Chapter Three: in which Dorothea meets and assesses our favourite young genius
Dorothea Danella Danielle Smith looked up and to her left.
Standing in front of her to her left was an old man in a teenage boy's body. Artemis Fowl Junior may have been only fourteen years of age, but the frown wrinkles (frown wrinkles occur when someone doesn't have enough reasons to acquire laugh lines) around his eyes and his haughty stance gave him the appearance of a workaholic in his late forties. It was eerie.
Added to that was the unfortunate fact that this particular young man was reasonably good-looking.
Oh, hell, thought-groaned Dorothea. This guy's wearing a suit and… she suddenly became acutely aware of the water stains on her traveling jeans, a sticky whisper on her cheek that might turn out to be chocolate sauce and, oh shite, she was still scratching her head like she had lice or something. She quickly dropped her hand.
"Um… yeah. That's me- er, I'm her. Um. Hello." The boy's face stayed carefully expressionless and Dorothea felt her face light up like a torch. "Who are- um, wait, are you- um-"
"Fowl. Artemis Fowl. The second."
"Hey, cool how you say your name, y'know, like Bond, James Bond and all that. Hey, you've got the suit too, that's… cool…" Dorothea's voice trailed off to join her self respect in oblivion. This boy was clearly not the type to stand in front of a mirror pointing an imaginary revolver at his reflection. Looking at his pale face Dorothea was suddenly struck by the thought: He probably doesn't have a reflection.
No, that's mean. He's upset because his parents are trying to hook him up with some hick from stick land, replied her peacemaker side.
Bull! Put in a bolshy, nasty voice. He's just bitter. Bitter! Bitter!
Yes, and you're just the sweetest thing since coffee sugar are you? Get over yourself.
Nah! Don't listen to them, girl, you're better than that. New Zealand ain't stick land and you're no hick. Stick up for yourself, mate!
Bitter!
Bitter and rich Get gold-digging, Dorothea! Woo!
Oh, come on, like she could gold-dig even if she wanted to. We're talking about Miss Anti-Romance 2003 here. You heard of animal magnetism? Dorothea's got that but the wrong way around, guys zoom away from her at the speed of thought.
Excuse me, who are you all? thought Dorothea Danella Danielle Smith. And would you mind getting out of my head?
…
…
…
…
Bit-
OUT!
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…
…
…
Oh, thank god.
The exchange that just took place did so at the speed of thought- that is, it only took 1.23649642 seconds, giving Artemis Fowl enough time to raise his eyebrow skeptically at Dorothea and wheel around to walk back over to his parents. Angeline and Artemis Fowl (Sr.) were scanning the other side of the airport in search of their missing guest. Lurking a few metres behind them was their son's bodyguard; Butler.
"Mother, Father," Artemis had reached his parents, Dorothea lagging behind a bit. "This is Miss Smith." He barely even bothered to conceal the contempt in his voice.
"Um… hi."
"Dorothea! Oh, it's absolutely wonderful to see you at last," gushed Mrs Fowl. "Dear…" she turned to her husband, "This is Dorothea Danella Danielle Smith. You remember I told you, she'll be staying with us for a few weeks. Oh, Dorothea- it's a bit much to say your full name, isn't it- Dorothea, we're so sorry to be this late, everything seemed to be going wrong this morning…"
"S'OK," mumbled Dorothea, set off balance by the attractive lady's friendliness. The father didn't look too bad either- Artemis must just be a black sheep. Baa.
"Oh, but you look like you're falling asleep on your feet, dear! We really must get home, Juliet expected us back hours ago but traffic was so awful. I'll show you to the car, no, don't worry about those, Butler will take your bags…"
Dorothea allowed herself to be shepherded through doors and gates to a car. This was the type of car teenagers dreamed about when they flicked through their long-hoarded pay packets, the type of car most of them would never even be a passenger in. Those teenagers would have gaped in horror to see Dorothea stumble onto the soft leather seats, creasing their immaculate cushions as that huge man- Butler?- drove them out onto the highway.
In fact, only one thing about the ride to Fowl Manor struck her as extremely odd. As she dozed off to sleep she saw a mass of fluffy white buttons floating down to rest on the countryside. Snow? she thought. Snow at Christmas? It's not just postcards, then!
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24.04.06 Dum de doo… pretty short chapters, these, aren't they? Bad past-me.