A:N/ Hi peoples! Finally posting this chapter!
Someone requested I do Clive, so I shall do that!
No romance in this one. He's freaking mine!
Aftermath Chapter Three
There was a deep rumbling noise from within the machine. A brief sound, something like thunder, that shook the ground, but not so much the air. Clive stopped dead in his tracks.
Layton, that shrewd man. Luke, that whining kid. Inspector Chelmey and Barton were nothing more than modern versions of Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Flora, though she was a flower, was nothing more than an innocent child. So how did he loose?
Descole. The liar. The sly, fooling, liar.
The man in blue let out a shriek and took off down the hallway. There was an elevator around here somewhere... the fortress of his greatness rumbled once more. With a groan, the great mechanical machine began to tilt to the side.
Clive lost his footing and tumbled down, hitting the wall a moment later. He groaned in pain, his head lolling backward. The muscles in his neck loosened as he slowly pulled himself up.
Clive heard a slight moaning noise again. His eyes opened slightly just in time to see a huge chunk of machinery whirling downward toward him.
He screamed, but he, the great and vengeful Clive Dove, could do nothing. Clive Dove was just about to die just like his parents, in a freak accident involving those bloody machines.
Clive jumped out of the standard white-cotton bed with a start. In his frights, he had kicked the blankets into a tangled knot down by his feet. He sighed in relief. Nothing more than a dream.
But... why did that mysterious woman save him? He nearly trampled her and that bloody Layton of hers. No one had ever shown him much compassion... other than Layton. That know-it-all was there the day that his parents died, and yet he still retrained him when he was attempting to avenge his wrongly-murdered parents!
Clive sucked in a breath. He was ranting within his mind again, something that occasionally happened. A slight breath escaped his lips and he ran a hand through his hair. He sat up in his standard asylum bed, strutting for the prison door.
The door was closed, only a small, barred window on the door and one across the heavy-duty metal in the thick, concrete wall. That, the sink, the loo, and the bed were the only things adorning his drab cell.
He lightly rapped on the door.
"Yes?" the polite voice of the Professor answered.
"I know... I think I know, at least," Clive replied. He had slept on this terrible tidbit all night, and the Professor had just been perched outside, perched on his little stool, a thick book in his hand and a cup of tea beside him. This was the only thing that Clive could see from the narrow window in his cell. "Is it two-hundred?"
"Nope. Try again, my boy," he said lightly.
"No hints?" the fully-grown man whined. The way that he could sound like such a wounded puppy was unbearable. That was a trait of Luke's that he had mastered perfectly.
"I'm sorry, my boy. No more hint coins left," Layton replied. "Five hundred stones. If you pull out more black stones than white stones, you win the coins, equal to the number of stones you pulled out in total. Think on that."
Clive let out an aggravated yell. Five bloody hours on the same puzzle and no hints! "Four hundred!"
"Four hundred one!"
"Four hundred two!"
"Getting closer," Layton said as he picked up his third cup of tea for the night and took a sip. He looked up and met Clive's eyes, though they were filled with annoyance.
"Four hundred ninety-nine!"
"Correct," Layton said, his face unchanging as he took another sip of his tea.
"Four hundred–" Clive paused. "Ha! Take that, Layton!"
Layton smiled. "See, when you put your mind to something, anything is possible."
Clive laughed in his triumph. He could finally get some rest. He sauntered over to his bed, yanking back the covers, then sat on the springy surface, a gleam of success in his eye. "Now it's my turn, Herschel!"
He would never solve this one. It had been rambling around in his hand since yesterday morning as he was eating his breakfast. Just as he opened his mouth to let the puzzling demon fly free, Layton interrupted.
"I'm sorry, my boy. I have to meet someone at the moment."
Clive's mouth snapped shut. A pouty look overcame his face, and he threw himself down onto his bed. "Alright, then. Goodnight, Professor."
Layton was soon after heard pushing his stool back as he stood up, his heavy book slamming shut, and then the tinkling of his china teacup as he stood and walked off.
Only a year left in this prison. With the Professor, it seemed like this time would fly.
A/N: Bye-bye! Hope you liked it!
Songs listened to: Breathe Me by Sia.