She grinned back at him.
"Ms. Grace, could you abandon your station for a moment and help me with the —"
Spotting the pair standing near Orla, the approaching young woman froze.
Hanna Kelly was one of the new teachers, Orla mentally clucked her tongue. Orla wouldn't consider herself old by any definition, but Hanna was the youngest of all the teachers at the school. Orla was, at the most, ten or so years older than her coworker, but the last few years of dealing with Artemis had led to the beginning of aging lines cropping up under her eyes and near her nose. Hanna hadn't had enough time on the job to become as worn down, and it showed in the brightness in her eyes; in the bounce in her step; in the healthy glow about her that she always seemed to have.
Hanna had come straight over from her uni teaching programme in Britain to employment at Saint Bart's. She was bright, definitely. But she'd need to grow a backbone sooner than later if she was going to survive her first year at Saint Bart's. Even now, the Latin teacher resembled a deer in the headlights. Orla had to stop herself from letting out a beleaguered sigh.
However, Juliet lit up at the sight of the new arrival, gesturing for the petite woman to come over. "Hanna, it's been ages, I haven't seen you since the preDebs back in November!"
Hanna shot a glance at Orla and Artemis, smiling nervously. "It's been a bit, yes. Um, it's nice to see you again, Jules — Juliet! Er, Ms. Butler?" she finished weakly.
"PreDebs," Orla echoed, voice flat. She'd been aware that the school had allowed for a preDebs in the hopes that tonight wouldn't get too rowdy, but she'd made it clear that she wanted no part in chaperoning a damn nightclub outing. How Ms. Kelly had gotten looped into working that night, Orla had no clue. The poor woman had probably been bullied into working that dance by the administration, honestly.
Juliet nodded, resting a hand on her waist. The motion made the pale green silk chiffon of her dress sway. Perhaps it was the grace of the action that made Orla notice, but her eyebrows raised slightly as she noticed the firmness of the young woman's shoulders and arms. Orla got the feeling that Juliet would've been able to knock the security guard they'd hired for the night flat on his back — and somehow manage to look demure while doing it, too.
"And you three met up that night, I gather?" Orla prompted, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from Juliet's biceps.
"I only met Hanna," Juliet laughed. At that, both Artemis and Hanna looked stricken, although in different ways.
"Juliet, please," Artemis groaned. Hanna seemed as though she was about to bolt any minute, Orla noted, a warm flush painting the young woman's brown skin.
"Don't be a baby, Arty," she rolled her eyes, and he spluttered. "Let's go say hi to someone — I didn't get to see any of your classmates at the preDebs."
Juliet caught Artemis by the crook of his elbow, gently pulling him away from Orla's table. Juliet flashed Orla a dazzling grin before shooting a quick wink at Hanna, and then the strange duo was off.
Shaking her head as if waking up from a dream, Orla blinked, trying to hear over the din.
"Who—"
"She's the sister of Artemis' bodyguard," Hanna provided a bit too quickly.
Orla's mouth formed an 'O'. "I see," she said carefully.
"Got back recently from doing a stint with a wrestling circuit in the States, too."
"Cheers to her, then."
"Yup," Hanna exhaled, popping the 'p' at the end of her sentence. "I've seen a few of her televised matches. You'd like them — er, you'd like them if you… like wrestling, that is," she finished meekly, tucking one of the micro braids that had fallen free from her updo behind her ear. "Do…you like wrestling?"
"No," Orla furrowed her brow. "Why would I like wrestling? What— Hanna."
Hanna seemed to wilt under Orla's intense gaze.
"Yes…?"
"I'm going to need you to be frank with me," she said bluntly, and the young woman nodded miserably. "Did you… have relations with someone tied to the most disagreeable student I've ever had the misfortune of having to endure?"
Hanna tugged at the collar of her olive blouse. "Potentially."
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Orla screwed her eyes shut. Regaining her composure, she opened them again, reaching to grasp Hanna's shoulder. "Please don't let your dalliance with that woman lead to Artemis Fowl stepping foot on campus after graduation."
Hanna spluttered, holding a hand up over her mouth in embarrassment. "Orla!"
"It'll kill me, Hanna," Orla insisted, weary. "I'd better not see him anywhere near my classroom ever again."
Jutting her chin out, Hanna gave the older woman a defiant look. "I'm not making any promises."
"Oh, Hanna — fine! I'm leaving you to man the alcohol-free table, then," Orla threw up her hands, stalking off. Ignoring Hanna's protests, she made her way towards the banquet room.
She'd been so close to getting rid of Artemis Fowl.
There wasn't nearly enough alcohol in this damn ball to drown her sorrows.
Final notes:
you know those stories titled stuff like, "so sweet! This student took their older relative who missed out on prom to their dance!"
that's juliet tagging along as Artemis' bodyguard for debs, except she disappears at different points in time over the night to go rogue.
OKAY so the title of the fic/the bit where Juliet goes "I only met Hanna," and it embarrasses like. everyone involved? I really don't know the origin of the slang, but in 2000-2010 Dublin/Liverpool/assorted weird parts of the UK, 'to meet' someone was slang for making out with someone. I'm not sure if anyone in their teens still uses it in conversation but! that is the explanation of my terrible, one sentence joke