Well, here I go into the depths of Artemis Fowl fanfiction.  I asked myself, "What happened to the sprite?", and decided to expand a bit on the Saigon story.  This is only the prologue, but there WILL be more!  May it turn out well.

Note:  Artemis Fowl is the property of Eoin Colfer/Miramax/anyone who has more money than I do.  So don't you go suing me for any money.  All original characters are mine and are hopefully not infringing on any copyright laws, or Mary Sue-ness.  Merciful Buddha, please don't make this a Mary Sue.

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Far From Heaven

An Artemis Fowl Fanfiction

By Embrodak

Prologue

An alley off Tu Do street, Saigon; Present Day.  11:28 PM

Yavánni woke.

The loud, raucous sounds of Vietnamese pop music coming from a nearby all-night disco split through her head—the first thing she noticed, followed by the foul smell.  Groaning, she propped her tiny frame up on her elbows and squinted in the dark.

Her few belongings were soaked in—well, she wasn't able to discern that right now.  The only thing she knew at the moment was the smell of the cool Saigon night—complete with rotting odors and motorcycle exhaust—mixed with the smell of rice wine.  Wine…

She instinctively reached for the bottle of cheap rice wine and downed about half its contents.

Wait. 

Yavánni paused midway in raising the bottle to her lips a second time.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Recovering what little senses she was able to maintain, Yavánni glanced around her tiny, dingy abode where the poor of Saigon went when they needed healing—something that they could not afford to go to the big, Western-styled hospitals for.  Mostly it was the elderly who requested her services; too many youngsters were skeptical of their grandparents' "crazy, old-fashioned beliefs" nowadays and, of course, couldn't be bothered with magic.  Luckily, the old Vietnamese men were a good source of alcohol—mostly Heinekens from the Americans, but once in a while she could obtain an old-fashioned rice wine from the North.

Why am I thinking of drink?!

She was covered in a nearly evaporated layer of a strange sweat.  Curious, she dipped her fingers in it and sniffed it.  The odors of piss and fermented alcohol made her reel back in disgust.  "D'Arvit!" she swore to herself as she wrinkled her nose.

At least he told the truth…

What had spurned that thought?  More importantly, who was he?

A sudden gust of cool air found its way into Yavánni's spot underneath the fire escape.  She shivered and pulled her filthy robe around her thin shoulders, trying to remember…

Wine…Wine, English…An Englishman, yes!

The memories didn't hit her like a pod from a magna flare, but they were there, blurry as they were.  Yavánni struggled through the memories of the previous day…a boy.  Yes, a boy with a hulking man that reminded her of the countless American GIs that had made their way carelessly through Saigon during the war, having their way in the hordes of brothels populating the city.  But that man didn't act as brusquely as the GIs—rather, he responded to every whim of the little boy. 

The boy!  Yavánni's eyes widened in surprise.  He had promised something to her—and nearly killed her in the process!  She did not remember what he had done, but she could feel the after-affects of one of the fairies' most dangerous enemies—holy water—curling around her stomach, with a cool presence of residual magic taming it.   It must have been my magic that counteracted the holy water, she thought.

Is my magic strong enough to do that?

Immediately Yavánni recalled the memory of a promise to her made by the boy—

"It will flush every drop of rice wine from your body, remove the dependence, and even bolster your failing liver. It'll be messy, but after a day you'll be zipping around as though you were a thousand years old again."

Could it have really?  Did the boy's medicine actually work?

More importantly, could she rejoin the People?

Taking a deep breath, Yavánni stood up.  I want to fly again.  Summoning all her magic to her, she inhaled the acidic Saigon air and willed herself to float into the air.

Instead, a sharp pang of pain burst in her cranium, pounding, pounding, pounding along with her rapidly beating heart. 

She shrieked—a painful shriek of betrayal and pain that reverberated through the alley, scaring away the cat that had crept up to Yavánni's abode in the hopes of some food.  Yavánni crumpled onto the floor, howling her rage into her ragged blouse.

He had lied!  She had given him something and he had lied in return! 

But what had she given him?

Slowly, the full impact of what the boy had done to her hit her as her golden eyes locked onto the Book lying on the mat.

No…

A primeval scream of wrath escaped her throat.