Chapter 1: The Morning Routine

Hello! So, couple of things. 1. I know I said Hershel meets someone in this chapter, but it went on longer than I thought it would, so he'll meet this someone next chapter (comment if you think you know who it is! (a million hint coins if you get it right!)). And 2, just in case you didn't know, a 'fresher' is what us jolly old English say instead of a 'freshman' (I didn't know that until I checked it), right! Now the boring stuff is over, on with the chapter!

The morning brought its own sounds, Hershel was used to waking up to the sounds of birds twittering and the clatter of carts on their way to the market, and the low mumble of early risers catching up on gossip. The sounds were not completely different here, but the soft tweeting was replaced with the shrill call of magpies and pigeons, the carts with cars, and the chatter with a roar of many conversations. A small mobile phone on the bedside table gave a flash of light, then began to make a beeping noise. Hershel's eyes flickered open, he sat up and yawned, stretching out his arms, then let them fall to his side. He took a look around the room, and at first wondered where he was, when the events of the previous day returned to him. He sighed, so, he had the whole day to himself? What to do? Make friends was probably the wisest thing, but, well, no one could blame him for not feeling like it. He threw off his covers and sat up, looked like he was gonna have to use to morning routine again. The morning routine had been Lucille's idea, she had come up with it because, after Randall's death, Hershel had gone into such a depression that he often refused to leave his bed. Lucille had made a list of things that Hershel had to get done in the morning, these were all things he would have done anyway, but having an official list made it easier to get it done. He had found that the routine usually lead to him doing other things that weren't necessarily on the list, like, washing the dishes, reading a book or engaging in conversation, which was probably the point. Hershel sighed, Lucille had most likely got the idea off one of those parenting blogs, well, he'd better get on with it.

Rise in the morning. Well, he'd already done that.

Answer any texts. He didn't get many these days, but this morning there was one under the name 'Pa' asking how he was. He replied with 'I'm fine, thanks.'

Normal, everyday clothing. He dressed in his usual gear; comfortable brown shoes, grey jeans, shirt, orange unbuttoned waistcoat and blue tie.

Downstairs for breakfast. He wasn't sure where the nearest catering service was, so he feasted on the cherry pie his mother had made for him.

Answer any new texts. Hershel picked up his phone, there was a new text from Roland.

Pa

Good to hear! Listen, I forgot to tell you yesterday that you mother doesn't know about the money I gave you, so lets just keep it between you and me, okay?

Well, this was odd. Hershel had never known his parents to lie to one another, why did his father seem so nervous? He dismissed it and casually replied:

Yeah, sure, don't worry about it :)

Little walk. In Stansbury, he would usually take a stroll to the market and back, but he supposed it would do to have a look around the dormitory. This turned out to be more stressful than he hoped, as it was easy to get lost, and every time he heard footsteps or voices, he found himself hiding in a doorway until they disappeared. When he finally found his room he fell onto the bed, just one step left.

Looking in the mirror. This was apparently the most important step, he had to stand in front of the mirror and (as well as brushing his teeth, washing his face and combing his hair) he had to pick out all the things he liked about himself and take just a moment to appreciate them (yeah, definitely off some blog). As he pulled the comb through his cloud of hair, he looked himself in the eye and recited the lines he said everyday. "The things that like most about myself are as follows: I got good grades at school, meaning I must be clever." He put down the comb pick up a rather large pair of scissors (he hadn't been able to find his smaller ones) and snipped off all the bits of random hair sticking out of place. "I care about my friends and family very much, meaning I must be affectionate." He smiled to himself. "And I must be determined, because I can get through a whole tedious routine without cringing." This was what he had been doing every morning for the past few months, and it didn't feel too different here.

Rise in the morning.

Answer any texts.

Normal, everyday clothing.

Downstairs for breakfast.

Answer any new texts.

Little walk.

Looking in the mirror.

He stopped, and slowly put the scissors down. It was that word again, the one that kept reappearing, the one that, no matter what he did to distract himself, insisted on dancing around in the back of his head. He grasped the edges of the sink and squeezed his eyes shut, causing a flood of memories to come to life all at once; walking out of school with him, exploring the woods with him and, the most painful one, letting him slip through his fingers, literally, forever. He looked up, to see himself staring back, red and and panting. He'd always known Randall would always be bothering him, that he would always be lurking in the background, but he'd never expected THIS! He never wanted THIS! He began to sob, if he couldn't get through a morning routine without bursting into tears, how was he supposed to survive University? Let alone the rest of his life! He was now having to gasp for air, was this it? Was he doomed to live in guilt all his life? To hide in the shadow Randall was no longer casting? He managed to look back into the mirror, he wanted to turn away, to see anything but his own reflection, but he kept his gaze locked. A look of disgust settled on his face.

"Listen up, you" he growled through his teeth. "Every morning I tell you what I like about you, so today, I'm gonna tell everything I HATE about you!" He leaned forward, to make sure the mirror boy didn't miss a single word. "... You're a brat, you're a worthless brat who doesn't appreciate what he has until it's gone! You just follow the herd! You follow ridiculous orders given by people who don't have a clue what they're doing! You don't question, you do!" He coughed out more sobs, then spat out the inevitable conclusion. "... And THAT, THAT IS WHAT KILLED RANDALL! It wasn't Akbadain, it wasn't 'bad luck', it was your weak will! You couldn't say no! You couldn't say 'that's far enough'. You could, BUT YOU DIDN'T!" He gasped, running out of air, then leaned even closer, his forehead pressed lightly against the glass, and his breath made it foggy. "I… Hate… Hershel Layton" he whispered. "... And I NEVER want to see him again." He stood up and reached for the first thing he could find, the scissors. He looked at them for a moment, then raised them to his head. Lumps of hair fell around him as he destroyed what had been proudest element, his signature feature. Looking back at him was a distraught, puffy face, tear stained and red. This strange boy continued to sob, as through gritted teeth he uttered "Hershel Layton… Dies here."

For me at least, this is where the Hershel we saw in Miracle Mask ended and the top hatted gent we all know and love began. Loved writing this chapter, please favourite the story if you enjoyed reading it just as much! And don't forget to put your guesses in the reviews! (I know I haven't been the best at surprises so far, but I think this'll be a good one!)