Aaah, Chapter 2 is finally up! I must apologise… contrary to popular opinion, it turns out that homework and school are very important if one is to pass their GCSE's in order to live a fulfilling and interesting life. But I have now managed to spare a few minutes in order to bring you the second chapter. And thank you to all of you who took the time and effort to review, it means a lot to little ol' me! :'D

Warning: This will contain a certain idiot's demise, random mood-swings, swearing, Malignant!Layton references and Flora's cooking.

I don't own Professor Layton, and if I did, you would know about it.

…..On with the show!

"Remind me as to when you are-ACHOO!- leaving again…" Descole said. He was wrapped up in about 1500 layers of blankets, dressing gowns and dead animals that he had killed the week before. He was currently addressing what seemed to be a broken, mangled mess on the floor that was writhing around in a pool of its own blood and bodily fluids.

"For the last time, I'm not leaving until I slowly and painfully kill Luke!" cried the Professor, gnashing his few remaining teeth. (His 60mph crash into the Tetris blocks had taken a severe toll on his frail mortal body. One of his arms was twisted cracked and hopelessly broken. The other arm was in a sort of spiral. His head was at a 180 degree angle to the rest of his body and both of his legs were rotting from gangrene. He was missing a huge chunk of his ribs and the less said about his missing left foot the better. And yet somehow he had managed to retain his top hat, which was balanced on top of his head without a single scratch to it) Descole groaned, sneezed, hacked up some phlegm into a monogrammed handkerchief and wheezed before replying in his trademark sarcastic way; "And tell me… how in Santa's name are you –ACHOO!-going to achieve that? You, my irritating nemesis, are a wreck. And I mean that in the kindest sense. You can barely drag your pathetic carcass around-ACHOOO!-let alone violently kill a healthy young lad who has all the agility of an overexcited leopard-wolf-flying fish thing."

"I'll think of something you moronic cowpat!" screamed the Professor in a totally gentlemanly way. He was in such a state of agitation one of his legs dropped off from the trembling. The Professor ignored this and continued ranting at his masked host, "When I recover-WHICH I WILL! I AM THE GREAT PROFESSOR LAYTON WHO CAN DRINK EIGHTY-TWO CUPS OF TEA IN TEN MINUTES!-I will crush Luke! I will! I will stab him so hard his head will fall off and his torso will turn into an accordion which I will then use to play a 24hr long recital of all of Justin Beiber's hits on before grinding it up in a spaghetti maker! Then-"

Descole was getting bored of this. He promptly called for his moustachioed butler to come and drag Layton away to some far-fetched corner of his mansion/castle thingy. (I have no idea. And neither do you, so don't look at me like that.) His butler quickly came to deal with the offending professor, armed with a dust-pan and brush and twenty tonnes of Dettol-one could never be too sure, and besides, who's to say that Descole wouldn't catch something from the Professor? His disturbing lack of irises/retinas for example?-and the Professor still hadn't finished his ranting, " –and once I've disposed of all the flesh-eating pigeons, I will come for YOU. Yes YOU, you arrogant, prissy, cowardly, hag-ridden piece of piss. YOU!"

"Hey!" exclaimed a rather hurt and shocked Descole, "don't insult Raymond like that. You could hurt his feelings- and I don't want to have to play therapist again. ACHOOO! Not after the discussion about his daddy-issues…" Descole shuddered at the memory. But his recollections were interrupted by his butler's startled yell and four-foot jump into the air(as per usual).

"What is it now?" sighed Descole. Really, what with all the squealing butlers, visually-disturbing professors, random passers-by and terrifying cold-callers, one was almost afraid to ask. But this is Descole we're talking about, and very little intimidated him due to a lifetime of irritating professors, criminal activity and traumatic childhood abuse that would scar him for the rest of his life. So he was all good. Until his butler spoke again.

"You s-see sir… it's just that it's that child again sir. You know, the one that has an obsession with baseball. You see him sir? It's hard not to, he's the one outside the door licking a window."

Descole was about to make a typical witty retort when the Professor noticed Luke, screamed "EGADS! IT'S THE SHOTA BOY!" and leapt up before crawling up the fifteen flights of stairs at approximately 2.5 miles a second with a grace unseen before in severely crippled people. Descole stared after him in amazement, before composing himself. He turned towards his faithful (if cowardly butler).

"I'm off to practice some meditation that will hopefully get me over this. I do not wish to ever remember these past two weeks. EVER. You get me, bro?"

"Yes, master. I totally get you. Innit, blud."

"Glad to –ACHOOOO!-hear it. Now do something about the professor and his annoying monkey." And with that, Descole walked away, not at all prancing. NOT AT ALL. His butler bowed and hurried upstairs to deal with the professor but was hindered after slipping on a misplaced brain chunk and falling down several flights of stairs and landing in a very painful way that I will not specify because some of you dear readers may be squeamish. Or something. Not because I'm lazy or anything. Heh…*nervous laugh*.


Meanwhile, Luke was skipping about the mansion/castle/hideout talking animatedly to a passing butterfly about baseball and all its joys and delights. Needless to say, the conversation only lasted 15 seconds and Luke went off on his merry way. But he found that his merry way was blockaded by a certain mentally-unhinged archaeologist. Yes, that's right. Indiana Jones. But Luke had no interest in famous people, so he turned around and headed back towards Descole's weird-ass castle-thing. After all, he reasoned, how bad could it be? The professah was probably in fine health and would want to talk about baseball with him like the good old days. It had been two weeks after all. Sufficient enough time for him to recover.

But Luke wasn't reasonable, rational or sane by anyone's standards. Not even the good professor's or even Descole's. Which might explain as to why Luke's day ended like it did. He was casually skipping towards the mansion, yelling "TOUCHDOWN!" when out of the clear grey and cloudy skies of merry old England, a demented and very gentlemanly-sounding voice screamed, "LUKE! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Which is precisely what the Professor did.


Descole was in the middle of reciting Dalai Lama's emotional balancing chant (to cleanse the mind and soul, and to let go of all cruel and harmful feelings towards others) when his butler burst into his room. Again. Descole was surprised.

"You recovered remarkably quickly. Well done. Take a pay rise of minus fifty percent."

"Thank you master. You are truly kind. Luckily my fatal fall was broken by some hideous abomination that seemed intent on destroying the professor. Aisha or something like that? Ah well. The point is that it broke my fall. But it seemed to be in pretty bad shape after the ordeal, so I chucked it into our industrial-sized incinerator."

"Oh. Did you die?"

"I'm afraid so master. But luckily I survived. But that's not the reason as to why I'm here. I'm here to inform you about another unfortunate incident. One that involves the professor and his apprentice."

"Ah yes, about the professor." Descole closed his eyes, relaxed and finished off his chant. "Ohm… peace be inside me, happiness around me, and forgiveness in my heart. Now, lead me to that pathetic waste of space so I may feed him his remaining organs."

"Yes master. Right away master. But before that, I must tell you that the professor somehow managed to bypass the one-hundred trillion puzzles you set as a security code and hijacked your prototype all-purpose, well-armed, nuclear powered battle ship and fired all of the hydrogen bombs at his apprentice. There were no survivors. Except for us, the professor and a random squirrel. As you may have noticed sir, the hydrogen bombs decimated around 98.456487% of the surrounding countryside, including this residence sir. Note the lack of walls, doors, ceilings etcetera. I hope you are not too angry, master."

Descole crushed a mini-figurine of Buddha in his hands. Many veins were pulsing under his skin and his face was turning an alarming shade of scarlet.

"No Raymond. Not at all."

"I'm happy to hear it, master."


You are cordially invited to the funeral of Luke 'Lawkesha Jackson' Triton.

It will be held on the 16th of December, as his father has several pressing tanning engagements the week before.

It will be held at St. Theresa's Mental Institute for the stupidly and annoyingly Insane as Luke was banned from all churches in the neighbouring countries after the 'Baseball Incident of '12.

Black clothes are acceptable, but not necessary.

Party at my place afterwards.

Hope to see you there~!


Well. Second chapter up and running. Please let me know what you think, and who knows? Maybe you'll get a special mention in my next chapter? Unlikely, but you'll probably be there somewhere :D.

Luke's Funeral is up next! Tune in next time at some unspecified date/time!

Special thanks to:

Alisha, for not objecting to the many references to her/him/it throughout this story

James, who wholeheartedly endorsed the many references to Alisha

Toby, who didn't care either way but still read it

Hanna, who laughed at my work and told me that it was 'a good start' but that she was going to write a better Hetalia fanfiction (I have no doubts about that, and good luck to you)

The Mocking J, Abitat Eco, Regular Gemstone, GeorgiexxxSuarez, Cupcake-Ninja-Platypus and Guest for taking the time to review. And what encouraging reviews they were! :D So thanks you guys~

And finally, to Mr McGraham, aka Colby, who was the one who inspired me to write this sorry excuse for a fanfiction in the first place. So a lot of Satan-hugs for you when I see you tomorrow, my little froggy pal.

Phew. Long Author's Note is long. See you soon!