HOLD UP. This does not mean I am quitting my other stories. I'm stuck in writer's block for Eye of the Basilisk, so I penned this longhand one day.
Enjoy.
Prologue: The Luck of the Irish
Eric Lensherr eyed the black-clad boy in front of him.
"I thought this was a well-protected stronghold, monsieur," said the boy sardonically.
"I'll have to have a word with Toad and Sabertooth later," was the dry, caustic reply.
The boy sent a smirk at the individual standing someplace to the left of the table. "Toad? Well named. It suits his look."
Toad rolled the remains of a once innocent-looking bluebird out on his tongue.
"Charming," the boy stated simply, sipping from his cup of wine. Eric settled himself back into his chair.
"How did you sneak into the stronghold?"
"Considering they were looking out in every direction but the front door, it was a simple task."
Eric sighed mentally. Good heavens, his associates could be so asinine. Had Sabertooth been chasing a squirrel? "So what was your proposition? And stop drinking that, you're not old enough."
"I see no problem with champagne. Besides, I'm seeking accommodation and training."
"Accomodation and training. If you want charity, go to Charles."
The boy regarded him with innocent blue eyes. It didn't fool anyone. "Who's Charles?"
"Nobody here is going to fall for that trick. You're a prodigy. You should know."
"Correct," the boy conceded. "I know."
Eric held up a hand and the metal cup of Dom Perignon sped into his hand. "That was our best wine. Hard to come by. Besides, you're underage."
"Who, pray tell, is going to arrest me? You? Or your pet dog who tried, and failed, to catch me?"
Eric sighed. "Toad, please escort young master Fowl out."
The boy, smirking, floated the cup out of Eric Lensherr's hand. Toad spat the bluebird out. It landed with a splat on the floor.
The female in the doorway turned at the noise.
Eric raised an eyebrow. "You can control your powers already?"
"Even for a prodigy such as myself –"
"Aren't we the arrogant one," the woman chuckled.
"– one can only go so far as far as mutation is concerned. I taught myself, to some extent. But for the rest, I admit it; I require tutelage."
Eric Lensherr was silent as he contemplated his options. On the one hand, the boy was an arrogant little brat. On the other, he was smart, and definitely cunning. There had been more defenses surrounding the fortress than two mutants. "Very well, then. It's good not to lose a mutant to the philanthropist that is Charles."
"Excellent," the boy smirked as they shook hands. Sabertooth balked and began to protest, but the woman – Mystique – hit him before the furry mutant could speak.
"Don't expect royal treatment, though. You are a Fowl no longer…penniless and nowhere else to go. You'll have to make the most of it."
"Certainly."
"Mystique will train you when she can, but if not, you'll have to train with Sabertooth. I'll be overseeing your first session in the Danger Room."
The boy looked a bit paler than usual. Even to our protagonist, the prospect of Sabertooth as a trainer didn't sound appealing.
"Mystique will brief you on the rest next morning. It's late now."
The boy got up from his chair. Just as he turned to Mystique, Eric stopped him. "What would you like to be called? Everyone has a codename here."
Pause. "I have no desire to be known by the name of Fowl. Call me Stefan. Stefan Bashkir."
Eric sat back in silence, thinking hard. With a little training on Stefan's part, he could give Charles a run for his money.
Mystique had never been the sleeping type. Pills, hot chocolate, reading one of Xavier's books. None of them could cure her insomnia, and considering how boring Xavier's tomes were, that was saying something.
However, she wasn't the only one up early that morning.
"Hello, Bashkir." She remembered that year in Russia. Spying for Eric. It had paid off; now she was fluent in the language.
"Mystique, has Mr. Lensherr ever considered investing in a better plumbing system? Seriously, some individuals have been well-known for coming up with more diabolical ideas in –"
"Eric doesn't believe in hot showers, Bashkir, and like he said; no royal treatment here. Are you going for breakfast or will you sit here and starve?"
"That's a nice voice. Multi-layered?"
Mystique blinked. The façade of child prodigy must have slipped. It was the genuine, innocent comment of a nine-year-old.
"Thank you. Is that Fort Knox you're hacking into?" With the fortress's main computer, no less.
"Easier than holding people at gunpoint."
Mystique was impressed, but hid it. "How did you get here?"
Stefan looked downwards. "I bought a plane ticket with my bodyguard's salary. Undignified, I know. And it was a piece of trash."
"What, the ticket?"
"No, the plane. Flight conditions were terrible."
"Can't be any worse than here. Family argument?"
A nod. " Butler gave me two months' salary."
" Butler? Tall, Secret Service, Eurasian, with deep-blue eyes?"
"The description fits him to a T. Did you know him?"
"I did. Long ago."
Stefan finished transferring the funds and they headed off, talking on the way. Stefan was given a short tour. Metal medical facilities, metal bathrooms, metal everything. Since Magneto had power over metal, Stefan supposed that he could compress it and put it in a suitcase. In theory, but he knew it would never work. Mutation was more complicated than that.
"Toad and Sabertooth argue like two little kids over the last crayon. Toad's fine, if a little slimy, but Sabertooth is a pervert. Really."
"Suits them," Stefan remarked, as the said duo rushed by, arguing about something. "The canine can actually speak?"
"Yes."
"A dysfunctional group, it seems."
"It's all we have."
The dining room, or 'mess hall', as the term went – was a large metal room, with damp and even mildew creeping along the cold floor. Keeping with the metallic theme, there was a steel table in the centre, surrounded by rusty-looking chairs. Stefan was, understandably, skeptical about the hall.
"Eric converted an asylum," was the explanation.
"That explains the padded walls."
Stefan ate his way steadily through the breakfast. It wasn't fine dining, but it was good. "This is strange. Not unpleasant, but different."
"You'll be surprised how good a cook Eric can be."
Stefan nearly choked at this statement.
He got up from the slightly moth-eaten cushion of a wall that he had been leaning against to sit. "What's today's agenda?"
"Physical training first. Then field work, lunch and weapons training, then dinner and mutation training. I can guarantee you that by that time, you will collapse into your bed, no matter how hard it is."
"Does the hunting dog get our meal?"
"He does. And he doesn't take kindly to insults."
"I'll expect a smaller portion, then."
"So, are you ready for physical training?"
Stefan shook his head no.
"Excellent. I'll take that as a yes, then." She headed out, dragging a protesting Irish boy behind her.
"You twist everything I say."
"Heaven knows Eric did it to me often enough."
Stefan strolled into the kitchens for some water, where Magneto and Mystique were talking together in rather low voices. Toad was fidgeting. "Hey, remember the deal? If you two decided to play Mommy and Daddy, Saber and I would move to Vegas," said the green mutant.
Stefan fidgeted and the 'parents' glared at them all.
"I caught Mystique in the kitchen once," Toad added, "going…"
"SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE AMPHIBIAN!"
"Scratch that," Stefan thought. "Both of them are perverts."
"What? I was just going to say that you were going to make toast!" Toad blinked innocently at them all.
"Not," Mystique said in a dangerous whisper, "in front of an innocent nine-year-old…"
The aforementioned nine-year-old quickly excused himself. The above conversation had suddenly made the young prodigy feel like doing a few more push-ups. He collapsed again after trying, and when Toad didn't join him as he'd said he would, he went out to search.
Toad was sprawled on the (old) couch, watching TV.
Stefan stole the remote from its place (physically) and switched it off.
"Hey!"
"Trust me. The Roadrunner gets away. Now, about my training?"
"Mystique not here?"
"No, she's out to get me some supplies."
"Oh, fine. But being a genius and all, you don't need it, eh? You should know how to manage a medical kit…"
"Yes. I happen to know."
"…So you don't need my help. Just figure out how to use harnesses for steep drops and you're done. Easy as that."
"All right," sighed the criminal.
"Don't tell Mystique. Or Magneto. I don't want to get into trouble."
Stefan made a mental note to tell Mystique later, but then Toad's long tongue snapped the remote from his hand.
"Disgusting," muttered Stefan as he left the room to the sounds of Wile E. Coyote being blown up.
"Thanks!" came Toad's call. "Want a beer? I've got twelve."
Stefan chose to ignore that question and headed to the kitchens. It was probably better than getting food in the hall, anyway. He'd just bitten into a sandwich from the refrigerator when Magneto walked in.
"That was my lunch."
"Want some?" offered young Stefan innocently, holding the remains of it out.
"No, thanks. Why aren't you in training?"
"Sabertooth and Mystique out for spying, I presume?"
"You know what I mean."
"Ask Toad. I believe he is currently watching the Cartoon Network and getting as drunk as is humanly possible. Perhaps more, considering his mutation…"
There was an unholy gleam in Magneto's eye when he left the kitchens.
"That's a shotgun. If you shoot from there, you'll splatter me too."
Toad was rather annoyed with Stefan for squealing, as he called it, but grudgingly went through the basic exercise. Stefan, as he picked up quite fast, sped through the training (he had even contributed an article on self-defence in the field once), and was with weapons training in no time.
In the Brotherhood's case, weapons training meant guns, and lots of them. Artemis Fowl II had once wanted to take up archery, but Stefan didn't really care now. He took aim and fired.
Mystique ducked the bullet with a nick on the curve, smirking as the other hit its target. It was slightly off, but that didn't matter. "Very nice."
"So, what about the Kung Fu?"
"Oh, that. Well, I'll be teaching you once you're fit enough."
"Pity. Can we start on the Sig Sauers?"
"No."
The Isle's Danger Room
8.13 p.m.
Stefan stared at the empty dinner plate. "What do you expect me to do? This reminds me more of a home economics class than a sensible mutation lesson."
"Try to move it, stupid," stated Toad.
Stefan glared at him, but Toad just gave a cheeky grin. It looked as if he'd have to be a bit older for the death glare to work properly.
"Concentrate," said the Master of Magnetism.
He regretted saying those words when, less than a second later, the dinner plate flew at him, nearly taking his head off.
"Sorry," Stefan offered sheepishly.
"At least we know you're telekinetic," mumbled Sabertooth, "but you're not a very good one."
"Yet," Stefan and Magneto said simultaneously.
Stefan readjusted the adrenaline patches that had been stuck to him. Supposedly they could bring out the best of his powers. The Irish boy resolved to look into its construction formula later.
"Sabertooth, check for parasitic abilities," ordered Magneto.
Sabertooth hit Stefan happily. Magneto sighed. "Gently."
Both males were sulking when Sabertooth snatched Stefan's bare wrist in a death grip. The boy winced. "Let me go. Your master said to do it gently."
Sabertooth growled in response. Stefan decided he'd probably suffer physical trauma from this experience.
The observing Brotherhood was very surprised when Stefan's body collapsed completely. Sabertooth let go, staring blankly.
Inside his head, however, a rather interesting conversation was taking place.
- Out! – roared Sabertooth.
-I don't know how, idiot! – Both of them were panicking.
Magneto approached Sabertooth warily. "What did you do?"
"Nothing, it's the boy! Inside my head!"
"How was I supposed to know? Your presence does nothing to aid my thought!"
Hearing both sentences come from one mouth was very odd indeed.
"Hmm," Mystique said thoughtfully. "Doesn't he remind you of that time Xavier wound up inside your head by mistake? When you were eighteen?"
"Yes," Magneto said, "but he's not a telepath."
Stefan slapped the adrenaline patches back on. "What the hell are you doing?" snapped Sabertooth.
Stefan didn't bother replying, choosing instead to apply contact to his body's bruised wrist. He felt himself flowing out of Sabertooth, and mercifully ended up back in himself. He sat up with a tingling in his wrist, and managed a sleepy sort of smirk at the Brotherhood?
"What do you think?"
Listen to Stefan. What do you think?
I have a low tolerance level and an even lower maturity level. I'm three years away from O levels, so...review? Nice reviews and constructive criticism gladly accepted.
Flames will be fed to Sabertooth.
Correction. FlameRs will be fed to Sabertooth.