Authoress' notes ~~ I'm going to try to lengthen the chapters, but I have
some problem with finding a place to stop sometimes. I'll work on getting
an actual plot into the story where everyone can see it and therefore not
be disappointed in my abysmal writing skills. If you wanna kill me, you'll
have to take a number. The line starts over there.*points to a spot behind
a guy with lots of tattoos and a Harley* (I told him to stick his Harley
where the sun don't shine...Long story.)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but this rather pathetic fic, a few, um.... "toys" (of the dangerous variety. Let's just say Butler and I have got quite a bit in common.), the Artemis Fowl books, the Silmarillion, my laptop that I love so much, and an Elvish dictionary. (Not that I really need it, I'm fluent, but hey, sometimes my grammar ain't as good as it could be.)
*Adrian looks around.* "Well, Tobias ain't here, so I guess I'm flying solo. Please enjoy the fic and deposit all trash in the receptacles outside the theatre. And now, on with the show!!"
~MYSTERY AND MAYHEM, CHAPTER SIX~ IN WHICH A PLOT APPEARS AND DEMANDS SUGAR
Excerpt from Artemis Fowl's diary, Disk 4 (encrypted)
Last night was a strange night. As usual, my odd-hours habits kicked in around two AM, right when I would much rather be asleep. Alas, insomnia does not set appointments. So I ended up wandering around the manor, angling toward the kitchen for some tea.
However, when I got closer to the fairy's room, I heard this strange, quiet screaming, a bit like a dog whimpering, but...unearthly, somehow. I hurried to the room to make sure everything was all right. When I knocked, nobody answered, so I opened it a crack to make sure nothing was dying in there (that was what it sounded like). I couldn't see anything, so I stepped inside and stood hesitantly by the door.
Nothing was dying; the fairy was the one making the noise. She was moaning softly in her sleep. The look on her face was one of complete hopelessness and despair. I couldn't stand the noise, so I thought hard and fast on how to make her stop. The only thing that famed brain could procure was undeniably crazy. Pouring water over the poor girl would probably end me up in the hospital with a broken neck and a concussion, and then where would "human-fairy relations" be?
As I was thinking this, she stopped keening and seemed to fall out of whatever nightmare she'd been in, but this hardly changed much. Small, choked sobs, barely audible, were now coming from the four-poster. I don't know what came over me. I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms around her. Strange thing to do, really. But then she woke up. She stared at me for a second, then shuddered, leaned her head against my shoulder, and started crying uncontrollably. Every one of those sobs could have brought the world to an end. I have never seen such blind, helpless misery in my life. I hope to never again. When this show of desolation ground to a halt, I was nearly asleep and Circe was dead to the world.
I really don't know what's happening to me. Human impulses are not normal for me. I really must try to find out what could possibly make her cry like that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Circe woke up late, and felt horrible. She rolled out of bed, and did fifty push-ups to wake herself up. It had become a habit over the years. The dryad got some dry clothes from the bedside table (all jet-black, of course...) and pulled them on, not caring if they were wet or wrinkled or covered in shaving cream. (None of the above was actually on them, thought you might like to know...) She pulled her hair up and twisted it into a messy bun, then noticed a note on the table by the door to the hall. It read:
Circe: the kitchen is one floor below you. Go down the stairs, and take the right corridor. It's the door in the very middle on your left. Find something to eat and bring it to the dining room. See you then- Juliet
Circe smiled. Breakfast was just what she needed. Some toast and bacon and, of course, coffee! After all, man (woman) does not live by bread alone...
~~~~~~~~~~
Artemis was eating his breakfast peacefully when a certain someone burst through the door, carrying bacon, toast, and strawberry jam in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other, singing what seemed to be a modified cheer. "I feel foolish, yes I do! I feel foolish, how 'bout you?"
It seemed that it was gonna be a long day
~~~~~
Do ya like it? Because I know the title states that in this chapter, a plot appears... but I got writers block! And it's that time of month again, that might have something to do with it... Moving right along, I would love to wish a painful death upon those who haven't reviewed, and give free frappachinos to those who have. Or, if you are violently allergic to caffeine, like me, a free 100 Grand bar! And if you're allergic to things in 100 Grands, then you don't get nothin, punk!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but this rather pathetic fic, a few, um.... "toys" (of the dangerous variety. Let's just say Butler and I have got quite a bit in common.), the Artemis Fowl books, the Silmarillion, my laptop that I love so much, and an Elvish dictionary. (Not that I really need it, I'm fluent, but hey, sometimes my grammar ain't as good as it could be.)
*Adrian looks around.* "Well, Tobias ain't here, so I guess I'm flying solo. Please enjoy the fic and deposit all trash in the receptacles outside the theatre. And now, on with the show!!"
~MYSTERY AND MAYHEM, CHAPTER SIX~ IN WHICH A PLOT APPEARS AND DEMANDS SUGAR
Excerpt from Artemis Fowl's diary, Disk 4 (encrypted)
Last night was a strange night. As usual, my odd-hours habits kicked in around two AM, right when I would much rather be asleep. Alas, insomnia does not set appointments. So I ended up wandering around the manor, angling toward the kitchen for some tea.
However, when I got closer to the fairy's room, I heard this strange, quiet screaming, a bit like a dog whimpering, but...unearthly, somehow. I hurried to the room to make sure everything was all right. When I knocked, nobody answered, so I opened it a crack to make sure nothing was dying in there (that was what it sounded like). I couldn't see anything, so I stepped inside and stood hesitantly by the door.
Nothing was dying; the fairy was the one making the noise. She was moaning softly in her sleep. The look on her face was one of complete hopelessness and despair. I couldn't stand the noise, so I thought hard and fast on how to make her stop. The only thing that famed brain could procure was undeniably crazy. Pouring water over the poor girl would probably end me up in the hospital with a broken neck and a concussion, and then where would "human-fairy relations" be?
As I was thinking this, she stopped keening and seemed to fall out of whatever nightmare she'd been in, but this hardly changed much. Small, choked sobs, barely audible, were now coming from the four-poster. I don't know what came over me. I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms around her. Strange thing to do, really. But then she woke up. She stared at me for a second, then shuddered, leaned her head against my shoulder, and started crying uncontrollably. Every one of those sobs could have brought the world to an end. I have never seen such blind, helpless misery in my life. I hope to never again. When this show of desolation ground to a halt, I was nearly asleep and Circe was dead to the world.
I really don't know what's happening to me. Human impulses are not normal for me. I really must try to find out what could possibly make her cry like that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Circe woke up late, and felt horrible. She rolled out of bed, and did fifty push-ups to wake herself up. It had become a habit over the years. The dryad got some dry clothes from the bedside table (all jet-black, of course...) and pulled them on, not caring if they were wet or wrinkled or covered in shaving cream. (None of the above was actually on them, thought you might like to know...) She pulled her hair up and twisted it into a messy bun, then noticed a note on the table by the door to the hall. It read:
Circe: the kitchen is one floor below you. Go down the stairs, and take the right corridor. It's the door in the very middle on your left. Find something to eat and bring it to the dining room. See you then- Juliet
Circe smiled. Breakfast was just what she needed. Some toast and bacon and, of course, coffee! After all, man (woman) does not live by bread alone...
~~~~~~~~~~
Artemis was eating his breakfast peacefully when a certain someone burst through the door, carrying bacon, toast, and strawberry jam in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other, singing what seemed to be a modified cheer. "I feel foolish, yes I do! I feel foolish, how 'bout you?"
It seemed that it was gonna be a long day
~~~~~
Do ya like it? Because I know the title states that in this chapter, a plot appears... but I got writers block! And it's that time of month again, that might have something to do with it... Moving right along, I would love to wish a painful death upon those who haven't reviewed, and give free frappachinos to those who have. Or, if you are violently allergic to caffeine, like me, a free 100 Grand bar! And if you're allergic to things in 100 Grands, then you don't get nothin, punk!