Day Twenty-Two: Mad (screw the date)

“... Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please...“

Beckett rolled his eyes, twirling a rusted screwdriver in his hand. He placed his phone on his right shoulder and pressed it to his ear, and strangely enough, Emily still hadn’t noticed that he had stopped talking precisely six minutes ago. He flung the screwdriver carelessly on his bed, and was horrified when it hit the wall instead, an angry scratch symbolizing his failed efforts.

He heard a distance, “what was that?” and cringed.

Quick quick quick quick- paint! I need paint! thought Becket desperately, racing to his door before Myles could even think about investigating. He locked the door with a satisfied click! and frowned, focusing his attention on the ugly scratch on his wall. Tiny chips of plaster mounted on the surface of his bed, and a cold feeling spread through his body like wild fire. His mum was going to murder him. Beckett racked his brain, trying to think of any little thing Myles or Artemis had done as to ensure that they wouldn’t speak a word of his little incident, and after sifting thoroughly through most of his recent memories he grinned, his shoulders relaxing.

There was always the whole drugging-Emily-so-she-could-be-less-annoying story, and Beckett was sure that his mother wouldn’t take too kindly on her sons for keeping that little secret from her.

There was a light knock-knock-knock on his door and Beckett turned around, squinting at the security screen he had made Myles install not too long ago. Screen Myles was currently giving him one of his many death glares, and Beckett’s grin widened. He strolled over to the door and glanced momentarily at the screen before singing, “Who is it?”

Screen Myles curled his upper lip and crossed his arms, raising an irritated eyebrow. “Just open it you deluded oaf,” he said, stifling a yawn. Beckett snorted, and Myles scowled, knocking on the door more forcefully than before. “I have a proposition for you,” announced Beckett, biting back a smile that might have ruined his ‘serious’ tone of voice. Myles looked up, annoyed, and made a face. “Do you now?”

Beckett nodded despite knowing that Myles couldn’t see him. After a moment of silence, Myles sighed and tapped the door more lightly. “I can’t see you, idiot, so is that a yes?” he said. Beckett scowled, crossing his arms. “Yes,” he said finally. “Let’s say, hypothetically, I’ve scratched the wall-“

“That’s what happens when you unnecessarily fling tools on your bed, Beckett.”

“-and hypothetically, bits of the wall came off-“

“Mother isn’t going to like that.”

“-and I have no blue paint in my room to cover it up with, which is going to seriously piss mum off. 

Hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course,” repeated an amused Myles.

Beckett rolled his eyes before continuing. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked, tracing the picture of Captain America’s shield printed on his shirt nervously. “Oh no, I had nothing to do with that stupid mistake of yours, you’re on your own, brother,” said Myles, turning his back on the screen and making his way towards his own room. “No!” Beckett groaned, twisting the knob on his door and racing to his brother’s side. He grabbed his shoulder, surprising Myles, and pulled him towards him. “Help me,” he said, his eyes pleading. Myles scoffed, brushing Beckett’s hands from his shoulder with a disdainful hand of his own. Beckett reclaimed his brother’s shoulder with an even tighter grasp, and Myles was forced to hear him out.

“Please?”

Myles glared at him, and pointed at his left shoulder. Beckett nodded quickly and obliged, loosening his grip on his brother’s shoulder. “Pretty please?” he repeated, his voice eerily resembling a toddler’s. Myles sighed. “Fine,” he said, reluctantly entering his brother’s room. He crinkled his nose in distaste as the smell of motor oil engulfed his senses, and he immediately shoved his forearm onto his nose. 

“Later,” he gagged, running out of his room as fast as his long legs could carry him, leaving a confused and highly amused Beckett alone.

He turned to his bed, and realized that Emily was still on the phone. He grinned, grabbing the phone and bringing it to his ear.

“... Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please-“

Beckett laughed, silencing Emily’s perpetual pleading. “Alright! Alright. I’ll go fetch Myles and we’ll pick you up at the bookstore. Sound good?”

“Yeah- just don’t be late. The movie starts in half an hour and your house is a good twenty minutes from mine,” said Emily, her voice slightly muffled from the telephone line. Beckett grabbed a newly washed and ironed shirt from his drawer before deciding against it, dropping it on the floor. He reasoned with himself that the shirt he currently wore was only three days old- barely even used. “What are we watching again?” he asked, pulling on a pair of green converse shoes and socks fresh from the dryer. “The Amazing Spider Man,” she breathed, giving Beckett a reason to roll his eyes. “Then I’ll be there in thirty,” he teased, tying his shoelaces. Emily gave a startled huh! and hung up. Beckett smiled, walked over to his door, and slipped out, locking the doors behind him. What his mum didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

He got into his brother’s room without bothering to knock, and was greeted rather coldly by a very disgruntled Myles. “What?” asked Myles, looking up from his smart phone. “Who’re you texting?” asked Beckett, prodding Myles’ arm. Myles rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t exactly concern you, so...”

Beckett snorted. “Farah, is it?” he said, giving his brother a wink. Myles ignored his brother, locked his phone, and stood up. “What brings you here, then?” he asked, disappearing into his walk in closet. 

“We’re going to go to the movies,” said Beckett, carefully avoiding the title The Amazing Spider Man (again, what Myles didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him). Myles got out of the room, holding two very expensive looking suits in either hand. “This,” he said, he jerking his head at his right hand, which held a navy silk double breasted Armani suit with a bright maroon tie. “Or this,” he said, jerking his head at his left hand: a charcoal pinstriped suit with a black tie and a steely grey undershirt. “You’re not wearing that to the movies,” said Beckett, eying the suits with great distaste, “Are you?”

“Of course I am. These are my casual suits. Haven’t you noticed?”

Beckett ran a swift hand through his fair curls and sighed. “Myles. You are not going to wear a bloody suit to the movies,” he said. It was Myles’ turn to sigh. “Yes, I am. Just because you’re wearing something dreadful doesn’t mean I should too,” he said, studying both suits critically. Beckett crossed his arms and smiled, making his way over to his brother. Myles pulled his gaze from the suits to look at Beckett.

“Beckett, why are you smiling like that?” he asked, staring at him with wide eyes. Beckett shook his head, chuckling, and edged closer to Myles. “Beckett, stop that. Stop that right now,” he said, his voice a tremulous whisper. He stumbled backwards as Beckett lunged forwards, and the two landed ungracefully on the floor, Myles crying out in pain. Beckett kept one arm firmly on Myles’ chest, and his other hand snatched the two suits away from Myles’ grip. “Get off me!” yelled Myles, his legs kicking weakly. “No,” said Beckett, his hold on Myles firm. “Off. Me,” hissed Myles kicking more wildly. “As you wish!” replied Beckett cheerfully, quickly getting up.  Myles swung an arm around Beckett’s neck, keeping Beckett in place. “Ha!” he cried triumphantly. Beckett only smiled before using his right foot to kick Myles in his lower regions. Myles grunted, doubling over in pain, before releasing Beckett from his inadequate grip.

“You’re pathetic Myles,” he called from across the room, dangling both suits from the window. Myles gurgled a protest, but didn’t get up. Beckett shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, smiling at his own joke before dropping both suits. The wind carried the lighter articles of clothing from the mud and then unfortunately dropped them right into the miniature duck pond. Myles gasped, slowly recovering from the hit. He got up at his own pace and stared at Beckett’s empty hands. Beckett noticed that his brother was turning a very deep shade of maroon, which, oddly enough, matched one of his muddled suits. He grinned, backing away slowly from his brother and towards the door. “I’m.telling.mother,” Myles said quietly, also edging closer to the door. Beckett’s heart dropped to his stomach and he bolted out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He heard Myles curse just an earshot away from him and picked up his pace, making his way towards the staircases hidden behind a false window.

Myles, now dressed in black dress pants and an ironed grey button up shirt, whipped out his phone and dialed Juliet’s number. She picked up, and he informed her about the tragedy that was his suits. She agreed to fetch them later only after she heard about how they ended up in the mud in the first place. He mumbled an excuse and got out of the room, grabbing a pair of skeleton keys he had hidden in a bowl by his door. Myles walked over to Beckett’s room and unlocked the door. He braced himself from the stench that was about to wrap itself around him and quickly took several photographs of the mark Beckett had so stupidly made only ten minutes ago.

Myles smiled to himself despite the unbearable odor and left the room, pocketing his phone safely in his back pocket. He went back to his room and put on a light cashmere sweater and dress shoes his brother had bought for him from a business trip in Florence. Normally, Chanel wouldn’t live up to his usual standards, but he was going to the movies, and Beckett had made it clear that he had to dress casual. 

Smirking to himself, he made his way downstairs and out of the back doors of Fowl Manor. He saw that Beckett was waiting in the silver Bentley, looking extremely bored.

Myles climbed in beside his brother and buckled his seatbelt. “Don’t turn on the radio,” he reminded Beckett before he could push the button. Beckett stopped, his hand in midair, and pouted. “Just get on with it,” said Myles impatiently, motioning him to start the engine.

Beckett rolled his eyes but did as he was told, pulling the car out of the garage and into the driveway.

***

Twilight had just settled in, splashing the sky with bursts of oranges and deep pinks. Clouds swirled in multicolor, and the barest hints of stars appeared, adding the final touches to a perfectly romantic evening.

Unfortunately for Emily, she wasn’t able to fully appreciate the sky’s beauty, because Myles and Beckett were late. So very late that in fact, it defied the laws of physics itself.

She impatiently glanced at her phone, checking the time. Six minutes late. How could they, she thought furiously, how could they ditch me at a time like this? This was Spiderman for crying out loud! Not some petty movie Deena had insisted they’d watch some time ago.

A silver Bentley rolled into view, and stopped just by Faucet’s Bookstore. Emily could see one very blonde head poking out from one of the windows, and a darker one sitting right beside it. She let out a noise of frustration before she stomped over to the car, opened the handle, and slammed the door shut, ignoring Beckett’s protesting yelp.

She crossed her arms, glaring at both of them. “You’re six minutes late,” she declared, her eyes growing narrower and narrower with each excuse the twins mumbled. “... Beckett threw my best suits on the ground- my suits! It was a situation that I couldn’t leave unnoticed, Emily. In all honesty I wasn’t even sure I was going to accompany you after Beckett’s last gag,” said Myles, sounding exceedingly upset. She rolled her eyes in response and slapped the back of Beckett’s head. Beckett ignored this, and grinned, pressing the exhilarator pedal. The shops of down town Dublin became a passing blur, and Emily forced herself to relax. They were going to make it. They were going to make it.

She flicked her ponytail from her shoulder and reached out a hand at the control panel.

Myles swatted her hand away, shaking his head disapprovingly. “No radio,” he said sternly, his frown becoming more prominent. Emily snorted, and pushed a large black button, activating the radio. Myles raised his eyebrows in irritation. “Emily...” he began, obviously nettled. Emily raised her chin loftily. 

“You guys made me miss the commercials. I am going to listen to my radio and no one is going to say anything about it,” she said, Beckett nodding at every word she had spoken. “She’s right, bro, we gotta do what the boss lady says we gotta do,” he said, turning the knob that controlled a variety of channels. Myles groaned and focused his attention on his phone. “You’re only agreeing with her because you want the radio for yourself,” he muttered, unlocking his phone.

“Damn right he is,” quipped Emily, high fiving Beckett. Myles rolled his eyes and shook his head in annoyance. “No- no- no- I hate that song- no- wait! Keep it! Keep it!” said Emily, stopping Beckett’s hand from turning the knob. He turned to her, grinning. “You like Chris Brown?” he asked, amused. Emily shrugged, crinkling her nose. “I like this song,” she corrected, cocking her head as to imitate professional rappers she had seen on TV as she and Beckett sang along.

“Yellow bottle gin... yellow top sippin’... yellow Lamborghini... yellow top missin’... yeah- yeah... that shit look like a toupee`... I get what you get in ten years, in two days...”

Myles turned to look at Emily, looking absolutely horrified. “Emily, what in the world are you doing?” he asked her incredulously, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. Emily smiled sheepishly and continued with the rap. Beckett laughed delightedly and shook his head, now very amused. “ I don’t even know you anymore,” sniffed Myles, blocking his ears. Emily giggled, laugh lines wrinkling just below her eyes. “Beckett, change the song before Myles explodes, please,” she said, nodding at Myles, who snorted. Beckett obliged, and the delicate sounds of a piano playing rumbled through the speakers, surprising Myles. “They put this on here? That’s brilliant! Keep it, keep it!” she said excitedly. 

“This is most certainly an improvement. This almost covers up your unfortunate rap fetish. Good for you, Emily,” said Myles with an approved nod of the head. The piano solo ended, and a very hissy voice breathed the lyrics through the speakers.

“I’ve seen the book of tales... crafted by magic lamps... only then time itself... its pages are filled with darkness... and mystery...”

Myles closed his eyes. “What in heaven’s name is that?”

Emily glanced at Myles, annoyed. “That’s Michael Jackson, stupid, you don’t mess with Michael Jackson.”

“Myles is in trouble!” sang Beckett, singing along the words, making Emily’s heart burst with pride over his taste in music. Myles arched an eyebrow and said nothing, which Emily thought was the sensible thing to do.

After ten more minutes of Emily and Beckett singing along every song Myles claimed to despise, they reached a brightly lit building with movie posters plastered all over the walls, throngs of teenagers crowding the main entrances. Myles curled his lip. “Is this what people do when they’re procrastinating?” he asked dryly, unbuckling his seat belt. Emily opened the door for him and waited until he got out. “Pretty much,” she said, leading the way towards the front door. The strong smell of smoke wafted by and Emily and Myles scrunched their noses in discomfort. A group of teenage boys and girls sniggered as Myles passed them, his expensive clothing sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Oi! What’s with the shoes, mate? You gay or something?” called one of the guys standing nearest to them, giving Myles a vicious smile. Emily turned to look at Myles, who was flushing the lightest of pink. 

Beckett stopped walking and turned around to look at the group, his eyes narrowed. He then turned to look at Myles, who gave him a slight headshake, which, despite the glare of artificial lights that hung by either side of the theatre gate, was barely even noticeable. But Emily noticed it, and she felt her heart pang, her lunch swimming disagreeably in her stomach. Beckett raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Myles started walking forward again, his back straight and his shoulders seemingly relaxed, but Emily knew better. She rushed over to his side and glanced behind her, giving the group a very dirty look.

Beckett trailed after them just after he had said, “Why? You interested or something?” which caused the crowd to hoot and holler with laughter, leaving the man who had insulted Myles visibly humiliated. 

Beckett left the door to close automatically behind him and soon enough he fell into step with them, walking by Myles’ right. “I told you not to wear-“

“Just leave it, Beckett,” snapped Myles. He sighed, and walked over to the ticket counter. Turning around, he glanced at Emily and Beckett, asking, “Which film are we watching?”

“Spiderman,” they answered simultaneously. Myles rolled his eyes and bought the tickets (ignoring Emily’s protests over how she should be the one paying).

“Fine,” she said, making herself comfortable in her chair. “I’m paying for next time, and you’re going to remember that, okay?”  Myles only frowned, and gingerly put on the 3D glasses after wiping it clean with a wet napkin. Beckett, already absorbed, munched his popcorn whilst staring transfixed at the screen, his mouth slightly parted. “I can’t believe you’re making me watch this,” Myles said quietly, sighing in defeat. Emily smiled, and brought her slushy to her lips. She took a thoughtful sip before shushing him, despite the fact that she couldn’t fully concentrate on the movie because of what had happened only previously.

Emily knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Myles wasn’t like every other bloke in Ireland, in fact, he took pride in that, which impressed Emily in a way she could fully appreciate. Being different was something Emily thought was very important. It built character, her mother had told her, which was something that the world seemed to be lacking nowadays. Yet, when that man affronted Myles, she couldn’t help but feel something close to pity, something that she was sure Myles would hate for her to feel.

She let her thoughts wander to the first time they had met. Emily refused to believe that he had ever been teased; she had always assumed he was the bully and not the other way around. Here, however, he was vulnerable, trapped in a location he couldn’t fully feel comfortable in, and she understood that, she really did. She was the britt in Irish land, and high school hadn’t been kind to her, not one bit. But instead of crumbling into peer pressure, this only made Emily stronger, not only as a painter or writer, but as a person. You didn’t need to listen to the opinion of the public; they were stupid and highly predictable.

Emily chuckled to herself. Who knew she shared something in common with the man she had disliked, well, hated, for only so long? Time, Emily decided, was a fickle thing. She nodded, bemused, and her mind whirred with the explosion of new ideas she could soon incorporate into her writing.

Suddenly, a very dorky Peter Parker appeared on the screen, and Emily was immediately snapped back into reality. She felt herself smile at the sight of him and fangirled silently to herself, causing Myles to look at her in distraught. “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding mildly terrified. Emily giggled, and clapped her hands. “Andrew Garfield,” she breathed, giggling. Myles groaned, covering his face with both of his hands.

Just as Peter Parker pulled his mask down his face for the first time, Emily squealed, and Beckett whispered, “I’d look brilliant in tights.” Myles, clearly agitated, rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into his seat. Emily glanced at him from behind her 3D glasses and flashed him a smile. “You look ridiculous, by the way,” she whispered, giving him the thumbs up. “Thank you. Your comment is greatly appreciated, and I’m hoping to hear more of your dry wit soon,” he replied sarcastically, rubbing the side of his temple with a soothing thumb. Emily shushed him for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that night, and Myles scowled, turning his gaze from her to the screen.

Emily smiled through her slushy, and watched happily as Peter undressed himself just after a crime scene. Myles, surprised at Emily’s sudden attentiveness to the film, covered her eyes with his right hand (a habit his mother had installed into his system at a very, very young age). “Hey!” Emily protested, trying to pry his hand from her eyes. “I won’t let you,” he whispered urgently. “Why not!” she asked, sounding irritated. “Because- because he’s undressing,” she heard him squeak. She groaned and slapped his hand away. Unfortunately for her, Spiderman was already swinging from building to building, every inch of bare skin covered tightly in bright red and blue spandex.

“I hate you,” she growled, her eyebrows furrowed and her face twisted into a scowl.

“No you don’t.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Emily hmphed and ignored him, concentrating hard on the movie. From the corner of her eye she saw Myles give her a small smile, and she felt the corner of her lips smile with him.

Peter Parker and Gwen Stacey were now on the terrace, and Emily braced herself for what was about to happen. She had always felt like she was Gwen in her own story, but every Peter in her life proved a great disappointment for her, and so she gave up on the hope that she could find someone who would make her just as happy as Peter did Gwen. Peter was trying to tell Gwen about his secret identity, and was failing miserably.

A strand of spider web launched itself from his wrist, and it latched itself onto Gwen’s lower waist, twirling her around until their lips met. Emily sighed blissfully (and maybe even a little enviously) and found herself looking at Myles, who, to her surprise, was staring right back at her. Emily felt the heat creeping up her cheeks and she quickly looked away, grateful that the theater was dark and that Myles couldn’t see her blush.

Why did I just do that?

Emily shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind, and focused her concentration on the screen, occasionally helping herself to Beckett’s large tray of nachos despite his weak protests, which she had casually ignored.

***

The trio dumped their 3D glasses in a large basket and made their way out of the theatre, Emily stumbling over a couple of steps as they walked down. “What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Beckett as he helped her from the ground. She stood up, dusting her jeans and shirt, and shrugged. 

“That was brilliant,” she gushed happily, stuffing her hands in her jean pockets as she stepped into the cold night air, the wind whistling merrily in her ears. The theatre’s doors were pulled back, and people poured out from the building, each heading their own separate way.

“No it wasn’t,” sighed Myles, raising a disdainful eyebrow. Emily swiveled around and faced him, her eyes slits. “Are you kidding me? That was bloody brilliant! Andrew Garfield is a fantastic Spiderman. Loads better than that Toby bloke,” she said, flouncing towards their car’s direction.

“Oh, Emily. Poor, misguided, love struck Emily. You’re just hopeless aren’t you?” taunted Myles, opening the car door as Beckett unlocked it. Emily made a face. “Poor Myles, idiotic, uncoordinated, curly haired dweeb with absolutely no life Myles. Must you put yourself in these situations?” she countered effortlessly, rolling her eyes as she settled herself in the backseat. “I wasn’t the one sighing every five seconds like a giggling thirteen year old girl with a crush,” he replied, clicking his seatbelt into place. “Impossible. You like Gwen Stacey. I know you do. You too, Beck,” she said, smirking at both of them.

Beckett grinned and made his way towards the highway, their car snaking in between others. “She was pretty hot,” Beckett admitted, biting back a smile. Myles scoffed, shaking his head. “Yes she was. And she was pretty smart too. That’s gotta be a turn on, right Myles?” insisted Beckett, peering at his brother. Myles shook his head again, and tapped away at his phone. Emily laughed. “He so likes her, it’s not even funny how much he likes her,” she said, enjoying the sight of Myles flushing in front of her. “In fact, he likes her so much he wants to father her children,” she continued in a theatrical voice, patting a very provocative Myles lightly on the head. Myles sighed. “I am never going to watch a movie with the two of you ever again,” he announced.

Emily complained when he said this and poked his shoulder, determined to irk the older twin in any possible way she could. Myles only ignored her, his phone beeping every thirty seconds. “Who are you even texting?” she asked, peeping over his shoulder. Myles pocketed his phone with one sleek move and shrugged, a secretive smile stretching his face. “No one,” he said.

“You lie!” cried Emily, trying to locate his phone. Beckett laughed again and tutted condimentaly at his brother. Myles sent Beckett a glare and he immediately stopped, stifling a chuckle every now and then.

The blur of the scenery slowed down, and Beckett stopped right by Emily’s house. An orangey glow escaped Emily’s windows and she smiled at the sight of her father grading papers in the living room. Her mother entered the room, carrying two cups of what Emily assumed was steaming hot tea.

She looked at both Myles and Beckett and shrugged. “If you guys want to drop by for a spot of tea...?”

Beckett was about to speak but Myles shook his head politely. “Mother is expecting us home for dinner,” he told her. Emily nodded at this and made her way towards her front door. She turned around to find both boys waving goodbye at her. She grinned, saluting them with her right hand. “Tomorrow, then?” she called. “Breakfast!” Beckett shouted and she nodded, turning her back on them. She twisted the knob open and slipped inside, shielding herself from the piercing cold.

Her cell phone beeped, and she checked the contact name.

Draco Malfoy (Myles).

You remind me a lot of Gwen.

Emily felt her self smile.

Ignoring the butterflies that suddenly swooped down her stomach, she greeted her parents and stopped by the kitchen to fetch herself a teacup.

- left-foot-fowl

20. Tremble

My hand shook as I raised it higher to slowly pet the alien's outreached hand. It smiled at me - I wasn't sure whether it was a male or a female yet - and I hesitantly grinned back.

"We are friends," it spoke politely. "So far, we have only found a few species in the world and humans are the most intelligent out of them."

I tilted my head at it, curious as to why they wouldn't visit the other species.

"We are the most intelligent," it nodded, pleased. "We just had to affirm that."

I nodded cautiously then, wondering what they were to do to our population. Soon enough, I was blasted backwards; my chest hurting as smoke rose from the wound. Looking up at the alien in horror, I noted the evil expression that crossed its innocent face.

 

~

"Wake up!" A blurry figure shook me and I groaned, my throat parched and dry. Refusing to let myself to being woken up; I protested weakly. "If you're here for any longer; you will die."

"How long?" I garbled, my tongue thick in my mouth refusing it to let it formulate and enunciate any clear words. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About two years?" They mused absentmindedly and my eyes popped out in shock. "Yeah, two. After the alien got you, we put you into stasis until you'd completely recovered."

"Then why am I still where I got shot?" I demanded, stumbling over my words as I got used to speaking again.

"It's an internal thing," they replied hurriedly. "So we just left you where you were because it was safe. It's not anymore. And you're almost healed. So we're getting you out of here."

I blinked, my eyes blurring over and peering at the two people who stood over me; their backs ramrod straight as they addressed the air above my head. "Are you two alright?"

"Oh, you mean our position?" The lady smiled, a tugging sadness linking to it as well. "It's compulsory. Shot on sight otherwise."

I stared at her in shock, and she quickly glanced down; shooting a kind grin to my horrified eyes. "And these were the aliens that I'd welcomed?"

"We're assuming that they've done this to other life-forms as well. Although they always mention that this planet has been nothing but trouble. Rebellions and all; you know how humanity is."

My head snapped up immediately, “They’d mentioned that humans were the second most intelligent in their line of travel. Perhaps they’re having trouble suppressing us. We can stop this. We can save humanity.”

“So many have been converted,” the man next to her scoffed, “it’s ridiculous. You have to either believe the things they say; and do whatever they tell you to do or they make you like them.”

“What do you mean?” I gaped at him, my body starting to wake up. “What do you mean by that?”

“They take your brain and put it into one of their bodies. It seems that they harvest bodies. And every year, they add more restrictions. Eventually, we’re thinking that they going to take this whole planet.”

“Any classification tags or anything?” I muttered.

“Nope. They’re not organised. They’re just technologically advanced. They haven’t experienced life like we have. So no ID or anything of that sort.”

“Well, you better tell me all the rules pretty quickly,” I growl, standing up, staggering and holding onto the woman’s rigid hand, “we’ve got a planet to save.”

Deema, I need to know if you're alright. Please, please reply to this; I'm just worried.

Allons-y!

Day Nineteen: Transformation (12th of August)

Artemis Fowl the second had gone through quite the transformation over the past decade or so. No longer had he acquainted himself with respected criminal organizations and somewhat maniac CFOs for the sole purpose of everlasting gold. On the contrary, Artemis felt he needn’t trouble himself with those insane enough to actually strike a deal with him. He was far too busy silently plotting ways to save the earth, and his days of robbing it from its valuables were now long behind him (this being a major drastic change from his early years).

 Artemis had to admit that nowadays he was quite the relaxed man- a relaxed work-o-holic, that is. He was going to marry the love of his life and live out a semi-normal existence. However, his criminal days weren’t completely over, but instead they were used purely for the greater good, something Myles could and would not comprehend for the life of him.

It was a rather chilly day when Artemis was to be confronted, but Myles didn’t allow this mere difficulty to mar his desires to have his sibling over for a brotherly visit...

Artemis sat comfortably on his chair, his gaze never wavering from Myles’. It was cool and collected, opposing that of his brother’s, which burned with grating irritation. Artemis allowed a small smile to stretch his normally resigned face, and he drummed his chin with his middle and index fingers to set 

Myles off course. You’re not going to win, you know.

Myles scoffed, staring back into his brother’s eyes with a sort of defiance that vaguely resembled that of the demi-god Loki’s. “Yes.I.can,” he mumbled quietly, his left eye slightly twitching. Artemis arched a dark eyebrow, amused at his brother’s struggling (and unsuccessful) efforts at over coming Artemis in his very own game.

“Myles, you’re acting ridiculous.”

“No I’m not,” Myles replied calmly, running a hand through his slightly mused dark hair. He then sighed, looking warily at Artemis. “Two weeks ago, during father’s celebration, you’ve entered my lab and played with things I’ve told you time and time again not to play with,” he began sharply, reclining on his chair a bit.

Artemis’ already arched eyebrow rose a fraction higher, willing his brother to continue. “Somehow, you’ve gotten hold on the godiva chocolate truffles –Artemis’ eyes widened in innocent shock-, which were tactfully hidden under the foot of my desk. Need I say more?”

Artemis’ smirk widened, but he said nothing. Myles sniffed, rubbing his temples in an attempt to sustain himself long enough to complete what he had stared. “Two weeks ago, a fortnight, if you will, you’ve attempted to drug the chocolate, and have succeeded. Do you have anything to add to this?”

Artemis slightly tilted his head to the side, appearing to look thoughtful. “I have one question,” he said finally, crossing his legs. Myles stared expectedly at him, waiting for him to continue. “It’s been two weeks, a fortnight if you will –Myles scowled at this- and you’ve only just discovered this now?”

Myles let out a low groan. Getting up, he pointed a manicured finger at the door. “Out.”

Artemis grinned, his eyes sparkling (which seemed to unnerve Myles to absolute no end) and shook his head. “You know precisely why I’ve done it.”

“That doesn’t help your case at all, Artemis. In all honesty I could be telling mother all about this little incident, and then you wouldn’t have that blasted smile on your face.”

Artemis raised both his eyebrows, glancing momentarily at his brother before shifting his gaze to one of the beakers on Myles’ table. “Oh really? And how, dear brother, are you going to do that?”

Myles shrugged casually, carefully avoiding his brother’s gaze. “That’s for me to know and for you to figure out.”

Artemis snorted, shaking his head. “Really, Myles? I’ve already disabled your computer’s microphone...” Myles seemed unfazed by this, and had the nerve to pick out nonexistent lint from his designer suit. “...Which struck me as useless... so your screens are dysfunctional as well...” he continued, waiting for a reaction. Myles yawned, elegantly covering his mouth. Artemis sighed, barely containing his growing annoyance at his brother’s lopsided smile. “...Which is why that beaker to your right is about to detonate in about... three... two...”

Myles whipped his head towards the beaker, his face looking purely startled and unguarded. Covering his head with two shaking hands, Myles lunged behind his desk, waiting for the boom to course through his lab (this was surely going to disturb his lab partner from his routinely afternoon nap).

He glued his eyes shut, waiting for the explosion to ensue. All was silent for a few seconds, and Myles was growing doubtful. He raised a cautious head, peering at his lab through emergency goggles that he had stashed earlier under his desk. His eyes widened.

Where was Artemis?

Myles felt a sharp hand slap the back of his head, and he slowly turned around, dazed.

He grunted, half annoyed at his brother, who was folding his arms in victory, half annoyed at himself for falling for such an elementary prank.

“You idiot,” Artemis mused, thoroughly enjoying himself. He lent a helpful hand at his deranged brother, who growled, swatting it away. “Oh come now, Myles. Be a good sport for once in your life and forget about the truffle incident. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for me then the night between you and Emily would have never had happened, and you would have been sitting here day dreaming about her like an overly hormonal poet, writing silly ballads about her... hands.”

“Her hands,” repeated Myles dryly, pushing himself off the ground. Artemis shrugged, making his way towards the door. “Maggie doesn’t like her,” he said for no apparent reason. Myles rolled his eyes at this. “Maggie doesn’t like anybody she doesn’t know.”

“Very true, but Emily’s reputation has been rather disappointing lately, don’t you agree?”

Myles said nothing, and instead removed his goggles, wiping the lenses with a piece of silk he retrieved from the corner of his desk.  

“Myles-“

“Stop talking about her,” he snapped, surprising himself at this sudden outburst.

It had been two weeks since he had last spoken with her. It wasn’t pleasant at first, far from it, in fact, but now it resided to being a dull ache throbbing constantly in his stomach, especially whenever anyone mentioned her name.

She’s hardly ever fair to begin with, he had reasoned with himself time and time again. And she certainly shouldn’t be occupying his mind like this. He needed to get over this phase of his life and move on.

He needed to move forward, and it was high time he started.

- left-foot-fowl

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It's edited- obviously. Blegh I should really start organizing my sleeping hours.. this is getting a bit annoying. 

19. Transformation

From a dull grey cacoon that swung listlessly against the branch to a flourishing butterfly; colours aweing everyone who witnessed its graceful flight into the sky. That is what people are supposed to represent; their life spans are supposed to reflect that of the transition from a caterpillar to a butterfly.

Speaking from an outside point of view however; it never was to happen. Planet Earth was starting to get too strong for its own good and needed to be destroyed so that they would never be anymore controversy in the world.

"Are you prepared?" My brethren touched me mentally as one; and I bowed my head in agreement. I was to go down as a sacrifice; once one of the humans shot me down, there would be war that would ensue to avenge my death and the humans would lose.

We are the Aari.  We are desperate that the universe stay a peaceful place. We've gotten permission from the supreme leader of the universe to eradicate the humans before they cause any further damage.

And with those thoughts running through my head; I was transmitted from my spaceship, emerging in a wide meadow; green and yellow with flowers that weaved their heads through the surface. Peering down, I looked at my body and smirked in satisfaction when I saw that I had been given a feminine body and dressed quite appropriately. When I needed to convince the humans that I was alien; there was a switch of some sort placed on this body that I'd use to change my form back.

"Are you okay?" A mellow voice addressed my sprawled figure in the weeds. Gazing towards the source, I saw a young girl, dressed in a simple dress and eyes flitting over my entire being. She exuded purity, and I shuddered; the fact that this girl would never grow old enough to marry and mate disturbed me but there was nothing I could do about it.

"I'm fine, Earthling," I droned, "tell me, what is your lifespan?"

"You mean my age?" She replied; squinting her eyes and counting on her chubby little fingers before holding them proudly to me, "I'm five years old!"

"Well, five year old," I said, raising an eyebrow and feeling my face as the line of hair physically raised with my attempt. That was new; it used to be just an expression that the Aari used. "Take me to your leader."

She grabbed ahold of my hand, her short fingers intertwining oddly between mine. "Mum!"

 I went along with her powerful grip, now seeing the older lady who resembled the little girl approach us. “Yes, Marge?”

“Mummy, look!” She displayed me, dancing skittishly around my long dress. “She said to her to my leader!”

“Why would you say that?” The child’s mother’s gaze flitted up to me, framed by confusion and understanding.

“I’m not human,” I gestured to my body awkwardly, not being used to moving in this form. “I need you to take me to your leader so that war can be waged.”

Her daughter gasped dramatically, hiding her face in my skirts before realising that I was the enemy and skipping to her mother, jumping in her arms and then burying her face into her mother’s neck.

The mother looked at me, a wry expression on her face. “You look perfectly human to me.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her jibe. “Just take me to your main leader or whatever. I wish to speak with the highest of the high.”

“And you think I can do that with such ease?” Her face transformed into an angry scowl. “Do you know how hard it is to do that?”

I sneered at her, the ugly expression feeling comfortable on my face. “Do it, now, lady.”

She shook her head in despair, gathering her child up in her arms before starting to walk away from me in remote silence.

“Don’t ignore me!” My voice rung out in the air, fading away in the cool season that this planet was afflicted with.

 She stopped then, pausing to bend to her knees and speak hastily into it. Her child ran in front of her, her dress fluttering gently in the soothing winds. Her chubby hands were in the air, clutched into tight fists and her face looked skywards, a relaxed beam gracing her red face.

 The mother got back to her feet and started walking again. I watched her, mesmerised by the winds that lifted up her hair to flutter gently back down. I was so engaged that I didn’t realise that I had been surrounded from the back and only when I was grabbed forcefully, I let out a large shriek.

Hands grasped firmly on my waist as my neck was positioned precisely where I felt a small pinprick that startled me, bringing tears up to my eyes. Next thing I knew, I was succumbing to the dark blackness that crept in from the corner from my vision. Attempting to fight it back, I saw the mother look back at me remorsefully, shrugging her shoulders as to give off her helpless impression.

“Where are you taking me?” I snarled, struggling hard and managing to kick back one of the men that had seized me.

“Area  51,” he replied grimly, holding my arms painstakingly across my back forcing me to collapse with my head falling back.

“Wake up!” A loud growl raised me from my induced slumber. “Get up now, you lazy cow.”

I jerked up, aware that I had been stripped and all that now lay across my body was a thin sheet. Shivering, I attempted to curl up in a ball before realising that I had been manacled to the table cruelly.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice trembling as the fear of being exterminated finally caught up to me.

“How are you an alien?” He replied thoughtfully. “How have you disguised yourself? Is it a perception filter of some sort?”

“Is this how you treat all the new species you encounter?” I questioned harshly, taking no notice of his earlier question. He nodded at me with pleasure and I shuddered at the thought of fellow member of the Galactica being treated in such a manner. “You should have respect, you know. That’s the only way that you’ll get it back.”

He pouted, looking comically upset. “Then how am I to fulfil my job?”

“So what are you going to now?”

“Dissection.” He replied nastily, a large smile spreading across his sweaty face as he studied my body. “We need you to change though; back into your original form.”

“Even if you ask nicely,” I persisted. “You don’t have a right to kill another life-form; especially one that is aware of emotions and whatnot.”

“Well, that’s too bad for you.” He leered at me, making me shrink back in my little prison.

Thus, the war started. And it raged on for thousands of years until finally the Aari emerged as victors with humans as slaves. In the end, we were just as bad as them. All about our benefit rather than what was good for the galactic spread.

Just as bad as them…

The Competition

Valkyrie groaned and sat up. "I told you it was a trap," she said.

"No, you said it looked like it was a trap," Skulduggery corrected. "That's completely different."

He helped her up as a door opened behind them and Sadistica Tortura walked through, an unsettling smile on her lips.

"You're being ridiculous," Valkyrie continued to complain, dusting herself off whilst keeping her gaze on the familiar woman in front of her.

He snorted, tilting his head towards Sadistica. “Hello there. What are your plans for us?”

Valkyrie shoved Skulduggery harshly, “You’re supposed to give her a chance to show us how deadly she is.”

“Who’s the professional here?” Skulduggery countered.

“Me,” Sadistica interrupted, a cunning grin gracing her face.

“What sort of professional would you be again?” Valkyrie frowned, an eyebrow raised.

“Don’t be a fool, Valkyrie,’ Skulduggery huffed, “It’s in the name.”

 Sadistica started circling the two bickering partners, violent thoughts coursing through her head. Was shutting up an unheard concept to them?

“Would you just be quiet?” she finally exploded, exasperation lacing her tone.

“Sure thing,” Skulduggery replied jovially, “Aren’t you going to threaten us?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard all of what I could potentially say to you,” she smiled at him apologetically.

“No, no,” he protested, “Just try them out. If you’re trying to be a villain – you’ll need to have a whole list in case you encounter a man – er – skeleton like me again.”

“Tell me what you cherish so that I may snatch it away,” Sadistica spoke uncertainly, eyes flickering from Valkyrie to Skulduggery.

“That’s horrible,” Skulduggery offered, “Been there, done that – you know? Ever heard my story?”

“Who hasn’t heard of it?” she snickered, “It’s what helps villains sleep at night. And the hope of killing Valkyrie so that it may occur again.”

“Why are villains so rude to me?” Skulduggery whined, “You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.”
“What about – you’re outnumbered; a thousand to one?”

“Don’t give me statistics,” Skulduggery said, “You’re supposed to scare me. Not help me to plan tactics to defeat your mindless drones.”
“I have someone for you to meet,’ Sadistica smirked slyly, “Excuse me whilst I retrieve her.”

Skulduggery’s head snapped up, startled, “Oh, alright – you’re a minion. Go for it then.”

Ignoring him, she flowed out of the room, her skirts fluttering dramatically at them.
“Do you have a plan?” Valkyrie spoke dryly.

“I always do. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

 “Pray tell,” Valkyrie started scanning the room impatiently.

“I’ll let you have some time to figure it out.”

“I need to be home for dinner,” Valkyrie protested, “Mum needs me to be present.”

“Isn’t your reflection there?” he glanced at her.

Valkyrie rubbed her neck awkwardly in response, “I may have not let my reflection out this time so that I could have an excuse to go home.”

“You are brilliant,” Skulduggery told her.

She shrugged indignantly, “What is it?”

“There’s a window right there,” he sighed, the said object now glaringly obvious.

Day Eighteen: Summer (11th of August)

“Yasmin, listen to me you idiot. You’re going to go. I don’t care. I might get to meet him but you’re not going to see Chris. Not unless you take my ticket.”

Yasmin shakes her head, crossing her arms stubbornly. “No. It’s your ticket and you’ll make me feel bad if I went instead of you,” she says, peering at the long line ahead of her. Deema joins her, going on her tiptoes. She pouts, rolling her eyes. “This doesn’t make sense. I am two years older than you. You being taller than me shouldn’t be allowed.” Yasmin snorts, pulling out a pamphlet from her purse. “Listen, how about we find Chris Colfer’s name on the list. I’m sure he’s going to do a signing for The Land of Stories. I mean,” she pulls out another object, a stout royal blue book, “, he hasn’t been giving them out for no reason, yeah?”

Deema makes a face and randomly shakes her hands at Yasmin’s face, which Yasmin instantaneously slaps away. “Just do it,” she huffs, already scanning the names on the paper. Deema extravagantly groans, but proceeds to speed read the names anyway.

It was the summer of 2012, and Yasmin and Deema were fresh out of school, living the absolute dream: three days in New York, City of Lights, the City Where Dreams Come True, the Big Apple-

Well, you get the point.

After an agonizingly long and painful plane trip from Bahrain to Washington (Kuwait being an unnecessary stop), the family managed to make it to New York without collapsing on the first front steps of the hotel (sixteen hours of continuous flights could really do that to a person). It was chilly, the family had noticed, and they weren’t at all dressed for the season. Their mothers had claimed that they insisted that they bring heavy coats, but no one seemed to no remember this, let alone follow it.

A dull ache begins to ensue in Deema’s stomach as she checks and rechecks all of the names of celebrity authors. “Maureen Johnson is here?” she croaks, biting her lip. Yasmin looks up, her eyes dazed. “What?” she asks, already losing interest.

“Nothing,” Deema mutters, scanning the names. She sighs, not pleased with how the day was unfolding, and was about to groan out loud when a name popped out from the list, his name printed in bold letters.

“Yasmin!” Deema almost shouts, her voice dropping into a harsh whisper. Yasmin’s eyes flash in annoyance, and she narrows her eyes. “What?” Deema fans her self, looking giddy and extremely lightheaded. “Yasmin, GUESS WHO IS ON THE LIST. LOOK AT THAT NAME,” she jabs a forceful finger at the pamphlet, looking slaphappy. Yasmin sighs tiredly, and drops her eyes in search for the name. Her eyes widen, and she breaks out into a delighted smile.

“Eoin Colfer is here!”

Deema nods, her sudden resemblance to bauble heads uncanny.

“Eoin.Colfer.Artemis.Fowl.Best.Day.Ever,” she almost fist pumps the air, but Yasmin holds her arm down, barely containing her grin.

“And we can honest to God talk to him!”

Deema nods eagerly, her pony tail swinging wildly. “Because he’s such a loser! No one knows who he is! We can talk to him for as long as we want!”

Yasmin laughs at this, adding, “Yeah! And we can talk about Artemis-“

“-and how we hate holly-“

“-and how Orion should come back-“

Deema shushes her, looking seldom, her eyes growing distant. “Orion has to come back. And if 

Artemis and Holly get together I think I’m going to kill myself.”

“With gasoline.”

Deema arches an eyebrow. “With gasoline,” she repeats with a firm nod of the head. 

- left-foot-fowl

__________________________________________________________________________

Not even a word. It meets the criteria, so I don't care if it's short. 

2.10  pm. In school. Music class. Scared. Worried.
My music assessment is now, gah. Flute assessment. Very worried.
Here's to hoping that I do well...

Day Seventeen: Look (10th of August)

It was near her now. She could almost smell the dirt clumped to its fur.

Beautiful, she thought, edging closer, twirling the dagger effortlessly in her hand.

It raised its head cautiously, eyes darting right and left.

It sensed her.

Bree cursed, staying extremely still. Let it feel safe, just this once.

The animal relaxed, and went back to ripping strips of fresh grass from the ground. Bree breathed deeply, allowing her mind to blanche. Nothing existed in this world. Nothing existed. Only the hunter and the hunted. She took another step forwards, and her leather boot crunched the earth, barely making any sound. This was all the warning the deer needed. Its ears flicked backwards and it sprinted towards the clearing, narrowly missing the dagger headed right towards it. This time Bree cursed out loud, slapping her thigh in frustration.

“Dammit!” she growled loudly, sheathing the weapon. Her father was never going to let her live this down, she just knew it. Shoulders slightly hunched, Bree trekked along side of the creek, stopping only occasionally to take a clear cool sip of water. The liquid chilled her burning throat, and she let out a moan escape her lips, her shoulders unknotting.

Bree wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and continued her walk. The trees around her thinned and she immediately spotted her cabin. The lights looked warm and inviting, but Bree knew better than that. Her dad was obviously home. He was obviously going to ask about the antelope he assumed she’d hunted, and she was obviously going to have to mumble an apology and stammer through an excuse to why she obviously didn’t have the damned carcass in her hand. Obviously.

The door creaked open, and Bree came in as quietly as she could, desperately hoping her father was asleep. She gently closed the door, and snuck her way around his armchair and right through the staircase when-

“You’re home.”

Bree groaned silently to herself and turned around, making her way down the wooden steps. She went as slowly as possible, feeling a sudden burst of understanding towards criminals who marched unwillingly to their deaths, their reapers smiling gleefully at the thought of what they were about to do next. His boots tapped the floor, which made approaching him all the more terrifying.

She stopped just behind his chair, and waited.

“Did you put it in the kitchen?” he croaked, coughing violently in his hands. Bree bit her lower lip and said nothing, knowing that he’d clearly understand her. Her father sighed, his nose whistling. “Why didn’t you catch it, Bridget?” he asked again, sounding breathless.

Bree rubbed the back of her ankle with her other foot. “Because it heard me,” she mumbled, barely audible. “I’m sorry, dad, it’s just that it’s autumn and-“

Her father waved his hand dismissively, and attempted at getting up. Bree rushed to his side, and held out her hand. He swatted it away mumbling something about how he could do it. Bree stood helplessly and watched him. His hunched shoulders, his speckled face, his thin white wisps of hair, his trembling aged hands. She winced, hating herself for being youthful while her father suffered with old age.

“Dad, please-“

He grunted, shaking his head. “It’s about time I taught you how to hunt,” he muttered, shuffling towards the door.

Bree swallowed back threatening tears. “You have, dad, ever since I learned to walk you taught me how to hunt. Please sit down.”

But he went on, appearing to have not heard her. “I’ll teach you how to properly hold a knife. Quickest weapon there is, Bree. Lemme just find my good dagger...”

Bree glanced at her pants, staring at the dagger glistening in its sheath. She didn’t say anything, but gently held his hand, leading him towards his chair. “It’s all in the wrist, you know. Just gotta know how to properly aim...” he continued, not noticing the change of direction. Bree sat her father down, grabbing a blanket to cover him with.

Her father blinked, resting his head on her hand. “Thank you, Laurna. How about checking up on Bree on your way upstairs? I think I heard her crying... my baby girl.”

Bree ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks, splashing her father’s cheek. “Of-of course.”

“She’s going to be amazing, when she grows up, our little Bree...” he mumbled to himself, his eyelids growing heavy with permanent drowsiness. Bree slid her hand gently from his shoulder, and headed towards the door, newfound determination fueling her desires to hunt. She hastily wiped her eyes, closing the door behind her.

Her mother had been dead for ten years.

- left-foot-fowl

_____________________________________________________________________

Yeah.. so that happened. Alzheimer's a bitch.