I N F E R N O
- Dim Aldebaran -
Chapter Eight
They had arranged to talk when the 'chariot sets in circe's sky'. It made for a simple arrangement: Circe's home of legend was the island of Aeollo, which most estimates put on the west side of Italy. From there, it was a simple manner to calculate the time that the sun rose over Aeollo.
It was rather early in the morning—really, still nighttime— but he was faithful to his alarm, and he allowed himself enough time to brew a kettle of Darjeeling before starting up the IM service. Medea was not yet on; he amused himself with pinball. After beating Holly's high score, he settled down with the tea leaves and prophesized his own doom thirteen times before Medea came along.
medeaatreus: hey
achilles42: hey
He winced. 'Hey'? To say such a thing, even to respond in turn, seemed like a linguistic sin.
medeaatreus: hyacinthus bleeds
He blinked at this—she killed a beloved while fighting for their affection? An interesting opener, to say the least. Apollo had been trying to win the affection of a mortal lad named Hyacinthus, but had killed him with a discus on accident. In his grief, he had the anemone flower bloom from Hyacinthus's blood—in modern times, referred to as the 'hyacinth'.
She continued, not caring for response: medeaatreus: red anemone blooms
Roses are in short supply in classical mythology. Was she substituting the anemone flower for the bloodstained roses—one of which she had had plucked?
He stared at the screen—did she think he was dead?
He typed a hurried message: achilles42: why the discus?
medeaatreus: it was all the skill i had
He blinked. She was trying to impress him by stealing his favorite painting, and then by trying to kill him?
She evidently thought her assassin would fail to kill him, but perhaps the assassin, being one of lesser quality, had reported his death and had taken the contract money…? It all seemed ludicrous: the death of someone high-profile, let alone by an assassin, would make the headlines immediately, and the lack of such would only indicate that he was still alive! And even then: the assassin had come back to take a rose and plant that laser pen, assumedly on her request, with Artemis sitting right there. Would the assassin not report that he was still alive? Why plant a laser pen at all if she thought he was dead? He frowned, and set this aside to ponder later when, perhaps, he had more pieces of the puzzle, or just happened to be in the mood for idle speculation.
achilles42: eros or psyche?
His question was simple: was her seeming infatuation physically or psychologically based? It would look suspicious to her, granted, but she seemed fool enough not to notice.
Her answer was simple in turn: medeaatreus: morae
The Morae were the 'weavers of fate', as popular mythos calls them. The implication was that she felt that they were 'destined'. Artemis could not help but smirk at the idiocy at this: destiny? No self-respecting genius would even consider such a concept, not in this modern era of evolution and string theory. He was no nihilist, nor was he a strict atheist, being undecided on the matter, but the concept of fate was one that made him curl up in laughter inside, where no one could see.
His respect for Medea was dropping rapidly; what interest he had towards her as a challenge was quickly dropping. Though calculating the gravitational attraction between the king and queen on a chessboard was a challenge, calculating checkmate opportunities between the two was far more satisfying.
Pursing his lips, he continued the query: achilles42: elysian, asphodel, or tartarus?
There was a long pause; for a moment, he thought her suspicion had overridden her liking of these social antics. medeaatreus: elysian, though desiring asphodel
He stared for a moment: she thought him heroic enough to go to the Greek heaven, but instead wanting to be considered an invalid in the afterlife? If she thought him that modest, she obviously didn't think much at all.
He closed his eyes, considering. She was very intelligent; either that, or she had hired very intelligent people. Being widely read, especially on something as common as Greek mythology, was not a sign of genius, or even of unusual intellect. Besides, wealthy children are given a classical education; wealthy children might have been fascinated with Greek mythology, wealthy children might have intelligent underlings—
He opened his eyes. This was ridiculous; he really knew so little about her… it was all extrapolation. He needed something to get a fix on her; she needed a name, a real name, not some fantastical combination of characters; she needed a home base, where she planned her operations; she needed an Interpol file, since no one was good enough to escape suspicion—Artemis' first page had been at the age of three, hacking into a small Swiss bank since Mother wouldn't let him buy a new laptop. What had she done?
He would do a more complete search for her identity in the morning; for now, he had to tend to his pet nemesis.
achilles42: does teireseus hail him?
medeaatreus: he calls him brother
He blinked. Teireseus was a sort of seer, always prophesying death and general unpleasantries upon the Greek heroes. She was saying that he was also a seer; that he could predict things from the collapse of an empire to the path of an ant. Was it an allusion to his genius, or did she believe it was a literal gift of prophecy?
It was a badly worded question on his part. He saved this rumination for later.
achilles42: do you desire the asphodel or nepenthes?
He was measuring the intensity of her infatuation; was his 'death' enough to drive her to despair and suicide, as might be the case with such a ridiculously impassioned girl, or was it simply a matter of finding other things to think about, a matter of time?
medeaatreus: lethe
The Lethe, or the 'river of forgetfulness', was both the source of the nepenthes drink of forgetfulness and the river that bordered Asphodel, which was afterlife of common people where they would forget their memories and fade away over time. Her answer was curious; what did she mean? Just letting things 'drift by her' as befitting a river? Drinking an entire riverful of nepenthes? Or that she simply liked the view?
He grimaced. Using Greek allusions for communicating was ridiculous, nearly as bad as netspeak. It was imprecise, and it was not something even most intellectuals were this well versed in. Sometime later—if he gained her entire confidence, or if there even was a later—he would suggest speaking plain English. It was not as precise as German, perhaps, or as universal as Latin, but even Esperanto was better than this—
achilles42: boreus blows cold, helios hides
medeaatreus: zephyr is kind, selene rises
He had commented on the weather; rather desperate of him, but she had replied. He jotted down the time, date, and the weather conditions she had described—a rising moon and a steady west wind—to perhaps get a remote idea of where she might be. If she was speaking metaphorically, then perhaps it would come to naught; God knows enough of this had already.
All the same, he had better not risk more questions; he had led the majority of the conversation so far. Perhaps what she revealed on her own would prove more useful.
While he waited for her think of a new topic, he began running searches off of what he had gleaned. He set the time for moonrise anytime in the last half hour; that gave him a broad swatch of area in western Canada, America, Mexico and down the Pacific Coast of South America. He had already decided that she was of either Canadian or American origin; he eliminated anything below the Rio Grande.
He had begun setting his search for a 5-15 knot wind when she spoke: medeaatreus: are you an only child?
It took him a moment to register that there was nothing remotely Greek in the sentence; when he did, he nearly laughed in sheer relief. Something sensible out of her, finally—even if it was a thoroughly ridiculous question like so. He saw no point in lying about it, so he wrote truthfully: achilles42: yes
medeaatreus: i can tell
He stared at the screen, horrified. She was reading him! He could only hope she was following the stereotype of only child, versus the true analytic aspect—or perhaps she was simply saying that as a 'joke'?
He distracted himself with a return: achilles42: et toi?
medeaatreus: i wish
The language made him blink; one moment alluding to Sophocles, the next, a phrase to be found on a sitcom? He would reply in turn, of course, but if Juliet were here she could perhaps advise him on such matters.
achilles42: are they… difficult?
medeaatreus: my brother's trying to hack into my pc right now
medeaatreus: it's annoying
Well, at least she had the technical know how to detect that kind of thing—even if she used the crude word 'annoying' instead of 'irritating'. That was a very useful tidbit of knowledge; if he was going to try and hack into her computer, he had better take all precautions, since she seemed a competent programmer, at least to the point of detecting who was trying to break into her computer, not just that someone was trying to break into it at all. Furthermore, perhaps this was indication of some kind of rivalry between the two; when he was a child, he had often imaged competitions in seeing how could bankrupt the most companies in one day, who could patent the most inventions, who could best mimic Schubert. Was this the kind of relationship she had with a brother?—seeing who could break into whose computer first?
He grinned despite himself. He could imagine suppertime conversations: who could speak in Greek allusions the longest? 'Pass the moly, please.'
achilles42: older or younger?
medeaatreus: twin
Fraternal twins; she had a brother of the same age. Perhaps they were partners in crime? His search parameters were getting better and better with every minute.
She continued on:
medeaatreus: he acts like he's younger, though
She seemed almost… normal, with such an answer. She was a typical teenager making petty, witless jokes—like breaking the ice with a sledgehammer, versus chiseling a delicate aperture of interest and conversation. However, such… domestic questions was helpful in narrowing his search parameters down. Even if this was foreign ground, he needed to play along, as if he, too, had that feel for normality. He had heard enough of such language in his ventures into society, and in Juliet's company, to duplicate it.
achilles42: that bad?
medeaatreus: you have no idea
medeaatreus: he plays king with the servants and god with the grounds
Artemis smiled. That just fortified the assumption that she came from a wealthy family. The brother seemed somewhat egomaniacal, though her description was probably exaggerated due a familiarity bias. More importantly, the parents were either weak willed, constantly vacationing, or deceased. All three seemed likely at the present: he had better inquire.
achilles42: and the parents do not?
A pause. medeaatreus: they dare not
Curious—achilles42: why not?
Another pause; the topic was obviously difficult for her. Very curious.
medeaatreus: he doesn't let them
He frowned. The brother was controlling, then, and had somehow overruled his parents legal and social control over him. This was impressive: though Artemis had gained control over the Fowl assets at a very young age, one of his parents was entirely absent, and the other in no state to be questioning affairs. Even after they had returned to a more functional parental state, he did not retain direct control; he hid his affairs, even his legal ones, so they would not know of his influence at all.
This… this was different. He had rendered his parents submissive to his will; considering that rich people were very rarely the passive sort, this obviously took something—some installation of fear or gratitude in them. Medea seemed more conscious of her brother's dominion; she went out on crusades on her own, such as her ridiculous centering on him and Girl in Solitude.
achilles42: why don't you rebel?
medeaatreus: i'm not strong enough
It was—curious. It was the only word for it. She viewed herself as weaker than a brother that she had previously degraded as behaving like a child? Her view on the matter was so passive, yet her thoughts, her actions, all pointed to someone who moved on an aggressive whim.
achilles42: why not?
medeaatreus: no one understands
She was fatalistic! It made no sense—
achilles42: why not?
medeaatreus: no one's like me
achilles42: hyacinthus?
medeaatreus: aspyrtus, not me
Pause, filled with the whirr of the computer and the clicking of puzzle pieces coming together.
medeaatreus: i have to go now
medeaatreus: he's coming
medeaatreus: same time?
achilles42: yes
She signed off; he did so in turn, leaned back, and grinned broadly at the ceiling. He was in one of those rare moods when the world was his, and he was happy enough without it.
Something, at least, was beginning to make sense!
She was attempting to begin a private rivalry with him; being bored, she wanted to take part in it on her own, which would be why she did so much of the labor herself, such as make the burqa and handle the Louvre job. This he understood: which he understood; she wanted something to escape to when the brother was especially distasteful. She wanted adventure, and had chosen someone similar in age and—she thought—personality to begin a rivalry. Like she had probably read in some book. Internally, he cursed John le Carré.
He recalled their IM conversation. In response to his query regarding family—"what do you think of aspyrtus?" she had replied cryptically: "who remembers briseis?" The meaning was simple, now: she felt that she was being held captive, as Briseis was, by a powerful figure (coincidentally Achilles). When she had been taken by other men, Achilles did everything in his power to retrieve Briseis, which he eventually did. It fit—Aspyrtus was desperate to keep his sister within his power, and so dealt with his seeming rival as quickly as possible, stopping all other affairs.
The brother—Artemis now referred to him as Aspyrtus, Medea's brother of lore—not wanting his sister to grow too independent, wanted to end any relationship she might have initiated. Aspyrtus either coerced his sister into hiring the assassin with Monsieur, or created the illusion that she did; he did not want him dead at all, fearing retribution from a very powerful family. Rather, Aspyrtus manufactured an elaborate assassin attempt, designed to fail, to try and discourage his sister from further contact—what was the likelihood of the victim of an attempted assassination to befriend the assumed employee of the assassin? Aspyrtus probably considered his tracks covered up well enough that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of his actions; and a follow up on a foiled assassination attempt would be far less thoroughly investigated than if it had been successful.
The incident last night—? His smile never broke form. Aspyrtus was bringing back a bloodstained rose as proof to his sister that her infatuation was killed. In her impassioned state, she would be easily swayed by arguments as to why the death of such a famous figure had not made headlines. Aspyrtus had left the laser pen, reminiscent of a laser sight on a gun, to remind him that he could have been killed, but he did not want to. Such behavior fit the egotistical portrait that Medea had painted for him.
Her actions were all accounted for.
Medea herself, however, remained an enigma.
Was it even a physical infatuation that had attracted her to him? The thought made him frown. His own sexuality was largely unexplored, but he had decided when he hit puberty to avoid such things until he had nothing better to do with his life. Sex, love, children—they were a different sort of complexity than what interested him now. He was not interested in any of these things, or if he was he had suppressed them thoroughly enough that it didn't matter. There had been implications to it being a physical attraction—her use of Hyacinthus referred to a sexual relationship—but besides that, it was all conjecture. She had never seen him before in person, and the pictures—or, at least in his mind, the good pictures—were unavailable to the world in general. What basis would there be for her to develop a physical infatuation with him, then?
Was it purely emotional?—but what would she know of his emotions? Even though he was not the introverted child he once was, he was still an intensely private young man. Even the media admitted that he appeared emotionless! Did she give any credit to the occasional tabloid on his "dark, dangerous moods"? Did she fancy that below his detached demeanor was an impassioned man? How could she possibly presume to know of his emotions?
Perhaps the infatuation was with the idea of him…? It was more plausible—he supposed he might appear to the romantically inclined mind the epitome of something or other. As he understood it, it was fairly easy to fall under this subconscious trick—when the 'Mr/Mrs Right' proves elusive, one begins to see him/her in people that are, in reality, far from those ideals. It leads to problems, obviously—when the person realizes that the idealized are nothing more than just that, depression is a common result, as well as problems in the relationship. Artemis himself was very careful to get involved in this, whether in personal or professional relationships—for example, it was an obvious security risk if he viewed Dom as the perfect bodyguard who could always save Artemis' life. A similar thing could have formed in Medea's head—Artemis was brilliant, Artemis was ambitious, Artemis was perfect, whatever—and result in an infatuation.
Yet none of it made sense. Even if Medea had an alternately love-hate feeling towards him, her actions were too erratic to be accounted by that alone. He was not familiar with the feeling of infatuation, besides briefly with a Rachmaninov piano concerto when he was five, but this… this was so strange, so very bizarre he could make nothing of it.
He had had people infatuated with him before: he was young, good looking, wealthy, infamous, intelligent, and he had an Irish accent. European tabloids had run articles on him before, boasting intimate knowledge of his female conquests—they had stopped after one in particular had implicated him with Juliet due to a purely coincidental bankruptcy. Many of girls of the frivolous variety had a sort of fascination with him as a result. Young women would often recognize him in the street suck in and sway as they passed him by; or, when surrounded by a gaggle of friends, giggle like a bad case of dementia.
He was quite comfortable with the idea of 'fangirls', perhaps surprising considering his antisocial tendencies, they massaged his ego quite nicely, as long as they were kept at arms length, or preferably, Dom's armslength. It was not, by any means, something he encouraged; however, it made for amusing ruminations when the issue was brought up. Perhaps it was annoying at times, but the time when an invisible presence was needed for his favored activities was over.
He had never had a fellow genius infatuated with him; there had been a young flutist in his two year stay at a university, with whom he had consented to a 'lunch date'. It had been… interesting, he supposed, the sort of rush to the head one gets in such occasions, but nothing he would like to repeat. There was nothing in friendship or physical intimacy with a fellow genius that a simple acquaintance could not get: a stimulating conversation, an exchange of ideas, a rivalry. Though this was not a perfect rule, other young genii seemed disinclined to mix intellectual contact with other genii with the more… social things.
Yet—here she was.
He looked outside. Dawn.
Yawning, he shut the computer down, and went downstairs in search of breakfast.
:i:
Well... more chat about Medea. No guarantees on the accuracy of his speculations.
CC is, as always, appreciated. This story will be beginning to get its dark tone after this chapter, so be ready. The next chappie will probably involve some conversations with Dom, Holly and Juliet, maybe a brief chat with Medea, and if I have room I'll get into The Return of the Native... er, the return of Angeline and Timmy.
randompineapplelady: you have been nominated as a judge for the Orion Awards, which are AF fanfiction awards. I have links to the forum and the main site on my bio. If you can give either me or one of the other Judges your contact information, we'd love to see you involved! You've come highly reccomended, and you'd be a wonderful part of our staff... at the very least, we'd like it if you could help nominate goodfics for it at the forum. Really, you've been a marvelous reader and reviewer to just about everyone in the fandom.
For everyone else: the Orion Awards are for you too - you can join the forums and help nominate fics, as well as participate in the PC voting later this year. The forums are just general fun as well, and we're very friendly. I hope to see all my readers there!
As always, comentary will be in my livejournal.
