As I was saying, I strode purposefully towards Holly and the LEP table. Holly and I had been best friends a long time ago, when we were still in school. We were so close, people said we were 'like Holly and Ivy' as the phrase went. I didn't mind it so much, but it bothered Holly a lot. The very last person to ever say that is still alive. Yes, he has to eat all his meals through a straw, but he is still alive.

I had to dodge many people as I strode purposefully towards Holly. Most were high off the sugar, high off of being out of school/work, or just plain numbskulls that needed a place to hang out. And to think, the Flamingo was depriving some villages of their idiots.

Finally I got to her table. Tapping her on the shoulder, I shouted in her ear, too, just to make sure she knew I was there. "What's this I heard about an Artemis Fowl incident!"

Silence fell like a rock from the sky.

Everyone stared at Holly and I. The name Artemis Fowl struck fear into the heart of every fairy. Caspian, seeing the problem, quickly solved it: she blasted the music so loud that everyone without those porous earplugs had their eardrums blown out instantly. Of course, the Gift got them healed up pretty fast, and the room was lit by bright blue sparks for a few minutes. It was, quite honestly, an astounding sight. The collective sparks were enough to blind. So everyone was deaf and blind for a good five minutes.

In that time, while the LEP was smirking, self-satisfied because THEY all had earplugs (okay, I did too- got them when they fell off of a supply truck. But whatever.) I yanked Holly away and into the kitchen.

There was a crisis in there. There always was. This time, the dishwasher had asserted its identity, declared its independence, and decided it was time to make its own decisions. Therefore, and perfectly logically too, it had begun a trek across the kitchen floor, travelling three feet per minute and spewing water and soap all over. It was too bad; that dishwasher was a good hiding place. Ahem, not that I ever needed a good hiding place... right.

I dragged Holly through the suds to a relatively safe position in the pantry. Yes, there were live wriggling things in there. Yes, it smelled very strange. Yes, an Atlantean cuttlefish tried cuddle with me. But it was better than sitting out in the open.

"What did you WANT, Ivy?" Holly asked, sighing with exaggerated patience.

Before I could answer, a Random Parrot dive-bombed us, apparently wanting to snuggle with the cuttlefish that was currently snuggling with me. It heroically shrieked, "We represent the lollipop guild!" Disgusted, I gave it the cuttlefish before continuing.

"Chix said that there was another Artemis Fowl incident. What's going on?"

"Are you going to write an article about this?"

"Not yet, of course. I have nothing to write about. I don't even have anything to tell my editor. Therefore I will get pounded to a pulp tomorrow evening. Or this morning, depending on how early he decides to call. Save me from a cruel and horrible fate, please." I was pleading desperately. Of course, that meant when I flailed my arms, a jar of stink worm-flavored mayonnaise crashed to the floor with great emotion. "Remind me to pay Caspian for that. Oh, or I could tell my editor Chix Verbil said the LEP was working on something related to Fowl. He'd really like that."

Holly winced. She too had met my editor, the Haven Gazette's version of Commander Root. "Okay, I'll tell you all you can tell your editor. Artemis was mind-wiped, and he might be able to retrieve his memories soon. Root wants a fairy always on guard at Fowl Manor to report in instantly if anything happens."

I scribbled all this down in record time. "I probably won't be allowed to write anything, at least not right away. They'll send another reporter, probably to interview Commander Root. They only let me write if it's a catastrophe." I noticed Holly looked away nervously. "Can you please tell me more, though? I won't tell anyone else. It kinda looks like this... personally involves you."

"It doesn't."

"Liar. I could always tell when you were lying. Remember that time when you tried to tell me you were sick because of the toxic waste in the cafeteria? I knew from the first word you said that you had eaten my secret chocolate stash in a sugar craze. And I know you're not telling me something now."

"You got me, I guess," she said, forcing a laugh, "well, I never wanted him mind-wiped. But Foaly and Root did it anyway. I said he'd probably stop being somewhat nice like he had begun to be, but they said he'd be fine and wiped him anyway."

"You like the Mud Boy, don't you." It wasn't a question, so I wouldn't dignify it with a question mark. If you start letting your sentences have false aspirations to interesting punctuation, they'll rebel. Believe me, I know. I've had plenty of sentences write themselves. And they're so egotistical... oh, yeah, forgot to take my medication this evening...

Holly rolled her eyes at me. "Ivy, you know how ridiculous that sounds. Me, liking a Mud Boy who's about seventy years younger than me, two feet taller, much smarter and a different species? Did you take your medication this evening?"

"You do like him!" I squealed delightedly. "And stop talking about the anti-delusional pills; I'll take them when I get home. But you like him!"

"Okay!" she lowered her head. "I like him. We were getting to be friends. But that's all over now, so it doesn't matter."

"Ah, I see." I nodded knowingly. She looked up at me with a vaguely wary look. "What do you see?" she asked cautiously.

"Nothing much, really. Just enough to convince me to take my medication when I get home." Suddenly inspired, I scribbled down that line in my notebook. Holly used this as an opportunity to escape. In doing so, she knocked a bowl of ball bearings from the pantry shelf. I was fairly certain they ground up those ball bearings for consistency in some of the stranger drinks, but didn't feel that I had the stomach to inquire.

Now, as anyone ought to know, it isn't wise to step on a floor covered in loose ball bearings. Even I know that, no insults to my intelligence please. (I focus my brilliance on higher areas of knowledge. Ha.) Most of the time, anyway. I should have thought to sweep them into a reasonable amount of organization, thereby helping Caspian a little and avoiding injury to my person. But I was so giddy over the fact that Holly liked the Mud Boy, I didn't think. No, as a substitute for thinking, I stood up suddenly, took a step and-

THUD.

That THUD, of course, would be the sound of my forehead hitting the floor as my foot slipped upon thousands of tiny balls. I felt very undignified, but that was the least of my concerns.

"My contacts!" I shrieked in agony.

No one knew what resided –no, lurked- on the floor of the Flamingo's pantry. I doubt anyone wanted to know. But whatever it was, it got into both my eyes. BOTH. As every contact wearer knows, it hurts when you get something in your contacts. As in, excruciating. The only thing that hurts worse is having your contacts turned inside out, have scratches on them, and then having dirt on them too. Yes. It hurts.

I staggered from the pantry area, miraculously not falling flat on my face again, rubbing my streaming eyes desperately.

For a second, my vision cleared. I was completely alone in the kitchen except for a glowing green pitcher of... something. I didn't know whether to define it as living or not. I knew I had to wash out my contacts somehow, just... how?

I saw two options. Either in the sink, which had water in a somewhat gelatinous column from the faucet with sparks floating lazily through it. It reminded me eerily of a DNA cannon. The other option was the glowing green liquid in the pitcher.

Well, if I used the sink, I might have a spark burn through the lens, making it even more painful. Not to mention expensive. And what might the green stuff do? I settled on the green liquid. "And it'll probably give me x-ray vision or something," I mumbled to myself.

Pinching my contacts out, I quickly rubbed them in the liquid, making sure the dirt was off them. They looked clean now, anyhow. Their bright blue irises (yes, I'll admit it, my eyes are naturally green.) seemed intact. I popped them back in.

A wave of dizziness hit me, and I swayed. I rubbed my eyes again, hoping my vision would be clear now. It was; almost too clear, in fact. The wall opposite me was transparent, and I could see Caspian on the other side. Lovely, I thought. I was right about the x-ray vision.

I tried to walk out, and promptly walked into the wall I barely saw was there.

This would take some getting used to.

A/N: That funny enough for you? Be nice and review, then!

(note to self- must make up suitable review poem)