Authoress' notes~ I have writers block! Curs't muses have abandoned me! So
if you think what comes next sux monkey balls, it's not my fault! Don't
burn the harmless authoress! Constructive criticism, advice, or the joke of
the day are welcome! And for you who haven't discovered the review button,
it's blue and it's at the bottom of the page! You press "go" and then tell
me how bad I suck! Get it? Got it? Good!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters you may recognize, blah,
blah, blah, you know the drill...
And now, on with the show!
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She laughed softly, then stepped forward, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off absently.
"Sanctuary. All I want is sanctuary. No more. I'll even work for it, if you want me to."
He was taken aback. "Why do you need sanctuary? Can't you just go back to Haven?"
She grinned nastily. "Oh, I'm not allowed in Haven."
This made no sense at all. "You're a fairy, are you not?"
Which only made her grin wider. "No. I am not a fairy, and darn proud. I am a dryad. A race of the Fae that have been persecuted, since Frond knows when, because we're different. A little like Mud Men gypsies, now that I think of it."
Artemis stashed this little fact away while asking, "In what ways, different?"
More powerful magic, height, and, for lack of a better word, Gothicness. See, we can do all the things elves can do, and more, so they're jealous. And most dryads are around five foot three, so we blend in with the Mud crowd better. Also, we're almost as photosensitive as dwarves, and have a natural tendency to gothic styles. Most dryads are born pale, with black hair and blue eyes. Much like you, in fact..." she trailed off in the middle of the sentence, then took a deep breath. "My family was killed last year in New York City in the States, where we had been living. I only survived because I'd been visiting a dwarf friend, and got home just in time to see the goblins leave, toting their softnoses. I've been looking for a place to stay since. I can't go back to the states; there are goblins in every major city. So I came here. Would you let me stay here, at least temporarily, until I can find a place somewhere else? I'd work for board..."
Artemis contemplated this. She had, after all, restored his memory of the People... but what if the fairies found out and decided, what the heck, we'll just kill Fowl, too. But how could he turn her down?
"All right, but I'd at least like to know your name." he stood up, pushing the desk chair in neatly.
"The name's Circe. Circe Archer. Don't you dare laugh."
He scowled, "hey, it's no worse than Artemis Fowl. Ancient Greek and a common noun."
She grinned and clapped her hands cheerfully. "Exactly."
Artemis sighed and pulled his walkie-talkie off his belt, speaking into it. "Butler. Come up to the study, if you will. We have a visitor who would like to see her room."
She laughed softly, then stepped forward, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off absently.
"Sanctuary. All I want is sanctuary. No more. I'll even work for it, if you want me to."
He was taken aback. "Why do you need sanctuary? Can't you just go back to Haven?"
She grinned nastily. "Oh, I'm not allowed in Haven."
This made no sense at all. "You're a fairy, are you not?"
Which only made her grin wider. "No. I am not a fairy, and darn proud. I am a dryad. A race of the Fae that have been persecuted, since Frond knows when, because we're different. A little like Mud Men gypsies, now that I think of it."
Artemis stashed this little fact away while asking, "In what ways, different?"
More powerful magic, height, and, for lack of a better word, Gothicness. See, we can do all the things elves can do, and more, so they're jealous. And most dryads are around five foot three, so we blend in with the Mud crowd better. Also, we're almost as photosensitive as dwarves, and have a natural tendency to gothic styles. Most dryads are born pale, with black hair and blue eyes. Much like you, in fact..." she trailed off in the middle of the sentence, then took a deep breath. "My family was killed last year in New York City in the States, where we had been living. I only survived because I'd been visiting a dwarf friend, and got home just in time to see the goblins leave, toting their softnoses. I've been looking for a place to stay since. I can't go back to the states; there are goblins in every major city. So I came here. Would you let me stay here, at least temporarily, until I can find a place somewhere else? I'd work for board..."
Artemis contemplated this. She had, after all, restored his memory of the People... but what if the fairies found out and decided, what the heck, we'll just kill Fowl, too. But how could he turn her down?
"All right, but I'd at least like to know your name." he stood up, pushing the desk chair in neatly.
"The name's Circe. Circe Archer. Don't you dare laugh."
He scowled, "hey, it's no worse than Artemis Fowl. Ancient Greek and a common noun."
She grinned and clapped her hands cheerfully. "Exactly."
Artemis sighed and pulled his walkie-talkie off his belt, speaking into it. "Butler. Come up to the study, if you will. We have a visitor who would like to see her room."