I'M BACK! Sort of. Anyway, enjoy. To be honest, this isn't one of my best chapters, but read it anyway.

To my reviewers:

Carmane: Yep, Moley's favourite colour. Pink.

aragon676: Why thank you.

Spectra16: Ah yes, one of my most loyal reviewers. Keep it up, and you may be rewarded with some never-seen-before stuff on Fartemit!

Molly: Yes, thank you. I'm being strangely polite today.

Chapter 10. – Captured by Owl (YES! A Short Chapter Title!)

Brolly woke up, woozy and with a severe headache, just like the hangover she got when she had gone to her cousin's Christmas party. A very rough night, if nothing else. She opened her eyes, and managed to tilt her head about 5 degrees to her right. She found that that was the furthest she could go before her head snapped off her head and rolled along the floor, leaving a grisly mess of blood and brains on the floor, while… (Alright. Due to the numbers of readers throwing up and ruining their computers, I will now stop.) What she saw made her want to throw up.

She was in a room decorated with bright florescent pink wallpaper and furniture, with a pink carpet and a pink chandelier giving off a disgusting pink light over the already too-much-pink-oh-I'm-going-to-be-sick room. The bed, although it was nice, and comfortable, was also bright pink, and much too small. In fact, if Brolly had moved her head a degree more, not only would her head have fallen off, but her whole decapitated corpse would have also fallen onto the pink carpet, ruining it forever, as well as the cleaner's life. But then again, the cleaner would have been Buttleg, so maybe that's not such a bad thing… (All fans of Buttleg, please don't kill me.)

'Do you like the room?' asked someone. Unable to whip her head around, she slowly turned her head ten degrees to the left, so she had a view of the other side of the room, where the voice had come from. She found herself looking at a pale, ten year-old human, who was holding a Gameboy in his hand.

'You were out for a long time. I got to Level 67 of Playboy Mansion ®, and I only got this game when we caught you!' said Fartemit. He stood up from a pink beanie chair, and approached. Brolly also noticed that his Gameboy was bright pink.

'Do you like my room?' he asked. 'It took four months. Until then, I lived in the wine cellar, and ended up exhausting this manor's supply of rare wines. Well, that's what father said.

'Anyway, random elf person, I want you to tell me your name, age, status, and all the secrets of the underground world that's not already in the Calendar.'

'Uh, okay,' she said woozily. 'My name is Inspector Number 43 Brolly Tall of the Elementary Lavatory Federation. I'm 147, I live in a cave with twelve other female Inspectors, and… uh… hey, how did you know about the calendar!' She shouted at the last bit, of course.

'I have very reliable sources,' stated Fartemit confidently. 'And one of them is you.'

Shock suddenly flooded Brolly's system. I'm one of this weird-ass kid's sources, she thought frantically. How low can I sink? I mean, helping out a kid who plays Playboy Mansion on his Gameboy? Come on, you're not serious.

Fartemit watched with satisfaction. Hee hee. She thinks that she's been helping me all along. Hee hee. This is clever, he thought, grinning. She's hot too. She'll never guess what I did to her while she was unconscious. (Ahem. Just before you all turn off your computers in disgust, I'd just like to say that if you'd been reading the whole story through, you'd realize that Fartemit is the sort of boy who does these things. Anyway, to teach him a lesson, I'll just kick him in the balls from behind.)

'OWWWWW!' screamed suddenly, as the author kicked him in the balls from behind. The ten year-old pervert fell to the floor, clutching his sacred items, and started wriggling and whimpering. Brolly would have laughed, but instead couldn't, because she had fallen asleep of exhaustion. Just when it was getting good, too.

She awoke again, still in Fartemit's completely and utterly florescent pink room, minus Fartemit and that raging hangover-like-thing. She felt a lot better, and got off the bed. She walked to the door, expecting: (a) the door to be locked; (b) the doorknob booby-trapped or electrified; or (c) an invisible chain tied around her ankle suddenly yanking her back to the bed. But none of these things happened, and she stepped into a beautiful, ornate corridor. Immediately before her was a floor-to-ceiling mirror, giving her a great look of what she looked like right now. Hmm, thought Brolly. I look like a puppy who's just been through a carwash.

She looked both left and right, and saw seemingly endless corridors, so she chose to go down the left one. However, after two steps, she smashed into a wall. Cunningly, Fartemit had hired a painter to do some perspective painting on the adjacent walls of the door, to make it look like there was an endless stretch of corridor down each side. This way, Brolly couldn't get out. This was one of the cells in the Owl Mental Asylum, which Fartemit had chosen as his room for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Brolly rubbed her nose, picked herself up, and looked at the wall again. Then she walked into it again. Growing more and more frustrated, she head butted it until her head was pretty much flat. But nothing happened.

What she didn't realize was that she was battering the wrong wall. If she had considered battering the mirror instead, she would have eventually broken the two-way glass, also practically cutting her head open with all those bits of glass. Behind it, Buttleg sat behind a bank of computer screens, each showing a different part of the Manor. To his left, where the desk ended, was the two-way glass, which Buttleg kept an eye on most of the time. He wasn't bored, though; he had a wide-screen satellite TV, with his own fridge and food cupboard. He also had a computer with broadband Internet connection. No sir, he wasn't bored. Just asleep.

If I can fit another chapter in, I will. Visit the Fartemit Owl Forum, and leave some goddamn comments! Oh, and R&R.