Thanks for reviews so far! I know these 2-3 chapters aren't seamless & might be touch confusing (thanks for feedback, Ru-Doragon), but there's a reason for it, considering I plan to rope in TAC events somewhere. Because of this, there's going to be some jumps in subject matter within chapters (if not it'll be ridiculously long)…please bear with me. There'll be more action later. This chapter is largely A/H, yay. Do review!
Artemis
"Listen, Mud Boy. If there's one thing the LEP isn't short of, it's suspicious happenings. Everything is suspicious. Weapons are suspicious. An innocent-looking dwarf is suspicious. Even a carrot can be suspicious. We simply do not have the resources to follow up on all these suspicious leads!" Trouble Kelp's long declaration was followed by loud and rather disgusting crunching noises, as Foaly devoured a carrot on another end of the three-way call.
"So, the substance on the dart was nothing, essentially? It'll be categorized as one of those things not deemed worthy of being pursued?" Artemis articulated these words slowly and calmly. There was no sense in getting agitated. He needed to think.
"I'll put it this way, Fowl. It's not something until someone shows me it's a probable and significant threat. Even if you fund the investigation with your own resources," said Trouble with a small chuckle, obviously finding the thought of Artemis putting his own money into it highly amusing. "It wouldn't help anything. After all, it seems even your big brain can't come up with a direction for investigation."
"Eloquent as always, Commander Kelp," responded Artemis, lacing his words with a slight sneer to hide his irritation. Five. Good. Trouble Kelp might be respectable, but he was perpetually bubbling over the brim with the manly-soldier act. Harmless, of course. But Artemis wondered what the old Artemis would have done. Verbally pulverized him, probably.
"Less of the smart talk, Fowl. Remember, I care for armpit lice more than I care for you."
"Indeed, Commander. A pity then, that I do not similarly have armpit lice to compare my regard for you against. I am shattered. If we have no more to discuss, I'll take my leave." Artemis severed the call connection with Kelp and turned his attention to Foaly. The centaur was attempting to guffaw inconspicuously on the other end of the line.
"Foaly, is there really nothing else you can gather?"
"Hmm. Ha-ha. The compound isn't a direct threat, Artemis. We thought too much of it because it was hard to detect and break down. It's nasty, definitely – I mean, alcohol, animal fat, holy water, radicalized plant extract. Bam. But it's not that hard to deal with, unless a whole lot of it gets up close and personal with a fairy. Which is unlikely."
It had emerged over the past week that the compound was not quite as dangerous as they had originally thought. Wounds contaminated by the compound, if dealt with swiftly, were nothing a cocktail of fairy spring water and human medicine couldn't fix. Artemis had a niggling suspicion that there was more to this than met the eye, but he wondered if his concern over the compound was largely the emotional backlash from his worry over Holly's injury. It was frustrating that he felt such unease –and uncommon unease, it was - without having a calculated basis for it, for he was loath to rely on instincts alone. Instincts set no direction for constructive progress. It was not his style. His style was practicality and logic. And his logical brain told him that this was a spiteful compound with no wider significance.
Which is just as well, thought Artemis, tapping his finger methodically upon his desk, and filing the issue of the compound into the recesses of his mind. Because I need to put my all into THE PROJECT. My raison d'être.
Two days later…
Holly
Holly moved lightly across the hallway and took a quick look round the banister before she descended. She had spent close to a week recuperating in Fowl Manor. The exasperating majority of that week had been spent lying in bed, at Artemis' insistence. But now, with just a few days till she would be cleared for light duties, she figured it was time to stop humouring her friend.
Already feeling much sprightlier, she practically skipped round the next bend in the stairs.
To come upon a shocking sight.
Artemis was on the floor. And he wasn't just on the floor. He was completely covered from his shoulders to his toes in a mountain of coloured blocks (LEGO, Holly noticed), cushions (some tasteful and some polka-dotted), and submerged stuffed animals. The unburied part of him was garnished generously with splotches of brown and red paint. The stuff was in his hair, on his nose, and smeared down his cheeks.
He was also making a strange noise. For a moment Holly was worried – perhaps the weight of the toys was too great for his feeble torso? He was, after all, very weak. Then it hit her. Artemis Fowl was laughing. She stared, and a wide smile began to creep across her face. She hadn't expected his laugh to sound like that. It was boyish and hearty, and in some extraordinary way which constricted her heart slightly, quite thrilling.
The twins, Myles and Beckett, were clearly having the time of their lives. Beckett was sprinkling more LEGO over the burial mound, alternating between chuckling merrily and intoning, "You cannot escape! Simple-toon, you my prish'ner!" Myles was huddled beside him, mixing several highly questionable ingredients together in a test tube, his chubby little body shaking with mirth.
And now, it seemed Myles was finished with his concoction. "Ready, Beckett? We can do the 'speriments now."
Beckett turned and nodded at his twin solemnly. Both little boys advanced towards their imprisoned brother. Myles imperiously motioned that he should open his mouth, and Artemis, looking at the greenish-grey contents of the test tube, decided the end was near.
"Butler! I need help! The twins have me trapped! Nono no, Myles, that is dangerous, you can't – Holly?"
Artemis
For a few befuddled seconds, he stared stupidly up at her. She stared right back at him, smiling, eyes mischievously bright. She really is very pretty, thought Artemis. Those LEP elves have good taste.
Fortunately, Holly had reached out to prop up the test tube and prevent its contents from tipping into his mouth. Artemis watched her, still in a state of shock from his 22nd close shave with death or extreme injury, as she looked away from him and proceeded to mollify the disgruntled twins.
"Hello, Myles. Hello, Beckett. What experiments were you conducting?" said Holly, very gently. Her voice was so honeyed, it could have charmed a tiger to sleep. Artemis practically felt his blood sugar level rise just listening to her.
"We were trying to make 'splosions, but you stopped us!" said Myles, pouting, but already beginning to look slightly pacified.
"I'm sorry. But what's in the test tube –"
"It's poisonous, twins. What you made was toxic," Artemis cut in, the words coming out a touch more gravely than he'd intended. The little boys looked crestfallen. Holly shot him a withering glare and he got the hint.
Her next few lines were drowned out by the roar of blood rushing to his face as he properly realized the situation he was in. If he could have covered his face in embarrassment, he would have at that moment. He was beyond informal. He was buried! In LEGO! Not even scientific journals, or something of that nature. He was covered in paint. So much for thinking Holly held him in high regard. If that had been the case earlier, it certainly wasn't now. It was times like these, Artemis surmised, that the casual vernacular existed to describe. He was a loser. Quite thoroughly one. Although, it was comforting that the word had five letters.
As he wallowed in shame, the twins were once again up to a fresh bout of antics.
"Are you Artemis' friend? What's your name?" said Myles conversationally, a winsome smile plastered over his fat face. Artemis snorted. Best of friends now, it seemed.
"Yes. I'm Holly," Holly replied, looking at the toddler with obvious delight. For a split second, and to Artemis' mortification, a tiny and inane voice in his head whined, I wish I was 2.5 years old and overweight.
"Holly. You're really pwetty," chirped Beckett charmingly, scooting closer to the elf. Holly beamed at him. What?
"Bee-yew-tee-ful. Like a summer's day," added Myles outrageously, scooting over to her other side.
That's it, twins. No more Shakespeare for a long, long time.
Holly laughed, caught the look on Artemis' face, and laughed harder before bending and running one hand over each little boy's head.
"Where did you learn that? Did Artemis teach you that?"
Myles nodded enthusiastically. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, "Artemis reads love poetry. He likes it."
Hurrkk.
"Holly, the twins need their nap. You should use the mesmer," spluttered Artemis, deciding this was quite enough. He was being massively shown up by his baby brothers, and his was definitely not a position of power.
Holly nodded with obvious reluctance. After Myles and Beckett had peacefully toddled off to bed, she came over and knelt by him. The corners of her mouth twitched.
"Love poetry, eh?"
Artemis groaned. 'Purely for breadth of knowledge, believe me."
"Don't you write Mud Men romance books, Artemis?" said Holly, grinning, taking apart the burial mound with her usual speed and ferocity.
Artemis raised one paint-caked eyebrow.
"Rarely now, but yes, I have been writing those since I was a pre-pubescent. One just needs to follow a fixed formula to delight the feeble-minded masses," he replied, before countering with a question of his own. "Do you read such material Underground?"
Holly arched an eyebrow right back, smiling slightly. "I suppose if I did, I'd be one among the feeble-minded masses?"
"Possibly, but not necessarily. I notice you didn't answer my question."
"I don't exactly have time for romance books, Artemis."
"When you were younger, though? I find it hard to believe a young female elf didn't read any books of this nature. Romance must have interested you."
Holly was silent for a moment. Artemis thought he saw a frown flit across her face, but he couldn't be certain.
"Okay," she said briskly, without meeting his eyes. "I'm all for romance novels. Tall, dark, handsome…chiseled jaw, defined muscles, finely-pointed ears. I dig that."
"I see. Muscles. Are they really necessary? Does it not just prove a man lacks the intellect to pave his way?"
"No. Muscles and intellect aren't exclusive, Artemis."
"Time spent cultivating muscles is time not spent on widening intellectual horizons," retorted Artemis smoothly.
Another silence, this time a longer one.
"What are you doing, Artemis?" said Holly, finally. She sat back upon her ankles and looked him in the eye.
"That's a foolish question. I'm conversing with you, Holly. What else could I be doing?"
"NO, Artemis. I mean it. What are you doing?"