The more we share together, the happier we'll be.
Title: Fencing (in Three Definitions)
Words: 1050
Rating: PG
Spoilers?: Eternal Diva, if you squint?
(1. The act, practice, art, or sport of fencing)
Distressingly, yet not unsurprisingly, Professor Layton was presently finding it rather hard to breathe under the current circumstances.
For one thing, Jean Descole, despite every appearance to the contrary, was a formidable swordsman. While his jabs and thrusts were not too difficult to parry, it was all Layton could do to keep up with his deceptively quick footwork. The raised platforms that made up most of the room were treacherous, and Descole clearly had the advantage of knowing the lay of the land. The other, and more pressing factor was the fact that the hedge maze that surrounded the room was quickly burning down around them, and the smoke was getting thicker and thicker by the minute.
At least Luke and Remi had managed to escape long before Descole had activated his final trap. He didn't want to think about how quickly the smoke would have brought them both down, had they still been lost within the maze.
“Had enough, Hershel Layton?” Descole crowed, misinterpreting Layton's languor as a sign of submission. “Well then, let me put you out of your misery for good!”
Descole lunged forth with his sword drawn, missing Layton's head by a matter of inches. He did, however, succeed in throwing himself off of the platform upon which he had been standing. With an anguished cry, he disappeared into the smoke...
Only to be caught by Layton in the nick of time, just before the lion-shark's mighty jaws crushed him to bits. Even if it was a man like Descole, a gentleman didn't leave another human being to such a hideous fate (that, and he assumed that the authorities would want the chance to question the man about his bizarre actions). He lifted him back up onto the platform and helped him regain his footing.
Descole, even once he had recoverd somewhat, stood there in an apparent state of shock for several moments, and it was only the approaching roar of an airplane engine (and the excited shouts of Layton's assistants) that broke the increasingly awkward silence between them.
“Well, ah... I believe my ride is here, so if you'll excuse me...” Layton said, as he self-consciously pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “I hope that this means the end of this latest mischief of yours.”
Descole remained silent, but did not take his eyes off of Layton for so much as a second, as Layton disappeared up into the sky on a rope ladder that had arrived not a moment too soon. That, Layton had hoped, would be the last he would ever see of Descole.
(2. To enclose by some barrier.)
The remote-controlled bear, after weeks of captivity inside of the shipping crate, was understandably furious once it had finally been freed. Unfortunately, it had been Professor Layton who had granted it its freedom.
Perhaps even more unfortunately than that, the elaborate bouquet of roses and the floridly-written card that had accompanied it on its journey were torn to shreds during the homicidal frenzy, before their intended recipient ever even knew that they were there.
Of course, while Layton fought to subdue the bear, thoughts of love were about the furthest from his mind as they could possibly get. He frantically scanned the office in search of something, anything, he could use to stop its rampage. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the coil of rope that hung from a nail in the corner, the remnants of some repair job or other that had been done to the building in days past.
Layton ducked and rolled to avoid the bear's flailing limbs, and snatched the rope from its peg. There were approximately 5 metres of rope, and 9 ineptly-hammered-in nails lining each side of the hallway. Now, if the bear was a metre long, and the distance between each nail was exactly one metre, the question was, could Layton possibly keep the bear from escaping?
Two minutes and a clever rope enclosure later, the threat was brought to an end and the day was saved, but the reason anyone would want Layton dead remained a mystery to everybody.
That night, Descole vengefully (and somewhat tearfully) vowed that the entire world would soon know his name.
(3. A person who receives and disposes of stolen goods.)
Alone again, lovelorn
My heart is broken and I mourn
I sigh and let the curtain fall
I weep and wail and climb the wall
But ere I leave, and give you scorn
I ask you Hershel WHO IS THIS 'DON PAOLO?'
Descole scowled and tore yet another page out of his much-abused diary, crumpled it up into the tinest ball he could muster, and hurled it dramatically into the fireplace. On the eve of his greatest scheme yet (in which he planned to use Archimedes' Legacy to burn London to the ground unless Layton submitted to him,) the newspapers had brought him unfavourable tidings, to say the least:
MAD SCIENTIST DEMOLISHES PET STORE: 'NO COMMENT' SAYS REKNOWNED PUZZLE MASTER
How could such an obvious lunatic, an utter one-trick pony, have ever gotten Layton's personal notice? Especially while dressed in such a gaudy fashion (the man looked like a bovine, for pity's sake), and while working the most played-out gimmick in the book?! The very thought was enough to make him sick, but not so sick that he couldn't open the paper and peek a bit at the story...
Where he immediately saw a picture of 'Don Paolo' personally spitting in Hershel Layton's face, and felt sicker than ever. Anyone who could be so bold, in spite of such brutal unrefinement, was indeed a force to be reckoned with. If Don Paolo wanted a piece of his beloved/hated/beloved Hershel Layton, he doubted that there was any way even an elite, sophisticated genius such as himself could ever stop him.
And so Jean Descole took his final bow, hung up his mask and cape, packed up his worldly possessions, and fled to the countryside to open the world's largest House of Mirrors... Where he would watch, and wait, for the dreaded upstart Don Paolo's inevitable defeat at Hershel Layton's hands.
For when it happened, he (and Archimedes) would be ready.
Words: 1050
Rating: PG
Spoilers?: Eternal Diva, if you squint?
(1. The act, practice, art, or sport of fencing)
Distressingly, yet not unsurprisingly, Professor Layton was presently finding it rather hard to breathe under the current circumstances.
For one thing, Jean Descole, despite every appearance to the contrary, was a formidable swordsman. While his jabs and thrusts were not too difficult to parry, it was all Layton could do to keep up with his deceptively quick footwork. The raised platforms that made up most of the room were treacherous, and Descole clearly had the advantage of knowing the lay of the land. The other, and more pressing factor was the fact that the hedge maze that surrounded the room was quickly burning down around them, and the smoke was getting thicker and thicker by the minute.
At least Luke and Remi had managed to escape long before Descole had activated his final trap. He didn't want to think about how quickly the smoke would have brought them both down, had they still been lost within the maze.
“Had enough, Hershel Layton?” Descole crowed, misinterpreting Layton's languor as a sign of submission. “Well then, let me put you out of your misery for good!”
Descole lunged forth with his sword drawn, missing Layton's head by a matter of inches. He did, however, succeed in throwing himself off of the platform upon which he had been standing. With an anguished cry, he disappeared into the smoke...
Only to be caught by Layton in the nick of time, just before the lion-shark's mighty jaws crushed him to bits. Even if it was a man like Descole, a gentleman didn't leave another human being to such a hideous fate (that, and he assumed that the authorities would want the chance to question the man about his bizarre actions). He lifted him back up onto the platform and helped him regain his footing.
Descole, even once he had recoverd somewhat, stood there in an apparent state of shock for several moments, and it was only the approaching roar of an airplane engine (and the excited shouts of Layton's assistants) that broke the increasingly awkward silence between them.
“Well, ah... I believe my ride is here, so if you'll excuse me...” Layton said, as he self-consciously pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “I hope that this means the end of this latest mischief of yours.”
Descole remained silent, but did not take his eyes off of Layton for so much as a second, as Layton disappeared up into the sky on a rope ladder that had arrived not a moment too soon. That, Layton had hoped, would be the last he would ever see of Descole.
(2. To enclose by some barrier.)
The remote-controlled bear, after weeks of captivity inside of the shipping crate, was understandably furious once it had finally been freed. Unfortunately, it had been Professor Layton who had granted it its freedom.
Perhaps even more unfortunately than that, the elaborate bouquet of roses and the floridly-written card that had accompanied it on its journey were torn to shreds during the homicidal frenzy, before their intended recipient ever even knew that they were there.
Of course, while Layton fought to subdue the bear, thoughts of love were about the furthest from his mind as they could possibly get. He frantically scanned the office in search of something, anything, he could use to stop its rampage. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the coil of rope that hung from a nail in the corner, the remnants of some repair job or other that had been done to the building in days past.
Layton ducked and rolled to avoid the bear's flailing limbs, and snatched the rope from its peg. There were approximately 5 metres of rope, and 9 ineptly-hammered-in nails lining each side of the hallway. Now, if the bear was a metre long, and the distance between each nail was exactly one metre, the question was, could Layton possibly keep the bear from escaping?
Two minutes and a clever rope enclosure later, the threat was brought to an end and the day was saved, but the reason anyone would want Layton dead remained a mystery to everybody.
That night, Descole vengefully (and somewhat tearfully) vowed that the entire world would soon know his name.
(3. A person who receives and disposes of stolen goods.)
Alone again, lovelorn
My heart is broken and I mourn
I sigh and let the curtain fall
I weep and wail and climb the wall
But ere I leave, and give you scorn
I ask you Hershel WHO IS THIS 'DON PAOLO?'
Descole scowled and tore yet another page out of his much-abused diary, crumpled it up into the tinest ball he could muster, and hurled it dramatically into the fireplace. On the eve of his greatest scheme yet (in which he planned to use Archimedes' Legacy to burn London to the ground unless Layton submitted to him,) the newspapers had brought him unfavourable tidings, to say the least:
MAD SCIENTIST DEMOLISHES PET STORE: 'NO COMMENT' SAYS REKNOWNED PUZZLE MASTER
How could such an obvious lunatic, an utter one-trick pony, have ever gotten Layton's personal notice? Especially while dressed in such a gaudy fashion (the man looked like a bovine, for pity's sake), and while working the most played-out gimmick in the book?! The very thought was enough to make him sick, but not so sick that he couldn't open the paper and peek a bit at the story...
Where he immediately saw a picture of 'Don Paolo' personally spitting in Hershel Layton's face, and felt sicker than ever. Anyone who could be so bold, in spite of such brutal unrefinement, was indeed a force to be reckoned with. If Don Paolo wanted a piece of his beloved/hated/beloved Hershel Layton, he doubted that there was any way even an elite, sophisticated genius such as himself could ever stop him.
And so Jean Descole took his final bow, hung up his mask and cape, packed up his worldly possessions, and fled to the countryside to open the world's largest House of Mirrors... Where he would watch, and wait, for the dreaded upstart Don Paolo's inevitable defeat at Hershel Layton's hands.
For when it happened, he (and Archimedes) would be ready.