Artemis Fowl Goes Emo
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just have too much free time.
Author's Note: Not sure why the hell I'm writing this, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Artemis sat at his computer desk, his pale face illuminated by the bright monitor.
Both his mother and Butler had mentioned more times than one that he should make some friends his own age, and he decided he might as well start small and work his way up, so he decided to try to find a chatroom. He knew very well most of the people would probably be in their late 40's and only interested in kidnapping and raping him, but it was worth a try anyway. The problem was, most of his time online was spent researching and he hadn't the slightest idea of where to find a chatroom.
But, being the genius that he was, an idea came to him: Google.
Arty typed in 'chat', clicked the search button, and up came 458,750,384,738,475,067,847,604,768 results. And that was just with safesearch on.
Artemis groaned. Already he did not like this, and he hadn't been very excited in the first place. He decided to click the first link, and it took him to a website with many more links. Our little evil genius was in a most 'fowl' (OH GOD, IT'S A PUN!) mood and he decided they were only doing this to make things more complicated. Bastards.
He clicked the teen chat link, and it took him to a page with 3 main sections. One was a conversation in progress, another was a list of screennames, and the last was a place to type messages. Artemis glared at the screen, wishing he could be doing something fun, like writing psychological analyses under a fake name to submit to various publishers or researching fairies and ways to make money. But no. He was here, chatting with various people, who were all presumably far below his preferred I.Q. He took a deep sigh and typed "Hello."
As soon as he hit the enter key, he wished he hadn't. All 17 people in the chat room immediately bombarded him with various ungrammatical gibberish that Artemis assumed were forms of greetings.
"Ugh," Artemis groaned for the second time in as many minutes. "Er…What's up?" he typed, trying to think of what it was normal teenagers used as a greeting.
"bein EMO!1!1111!" One of the chatters replied.
Emo? What was this emo? Artemis had never heard of such a word. He assumed it must be slang.
"What is 'emo'?" Artemis typed.
"uhm lyke DUHHH!1!" the person replied. "luk it up or sumfin!111'
"Alright, I shall do that." And with that, Artemis closed the chat window, taking but a second to reflect on how much better that could have gone. But, he had his whole life ahead of him and very little of it involved interaction with other people.
So, back to Google Arty went, and he typed in what he wanted to know. He spent the whole rest of the night researching.
Author's Note: So far so good, but this next part, I know I'm going to hate.
The next day, Butler was alarmed by some rather odd sound coming from Artemis's room. It was music, or at least he assumed it was, but it was, in a word, absolutely horrid. Or two words. Whatever. At any rate, it was not the usual classical sort that was usually heard. He burst through the door with a gun at the ready, because, you can never be too sure when your employer is one of the greatest villains of modern times.
What he found was not a particularly dangerous situation, but it was still scary and rather confusing. Artemis had attempted to cut his own hair, and it was just…Very ugly. Part was longish and hanging in his face and the rest was short and spiky. He appeared to have pilfered (I love that word) a pair of Juliet's tightest jeans and one of her shirts, and he'd somehow obtained some rather hideous accessories and a pair of skater shoes.
"Artemis! What's going on here!"
"Oh, Butler. You really must catch up with the times. I've adopted a horrible wardrobe and even worse music in order to fit in with people my own age. I believe this is what is called "Emo," which is short for emotional, and if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the loo to cry and slash my wrists and mope about the tragedy that is life in general. Good bye."
And with that, Arty swept from the room, and Butler considered retiring to Florida with a llama farm and a lifetime supply of granola bars. Watching over a teenage boy like this was really all too stressful.
Good LORD, that sucked. Review please. And don't be too hard on me D
Author's note again: This is all horribly inaccurate and very, very stupid.