DRABBLE REQUEST TIEM!

[candy__chan]

Okay, I am bored. And inspiration-less. And I saw that awesomely awesome post that ptps did for art requests. So I thought mebbie to get the plunnies running again, I'd offer a drabble request.

Because me + drawing = you all go blind. So!

I AM OPEN FOR FIC REQUESTS!These will probably be short-fic, unless something really noms on me. Not putting a

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Starve a Cold, Feed a Fever (Pt. 1)

[candy__chan]

FINALLY PROVING THAT I DID NOT FORGET ABOUT THESE REQUESTS! So here, I bring you loooooong ficcage, to be relayed in several parts. I hope you like it!

The sun rose that morning. Which was a good thing, really. It would have been really strange if it had not, and a lot of people probably would have panicked. So yay for the sun!

In the home-slash-office of the renowned archaeologist and puzzle master, Hershel Layton, the day was just getting underway. Luke and Flora, the professor’s assistant and ward (respectively) were buzzing around the kitchen, preparing a breakfast of gourmet toast. Given Flora’s previous displays of her rather interesting kitchen capabilities, it could be called a miracle that the toast was not sentient.

But the Professor himself seemed to be running a bit late this morning, a very unusual and very uncharacteristic happening. He was usually up and about well before the children. Today, however, his door remained closed well past sunrise. The office and study, his two regular haunts within the home, were both empty. The Laytonmobile was still in the driveway in front of the house, and his shoes and hat were still by the door, so it seemed rather unlikely that he had gone anywhere.

“What’s keeping the Professor, do you think?” Flora asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Luke replied in an equally soft voice, glancing towards the stairs. “Maybe he was up late on a puzzle again-he usually drags a bit after nights like that. Or maybe he finally decided that it’s perfectly gentlemanly to be lazy once in a while?”

It didn’t sound at all like the Professor, truth be told, but having seen an entire village of robot inhabitants built by an eccentric baron to protect his daughter from loneliness after his death? Luke had become a firm believer in the “anything can happen” school of thought.

Flora was opening her mouth to reply when there was a dull thud upstairs, a sound both immediately recognized as a door opening. There was a pause, then the sound of dragging footsteps moving slowly towards the stairs. And finally, Professor Layton appeared in the flesh, descending the staircase and clutching at the banister in white-knuckled fists. He made it to the table with those same inching steps, and more or less collapsed into his seat.

It was only after Layton had taken a seat that Luke realized something very odd: his mentor was currently rather Christmas colored.

White as a sheet.

Red in the cheeks.

Green around the gills.

It didn’t take a genius, or even the apprentice of a genius, to add all of this up. “Professor?” Luke approached cautiously. “Are you feeling all right?”

“M’fine, Luke,” he mumbled in response, his glazed eyes fixed on the tabletop. After a moment, that glassy gaze shifted to look woefully at Flora. “Could you do that a little more quietly, my dear? Please?”

Flora looked down at the knife in her hand, which she had been using to butter her toast. Then she gave Layton a curious look, as if to say What the hell are you talking about?

“Professor, you don’t look well,” Luke said in that same inquisitive voice.

“I said I’m fine, my boy.”

“…would you like some breakfast?” Flora asked softly.

“No, my dear,” the professor shook his head. Suddenly he looked even more exhausted, like moving his head back and forth had sapped all of his energy and he had nothing left now. “I am just…not awake yet. That’s all. I’ll be fine.”