Disclaimer: Not mine, and will never be.
Author's Note: So this is an edit of Chapter 2, the final version I had on my new computer-- remember how I told you it crashed. Yeah, also, my brain kind of crashed too, with a ton of SAT prep and an inordinate amount of schoolwork for summer vacation.
So I have this finally up and Chapter 3 will come...as quickly as you readers would like (say, Sunday night?) since it's basically edited...I think.
Anyway, if you've already read it, I've added a bit and took out a bit so you can skim if you like.
Chapter 2: A Wedding to Remember
Where the turquoise waters of the Caribbean mingled with white sands was naturally the perfect tourist destination for those few who could afford a costly spot directly in its path. After all, even with the myriad of islands, there were precious few miles of coastline to be dominated by high-priced resorts for the wealthy of the world. No wonder why few were pleased when the Fowls rather rudely snatched up nearly half a dozen suites, sparing the resort's proprietor, of course. If money talked, then the Fowls certainly possessed the gift of gab.
From the comfort of one of these suites, Juliet Butler vigilantly watched her young charges, playing just feet away in the powder-pale sands.
"I wonder," she muttered to her brother who, sitting nearby, tapped ceaselessly on a Mac notebook, "if anyone has ever heard of a bodyguard/romance-novel-writer. Quite an interesting choice of profession, isn't it?"
Not many would dare to toy with Butler, but naturally, his playful younger sister was an exception. The seven-feet-tall Eurasian with biceps to rival that of "Govern-ator" Arnold Schwarzenegger barely raised his eyes from the document that was fast expanding under his tutelage.
"If anything, I don't think I had much choice in my first profession, though I certainly don't regret it," Butler replied. "You, on the other hand…"
"Dom, give it up, okay?" Juliet shrugged, twirling a strand of blond hair and causing a band of college-age males to wolf-whistle her way, only to be silenced by the very sight of her brother. "I've made my decision. Wrestling was fun, but it was time for me to come home and do what I'm supposed to."
"Because that is definitely in your nature," Butler rolled his eyes.
"I'm not a kid anymore," Juliet protested. "You do realize that, don't you?"
"Of course," he replied. "Even if I have a difficult time believing it, especially given the way you act."
"Oh, really? When was the last time I did anything immature?"
"How about the time last week when you bribed Myles and Beckett to sneak an MP3 of the Sesame Street theme song into Artemis's hard drive so that it played when he tried to show his father his latest stock portfolio?"
"That was funny, you have to admit," Juliet giggled, recalling her lastest prank. "The look on his face was absolutely priceless. Something like that time I stuffed a cherry lollipop up his throat when he was four."
"And up both his nostrils," Butler added, wincing at the memory. "No wonder why he hates them."
"Speaking of Artemis, he's taking this 'vacation' idea of his mothers' unnaturally quietly, don't you think?"
"Probably planning his latest criminal venture," Butler remarked, perfectly unconcerned by the idea.
"Well, he keeps threatening to go legal— you don't suppose he's finally done it?"
Butler finally glanced up from his manuscript to meet Juliet's eyes. They considered each other pensively for a moment and simultaneously replied, "Nah."
"But you are right about that," Butler remarked. "It's been unnaturally quiet lately. Not even the slightest hint of an assassination attempt all week."
"Must be a record," Juliet snorted. She had spoken too early, however as the subject in question took that particular moment to burst into the suite, dripping wet with salt and sand plastering his once flawless attire. Complete with a laptop in hand, he could not have looked more ridiculous if he was tarred and feathered.
Needless to say, Artemis Fowl II was not pleased.
"Juliet— stock…sand…Armani," he stuttered, a rare speechless moment for one with an IQ of 190.
"Twins?" she interjected helpfully, the barest hint of a smile cavorting about her lips.
"Yes, that too," Artemis said, unceremoniously flinging his waterlogged notebook onto the nearest tabletop. "Speaking of, we'll soon be rid of them."
"Well, Arty, I know they aren't exactly your favorite people in the world right now, but isn't hiring a hitman to 'take care' of them overdoing it just a little?"
"Very amusing," Artemis replied, not appearing the least bit amused. "No, the twins aren't going anywhere. We are."
"Artemis, didn't your mother order you on this vacation under the pain of giving Myles and Beckett free range on your room?" Butler pointed out.
"Business calls," Artemis answered, tapping the rather gaudy ring on his hand. "Juliet, pack our bags. We're going to Haven."
It wasn't a scene that many lived to see: Major Holly Short of LEP Recon attired in an elegant dark knee-length dress, trimmed with pastel blues and greens and beaded in a graceful pattern along the bodice. Her hair was loose and set in perfect curls, adorned with only a small sapphire-studded brooch. In fact, her countenance was even embellished with a light smattering of foundation and the slightest touch of eyeshadow and lipstick. If the inexorably tomboyish LEP officer had been pretty previously, she was downright stunning now. It was, quite frankly a miracle that few could ever dare to achieve.
There was only one tiny problem: she was barefoot.
"I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Mari, I refuse to wear heels," Holly retorted to her younger, and surprisingly, equally persistent, sister and the single reason she wasn't dressed in jeans by now. "I can't walk in them and what if something happens? I'll be a complete lame duck."
"So what, you're just going to walk into the Gaian Hall barefooted?" Mariana countered, straightening her own dress— a rather conspicuous violet contraption.
"No," Holly replied, smiling with that familiar devious spark in her eyes. "I'm going to wear my boots."
"You're joking."
"I'm dead serious."
"Oh, you're dead alright. Just wait until Caballine sees that at her picture perfect wedding."
"That" was a pair of ancient black combat boots, undeniably scraggly with ragged laces and scuff marks disfiguring the once flawless expanse of dark leather. They lay higgledy-piggledy on the doormat, looming almost ominously.
"Well, she won't see, now will she?"
"Yeah, because she totally won't notice when she walks down the aisle and sees her d'arviting excuse for a friend in combat boots!"
Scowling, Holly defiantly donned the boots, and began towards the door, her hand wandering to the back of her head, clearly seeking to worm out the brooch, a lingering symbol of femininity to be annihilated once and for all. But an equally importunate voice interrupted:
"Don't you dare touch that."
"But—"
"Touch it and I'll tell Trouble about your last midnight rendezvous with dear Arty," the younger girl threatened mercilessly.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
Holly knew better than to take her up on the offer; they did share the some of the same genes after all.
"It wouldn't kill you to be a teensy bit feminine for one day in your life, Holly," Mariana rolled her eyes, ruthlessly pinning the curls into submission. "Besides, don't you want to impress this mystery guy that Foaly's setting you up with?"
"Mariana, he's not setting me up with anyone," Holly snapped, making her way to the car. "I've agreed to meet him, that's all. I'm not the type to agree to date a guy I don't even know. One dance, maybe, and then I'm through."
"And then?" Mariana asked, following.
"And then what?"
"Then who are you going to dance with? This is a wedding, Holly. You're expected to have a date," Mariana acted as if she was explaining the most basic rules of mathematics to a small child.
"Please, no one is taking it that seriously. Trouble doesn't have a date either."
"So that's your plan to get back together with him again, is it?" Mariana raised one eyebrow.
"Look, we're friends and we're going to stay that way this time," Holly said, and it was true. She was done with this cycle with Trouble, always getting together, breaking up, and finally settling for friendship. It was simply too much heartache. "I'm not messing that up this time."
"Like you say every time. Excusez-moi if I don't want to believe you," Mariana said, with the barest hint of bitterness in her voice.
"Listen," Holly caught her sister's shoulder. "I know you like Trouble and to tell you the truth, I do, too. I'll probably always like him, but I can't go through this again, knowing exactly how it'll turn out. He'll always want to get married and have a perfect family, and I can't do that, not now, not ever."
"Because, you love Artemis, don't you?" Mariana whispered in hushed tones, despite the fact that most of Haven was still asleep on this muted Saturday morning. "Don't you?"
"Yeah," answered Holly, her voice equally soft. "I do."
The car pulled up to an ornately-decorated reception hall, replete with Corinthian pillars and throngs of wedding-goers congregated on the marble steps. Absolutely swarming with elegant guests in their swirling skirts and dark tuxedos among the imported lilacs, it was the very picture of class. Hardly a place one of the most gung-ho officers of the LEP was likely to be spotted.
"Wow, Caballine really pulled off a miracle, didn't she?" Mariana commented, if only to break the silence.
"I'll say that when I see Foaly in a tux," Holly muttered, plucking at the taut waist of her dress. "He had better be as uncomfortable as I am in this."
"Think of the Recon jocks all dressed up," Mariana giggled. "Now that'll be a laugh."
The next laugh of the day, however, belonged to Wing Commander and Councilwoman Vinyaya who'd hurried out of the reception hall to be greeted with the extraordinary image of Holly Short in…a dress.
"Well, well, Major," she remarked. "I suppose I should commend your sister for the job well done? Although," she added, catching sight of the rather ghastly combat boots, "not every battle can be won."
On the other hand, the Councilwoman herself appeared surprisingly at ease in a flowing cream halter that complemented her silver locks stunningly. For a woman of politics who literally lived in pantsuits, it was an impressive transformation.
"Anyway," she continued with a wry smile. "You better get inside. Caballine's asking for you and you're late. As always."
"Yes, ma'am," Holly pulled herself from the bucket seats and trudged up the steps, forming a rather conspicuous, red-haired eyesore in midst of the refined surroundings. There was a reason she detested dresses, after all.
Still stinging from the injustice, she unceremoniously flung open the doors and gained entrance to a small dressing room off the vestibule.
"Caballine?" she called into the expanse within.
"Oh Frond, Holly, I'm so glad you're here," a bubbly centaur flung herself on to the elf in question. The two had long since forged a rather peculiar alliance on the promise that Holly's visage would no longer adorn the evening news on PPTV for no apparent reason; after all, it was certainly helpful to have an inside source who could easily alter the cue cards and vid clips just before airtime.
However, even Caballine cringed when she noticed her friend's the less-than-pristine footwear. "Goodness sakes, Holly, do you even own any heels?"
"Well, I doubt even you would wear the shoes my sister tried to push on me. They're neon green, for a start," Holly rolled her eyes.
"Here," Caballine handed her a pair of black stilettos. "Size six, right?"
"Uh-huh…," Holly dangled one shoe by the fine leather strap as if she'd never seen such a contraption before. But of course, she had.
For as long as she could remember, she detested her mother's taste in habiliments. Pastel frocks and silky hair ribbons galore— a physical embodiment of all the feminineness she shunned. The worst of all were the shoes— the patent leather too stiff to run with; they imprisoned her better than a cage of metal could ever have. But she would've willingly donned every lacy frock and stiffly loafers her mother could throw at her, if only she had gotten her way on one August day of '45.
She'd awoken to find the clothes neatly folded on her bed: dark skirt, gunpowder grey blouse and a black corduroy blazer lined with blood red silk. It was appalling.
She had thrown herself at Camellia, screaming that her mother was a terrible person who didn't even care a whit about her own husband. How strange that she had not cried, not one tear. She had even faced the tabloid headlines with stoicism when her mother failed to, but the mere sight of that blood red lining chilled her to the bones.
Perhaps she would've climbed into bed and refused to leave for the ceremony, had it not been for her sister. Those stormy grey eyes were lucid for once and they stared at her with all the innocence she had lost. The babyish hand clutched at her older sister's and she realized that she was in her mother's shoes.
And by some miracle, those clunky black contraptions fit.
"Oh, don't worry," her companion laughed, bringing her back to reality. "It's not nearly as bad as most— totally not torture."
Holly shrugged and donned the shoes, hiding her disconcertion. She'd known Caballine long enough to know that there was no protesting with her and the extra two inches they provided was no small reward. And it was her wedding day, after all, and for her own personal safety, it might be a smart idea to cooperate complacently. The centaur may have been as harmless as the average bunny rabbit but she was in control of possibly the most dangerous invention known to man or fairy— the news networks and more importantly, their seemingly unlimited supply of vid clips of a certain female Recon officer engaging in inappropriate acts. Besides, the heels were so sharp, she could always use them as a weapon to threaten Foaly with if her "date" was…unsatisfactory. Although the untimely death of the groom might put a slight damper on the festivities.
"So, is there anything I can help with?" For some reason she could not fathom, even the notoriously stubborn Major Holly Short could be reduced to a compliant collaborator under Caballine's influence. No wonder why she had Foaly wrapped around her little finger.
"Actually, no," the centaur pinned a final curl into her astoundingly complicated plait, adorned with genuine blossoms. "I'm supposed to be distracting you as Foaly isn't quite done with your date yet."
Holly snorted. "Why, what's he doing— building some robot? Automated date-tron 3000?"
"Not quite," Caballine smirked wryly, somehow managing to seem mischievous despite attire akin to an angel's. The bride was resplendent in the traditional white, flowing gown, embroidered lightly and swirling about her feet like pastel paints poured into the ocean.
"I don't like the sound of that."
"Oh, you will," the female centaur giggled. "Just wait till you see."
Naturally, that had Holly scrambling for the door, wavering on her stilettos like a sailboat in a tempest. As she approached the wide arches of the hall's entrance, she noticed Foaly in midst of the mills of people, talking to a dark-haired fairy, inconspicuous in the typical dark-suit-white-tie apparel of a fall wedding. Intrigued, Holly ambled down the aisle, taking care to avoid slipping on the sleek marble tiles while simultaneously maintaining a normal gait. It was not a task easily accomplished, and she almost made it, too.
However, the surprise alone was certainly enough to knock her off her feet when Foaly's companion turned around, revealing his visage. From a rather undignified position on the floor, Holly glanced up to see a very familiar pair of mismatched eyes.
Author's Note (PLEASE READ): So I made a bunch of excuses about my schoolwork, etc, etc, but another major reason that I haven't updated is that I'm not getting very good reception for this fic. I started Collision as a new author on this site and it garnered so much more popularity than this. And I am so busy since I'm a junior aiming for the Ivy League and if not many people are reading or actually care about this fic, why should I continue?
I'm discussed this with my beta and some of my friends online, but I guess who I really have to ask is my readers. I just want to see how many people would really care if I didn't continue this fic. So please tell me how you feel and why in your review or if you already reviewed, feel free to PM me.
Thanks.
Lily