A/N: Second chapter! Yay!

Thanks to lilyb12, MikuLover, The Mocking J and Wigzard for their reviews!

lilyb12-Thank you! I know what you mean! My mom and I have watched Elf, literally, like, 12 times in the past week! haha

MikuLover-Thank you! :D

The Mocking J-I am going to try my hardest not to make the Professor too OOC. Although, he is on the naughty list. ;)

Wigzard- Yep! I love Elf!

I do not own any Professor Layton characters

Back at the North Pole, the festivities were in full swing as the elves celebrated yet another joyful Christmas season.

They danced jigs, munched on candy, and took many shots of syrup-spiked milk.

Santa had finally returned from his annual global journey, and was about to give his report on the trip.

"Alright, everyone," he started, his nose still red from the cold, "we've had another successful year, and, after all that hard work, it's time to start preparations for next Christmas!"

The elves cheered, and immediately took their seats at the long, wooden workbenches.

As everyone knew, there were only three jobs available to an elf. The first was making shoes at night while the old cobbler slept. Second was baking cookies in an oak tree. (Although, as you can imagine, was very dangerous during the dry season).

And lastly, of course, was building toys in Santa's workshop.

Needless to say, that was the profession that every elf aspired to, and because of their natural enthusiasm, nimble fingers, and active minds, they were the perfect candidates for the job.

Sure, Santa had employed other creatures throughout the years, but none of them had worked out. Most notably were the gnomes and trolls. The gnomes drank too much, and trolls weren't toilet-trained, leaving many messes for the elves to clean up.

Every elf was busy at work now: assembling, carving, stuffing, stitching, and hammering, when one of them noticed movement from Santa's sack.

"Hey, look!"

Simultaneously, activity at every table ceased; all heads turning.

The bag shifted again, and as Santa went closer to investigate, out crawled the baby.

Gasps and excited murmurs followed as he stood up and surveyed the group with his big, brown eyes.

JoJo, an elf who always wore blue, crossed the room and crouched next to the little boy.

"'Clove and Clive Apparel'," she said slowly, reading the tag on the back of his pajamas.

"His name is Clive," an elf named Ling Ling piped up. "He must have..."

"Snuck into your sack at the orphanage," his friend Chou Chou finished.

"Santa, what are we going to do?" JoJo asked.

Attention then shifted from the baby to Santa, while everyone waited for the verdict.

Luckily for Clive, when it came to babies, Santa was a bit of a pushover. So, after a minute, the decision was that Clive would stay and be raised by a senior elf who was known to everyone as 'Papa'.

At first, bringing up a human in the North Pole proved a challenge. Clive grew twice as fast as all the other children, which meant that at the ripe old age of two, he was already too big to sit on Papa's lap.

Despite this, however, Clive was just like all the other elves. Well... mostly.

In school, Clive excelled, especially in the class, "Elvish Code and Conduct" with his teacher, Mr. Peppermint.

"Before we begin learning how to build the latest in toy technology, let's recite the Code of the Elves, shall we?" he asked, pointing at the blackboard with a yardstick. "Number one."

"Treat every day like Christmas."

"Number two?"

"There's room for everyone on the nice list."

"And number three?"

"The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear."

Clive looked over and shared a smile with his friend, MiMi. That was their most favorite rule.

-o-

Finally, when Clive was old enough, Papa made him his own personal apprentice.

"I've never been in here before," Clive said, following Papa into a small, dark room.

"Well, I thought it was time you start your tinker training," Papa told him. He flicked on the light, and when Clive saw what was in the middle of the room, his jaw dropped.

"Santa's sleigh..."

It was a rich cherry red color, with matching leather seats on the inside. The skids were recently polished and gleaming and there was gold trim along the edges.

"You're going to help me make it fly," Papa said.

"Me? I thought the magical reindeer made the sleigh fly," Clive said.

"And where do the reindeer get their magic from?" Papa quizzed before climbing into the sleigh.

"Christmas spirit. Everybody knows that."

"Well, you may not know this, but a lot of folks down South don't believe in Santa Claus."

Clive's eyes popped in shock. "What? Who do they think puts the toys under the tree?"

Papa cleared his throat. "Actually, there's a rumor going around that the, uh, the parents do it."

"That-that's ridiculous," Clive said, obviously stunned. "I mean, parents couldn't do all that in one night! And what about the cookies? I suppose the parents eat those, too?"

Papa nodded. "I know. And unfortunately, every year, fewer people believe in Santa. I mean, we have a real energy crisis here. Just look at how low the Claus-O-meter is."

He pointed to a dial on the front of the sleigh where the arrow had fallen to zero.

"That's shocking," Clive agreed.

"So that's why I came up with this little beauty in the '60's," Papa said. He pressed a few buttons and flipped a switch, and a loud humming noise started up.

Clive bent down and saw a long, metal cylinder on the underside of the sleigh.

"What is it?"

"It's the Kringle 5000; a five-hundred reindeer power jet engine. Without it, the sleigh couldn't get more than a few feet from the ground."

Papa then left the sleigh and went next to Clive.

Suddenly, the engine coughed and sputtered and shot out a puff of white smoke along with bright yellow sparks.

"Hm, seems like there's a wire short somewhere," Papa observed. "You want to give me a hand with that?"

Clive looked up at Papa. "You want me to help?"

-o-

As much as everyone in the community loved and accepted him, Clive couldn't help but always feel a bit different from his friends.

Take, for instance, toy-making. It came so easily to everyone else, but for him, it took much more effort.

There were only three more weeks until Christmas now, and as production went into hyper-drive, he struggled to keep up with the demand.

Currently, he was trying to build toy robots, and while the others effortlessly produced flawless finished product, he had trouble remembering the proper assembly steps.

He heard someone come up behind him, and without looking, he knew exactly who it was.

"Hi, Ping Ping," he said quietly. "I don't think I'm going to make the quota today."

"It's alright, Clive. How many robots did you finish?"

Embarrassed, Clive didn't reply.

Ping Ping was record-keeper for the workshop, and it was his job to make sure that manufacturing was kept on schedule.

"Clive... how many?" he asked again.

"I made... 85," he answered finally.

All the elves glanced up from what they were doing when they heard the number, but then quickly got back to work.

Frustration bubbled up inside of him. It seemed like he could never do anything right.

"Why don't you just say it? I'm the worst toy-maker ever," he said, putting down his hammer. "I'm a cotton-headed ninny-muggins."

The elves gasped. They never expected Clive to use such harsh language.

"No, you're not, Clive. We all just have different talents," Ping Ping said gently.

"It seems like everyone's got the same talents except for me," Clive said, not completely believing Ping Ping.

"Don't be silly. You've got a lot of talents—special talents."

"You change all the lightbulbs when they burn out," JoJo chimed in.

"Yeah, and you're the only tenor in the elf choir. You bring us down a whole octave," Chou Chou called from the far end of the table.

Clive cracked a tiny smile. They weren't totally wrong.

"See, Clive?" Ping Ping said. "You're not a cotton-headed ninny-muggins. You're just... special."

However, Ping Ping decided to give Clive a break from toy-building and sent him where all the "special" elves worked: Quality Control

For Clive, this meant testing Jack-in-the-boxes and making sure they functioned properly.

The task was monotonous and every time the clown popped out, he jumped.

As he dutifully turned the crank on his sixth box, he overheard hushed chatter from the other side of the dividing shelf.

Normally he wouldn't have eavesdropped, but he swore he heard his name. Besides, if he had to hear Pop Goes the Weasel one more time, he would surely lose his mind.

Leaving his station, he peeked over the shelf and saw Ping Ping and his friend, Zu Zu, each with a mug of steaming hot cocoa in their hands.

"I really appreciate you helping me out with those robots," Ping Ping said, taking a sip of his drink. "Clive is killing me. I already got KiKi and DeDe working overtime."

"Don't mention it," Zu Zu said, plucking a marshmallow out of the frothy liquid. "By the way, that was quick thinking earlier with that 'special talents' thing."

Ping Ping sighed. "I feel bad for him, you know? I just hope he doesn't get wise."

"I doubt it. I mean, if he hasn't figured out he's a human by now, I don't think he ever will."

Clive felt his heart stop.

What?!

A/N: I hope you all liked it! Please R&R!

P.S. Who doesn't love the phrase, "Cotton-headed ninny-muggins"?