Professor Layton and the Objectionable Objection - Part 1 -
As the record spun round on the player, the professor wiped the tears from his eyes. Was this a symptom of age?
"Professor, are you—"
"Shut up, Luke, a gentleman never cries," the professor interjected. "I was just being emotionally…emotional."
"Oh, okay!" Luke squeaked. "Professor, did you know that emotionally emotional has two E's and seven L's and thirty-two F's with two umlauts and a hyphen?"
"I believe you're mistaken, my boy," the professor said dully. "Now, do you recognize this song?"
"Oh! I know! That's the song that Don Paolo plays whenever he steals your left socks from the draw—"
"Not even a little bit," the professor rejected. "But thank you for telling me where all my socks went, I had feared I was going senile."
"I never said you weren't going—"
"Shut up, Luke."
"Professor! Professor Laayyyton!" Luke jabbered. "I have something to teeeell you!"
"What is it?" the professor answered apathetically.
"I ATE YOUR PUDDING." Luke pulled his most serious face—which, truth be told, was hardly serious at all. His beady eyes bore holes into Layton's soulless face.
"Luke…I am going to murder you in your sleep, my boy."
"Roger, professor! Did you remember that we've been called to court today, professor? Did you remember? Did you remember that? Did you—did you remember? Professor? Did you?"
"Shut the hell up, my boy," the professor said, rubbing his eyes and pulling his top hat tightly down on his head. "Yes, I remembered. Pack your satchel, we should go."
"Professor, the other children at school beat me because I have a satchel! They call it a purse and the hit me with it repeatedly until I pass out from the lack of oxygen to my lungs and then—"
"Shut up, Luke. You aren't Hamlet. Now get in the Laytonmobile."
"Yessir, sir!" Luke saluted and hopped into the back seat of the car. He was far too young to sit in the front. Rather, the professor wasn't quite sure how old Luke actually was, but he sure as hint coins wasn't about to let Luke ride in the front. Luke might touch something and dirty up the car with his germy little child hands. God. Children.
As Layton pulled the car out of the driveway and onto the street, the pair glimpsed a dashing Flora speed towards them.
"You assholes, leaving me all alone here again, I swear to Anton I'll—"
But she was too late, and her threats were drowned out by the roar of the engine caused by the pedal-to-the-floor acceleration Layton had applied.
"Golly, professor, she sure looked angry!" Luke remarked annoyingly.
"Yes. Perhaps one day we should actually invite her along with us." He paused. "Or at least remember to tell her where we are going."
The two sat in silence for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"Ahaha, no, we will never do that," Layton said.
"We make a great team, professor!" Luke replied. "Almost as good as a baseball team! Did you know the 1717 Wyoming Wrestlers scored thirty-nine touchdowns in the last inning?"
"No. No, I did not. Probably because you have your sports confused, my boy," Layton replied.
"Are you sure, professor? Are you sure? Because maybe you're insane. Are you sure?"
"Shut up, Luke. A true gentleman never gaslights another gentleman."
"But, but, professor! Professor Laaayton! I'm not a true gentleman yet! I'm a gentleman in traaaining! Do you—do you see the loophole there, professor? Do you see it? Do you—"
At that point, the professor turned the volume of the radio to max, effectively drowning out Luke's constant stream of questions and allowing Layton to relax in Lukeless—albeit ear-splitting—splendour.
An hour later and six cycles of "Johann von Gutenstraussberg's Gurkelieber Fifth Polka Concerto", the Laytonmobile pulled into its destination.
"PROFESSOR!" Luke shouted, his tiny child ears still ringing from the music. "PROFESSOR! ARE WE IN COURT, PROFESSOR? OBJECTION, PROFESSOR! OBJECTION!"
The professor was very pleased with himself for having thought to destroy his hearing beforehand. Now he heard only the blissful buzzing of white noise.
The British pair walked up the artfully laid out stone steps into the court house. Layton tipped his hat to the secretary, who directed him to the defense attorney.
"Now, when Edgeworth says mean, cruel, hurtful things to you, what do you do?" the spiky haired attorney lectured. "You cry. You cry good, dammit. You make that judge and jury pity you."
"Misuta Naruhodo," Layton interrupted. "A true gentleman never makes a lady cry."
"Whoa!" The attorney threw himself back in a comically sprite-like indication of shock. "That was surprising," he said obviously. "And my name is Phoenix Wright."
"Misuta Naruhodo," Layton repeated. "Now, this young woman…she is accused of murder through witchcraft?"
"Yes. I don't even know why we're taking this to court, accusing someone of murder because of magic just seems—"
"Highly plausible, yes." Layton tapped his lip pensively. "But where would she get the sheer number of goats needed for the sacrifice…? I wonder."
"I dinna kill enybahdy," the girl squeaked. "I jus hadda bad day!" She tugged at her blonde braids. "En whoda hell is dis guy?"
"My apologizes. I am Hershel Layton, professor of archaeology at Grossenheller University," Layton replied.
"AND I'M HIS NUMBER ONE APPRENTICE, LUKE TRITON!" Luke shouted, evidently still hearing impaired from the journey.
"Yer a wee cute lilla boy, ain'tcha?" the girl patted Luke on the head. Luke just stared back at her with a dumbly confused expression on his boyish face parts. "Jes like ma sis back home."
The professor cleared his throat. "In any case, as her defense team, I suggest—"
"Whoa, whoa. Defense team? As in you and me? I'm the lawyer," Phoenix protested. "I'm the one doing the defending. Aren't you a witness? Why are you here?"
Silence.
"In any case, as her defense team," the professor continued, "you must find a way to clear her name. That is," he looked down at the wispy waif of a girl, "if you are indeed innocent."
"I dinna do eet!" she snapped. "Ahma good gurl!"
"Phoenix! Phoenix! Guess what I got!" A girl garbed in strange clothing dashed down the hallway, nearly mowing Luke down in her attempt to get to the attorney.
"This sounds like a puzzle," Layton said. "If you have one girl with one question and you multiply that by the speed of running and subtract the height of my hat, then add the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow, you have… An autographed photo of the Steel Samurai. Am I correct?"
"Whoa." The girl gaped at him. "Who are you, you sexy, sexy British man?"
"Hershel Layton, professor of ar—"
"Maya! You were talking to me," Phoenix groaned.
"Shut up and let the adults talk, Phoenix," Maya replied, blushing coyly up at the professor, who bowed and kissed her hand.
"From your dress, I gather that you're an acolyte. It must be difficult training," Layton said seductively in a sexy way.
"It was hard," Maya replied. "But this is harder. And by this I mean you."
"Mmm." Layton made a sound in the back of his throat.
"Maya…" Phoenix said hopelessly. "The witch trial…? Remember? Our work? That we have to do?"
Tap, tap, tap.
"Well, Wright. What do we have here? You have certainly formed an…interesting…team of misfits, haven't you?"
"Edgeworth!" Phoenix grimaced. "So you're the prosecutor for the case, huh?"
"Indeed I am." Edgeworth tapped his arm repeatedly.
"I don't believe we've had the chance to meet before. I am Hershel Layton of Grossenheller University," Layton said, tipping his hat.
"Miles Edgeworth. It is a pleasure to meet you." Edgeworth glanced at the vertically challenged professor. "I see you are defending…?"
"I believe we have been brought in as expert witnesses, actually," the professor replied.
"Oh? Experts in…?"
"Puzzles," said the professor with impressive seriousness. He was so serious, in fact, that Edgeworth chose not to ridicule him.
"Interesting," the grey-haired dandy said with a half smile. "This will be an interesting battle."
"A battle of gentleman," Layton replied, smiling back.
And so it was.