Disclaimer: If I owned any Artemis Fowl characters, I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic.
For all you idjits out there: That's 'sarcasm' for 'I don't own any of these people, please don't sue me!'
NTS: Staying up until you decide to actually USE the name you have on is generally a bad idea. But who the frak cares?
Anyways, ON WITH THE STORY!
Butler knocked lightly on the door and stepped inside. He was carrying a goat-skin bag. Not the easiest thing to find in KMart, but he did it.
Artemis looked up. "Ah, good. The ... materials. Set them over there."
Artemis wasn't in his best state of mind. In fact, he was bored as hell. And covered with chalk dust. He didn't exactly look... well, sane.
"Sir... Artemis... why, exactly, are you doing this, again?" Butler didn't know why he added 'again' there. He hadn't, after all, asked that before.
Artemis' eyes went blank and his shoulders slacked. "I don't entirely know, Butler. But... I feel compelled..." he then went on drawing circles in the wooden flooring with the chalk. There was a large, intricate design that, as far as Butler knew, Artemis had worked on all five nights he had been awake.
Meanwhile, in my room, I laugh madly at the screen. Or, I would if my parents weren't in the next room, and it weren't 3:32 AM.
"Eat the flesh of babies," I whisper to Artemis. "Bow to the darklord."
"So... you're saying you're hearing voices...?"
"Essentially. I suppose. Yes."
"They aren't telling
you to burn things or anything, are they?"
"No, don't be
silly!"
"Right. Okay."
"Is this a problem?"
"What? No. Just checking."
"Right, then. DON'T STEP THERE! Thank you."
Butler decided now was a good time to leave.
Artemis rummaged through the bag, ignoring the smell that goat-skin bags tend to get in the late afternoon when they hadn't been properly skinned and/or washed.
"Ah-HA!" He muttered to himself when he found the books he needed.
What does Artemis DO?? Find out... NEXT TIME! Same fan place, same fic channel!