A Fifth of a Fic-Exchange...
For pezdude66's prompt - "When Don Palo Turns Layton to a baby, it’s up to Luke to destroy Don’s plot of stealing Flora’s $$"
...Oh dear. XD Well, this is one chapter out of five. Since it's not an excessively drawn-out fanfic like I usually write, it should be done soon. (Has already started on the second chapter)
Enjoy! This was quite difficult to write...
A hand closed on the back of his aching neck. His head helplessly fell back in response, the rest of his limp body dangling, his collar being held up.
Cruel, smiling eyes stared down into his.
‘Finally…’
The man tried to struggle, or move, in the very least. But it was to no avail at all. He felt as if he were pounding against steel doors with his bare hands… his stunned body simply refused to comply, despite his best efforts.
He looked on, feeling the hand release the back of his neck. His collar remained gripped, and now he was beginning to feel his consciousness flicker. Yet he struggled to remain attentive, or at least continue to register what was going on…
A rather rancid taste (reminding him of a certain young lady’s cooking) suddenly entered his mouth. It took three seconds for him to realise that his captor was pouring some murky, black liquid down his throat. Not even his gag reflex coughed it back up, yet now he was starting to panic, slightly.
He was finally dropped to the floor with a loud WHUMP.
Well, whatever it was, it was inside him, now. And there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. Even if he were able to stand up and move.
He heard Don Paolo’s words slip in and out of clarity.
‘Well, now… it’s been quite the evening, Professor. So sorry I had to end it, like this...’
If the fallen man could have rolled his eyes, he would have.
‘… but I certainly feel you’ve been a thorn in my side, for FAR too long…’
The voice hesitated.
‘…no, no… I feel that’s been overused…’
The evil scientist began pondering, and the man watched from his position on the floor, seeing his feet pace back and forth in the shadows.
‘…Hm… a wrench in my works… no… a clog in my waterworks… Oh, heavens, no…’
Now the man was beginning to wish that he would lose consciousness.
‘… A snake in my path… Yes! Yes, that’s it! You have been a snake in my path for FAR too long…’
Somehow, however, that didn’t seem to be the case. The man was feeling as if he was unable to move at all, and the throbbing reminder of a blow being issued to the back of his head certainly reinforced that. Yet instead of unconsciousness… he was starting to feel a trifle… unusual.
‘…you see, I cannot allow you to continue on with your noble deeds, defending those poor, innocent children… all that claptrap…’
Adrenalin suddenly surged through his chest, so intensely to the point where it was painful. The dull pain began to spread outwards, to his stomach, chest, shoulders, arms, legs, head, hands, feet…
He managed to heave in a shuddering gasp, suddenly highly concerned. Not simply because there was a possibility of poison running in his system…
‘Without you around, without your wit, and the like…’
He heard the creak of a door, and a small slick of light travelled across the floor. His assailant was leaving.
‘… a bunch of… mindless robots, and a couple of brats shouldn’t be so difficult to handle…’
A quiet cackle sounded, and the man was now trying desperately to rise, though once more, he was failing to do so. One arm had only just managed to break free of the tense spell the rest of his body was under, and was now trying to push the rest of his limp form upwards. The foreign feeling had intensified, and now it simply felt as if his whole body was on fire.
No…
No!
‘Evening Professor. Say farewell to that brilliant mind of yours.’
With those words, Herschel Layton collapsed to the floor, once more, a sharper ache than any forming in his heart.
Breathlessly, he managed to whisper, in a voice that was weary in defeat.
“…L… Lu...ke… F… Flor...a…”
The door slammed shut, enveloping the room in darkness.
888
Luke blearily opened his eyes.
For a brief while, he simply stared at the ceiling, streams of morning light glaring from the window to his left. A puzzle book lay strewn upon his bedsheets, which lay in a tangled mess upon him.
He lay still, before realizing that it was Sunday, of all days. There was no schedule at all, this morning, and to be frank, he wasn’t in the mood to do anything at all. Not after staying up drilling at several different puzzles involving pouring uneven contents of pitchers into one another over and over.
However, a small knock at the door kept him from drifting back to sleep.
“Luke?” Flora’s soft voice reached his ears, muffled from behind the bedroom door. “I… I’m making breakfast, if you want some…”
The idea of eating a meal made by their new permanent guest (as kindhearted as she was) didn’t make the boy any more enthusiastic about rising on a Sunday morning. Still, he pushed himself up with a small groan, rubbing one eye sleepily, suffering from an extreme case of bedhead.
“Not… at the moment, Flora.” He said, managing a tired smile as the girl peered in warily through a small crack in the door.
“Sorry for disturbing you.” She mumbled, opening the door further and letting herself in. Luke suddenly managed to wake up enough to note a concerned look brewing upon the girl’s features, and he suddenly sat up all the way, alert.
“Is something the matter…?”
“Ah? Oh, no…” Flora shook her head abruptly, with a sheepish giggle. “It’s, erm… It’s just that… I don’t quite know where Mr Layton went off to, this morning…”
Luke blinked. That was odd. The Professor was never inclined to work on Sundays. And he was often an early riser.
Earlier than his young apprentice preferred to rise, anyway.
“Was he in bed?”
“…I checked earlier…” Flora said, weaving a finger through a stray lock of hair, her gaze aside in thought. “There was nobody there…”
She pressed her lips together, glancing back over at the wide-awake Luke, who suddenly appeared pensive.
“…and on the floor, he’d left his cloak, pants, and…his top-hat.”
The boy’s eyes grew wide.
That did it. Something was very wrong.
“He never goes anywhere without his hat!” Luke swung his legs over the side of his bed. “…More specifically out. You sure he’s not anywhere in the house?”
“I-I’m sure.”
Luke narrowed his eyes in thought, as his mind began to race over several possibilities. “Maybe something might have happened… Maybe he was in a rush…”
“All the same…” Flora blinked at the suddenly firm tone that escaped her mouth, and softened her voice. “… I think we should wait a little while before we do something… Maybe we’re overreacting, for now.”
Luke sighed, relaxing his keen and thoughtful expression into that of a boy who was still fighting sleep.
“…Maybe you’re right…”
Flora nodded, with a weak smile. Then she jumped, as if remembering something. “Oh - !”
Luke blinked. “What is it?!” He asked, alarmed.
He didn’t get a reply. Instead, the girl had dashed out his bedroom door, leaving it open at a 90-degree angle. The smell of smoke entered the room, and the boy paled, quickly planting his feet on the floor and running after Flora, grasping his bedroom robe as he dashed out the door.
“Flora! You’re burning something!” He cried, pulling on his robe as he dashed down the stairs after her.
“I’m sorry!” The Reinhold heir’s voice was distressed, floating up from the kitchen, which neighboured the staircase. There was a loud clatter, making Luke freeze in his tracks.
Then, there was a pause.
“I-It’s alright! The stove’s not on fire like last time!”
Luke, contrary to what many people would believe if the food itself were on fire, breathed a sigh of relief. He made his way down the final few steps, allowing his morning exhaustion to finally creep back in, and he relaxed.
To be honest, he still didn’t feel quite up to contributing to the morning, quite yet. And judging by the fact that the smell of smoke was clearing up, he had absolutely no need to worry - Flora had it all under control.
Luke thought hard.
He’d still get a tongue-lashing from the Professor, though. About how ‘A gentleman always helps those in need.’ And regardless of whether or not she had the situation under control, the apprentice could have simply helped out, even if it was something as minor as getting some water from the sink.
He found himself wandering into the living - room, his drowsiness replaced by a slight guilt.
He rather liked Flora. Not quite in the sense that would prompt him to kiss her on the hand at this age, but he enjoyed her presence.
Luke sighed. He’d have to pay her back, somehow. Especially since she had been so worried about the whereabouts of the Professor…
A casual glance to the couch revealed nothing out of the ordinary… He was about to set himself down and reach for one of the puzzles that were occasionally left upon the coffee table… when a second glance revealed that this was not the case.
There, sitting on the couch (and who hadn’t appeared to notice Luke’s presence) was a small child, of all things. He looked almost one or two and a half years old physically, but he sat very still, staring into space… almost looking rather solemn. What was perhaps even more unusual than the child’s presence was the fact that he was wearing an adult-sized orange sweatshirt - its sleeves were far too long for the young boy, and its torso area acted more like a gown for the rest of his body.
Luke jumped up in shock with a sharp gasp. The gasp was echoed by the child, who was now very aware of the apprentice’s presence, and whose expression now looked a trifle bewildered.
What on earth was a little boy… almost a baby… doing in Professor Layton’s house?!
Where were his parents? Why was he wearing a sweatshirt that would have probably fit his own father?! And… how exactly had he gotten inside?!
Luke stared at the child, for a few moments, eyes even wider than usual. (If that were physically possible, at least) His gaze was kept there by the fact that the child was staring back with equal surprise.
Without shifting his focus, he sat down rather heavily on the couch beside the young intruder, who continued staring at Luke for a few seconds longer, before looking away and resuming his blank stare into space.
The apprentice continued observing, though more thoughtfully that he’d been doing so, previously. The child… certainly wasn’t acting like a child. From what he could usually gather about children this age, they’d usually had rather straightforward emotions (and a vocabulary that often made his brain melt trying to decipher it, even if he were a puzzle lover.) and were not exactly ones to sit so still.
Luke blinked, when he realized that the child’s neutral expression was changing into that of shock and fear. It was a gradual transition, as if the young boy could not maintain his blank façade any longer. He suddenly turned to Luke, his small form trembling slightly, staring up at him for a few moments longer. Then, he bowed his head and shut his eyes, silently allowing several tears to start sliding down his small face and dripping down onto the couch.
Luke drew in a small breath, and scooted closer to the strange child, who was still shivering violently, perhaps still trying to suppress more tears that were threatening to pour forth. He reached over to the young boy, hesitated, and then placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Hey… hey…” He said, trying to make his voice as comforting as possible. “It’s alright… don’t cry…”
The child leaned over and hugged Luke around the waist, burying his wet face into the apprentice’s robe, letting loose some small silent sobs to the bewildered older boy, who continued to pat his back, wondering how on earth such a situation had arose.
“It’s alright.” He said again, now in a genuine caring sense.
“You’re safe, here.”
888
He did not know what his own name was.
He did not know the name of this older boy, either, or why he happened to be there.
And he certainly did not know where he was, or how he’d got there…
The comforting pats on his back caused him to relax, slightly.
All he really knew was that he was safe, here.
And that he could trust this boy.
...Oh dear. XD Well, this is one chapter out of five. Since it's not an excessively drawn-out fanfic like I usually write, it should be done soon. (Has already started on the second chapter)
Enjoy! This was quite difficult to write...
A hand closed on the back of his aching neck. His head helplessly fell back in response, the rest of his limp body dangling, his collar being held up.
Cruel, smiling eyes stared down into his.
‘Finally…’
The man tried to struggle, or move, in the very least. But it was to no avail at all. He felt as if he were pounding against steel doors with his bare hands… his stunned body simply refused to comply, despite his best efforts.
He looked on, feeling the hand release the back of his neck. His collar remained gripped, and now he was beginning to feel his consciousness flicker. Yet he struggled to remain attentive, or at least continue to register what was going on…
A rather rancid taste (reminding him of a certain young lady’s cooking) suddenly entered his mouth. It took three seconds for him to realise that his captor was pouring some murky, black liquid down his throat. Not even his gag reflex coughed it back up, yet now he was starting to panic, slightly.
He was finally dropped to the floor with a loud WHUMP.
Well, whatever it was, it was inside him, now. And there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. Even if he were able to stand up and move.
He heard Don Paolo’s words slip in and out of clarity.
‘Well, now… it’s been quite the evening, Professor. So sorry I had to end it, like this...’
If the fallen man could have rolled his eyes, he would have.
‘… but I certainly feel you’ve been a thorn in my side, for FAR too long…’
The voice hesitated.
‘…no, no… I feel that’s been overused…’
The evil scientist began pondering, and the man watched from his position on the floor, seeing his feet pace back and forth in the shadows.
‘…Hm… a wrench in my works… no… a clog in my waterworks… Oh, heavens, no…’
Now the man was beginning to wish that he would lose consciousness.
‘… A snake in my path… Yes! Yes, that’s it! You have been a snake in my path for FAR too long…’
Somehow, however, that didn’t seem to be the case. The man was feeling as if he was unable to move at all, and the throbbing reminder of a blow being issued to the back of his head certainly reinforced that. Yet instead of unconsciousness… he was starting to feel a trifle… unusual.
‘…you see, I cannot allow you to continue on with your noble deeds, defending those poor, innocent children… all that claptrap…’
Adrenalin suddenly surged through his chest, so intensely to the point where it was painful. The dull pain began to spread outwards, to his stomach, chest, shoulders, arms, legs, head, hands, feet…
He managed to heave in a shuddering gasp, suddenly highly concerned. Not simply because there was a possibility of poison running in his system…
‘Without you around, without your wit, and the like…’
He heard the creak of a door, and a small slick of light travelled across the floor. His assailant was leaving.
‘… a bunch of… mindless robots, and a couple of brats shouldn’t be so difficult to handle…’
A quiet cackle sounded, and the man was now trying desperately to rise, though once more, he was failing to do so. One arm had only just managed to break free of the tense spell the rest of his body was under, and was now trying to push the rest of his limp form upwards. The foreign feeling had intensified, and now it simply felt as if his whole body was on fire.
No…
No!
‘Evening Professor. Say farewell to that brilliant mind of yours.’
With those words, Herschel Layton collapsed to the floor, once more, a sharper ache than any forming in his heart.
Breathlessly, he managed to whisper, in a voice that was weary in defeat.
“…L… Lu...ke… F… Flor...a…”
The door slammed shut, enveloping the room in darkness.
888
Luke blearily opened his eyes.
For a brief while, he simply stared at the ceiling, streams of morning light glaring from the window to his left. A puzzle book lay strewn upon his bedsheets, which lay in a tangled mess upon him.
He lay still, before realizing that it was Sunday, of all days. There was no schedule at all, this morning, and to be frank, he wasn’t in the mood to do anything at all. Not after staying up drilling at several different puzzles involving pouring uneven contents of pitchers into one another over and over.
However, a small knock at the door kept him from drifting back to sleep.
“Luke?” Flora’s soft voice reached his ears, muffled from behind the bedroom door. “I… I’m making breakfast, if you want some…”
The idea of eating a meal made by their new permanent guest (as kindhearted as she was) didn’t make the boy any more enthusiastic about rising on a Sunday morning. Still, he pushed himself up with a small groan, rubbing one eye sleepily, suffering from an extreme case of bedhead.
“Not… at the moment, Flora.” He said, managing a tired smile as the girl peered in warily through a small crack in the door.
“Sorry for disturbing you.” She mumbled, opening the door further and letting herself in. Luke suddenly managed to wake up enough to note a concerned look brewing upon the girl’s features, and he suddenly sat up all the way, alert.
“Is something the matter…?”
“Ah? Oh, no…” Flora shook her head abruptly, with a sheepish giggle. “It’s, erm… It’s just that… I don’t quite know where Mr Layton went off to, this morning…”
Luke blinked. That was odd. The Professor was never inclined to work on Sundays. And he was often an early riser.
Earlier than his young apprentice preferred to rise, anyway.
“Was he in bed?”
“…I checked earlier…” Flora said, weaving a finger through a stray lock of hair, her gaze aside in thought. “There was nobody there…”
She pressed her lips together, glancing back over at the wide-awake Luke, who suddenly appeared pensive.
“…and on the floor, he’d left his cloak, pants, and…his top-hat.”
The boy’s eyes grew wide.
That did it. Something was very wrong.
“He never goes anywhere without his hat!” Luke swung his legs over the side of his bed. “…More specifically out. You sure he’s not anywhere in the house?”
“I-I’m sure.”
Luke narrowed his eyes in thought, as his mind began to race over several possibilities. “Maybe something might have happened… Maybe he was in a rush…”
“All the same…” Flora blinked at the suddenly firm tone that escaped her mouth, and softened her voice. “… I think we should wait a little while before we do something… Maybe we’re overreacting, for now.”
Luke sighed, relaxing his keen and thoughtful expression into that of a boy who was still fighting sleep.
“…Maybe you’re right…”
Flora nodded, with a weak smile. Then she jumped, as if remembering something. “Oh - !”
Luke blinked. “What is it?!” He asked, alarmed.
He didn’t get a reply. Instead, the girl had dashed out his bedroom door, leaving it open at a 90-degree angle. The smell of smoke entered the room, and the boy paled, quickly planting his feet on the floor and running after Flora, grasping his bedroom robe as he dashed out the door.
“Flora! You’re burning something!” He cried, pulling on his robe as he dashed down the stairs after her.
“I’m sorry!” The Reinhold heir’s voice was distressed, floating up from the kitchen, which neighboured the staircase. There was a loud clatter, making Luke freeze in his tracks.
Then, there was a pause.
“I-It’s alright! The stove’s not on fire like last time!”
Luke, contrary to what many people would believe if the food itself were on fire, breathed a sigh of relief. He made his way down the final few steps, allowing his morning exhaustion to finally creep back in, and he relaxed.
To be honest, he still didn’t feel quite up to contributing to the morning, quite yet. And judging by the fact that the smell of smoke was clearing up, he had absolutely no need to worry - Flora had it all under control.
Luke thought hard.
He’d still get a tongue-lashing from the Professor, though. About how ‘A gentleman always helps those in need.’ And regardless of whether or not she had the situation under control, the apprentice could have simply helped out, even if it was something as minor as getting some water from the sink.
He found himself wandering into the living - room, his drowsiness replaced by a slight guilt.
He rather liked Flora. Not quite in the sense that would prompt him to kiss her on the hand at this age, but he enjoyed her presence.
Luke sighed. He’d have to pay her back, somehow. Especially since she had been so worried about the whereabouts of the Professor…
A casual glance to the couch revealed nothing out of the ordinary… He was about to set himself down and reach for one of the puzzles that were occasionally left upon the coffee table… when a second glance revealed that this was not the case.
There, sitting on the couch (and who hadn’t appeared to notice Luke’s presence) was a small child, of all things. He looked almost one or two and a half years old physically, but he sat very still, staring into space… almost looking rather solemn. What was perhaps even more unusual than the child’s presence was the fact that he was wearing an adult-sized orange sweatshirt - its sleeves were far too long for the young boy, and its torso area acted more like a gown for the rest of his body.
Luke jumped up in shock with a sharp gasp. The gasp was echoed by the child, who was now very aware of the apprentice’s presence, and whose expression now looked a trifle bewildered.
What on earth was a little boy… almost a baby… doing in Professor Layton’s house?!
Where were his parents? Why was he wearing a sweatshirt that would have probably fit his own father?! And… how exactly had he gotten inside?!
Luke stared at the child, for a few moments, eyes even wider than usual. (If that were physically possible, at least) His gaze was kept there by the fact that the child was staring back with equal surprise.
Without shifting his focus, he sat down rather heavily on the couch beside the young intruder, who continued staring at Luke for a few seconds longer, before looking away and resuming his blank stare into space.
The apprentice continued observing, though more thoughtfully that he’d been doing so, previously. The child… certainly wasn’t acting like a child. From what he could usually gather about children this age, they’d usually had rather straightforward emotions (and a vocabulary that often made his brain melt trying to decipher it, even if he were a puzzle lover.) and were not exactly ones to sit so still.
Luke blinked, when he realized that the child’s neutral expression was changing into that of shock and fear. It was a gradual transition, as if the young boy could not maintain his blank façade any longer. He suddenly turned to Luke, his small form trembling slightly, staring up at him for a few moments longer. Then, he bowed his head and shut his eyes, silently allowing several tears to start sliding down his small face and dripping down onto the couch.
Luke drew in a small breath, and scooted closer to the strange child, who was still shivering violently, perhaps still trying to suppress more tears that were threatening to pour forth. He reached over to the young boy, hesitated, and then placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Hey… hey…” He said, trying to make his voice as comforting as possible. “It’s alright… don’t cry…”
The child leaned over and hugged Luke around the waist, burying his wet face into the apprentice’s robe, letting loose some small silent sobs to the bewildered older boy, who continued to pat his back, wondering how on earth such a situation had arose.
“It’s alright.” He said again, now in a genuine caring sense.
“You’re safe, here.”
888
He did not know what his own name was.
He did not know the name of this older boy, either, or why he happened to be there.
And he certainly did not know where he was, or how he’d got there…
The comforting pats on his back caused him to relax, slightly.
All he really knew was that he was safe, here.
And that he could trust this boy.