(Untitled)

[artfowler]

There are many doors in Fowl Manor. Artemis Fowl the Second, of course, has known of this for a very long time and not even the hidden doors, and there were many of those as well, manage to surprise him.

In fact, he knew the two hundred acre estate quite well. It would be a silly thing not to know the grounds that you lived on, after all. But

Comments

[7twistedwishes]

"Amazing." Scarlet is... just there. Like she was there all the time, admiring the same sight. "I never get tired of it."

[artfowler]

It is always best, Butler has told him and as common sense dictates, to proceed with caution when in unfamiliar territories. And Artemis does just so.

He looks up at the woman from behind his mirrored sunglasses with little expression. "An incomparable view," he comments shortly, his Irish origins obvious when he speaks.

[7twistedwishes]

The woman nods to the stranger, still smiling but now in a just-polite fashion "I am sorry if I disturbed you, sir... it was not my intention." She moves a half step closer, to the edge of an invisible yard-wide circle of personal space, and speaks again. "I am Scarlet"

[artfowler]

"A disturbance of no consequence, Miss," Artemis says with a slight incline of his head. "I'm Artemis." He offers no last name as the woman had offered none.

Perhaps it was better that way as the Fowls had many enemies, foreign and domestic, criminal and government. And being in a new place, it was not the best of ideas to be spreading such a last name about without knowing who lurked around first. Especially without Butler near.

[cheerychaplain]

Father Mulcahy has a favorite table, near the Observation Window. When he first arrived here, he liked it because he could turn his back on the unsettling window and catch no glimpse of it, but he is an old hand, by now; he looks at the end of the universe and he sees only its beauty.

He is sitting at that table now, Bible at hand along with a notepad, and though he is intent on homily-writing, he does glance up from time to time.

One of those times, he catches sight of the boy standing in front of the window.

"Unique, isn't it?" he asks.

[artfowler]

"Fascinating," Artemis agrees with the man, a slight nod of his head accompanying the verbal assessment. One can clearly tell that boy is Irish; his accent, for those that have heard it before, is unmistakable when he speaks.

"I cannot think of a sight that compares to it," he continues, turning to the man. His gaze dances across the Bible and the notepad that the man has with the utmost discretion behind his mirrored sunglasses, his expression remaining blank.

[cheerychaplain]

Mulcahy--wearing Army green with a black shirt, a priest's collar, and a cross--smiles immediately at the accent, some of his (slightly) harried manner dropping away. "Neither can I, I'm afraid. Are you from the old country?"

The priest's accent, for the record, is straight-up generic American. But you don't often get a name like Francis John Patrick Mulcahy by having Russian ancestry, that's for sure.

[OOC: No problem! I'll probably be slow, too!]

[artfowler]

Artemis smoothes down his suit - an Italian one, today - and takes a tentative step closer to Mulchaly's table. All the while, he takes in the clothing, attitude, and accent of the man, none of which seems to be a sham.

Curious.

"From Ireland, born and raised," Artemis divulges, answering the priest's question. There was no use in hiding the obvious, after all. "A bit far from home. But I imagine we all are."

He glances toward the window again, inwardly frowning. He's not quite sure how he ended up here, but he doesn't seem to be in Tara anymore. Unless, he supposed, he was starting to hallucinate much like his mother had been doing since his father had disappeared. He didn't think he was, but did madness know madness?