(A/N: This story [and possibly future stories] is/are for Dawndragon. If you dare try to read without context, I promise you will be confused beyond your wildest dreams... but I still won't stop you.)

The castle, though it gave a candlelight glow in the nighttime, had all the air of the house that preceded it, with just a touch more darkness and intrigue (as far as the kids were concerned, particularly Alfendi, who was enthralled with murder mysteries).

Oh, let it be clarified that the castle was a step up only in the eyes of the children. The day Professor Hershel Layton received the news, he was more outraged than he could remember ever having been in his life.

"Desmond," he'd growled angrily, and an angry growl was the last thing you'd expect to hear out of such a mild-mannered, well-respected gentleman. Indeed only his brother could drag it out of him. "I said no to the castle!" (This, mind you, was the tail end of an argument that had been dragged out for quite some time— partially over the phone and partially up close and in person, where the two men could scowl at each other properly.)

"Well according to these documents, dear brother of mine, you— that is, the famous Hershel Layton— actually said yes. And as the deed is now in your name, I would be highly disappointed if you were not to use this Christmas gift that I've so generously bestowed upon you." The shorter figure had tossed his stuffing-lined cape behind him dramatically, making a great show out of it. (Everyone knew that making a show was his true intention behind the gift, anyhow.)

And that was perhaps the one moment in the good Professor's life when he hadn't been able to think of a suitable response. For he knew as well as his brother that his birth name— Theodore Bronev, as he'd been informed so late in his life— would bring up issues with several other important legal documents if he brought it to light.

And then the kids had come running down, chanting "Castle! Castle! Castle!" until the Professor ordered them to stop, and they' done so, but hadn't lost the twinkle in their eyes that finally forced their caretaker's hand. For Uncle Descolé had the unfortunate favor of being a favorite with the kids (particularly Alfendi, who was enthralled with criminals such as Descolé himself).

But all that aside— and it really isn't of much importance, as the dear old uncle who'd bought the house only dropped in every few blue moons to bring strange presents or stir up a riot— the castle was home now, and even the Professor had to admit that it was much more spacious than their previous household.

"You must admit, it's really quite amazing they sell these for no more than the cost of what we were already paying," Claire spoke up across the table. Layton looked up at his love as she smiled knowingly and slid a red card across the table to him. What she'd really said was "you know your brother was only trying to be nice, in his own way," but Layton pretended not to know that.

"Yes, but with the time will take to clean, we'll still have to watch our budget to make sure we don't fall behind," he stated in his matter-of-factly voice.

"How do you think we got here in the first place?" an out-of-place, jarring American voice interjected. A man with jet-black hair, spiked back in a ridiculous fashion, slid his face-down cards to Claire as the Professor's cards were refilled. "Money's always tight."

"Hah! If it weren't, I'd be afraid I was stuck in a simulation of some kind. You know our luck, Nick." The fourth adult at the table— another American, but very clearly a woman— rolled her eyes that always seemed to shift from brown to grey. The Professor hadn't failed to notice that of the eclectic little group, nobody had an eye color besides black or grey (a slightly bothersome and yet intriguing statistical improbability).

"I'll bet four," Claire suddenly said, switching the topic to the pennies on the table in the bat of an eye. There was a steadiness and determination in her voice that commanded all those around her, even when it wasn't her turn to be the dealer. Layton thought her voice was one of the loveliest things about her— right up with her gifted intellectual genius, mild-mannered personality, soft brown hair…

"Ah, I'll check the bet," he replied, realizing that the others were waiting on his response.

"Same here," stated the American male, voice suddenly void of all emotion that had previously made it stand out so much. Years ago, nobody in their right mind would have imagined the Professor gambling— even if only for fun and with pennies— but the eccentric Mr. Wright had changed that. Bumbling rookie as he was, he was a sweetheart who had won more of the Layton's than he cared to admit. So when he'd challenged him to a friendly game of poker the first time, he could hardly deny him. Then the lawyer had gone and shocked him with an apparent hidden talent for the game, and Layton's curiosity and eye for strategy had got the better of him.

"Well, I can't miss out on the fun, now can I?" asked the gray-brown-eyed woman, sliding four pennies easily into the little pile that had formed in the middle of the wooden table that was so glaringly out of place against the stone walls. In fact, the woman's tasteful mix of browns and grays almost seemed to be the only thing holding the room together. Mia Fey was an interesting woman to say the least, and seemed to have a gift for bringing things together that you'd never think someone could. Perhaps the entire housing situation— well, not the castle, which as stated before was Desmond's doing, but certainly the decision for two large parties of people to live together— could be attributed to her social skills and ability to manage a tight budget.

The group's attention was brought to Claire as she flipped her cards over, revealing nothing of more value than pair of twos.

"Guess you all called my bluff," she said with the tiniest bit of an ashamed smile. "Hershel, what did I do this time?"

"A true gentleman never reveals his secrets," he replied, holding back laughter. He loved Claire with all his heart, but she taught him never to help his opponent mid-game. (Well, unless it was a puzzle duel; then he was basically guaranteed to win, so it wouldn't hurt to even the odds in the favor of his opposition.)

The Professor was interrupted from revealing his own hand the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, followed by a slim figure with blonde hair and traditional clothing that seemed far more Japanese than American.

"Melina," Layton asked in surprise, "what are you doing here so late?"

The girl bowed her head in apology. "Maya couldn't sleep," she replied, gesturing down to her own body. "She thought perhaps if she channeled me for a time, when I left, her spirit would remain unconscious."

Layton looked uncomfortably across the table to Mia, as if to ask if that was a normal (or healthy) practice for spirit channelers. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the whole dead-people-possessing-his-friends thing, and he truthfully wasn't sure he ever would.

"Well, it's good to see you," Mia told the girl in a warm voice. "You may join us for a round of cards, if you'd like. But if you can, would you please reprimand my sister before you leave? I don't want her to grow accustomed to channeling while she's tired. Not that you would ever take control without her permission, but…"

"Of course," Melina said, bowing her head. Claire moved aside to make a space for her on the little padded bench that sat against the wall, and the young girl thankfully sat down beside her.

"Now, if we're all ready to continue…" Layton said casually, flipping over his hand. He smiled as the delayed shocked reactions started to show up at his flush, which he'd used every ounce of his willpower not to up the ante on for fear of the others dropping out.

"Wh—"

"A flush?!"

"Wow, is that good?"

The adults hushed as they turned to look at Melina, who looked innocently down at the incredibly hand. The Professor and Mr. Wright started to laugh at the same time, one with a deep chuckle and the other with a schoolboy's giggle.

"I see we may have to teach our new player how to, well, play," Layton said.

"Fine, but first allow me to just take all this—" Mr. Wright started, reaching for the pile of pennies. Ms. Fey laughed and slapped his hand back, which Claire pretended to disapprove of but held back a smile at.

"Oh, sorry, forgot I have to show my hand first," he apologized with a grin that Layton realized was sincere just a little too late. As he flipped over a royal flush, the archeologist caught himself wondering for the hundredth time if it was even possible to win as often as Mr. Wright did without cheating. Perhaps he should bring down Alfendi and have him monitor if he was displaying any nervous ticks…

"No using the kids, you two," Ms. Fey suddenly stated out loud, seemingly directed at both Layton and Mr. Wright. Both men looked at each other, startled, then quickly looked away. The tall woman laughed, slapping down her own hand (a junkyard) face-up before collecting the cards on the table into a neat stack.

"Oh dear," Layton stated, noting the time on a clock that hung solitarily on an otherwise blank stone wall. "It's gotten rather late. Shall we teach Melissa a few hands and then join our children upstairs?" he asked cheerfully.

The others stared.

Layton tilted his head towards Claire in confusion. "What? Is the clock wrong?"

Ms. Fey spoke up before the smaller woman could. "You said our children," she exclaimed with a smirk.

"Wh— no I did not," Layton insisted, thinking back to a few moments before.

"I think you did, Hershel," Claire agreed, holding a hand up to her mouth in a failed attempt to hide the light blush on her cheeks.

"Pro-fessor!" Mr. Wright accused in mocking tone, his voice more schoolboy-ish than before.

"All right, that's enough," Layton defended feebly. Ms. Fey and he were about on the same level as far as wit was concerned, but Mr. Wright mocking him was an insult to his dignity. (Well, that was an exaggeration, but— but still.)

"Mr. Layton, are you blushing?" asked Melina suddenly. "Oh— s-sorry, I didn't mean to speak out of turn," she quickly added, as Layton shot her a glare that was usually reserved for when people mistreated a lady in his presence.

If the group had been residing in the old house, the laughter and mocking tones would have undoubtedly drawn down the previously-sleeping children from upstairs— that was simply the way it was. Perhaps the extra space that now separated the adults from the children was actually an advantage, in some ways. Not that the Professor would ever admit that to his brother, of course.

In the still of the night, the castle glowed with a warm candlelight that spoke of children sleeping soundly while their parents played poker with worn red cards and pennies.