Disclaimer: Everything from the Artemis Fowl books belongs to Eoin Colfer, not me. Everything from this story that doesn't appear in the AF books belongs to me. And all these things will continue to belong to me until I sell off Liam Brambling to the highest bidder. ::rubs hands together in Mr Burns fashion:: Exxxxxxxxxxcellent. Okay, the bidding starts at 2 chapters! Can I hear anyone for 2 chapters?
Author's Note: Bow down to me! I am the mighty fiend who can turn Artemis into a ballet dancer and Grub Kelp into a wise wittle ol' fairy. ::cough:: Anyhow… On with the story! (Minus 1116 words – they're the responses to reviews.)
Chapter Ten
Life, Death and Misery
"The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."
-Oscar Wilde
The stars weren't bright. They weren't shining in a cold and dispassionate sky over the mourners standing around the funeral pier. Not that there was much of a pier to be standing around - only one dead finger laid out on a gold cloth.
Willow Wattle hated funerals. Her brother, William, wasn't here this time; he wasn't standing beside her offering as much support that could ever be given. He hadn't been able to come – there was an important conference he had to attend. Willow wished she had had an excuse like that to use - because the funeral of someone you hate can be even worse that the funeral of someone you love.
She was standing there, shivering in the cold and trying to be angry. Trying to be happy that the man who had taken away the boy she loved was now gone. Trying to still hate the man whose finger lay before her, which was all that remained of one of the many victims of the Tara Shuttle Attack. But, as almost anyone knows, hating something you can't see is near impossible – which is why not as many people hate hate as much as they should. You had to pity Basil, and if still couldn't pity someone who had died in such a terrible situation, you could at least pity their family left behind. And, for the first time in months, Willow felt … free. Yes, free was the word. She hadn't really thought about anything in months, a year, and such a simple service as this one was enough to force her to think – even though the thoughts were not happy ones.
She wasn't angry with Basil anymore for loving Cypress. She wasn't angry with Cypress anymore for not loving her. She started to care about the Biochemist guild kicking her out - something she had barely noticed when it had happened 7 months before. As a funeral had broken her careful balance of lies about her life a year ago, so was a funeral balancing things out again.
Basil Rune's sister Daisy was performing the service, tears streaking down her face as she plucked a sprig of Basil from the cold soil. She poured her magic into it, far more than is necessary for the ritual. She carried the sprig to all the people present, one of the last being Willow since she was only there because someone in the family had thought it necessary to invite her for pleasantry's sake.
In fact, the real reason that Willow was invited was not an irrational, slightly senile, whim of Mrs Rune. It wasn't what anyone would call fate or destiny, not even in horribly bad lighting, but it was … right. Willow had to be there, even though she would rather have been anywhere else. She had to hear things which her mind had been screaming out for ages, because these things would give to the future of the world. Or, to the world, a future.
And if she hadn't been there then the shadowy being in the shrubs wouldn't have come to his own resolution about what he needed to do.
* * * * *
Foaly stared down at the bed. He was trying so hard to see a hair-covered foreleg… but he couldn't. The medics had used anesthesia to knock him out for an hour or so 'to help him get over the shock'. They said that his body needed healing – and he could definitely see that – but that his mind needed it more. Conversations were heard between medics and volunteers as they walked down the corridor outside Foaly's room. They spoke of mutilations, brain damage, paralysis, a young boy who just died from internal bleeding which was too extensive for magic to heal. Ruptured organs, people so heavily mutilated that their bodies had already given up and were leaking the magic which was meant to keep them alive.
But Foaly barely noticed the stories of the others who were in pain, not listening at all when he could hear the sounds of anguished crying of family members, or the soft whimpering of someone in too much pain to scream anymore. He just looked down at his broken, useless arm and amputated leg, closing his one good eye when the strain became too much and viewing it for a while inside his head. And every time he opened his eye after this he was hoping that he had been mistaken, had been dreaming that his body wasn't completely normal with only a small singed patch on his rump from the 2 weeks ago when Koboi had taken control of his Ops Room. But he never was. At one point, while his vision was fuzzy, it had looked as though he had another leg. But then he had blinked, his vision had cleared, and he was once again staring though where his leg should have been at the sheet.
Foaly's head flopped back down onto the pillow as the pain in his neck overrode his desire to see what he wouldn't see ever again.
* * * * *
Butler was carrying a heavy box filled with printouts from the microscope and other images for comparison taken from the Internet and textbooks. Artemis had only a single sheet of paper in his hand. Occasionally he would look down at it, his eyebrows would crease in thought and he'd tap the sheet against his left hand; occupying a world which, although wasn't entirely his own, only he fully understood.
As they approached the plate-glass door that lead out of the Science and Technology building, they could see that outside it had started to rain. Artemis studied the droplets as he approached the glass; observing the gentle fall of each and the way the raindrops were so light they looked like snow in the air and didn't even make a wet mark when they landed on the concrete paving. In the same way that DaVinci would make sketches of the play of light on rosebuds on the same page as a war machine, Artemis observed the raindrops fall while the majority of his brainpower was still working on the disease. With the clinical and scientific part of his brain he made observations about how each individual droplet seemed to be too light to have had enough weight to fall from the atmosphere, about how it was spring rain, rather than the Irish winter rain which usually soaked through clothes, skin and muscle and into the bones. But one part of his mind, admittedly a very small part, just observed how beautiful it was.
Butler pushed the door open and stood back to let Artemis through, who looked dazed as if he couldn't concentrate, although the look had more to do with concentrating too much on everything. Artemis passed by, lifting a hand to feel the texture of the impossibly light rain. Butler let the door swing shut behind him as he moved down the stairs slightly angled so that he could look at the steps over the top of the box.
A shot was fired. Artemis' eyes left the sky in an instant, staring at his own shoulder, seeing the wound before he felt it. Butler bypassed the human stages of shock in a millisecond, his training going straight to his muscles. He dropped the box, rolled to the ground, covered Artemis' body with his own, while being extremely careful to not disturb the injury, yanked the Sig Saucer from its holster, clicked off the safety, and was aiming up towards where the shot must have come from in a second. He pulled Artemis back inside the building and crouched beside the doorway, tracing the shot while at the same time scanning the rooftops for any figures. There. On top of the two-story building at 4 O'clock. Butler shot a bullet through the glass so that his next shot wouldn't be deflected and took aim at the now running figure before the glass had finished tinkling to the ground. The man fell, but in a moment he was back on his feet, stumbling slightly, but making a steady path across the roof to the fire stairs.
Butler sighed, took another glance along the sight and clicked the safety back on the weapon. He pushed the alarm button beside the door without much thought, before moving to crouch next to his injured charge. Already a curious crowd has gathered, drawn together from whatever they find especially interesting by the far more novel event of gun shot retorts. Most of the people around wouldn't even frequent the cinema. And even though the majority were doctors, none of them had any medical training.
Artemis' face was whiter than it should have been, instead of being the colour of cream, he was closer to the colour of snow – a dead, shocking white in comparison. His eyes were wide, the pupils heavily dilated and, even though he would never admit it later, his lower lip was trembling. He blacked out from a combination of blood loss and shock.
Butler scooped Artemis up in his arms and the muttering crowd silenced, moving apart for the bodyguard. No one offered to help.
"Um… Mr Butler? Is there any—"
Butler didn't glare, or simmer with anger, simply looked at Dr O'Donell until the doctor would have felt more comfortable standing in front of an oncoming bus. "Collect the box of Master Artemis' papers and bring them to the car. The rain seems to be getting heavier and Master Artemis wouldn't want any of them ruined."
The doctor just nodded and scrambled out the door after Butler, picking up the box from the bloodstained sandstone step. He even had the piece of mind to collect the paper Artemis had been holding, dropping it on top of the pile while trying as hard as he could to ignore the bright red splashes over the top sheets. He deposited the box on the front seat, paused as though he wanted to ask something but then thought better of the idea and hurried back inside.
Butler laid Artemis' limp body down on the backseat and climbed into the front. He started the car and drove off down the long drive while the surreal rain transformed into proper Irish weather.
Back in the Science and Technology building the crowd of scientists, security guards and lab technicians crowded around the spilt blood on the tiles.
"Well," Dr O'Donell said in the painful, cheering tone reserved for such occasions, "I do hope he'll be better in time for the Antartica wildlife conference."
* * * * *
As soon as they left the University grounds Artemis made a whimpering groaning sound that conveyed a lot about how he was feeling. He opened bleary eyes and brought one hand up to his shoulder. Blood – his blood – came off on the carefully manicured fingers. He whimpered again in a very un-Fowl-ish manner and fell unconscious again.
Butler pulled into a narrow alleyway and tugged the first aid kit out of the boot. He carefully cut Artemis' bloodstained shirt away from the entry wound and pulled out a roll of bandages. "Sorry I didn't do this sooner, Artemis. I needed to get you away from there as quickly as I could. I'm sure you understand, sir." He murmured to deaf ears, dressing the wound quickly and expertly.
He tucked a rebellious strand of Artemis' hair back behind an ear once he'd finished. He got back into the driver's seat, backing out the laneway. Only once they are finally on the freeway did Butler truly breathe out, looking at the pale face of his charge in the rear-view mirror.
* * * * *
Grub Kelp tiptoed through the corridors of the medical centre, bypassing the hurrying medics and giving what he thought of as consoling nods to grieving families, but in actual fact looked as though he had a sore neck. He was carrying an Amalbus container carefully; it was filled with nettle muffins his mother had made for Foaly. Trouble had tried to stop their mother from making them, but no one could stand up to Mrs Kelp for very long - they usually gave in out of frustration and embarrassment.
Trouble had been called away to the LEP, but they could spare Grub for an hour and so Grub had come alone. He got to the room that Foaly was occupying, shifted nervously and stopped to peer around the door before going in. Another two beds had been moved into the quite small room and the occupants were currently asleep – or unconscious at least. A young female pixie, who looked to be a volunteer, was standing beside Foaly's bed holding a brightly coloured clip board.
"Please sir, I need to take down your details so that we can put it on the database. What would happen if a member of your family was to become worried and we weren't able to give them any information?" She said in an accusatory tone.
"Do you know how many Centuars there are left Underground, missy?"
"Isn't it something like 400? Not all that many really but--"
"It's 96." The pixie's mouth closed. "Do you know how many of those other 95 are related to me?"
"Umm… All of them?"
"Three. Two second cousins and one Great Grand Aunt thrice removed. Do you know how many of these care an inch about me?"
The girl just shook her head.
"None. No one will be asking for any information about me so don't bother." Foaly put a great deal of effort into turning over so that his back was now towards the girl. He expended even more effort in making sure he didn't whinny at the pain this maneuver caused.
Grub entered the room and coughed slightly to get the girl's attention. "I could fill the details out for Foaly, I probably know most of it from files and stuff. Do you want me to do it for you, sir?"
Foaly shrugged, apparently not at all surprised to know that Grub was back again.
"Thanks, corporal. You're LEP? If you could just fill in these forms thanks…"
Grub scribbled in all the answers he knew, and then handed the papers back to the pixie. "Foaly what. I need a family name."
"Sorry, miss, no one at the Plaza calls him anything other than 'Foaly'. Not even Commander Root."
"Wither Kathman. My name's Wither Kathman, Grub."
The pixie sniggered slightly but when she caught sight of the strangely intense look on Grub's face she faltered. "Well, thanks Corporal…" She peered at his uniform label, "Kelp. Hey, are you related to Captain Trouble Kelp?" Grub just shrugged. "He's so incredibly hot. All the girls love 'im. Bye, Corporal. Thanks. Say hi to Trouble for me. " She waved and left the room.
Grub stood there for a while, looking at the back of Foaly's head which was all that stuck out from beneath the sterile grey blankets. Foaly shifted awkwardly after a minute or so, feeling the eyes on his neck.
"Thanks, Grub. I… I didn't want to have to do that. I'm in a bad mood for some reason." Foaly said, his voice dripping with irony and personal distain.
"I brought you some muffins which Mummy baked, Foaly, sir. They're really nice! Well, they usually are. I didn't nick one or anything to try."
"Do you find that important, Grub? It's important that I know that you haven't eaten one of the muffins your mother made?"
"Well, yes. I wouldn't want you thinking that I—"
"But… But… Why does that matter?! Everything is so damn stuffed up! It's all gone to mythological shite and there's nothing which we can do! Doesn't that piss you off?!"
"I know that my Ma make really good nettle muffins, and I bet they're still great, so not everything is turned on its head."
"But-- D'Arvit! Al ishm'I der'til'a shim-el dy'hir'r! How can you not..?"
"'Big things are important, but the little things are important too'. 'Weh'ma de lat'uy, sihm hee'sun weh'ma'yh dae'. My brother taught me that. Here," Grub held out the container of his mother's famous muffins, "have a muffin. They're really very good, you know." Grub helped himself after Foaly grudgingly took one.
"And it's not good to swear so much," said Grub, biting into the muffin, "especially in the old tongue. My Mummy says that if you swear you can't join the Ancients and you go to a bad place after you die instead."
* * * * *
Artemis was conscious for most of the trip, although he didn't let out so much as a whimper of pain. And Butler knew just how hard it was to do that. He knows that Hollywood doesn't do justice to the true pain of being shot since, except if there are some real problems when it comes to the special effects, the actors never feel it for real.
"Butler…"
"No need to talk, Artemis. We're almost back at the Brambling home and I'll get you more properly fixed up then. I'm well trained in field med obviously, and I can get you some painkillers then. Although, I don't think you'll appreciate having any morphine to knock you out."
"Root will be able to heal me as soon as we get there; elves have enough magic to heal others."
"Oh, that's right. Sorry, Artemis. I wasn't thinking straight. How about you try and rest until we get back there."
There was silence for a minute or two.
"Butler?"
"Shh, Artemis."
Artemis ignored him, "could you turn on the radio? To one of those bad talk-back shows with rednecks phoning in and arguing about things they know nothing about."
Butler obliged, looking at Artemis through the rear-view mirror. "Why, sir? I thought you hated those things."
"I do. But the aggravating nature should be enough to take my mind of the pain."
"Right." Butler turned the volume up slightly. 'Kids these days…' could be heard in a scratchy, old voice. "Don't worry, Artemis, we're almost there."
And a few minutes later Butler drove slowly up the Brambling's uneven drive so that the gravel wouldn't cause Artemis more than the unavoidable pain he was already in. Liam and Marcus were waiting for them at the top of the stairs, Liam rushing down them before the car was even stopped.
"It's all been getting worse, Fowl. Did you figure out how to fix this, because the antidote you gave the elf hasn't held? She only had a slight remission before becoming even worse than before." He pulled open the door; obviously peeved that Artemis hadn't already done so. "What did you get done at Dub—Oh." He stopped and took in the sight of Artemis leaning back on the leather interior, bright red blood seeping through the bandages. "What happened?" Liam's mouth moved up and down a bit before he was pushed gently out of the way by Butler, who scooped down to pick Artemis up, being very careful about not jolting or putting pressure on the injured shoulder.
"Master Artemis was shot."
"I—I can see that. Why? Who? What..."
"If you'll excuse me, I wish to get Artemis back inside the house."
"Right. Um… Why don't you help him Marcus?"
"Butler doesn't need any help."
"And I don't need any help either! I can walk up a few steps by myself thanks, Butler." Artemis fumbled to get his legs out of the car and pulled himself upright by leaning on Butler. He walked forward, trying to make it look as if the slow pace was deliberate. "Root's still asleep isn't he? Can someone wake him up please?"
"I'll go, Artemis. Marcus, could you just walk beside Artemis until his gets inside while I go and fetch the Commander."
The presence beside Artemis' elbow changed to a slightly less bulky, slightly shorter man. Liam moved ahead to hold the door open, mouth still open as his classmate walked – processed like a conquering emperor, really – up his front stairs with blood soaking through the bandage, dripping along the length of his right arm, hovering at the elbow for a moment, before dropping down to stain the sandstone. Two steps inside the door, with Artemis' vision wobbling and his legs feeling like reasonably painful jelly, Butler and the Commander came in from the hallway.
"Trust," said Root sarcastically, directing Artemis to a pristine decorative couch so that he could see the wound without having someone pick him up so he could be an extra 60 cms taller. "As soon as I get to sleep, you have to go and get yourself shot. You've got one very bad mental complex, Fowl, judging from the lengths you go through to be the center of attention." He climbed up on the couch, edging closer to the wounded right shoulder but being careful not to touch it.
"At least it's not all that bad a wound, no arteries nicked, the bullet went through the joint between the shoulder and upper arm – a human doctor would have a lot of difficulty with that - but other than that it's almost alright." He reached out a hand, blue sparks jumping along his fingertips. "I don't know why you humans do that. Why you invented bullets. And why you haven't found a way to stop yourselves from using them yet." The wound was healing quickly, things inside Artemis' joint crackling and moving. Blood was being replicated, made, and the torn blood vessels were mended. "Done. But I hope we don't need much magic soon. I'm almost drained."
"Thank you, Commander. And there's an oak bend about … 15, 20 kilometers from here. I remember looking it up from … last year."
"Ha! Artemis Fowl. Saying 'thank you'. If I tell that to anyone Underground they'll institutionalise me."
"The way you people stereotype me… I'll have you know that I'm a kind, caring and sensitive young man."
"Yeah. And Kry'rae priestesses like Rock and Roll. Do you know who did this?"
"Well… I don't know. Butler?"
"He looked like a common mercenary – although, I didn't get a close up view. But he's probably a good one, even though the shot went wide." Butler picked up the bullet which had fallen to the couch. "This isn't from a fancy, showy gun. Just a practical one."
"Who hired him do you suppose?"
"Well, I don't suppose it was the People finally getting back at Artemis?"
"Of course not. That's against the Book."
"I didn't think so. But the Mafiya have no qualms whatsoever about getting back at those who trick them – although, there are very few people who manage to do that. It's rather impersonal for the Mafiya, though. They like to do things personally, especially if it's retaliation. The favourite is decapitation, sending the head to family or police, and then dissolving the body using some specialist chemicals."
"Probably them then. They wouldn't want someone like Fowl walking around. And as to why they would simply shoot him rather than all that other stuff…" Root slowly cast his eyes all the way up to Butler's face; he only came halfway up the bodyguard's thigh.
"A major enemy per year… How long do you think it'll be before I can get my face plastered all over CNN, BBC and FOX because the US President is out to get me?"
"Artemis, you know I trust you and your judgement but … don't aspire to that. Please. You don't pay me nearly enough to defend you from the world."
"I'll do my best to cut it down to one major power per two years. Then you'll have at least 8, 10, years before the world really wants to kill me." Artemis was smirking slightly.
Liam's mouth opened and shut before he got his powers of speech back. "You… You're serious! The Mafia?! The fairies wanting to kill you? Major powers and enemies and… You're a criminal or something?"
"Liam. Don't interfere. The Fowls have always… they… You don't need to know. You don't. You're safer to not know anything."
"But, Marcus. They're joking about Mafia and stuff? How on Earth does a thirteen year old get involved with the Mafia? They're only meant to be just starting to watch The Godfather behind their parent's backs."
"Not the Italian Mafia. The Russians. And it wasn't exactly my idea either. They had my father and were holding him to ransom."
"That… That doesn't happen in the real world. Thirteen year olds involved with organised crime? That's Hollywood material. And bad Hollywood material."
"Just because something would make a good – or bad – movie doesn't mean it can't be real."
"But… Okay, I… Couldn't it be someone about all this biological stuff? Someone knows that you're getting close and so they want to get rid of you? To stop you ruining their plans?"
There was a potent silence as everyone ran the idea through their heads.
"And you said that the truth was too Hollywood-ish. How is anyone meant to know how far I've gotten? I've only just figured out how much I know."
*
* * * *
Willow walked home, wishing that it rained Underground, at least
occasionally. The atmosphere could have
done with a little rain; rain always seems to put things into perspective. It was probably raining Up There, at least
somewhere. She wanted to be wherever
the rain was.
She entered the small apartment she shared with William, switched on the light, kicked her shoes away and pulled off the jacket that should by all rights be soaking wet. She poured herself a strong drink – only the spirits of Mud Men were actually forbidden, so various companies of enterprising fairies had created their own – and leaned back into the comfort of her favourite armchair. She could have gone to Basil's wake – another adaptation from the Mud Men – but had decided against it because she really didn't feel like part of the mourners; she didn't really feel like a mourner at all.
There was a knock at the door, quite soft, as if the knocker would be quite happy if no one on the other side of the door heard it at all. The knock had scared, apprehensive undertones.
Willow got up, stumbling slightly as she tried to find her feet through the haze of drunkenness, and opened the door, expecting her brother. It wasn't. There was a fairy, an elf, with brown hair, a nose slightly too large to be attractive, pale coloured eyes, and missing a finger. She recognized him from years of unrestrained loathing from afar. His name was – is – Basil Rune.
"Willow. I… I wanted to go to the police, but I thought I should tell you first. I don't want to hurt you, and well, I couldn't let you find it out through the media. And I need your help, if you're up for it."
"But… Basil, you're dead."
angel-in-disguise – Of course I can kill Arty if I really want to! I'm the author. I can do whatever I want with him… Hmmm… How do you think he'd look in a tutu?
Kitty Rainbow – You haven't written a Rooticums-fic yet. Pooh. And I really think Root might just have that photo of Holly as well. He had to bribe Foaly to get it as a still from a security camera, and he's accidentally ripped it once while trying to hide it too quickly. And Holly's going to find it one day, make a joke out of it, abuse Root's trust, make Root's life a misery, and then feel really, really bad about it. ::grin:: I love Root!
Estel – I've already killed Arty once or twice (in stories I haven't posted, and in Betrayer or Betrayed), and Butler hasn't killed me yet. Although he did send someone out to try and make me insane once. But he knows the truth… I could kill him off as well! I could kill off Grub! Or Root! Or Holly! Or Butler… again!
Mike Smith – Yeap, I'm an Aussie. Why do you ask? And, although AF doesn't really have any Big Name Fans, I'm delusional enough to think that I'm recognised.
Ivycreeper – I'm horrible. I actually never get around to reading New Moon. I don't read much AF at all really, and I'm sorry. One day, possibly soon, possibly when I have an assignment that I need to get done in 2 hours, I'll get over to read the chapters that have been posted since I last read it (probably about 5 chapters now…). Thank you for all those little wonderful things you said, I agree with it all – especially what you've said about characters (I idolise those who can really create the characters beyond their basic concepts) and I can imagine that quote being reasonably accurate but, unfortunately, they didn't have enough time to get over to London. I actually love knowing things and learning random facts (especially when I can then use them and sound smarter than I am), but it's the literal researching part which I'm bad at. I find absolutely anything interesting, so to find out any one fact I need a day and a half. And I've would have gotten many medals for procrastinating over the years – if only I could bother turning up to the race.
Tie Kerl - ::scared voice:: Interesting… very, very interesting. ::coughs:: And I, although I disagree with war on principle, I think that it can be justified, it can be worthwhile, and, to coin the cheesiest phrase in the history of the English language, the end justifies the means. That doesn't mean that everything shouldn't have been handled differently with Iraq, or in most situations, but … war achieves things which peace can't. War is just a more specilisied (and legal) form of terrorism. And that didn't make sense… If you want someone to ramble to email me.
Moonlight – Umm… Root failed English class and so that's why he said 'live' instead of 'life'. I'll go back and change that typo. Thanks for pointing it out. I've been wanting to shoot Arty for ages as well (doesn't he just look good bleeding all over the floor). And my Butler's name is Romeo Johann Butler – but he uses Johann as his first name because Romeo is just too embarrassing.
Eleida – Ah, at least I managed those moments. I was trying to work in a scene with adorableidiot!Grub and explaining!Trouble, but it ended up as a tad pointless. And yes, from a few people's POV's Bush is an idiot. But Saddam is/was bonkers, in a position of power, with BIG weapons. Something had to be done. It would have all been done better if the Americans hadn't tried to hide the (perfectly reasonable) motives of 'he's dangerous, we're scared' behind 'Operation: Iraqi Freedom', and been more like Blair (who you could see was involved because he thought/thinks it's morally right).
Ophelia who is insane – The Bali Bombing was on the 12th of October. Pist… I don't have a clue what I'm talking about. And I couldn't possibly do that to my Julius! Root would force himself to endure hidious amounts of personal pain convinced that at least it'll help someone. Isn't he so adorable…?
Kat – Don't worry, no Foaly's are killed in the making of this story. And come on, you should be grateful that I haven't permanently killed off anyone canon … yet.
ChocolateEclar – Of course! What would I do if I didn't have any injured characters to play with? (I keep them all disabled so that they can't run away from me.)
Butler – Thanks. And cliffies are goooooooooood.
Emily-the-Strange1324 – Liam doesn't need any physical injuries. He's got first picks on the mental angst, with a side order of emotional torment and an unhealthy portion of discovery, revelation and insecurity.
Kyoko-san – I love comparing fairies to humans because (although I personally believe that human nature is what creates our 'bad' side, so fairies wouldn't have this) it seems to highlight our own faults because we don't give fairies the same outs as we give ourselves. And if you like reflections on the unrealistic nature of war and such read Only You Can Save Mankind by Terry Pratchett – it's set in the first Gulf War, (written then as well), and it has some unnice, but painfully real, realities coming out. And I don't think there's a logical way I can include Holly since she's unconscious and comatose (so no inner thoughts about breaking free and strangling Rooticums).
Becca – As I just said ::points:: Up There, Holly is comatose. But you'll find out one way or another soon enough. Lookit, Arty knows something!
Trisani – I –ing love The Truth! William's a –ing brilliant character! And what about that –ing vampire? I –ing love Otto! The –ing unfortunate light fixation, the –ing way he –ing talks. –Ing brilliant really! And I do know I have an –ing problem. After you mentioned The Truth I had to go off and –ing reread it. But you also rementioned Night Watch, so I had to go and –ing read that one first. And then I had to reread every –ing Vimes book and only then did I get to read The –ing Truth. And since I was reading –ing Terry Pratchett, I wasn't writing this –ing story. Night Watch is my –ing favourite though. I love the –ing complexity of the later books, and the –ing time paradoxes… my –ing idea of a –ing paradise. Jingo is another –ing brilliant one. And Reaper Man. And Thief of Time. And the Johnny Maxwell books. All –ing brilliant! ::shakes off the clinging –ings:: Yes, Centaurs only have four legs but they have another two arms as well - the body of a horse with the torso of a human instead of a horse neck, or at least a humanoid torso anyway. This adds to 6 limbs, all of which I could injure if I was feeling particularly cruel. The question you really have to ask yourself about Foaly is how big is he – the size of a horse or the size of an average fairy? And I just bought off your bodyguards. See. ::waves your glass about.::