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. 4)

[candy__chan]

He even had to ask Luke to bring him a book to read! And as if that wasn’t sad enough, his eyes chose that moment to decide that, like his nose, they hated him and were going to rebel. They refused to focus in on the words and allow him to read on his own, so he had to ask Luke to read to him. The apprentice eagerly agreed, and pulled up a chair to read to his mentor like a parent reading to their child.

This would have been fine…except for the fact that Luke was reaching a certain point in his young life. And the poor boy’s voice was developing the rather awkward tendency to jump octaves, sometimes multiple times in the space of a single sentence. As if his head didn’t hurt enough…

And since Luke was preoccupied with reading, that left Flora to make the tea. How she managed to get cayenne pepper into the Earl Grey was a puzzle even Layton would be hard-pressed to piece together. But at least she was good enough to bring him two glasses: one of milk to douse his burning tongue, and one of water to put out the rest of the fire that had resulted from the flames shooting from his mouth.

Bless her little heart for that, at least.

Still, although he would not say it aloud to the children, for he knew they meant well…

They really need to switch jobs.

Really.

Desperately.

But alas, no luck. Luke continued to read, alternating squeaking and rumbling, and crashes from the kitchen proved that Flora was at it again. A question to Luke told him that the girl had commented about the possibility of making some soup for the poor, ill professor.

Layton hadn’t thought it possible, but suddenly he felt even worse.

Dinner was, indeed, Flora’s homemade soup. And Layton went from having a fever and possible cold to doing something extremely ungentlemanly. But he really was too far gone to care. After that, he banished the children from his room so he could just sleep for the rest of the night and hopefully sleep whatever this illness was away.

Still, when he awoke in the middle of the night with his throat on fire, a glass of water had mysteriously appeared on the bedside table. Or been left there. Ah, those children. He was fortunate that they knew exactly the right time to disobey.

-o-

The next morning brought another sunrise (yay for the sun!), and Professor Hershel Layton sat up in bed and stretched his arms over his head, groaning softly as a few muscles stretched in painless protest. He felt far better after a solid night’s sleep, and he was ready to face this day.

Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he hurried cleaned himself up, washing away that awful feeling of sick. The water on his face chased away the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, and a change of clothes had him feeling completely human again. There. He was properly attired and fit for public consumption. Now it was time for breakfast.

But Layton was not prepared for what he found when he went down to the kitchen. It was…

Well, disaster was the first word that came to mind.