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. 3)

[candy__chan]

And there, his protégé and his adoptive daughter (of sorts) had ganged up on him, insisting that he was sick and needed to go back to bed. He had been too out of sorts to protest, and they had marched him right back up here and deposited him back in bed.

He must have gone back to sleep.

But even after this nap, he still couldn’t move too well. His limbs felt like they had been weighed down by two of Crouton’s big pitchers, and his mouth felt like he had swallowed one of Claudia’s hairballs. And he couldn’t breathe through his nose. No comparison there, but it did kind of stink.

No pun intended.

He was trying to decide what he should do (whether he should go back to sleep, or try to get out of bed, or perhaps count the cracks in the ceiling) when there was a timid knock at the door. He managed to croak out, “Come in,” and the door opened.

Flora entered with a teacup in her hands, steam reaching from the liquid inside to arch and vanish in the air. “Oh, you are awake!” she said with a happy smile; she set the cup down on the table by the bed. “I brought you some tea. And, ah…y-you don’t have to worry,” she added quickly, looking down and toying with a stray thread on her skirt. “Luke made the tea. Not me.”

…Layton couldn’t help but feel a bit better about that, though he would never say it aloud. He took a long sip, relief flooding him along with warmth at the pleasing and familiar taste of tea on his tongue. Well, sort of familiar. His nose didn’t seem to want to let anything taste the way it was supposed to either, but beggars could not be choosers. And his stomach was reminding him that he had not had breakfast that morning.

So he downed the cup of tea perhaps a bit more quickly and a bit less politely than he normally would have, but he was hungry and he felt awful and if anyone wanted to complain about his lack of manners, then he might have to cough on them. So there.

“Do you want more tea?” Flora asked.

“If you don’t mind, my dear,” he said. Or rather, he tried to say, but it didn’t come out terribly well, and the look on Flora’s face said that she did not quite understand. So he bobbed his head up and down to say yes, please. She smiled and bounced from the room, the teacup in her hand.

Layton slumped back against the pillows. Such a sweet girl. Shy, but gradually coming out of her shell.

A nice…girl…

When Flora came back again, the professor was once again sound asleep.

-o-

It was official.

He hated being sick.

It wasn’t just that he felt awful, oh no. It meant that he couldn’t do anything for himself. Luke and Flora had made it a personal mission to nurse him back to health, and as such, they were keeping a close eye on him. He was staying in bed, and they were bringing him tea and such.